August 1, 2003

Pig -spanking, etc.

Been travelling, been working, haven't had much Internet access. Finally getting caught up and composing your long-awaited dispatch from Hispaniola:

A typical patient/nurse/Peace Corps volunteer (that would be me) exchange at the clinic in Tilory:

PCV: (Holding notebook, speaking in painfully slow and awkward Creole) Eh... Madamn... kouman... ou... rele?

Patient: My name is Wosile. (Name changed to protect patient's privacy.) I'm here because I have not menstruated in two years. Am I dying?

Nurse: How old are you, Madamn?

Patient: About 50, I think.

Nurse: Then your condition is fairly normal. How are you otherwise?

Patient: A roach crawled into my ear a week ago and hasn't come out yet.

PCV: (Putting down notebook) I'll get the syringe and tweezers.

The novelty of commuting to Haiti to work has long ago worn off, not least of all because of my ride a couple of weeks ago next to the most enormous pig I've ever seen (and I see a lot of pigs in a typical day.) The pig and I were crammed into the back of a flatbed truck with a couple of dozen field workers, my neighbor Franzia who sells homemade juice at the Tilory market, and about a hundred sacks of mangoes. The pig was tied up in the front of the bed and because I got on last, I got to sit on the bed railing right next to the pig's behind, much to the other passengers' amusement. Still, everything was fine until we started hitting some sharp curves and the pig lost his composure. He started squealing and bucking and almost knocked me out of the truck. The Haitians of course thought this was hilarious until someone realized the pig might also be in danger. He somehow managed to back his gigantic rear end up over the railing so that his back legs were dangling above the floor of the truckbed. Of course since I happened to be closest to the pig, the responsibility for handling this situation was delegated to me. Someone suggested that I simply push the pig back into the truck, but seeing as this particular pig was roughly the size of a Volkswagen bus, I didn't make a whole lot of progress. So then everyone started yelling "Pegalo atras! Pegalo atras!" For you non-Spanish speakers, that means "Smack his ass! Smack his ass!" And I did. I slapped that pig's ass until my hands were raw, but he still wasn't budging. During this entire time we were still swerving around on a bad mountain road with a thousand-foot drop on one side. Finally the guy in the passenger seat saw what was happening in the rearview mirror and had the driver pull over so four people could get out and push from behind while I pulled from the front and we got the fat bastard settled down.

Thanks to everyone who helped put together care packages for the clinic. I'll let you know as soon as they get here. Meanwhile, I recently spent a weekend at a Dominican clinic run by a foundation that has expressed interest (after mucho begging and wheedling from Clemencia and myself) in helping us with supplies and possibly building a sister clinic on the Dominican side of the border that would be accessible by the people of Tilory. While I was there, I got to bunk in a Catholic Missionary crash pad. I'm telling you, you just haven't partied until you've partied with Catholic Missionaries.

I spent the last week and a half working as a translator for an American medical mission (no relation to the Catholic Missionaries) that comes down twice a year from the University of Southern Maine to bring doctors and medicine to poor communities in the DR. A whole week and a half of lecturing campesinos about chlamydia, scouring farmacias for epilepsy pills, and holding adorable kids on my lap while their mothers point out their scabies, ringworms, pinkeye and lice. Needless to say, I've already signed up to do the next one in January too.

I finally went to see my very first cockfight. Two thumbs up. It's not nearly as bloody or violent as I expected it to be. After a few minutes of pecking and flapping one of the chickens usually just rolls over and gives up and the winner runs around him in circles while the crowd goes crazy. Chickens do this on their own in my front yard every day, so I see no reason why people shouldn't be making money off of it. And when they aren't fighting or getting their legs shaved (I still don't know why they do that) these chickens get treated really well, at least until they lose too many fights and become lunch. I gambled on every fight and only came out 50 pesos behind at the end of the day, which I think isn't too bad for a first-timer. Still, here's an insider tip: even if they give you really good odds, betting on the blind chicken is almost never a smart move.

Some people have been asking about this year's Mix Tape Contest, so I'll tell you what we're going to do. We're going to have another Mix Tape Contest. That's right, it's the SECOND ANNUAL "Send a Peace Corps Volunteer a Mix Tape" Contest. I know, has it been a year already? Due to popular demand/whining, mix CDs will also be accepted this year. Entries must be postmarked by September 15, and any tapes sent in since the deadline of last year's contest will automatically be entered for this year. You can check out the track listing for last year's winner, compiled by the mysterious Doug Whyte of Missouri, on Christy Bracken's website of all things Dave to see how tough the competition was for that Peace Corps hat. This year's winner will receive a handsome hand-carved wooden ashtray, shaped like a spooky hand, bought in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti, through much personal risk and expense on my part. If you don't smoke, it's also cool enough to hang on your wall.

Send all entries to--
Daniel Hotstream
Restauracion
Dominican Republic

It's that easy. Get taping/burning.

Paz, Dave