This week- perhaps more than any other- I have received a sense of my belonging here. This culture has started to invade my lifestyle- even my worldview- and become a part of me. I’ve caught myself being way more honest with people, greeting others on the street regularly and joining in all their activities- singing and dancing or the like. The view of life here is light-hearted; people will discuss difficult topics with relative ease or cause what would be called an “uproar” at home and think little of it. There is a higher level of comfort with who we are in reality and this leads to a warmth and a freedom that I have never felt before.

One example: on Monday I was hanging out eating lunch at a friend’s house- enjoying speaking about different foods and who likes what- when one of the women took my hand, invited me out of my chair and handed me a broom. There was some Bachata music playing out back and so she urged me: “Dance with the broom.” I don’t know about this was the first thing I thought. “This is how everyone learns here,” she added. “Come on, dance with the broom.” So I did…it was fun. From that point onward I have grown to love dancing- especially Bachata- and I aim to practice and perfect this art as it is so central to Dominican culture. When people dance here, they forget about everything else and truly enjoy the moment. The closeness is casual and carefree.

A second example: On Wednesday afternoon I stepped out onto my front porch and saw a large crowd gathering on a nearby side-street. Other people were walking towards the scene and I assumed someone had been hurt or something important had been broken. I was right; I just didn’t know how right. As I neared the house I saw Danny- the pastor of our church- exiting the house around which everyone was assembling. “What happened?” I asked. Apparently there had been a fifteen-year-old boy riding a motorcycle when he got blindsided and killed by another vehicle. As I made my way closer a few children said: “Don’t you want to see the dead person?” Everyone was trying to get close enough to see this boy. I honestly did not want to, so I went back home.

I asked the father at my house, Antonio, if this was common. He told me it was customary to do so- that when someone in the community dies it impacts them all. I just sat outside for a while thinking about how open and real they are about death. I mean, I know we have open-casket funerals at home, but this seemed somehow more intense. The very same day, with the family still trying to come to grips with what had happened, people were crowding in to see. Death is real- they acknowledge it, gather to come to terms with it, and support each other in the midst of it. Such a communal way of doing it. These and many other experiences have brought me into Dominican reality in such a way that I feel attached and connected.

Work-wise I just finished taking photos of all the students at TEARS School, after which we took an excursion up the mountain La Travesia, enjoyed a dance party for my friend Yuneris’ graduation, and spent two tranquil and reenergizing days at the beach. Today is Tuesday- back home and back to work.