Meet The Parents

The day finally came when I’d meet my first host family. In the morning, they tortured us with a beautiful tour of the Colonial Square of Santo Domingo. The architecture is amazing and the history is beyond incredible. I felt almost insignificant being from a town like Ann Arbor, which has such little history in comparison, and a much more boring history at that, when learning about the social and political changes that happened in the Dominican Republic and how the monuments and buildings accurately represent all of these changes. They took us to a jewelry shop where they sold amber and larimar stones. These two stones are very popular in the DR, and they too have a rich history here. The amber is really popular, and represents good fortune and happiness, while the larimar is the national stone, and represents love. Together they represent a good live, love and happiness. There were so many jewelry options that used both stones, and they were so well made. We got a chance to see in the “factory” of sorts, which was really three guys in a room of to the side welding silver, shaping and polishing amber and larimar, and then assembling various pieces of jewelry. The cool part was watching them work so effortlessly to produce such beautiful works of art.

That afternoon we drove to Jarabacoa, about three hours away, and on the whole ride there was a growing cloud of anxiety in our tiny Arabian bus. The closer we got to the city, the more we were all freaking out. We were bombarded with thoughts of “what will they be like?” “what if they don’t like me?” “what if the food is bad?” “what if I get sick?”… and the list went on and on and on. At one point almost everybody was asleep, minus me and two others. It was funny to see all the open mouths, and bodies half collapsed with exhaustion. I wanted to take a picture, but again, I just meet these folks, no need to create bad relations so soon. It was as if everyone had known the trip from Santo Domingo to Jarabacoa like it was their daily rout to school because as we were about to enter into the town, everyone woke up, like clockwork. After the first sign we say that said “Jarabacoa” on it, everyone was instantaneously refreshed and given new life, our heat exhausted bodies were now pumping fresh blood through our bodies.

Our Arabian styled bus took us to a wall of cinderblock bricks that had been painted white with a white iron gate that led the way to a small L shaped building with a basketball court nestled within it to create a big rectangle. This was “La Escuela,” our home away from home away from home. They sent us into the pre-school room where we waited nervously with our knees cramped to our chests, trying not to fall out of the baby chairs, waiting to be picked up by our new families. This was worse than the Sorting Hat in HP, because once you were sorted you left, to be alone in a foreign place, with foreign people, speaking a foreign language. Just sitting down in that room made me want to scream my head off! I don’t think I have ever been so nervous in my life, and I’m surprised I didn’t pass out or have an accident in my shorts (actually I was wearing a dress, but whatever. Details, details). One by one various families arrived to fetch their new temporary children. We started off with seventeen anxious college students waiting in a preschool with the crayons and Barney, then there were fifteen, then eleven, eight, six, five, three, two… Sarah and I were the last lonely amigas waiting to be scooped up by an awaiting family. We were so nervous, we couldn’t help but to squeal a little inside in anxiety.

At the last second, both of our moms came strolling up together. I can’t even express to you all how happy I was not to be the last one picked up. I was thinking as I sat in my little chair in the little room, I am always last, left waiting for ever after everyone else has left, and flashbacks of waiting to get picked up after middle school sports flashed through my head, like lightning during a thunderstorm. I was almost ready to cry, but lo and behold, I wasn’t exactly the last one, we were the last two. When I met my new mom, Cecilia, I was very nervous because she didn’t smile right away. She had a very serious look like she was in a hurry or just taking care of business, but when my facilitators told her that I was her new daughter for the next three weeks, a huge smile sprung upon her face, and I finally exhaled (good thing, too, because any longer I would have turned blue and passed out).  Turns out that Sarah’s and my mom are next door neighbors and were walking together.

Getting into the town for real was, well, awkward. I couldn’t help but feel like an open target. I wasn’t sure how the others, the ones who don’t blend in at all, were going to handle all the attention. I remember being fascinated by how friendly everyone was. My host mom basically said hi to everyone she passed. The vecinos would ask her which American girl was hers, and she’d proudly reply “la morena”, the dark one. They warned us ahead of time that Dominicans like to describe people and things by their color, and it is often a term of endearment to be called by such. It was cool to see everything they had warned us about before getting into the town actually happening (good to know that our facilitators are people of their word). When I walked into my host family’s house, which, by the way, is pretty cool, I did not quite experience the greetings they said we would. My host mom took me from room to room telling me, “this is your sister, your brother, your cousin, your brother. This is your room. Here’s the bathroom. Water (turning on the shower).” And that was it. Literally. No more questions asked. Nothing. My littlest brother, Puchi, whose real name is Jershua, was much more active in the whole acclamation process. My sister, Katerin, didn’t (and doesn’t) say much, and my brother Randi said hi, bye, then left. After about twenty minutes of awkward greetings and putting away my luggage, which actually arrived at my host house way before I did, my mom called me for dinner.

Oh my goodness, if only you knew how terrified I was of eating dinner, mostly because they spent the last two days scaring us about how the food needs to be prepared and telling us horror stories about what will happen if it’s not done right. It was a simple meal, but I felt so uneasy about everything. We had cooked bananas with some baked chicken, I think, and it was interesting. I can’t say that I liked or disliked it. After dinner, which was quiet and awkward due to a chronic case of non-curiosity, I basically passed out in my room. I was so worn out from the physical, mental and emotional stress that my body literally could not hold me up much longer. I thought it would be difficult to sleep in such an unfamiliar place with so many unfamiliar people, but no. I slept like a baby, well like how a baby sleeps when they’re actually sleeping. I fell asleep before I had the chance to meet my host pops, but I was ok with that, I think if I had now some man was in the house I would not have slept as soundly as I did.

So anxious to see how this relationship with my host family will turn out to be. I hope my host mom likes me, and that my little brother isn’t obnoxious, and that my sister doesn’t hate me for taking her room ( or at least I think I’m in her room) and that I don’t get too terribly sick from the food and water here. It seems like the food is really similar to home for me (yay red beans and rice with chicken!), so I’m not too concerned with that, but still. I also hope that my padre likes me when I finally get to meet him, and that he’s not scary and to macho to talk to.