I’m in the capital for a few days this week to attend a meeting about our improved cook stoves and to place an order for the ceramic burners from a small factory in the Cibao.
Having arrived in Santo Domingo earlier than expected, I decided to run some errands, including a trip to La Sirena (the Dominican version of Wal-Mart) to stock up on such “necessities” as peanut butter and raspberry jam. I spent most of the afternoon tromping down Churchill Street, alone, not paying much attention to anything in particular, save the relative pleasantness of the area and the light breeze that turned the trash end-over-end, like tiny plastic tumbleweeds in the streets. I walked and walked, almost the full length of the corridor, wringing and swinging my small wrist bag around in my hands, pushing the sweaty hair out of my face, and doing my best to avoid the various vehicles that screeched and squealed through each intersection.
Suddenly, from behind a thick curtain of tropical blooms, a small, white-haired Doña appeared. She greeted me kindly, and coming closer, loosely grasped my shoulder, stretching to her tip-toes to reach my ear, and whispered “Que Dios le bendiga, linda, pero—cuidado con esa cosita. Alguien va a quitar la vida por menos…” or, “God bless you, beautiful, but be careful with that thing. Someone could take your life for less.”
Needless to say, the unexpected advice and the look of concern on her care-worn face were rather frightening. I thanked her, tucked my purse farther under my arm, and increased my pace from a leisurely plunking to a speed-walk that any suburban mom would be proud to call her own.
Despite the fact that I was in a safe area, in broad daylight, surrounded by lots of people, I have to admit that I had let my guard down. My mind was not on my surroundings, but, as is characteristic of my more pensive moods, in the clouds, flitting about from subject to subject like a disinterested preteen girl. The apparition of The Old Woman Who Whispered brought me crashing back down to Earth, and while in no imminent danger to speak of, I have to admit I was a little shaken.
With just short of a year under my belt here in the DR, I’m starting to feel more comfortable in my skin--not only in my little town, but in the capital as well. My Spanish is better. I can understand what people are saying as they pass. I don’t jump at the backfiring of the clunky carros or blown out mufflers. The hisses and spats of groups of men on the corner don’t sound as sinister as when I first arrived. Every rogue lingering on the street does not seem to be lurking, waiting to do me harm, but rather, just some guy, lingering, lazily…
I suppose that this recently imparted mindlessness is good for my mental health. Having spent a year in an at least partial state of constant fear (por lo menos, when in the capital), I’ve grown accustomed to the stress and exhaustion that come with constant vigilance. Lightening up a little can be a good thing.
However, as the old Doña reminded me, I know many Peace Corps volunteers who have been mugged or assaulted on the streets of Santo Domingo, and while Jason and my service has passed rather uneventfully in our quiet campo, any city this size can be dangerous. Particularly for foreigners. And particularly for young women in the developing world, with their silly heads in the clouds, swinging their purse around. Thanks for the reminder, mysterious old lady. Que Dios le bendiga.
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