Aguacete
17 October 2001
Francisca and Francisco’s
The first day, we spent fixing up a bed, digging up the soil, and getting it ready for a small hortiliza, or garden. Each day this week, we are to have a Spanish class, and this happened in the rural clinic with trainer L. We also took a trip back into Santiago to collect material from the market to use in a compost pile. We traveled by motoconcho, which was a degree easier this time given my prior experience. At night, I played guitar, and I also had the pleasure of hearing L belt out some pretty reasonable bachata.
Yesterday, Tuesday, we talked about organic growing and compost. Two workers from the state [provencia] department of agriculture arrived to lecture us. Imagine if the US Government were to promote organic agriculture!
As we worked in the morning, I said something wrong to J. She was talking shit about this friend, A, saying that A had paused after every move in a self-defense class we took to fix A’s hair. I thought J was being bitchy and envious. Plus, she was dissing on my friend, A. So I said, “Well, if you were that beautiful, you could do that, too.”
Everything stopped then, and I immediately regretted what I had said. I put my eyes on the ground and sulked. I continued to sulk for a while, and then later took J aside to have a little chat. I figured I’d apologize.
Me: Uh, I wanted to say that I’m sorry that I said something mean.
J: Oh, it didn’t hurt me because I’m sure of myself, and I don’t need your apology. You can feel bad if you want, but it didn’t affect me.
Something about this didn’t fit into the pattern most people have for apologizing and accepting apologies. I was angry.
Anyway, that’s a summary of the last couple days. I should mention, too, how frustrating Spanish is, and how much I hate the three hours of language class/torture I have to endure. It makes me feel like I’m in high school, complete with the angst.
Something I said to E, which she dismissed:
“High school, to a certain extent, for me, was the experience of resisting the pressure that would have ground me into mediocrity. High School, and to a certain extent, all higher education, tries to take the best and the worst and crush them into the homogenous texture of toothpaste. It was hell.”
Anyway, it’s getting dark. B went shopping today and is going to cook a gringo cena. I’m going to see what she’s up to.
Note to readers: This is a review of my personal journal from my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in the Dominican Republic more than a decade ago. I have done my best not to change what I wrote, even if I feel differently now or found out later that I what I wrote was factually incorrect. Part of the joy of reading old journals is seeing a story arc where I’ve learned new things.
In this entry and others, names have been shortened to initials to provide some privacy. Those who were there will recognize the characters, but my journaling is not about other people or their experience.
- The next entry in this series is Imma kill a gringa, part 2
- The previous entry in this series is Distractedly packing for Aguacete
- You can see the journal entries as I post them here.
- If you’re just starting, here’s the first entry.
