Was it the time I jumped off of a cliff next to a waterfall? Nope. The time I flew off a rope swing into a lagoon of water? Nope. The time I was chased by a man holding a machete? Uh-uh. The time I found myself in between a hulking ogre of a woman and her child (whom she wanted to keep beating)? Not even close. Okay, think. Adrenaline. Surely, the time I skidded down my steep hill to school and landed covered in mud. Wrong again.
So, what was it? A few weeks ago, Fr. Ron had his 50th anniversary of being a priest (pause now for awe and applause...). It was really an amazing, elegant ceremony, and a ton of people (literally) turned out to give thanks to the man who has done so much for the Dominican Republic (I know. Kinda puts 2 measly years into perspective). I decided to help the teachers serve the honored guests (priests, sisters, and politicians), and then I piled into one of the teacher's husband's cars to start dropping off people. All was going well, until the battery stalled. Not many people know too much about cars, as not many people have cars, so some men did something to get it going again, and she decided to turn the air and radio on (even though I mentioned that maybe it wasn't a good idea). Whatever. So we keep driving, drop off another lady, and have to go up a hill to get back to our neighborhood. We start driving up the hill, make it to almost the top....and then the car starts rolling backwards. Fast. The brakes aren't working, she pulls on the emergency brake, nothing happens, we're rolling and screaming and I've assumed the "duck and cover" position in the back seat, thinking the whole time "My Dad is going to KILL me if I die in a car crash in the middle of some campo in the Dominican Republic." The woman steers us up a small hill (off the road) and luckily we avoid backing into a drop over a river and also avoid a large concrete light pole.
As people see this happening, they begin running, and we have quite a crowd watching us crawl out of the car. One woman starts screaming "Gracias a Dios! Gracias a Dios!" (Thank God, Thank God).
That is a picture of a bunch of guys trying to push the car off the hill she drove up in order to save our lives.
They never really figured out what was wrong with the car, but that night her husband fixed it, and the teacher and I had some beers and listened to bachata because, we figured, we had better enjoy the lives we have.
But, what does that have to do with falling and not getting back up? That's another story, that I will tell now. I figure the theme of today's blog can be bad things that have happened to Alicia but turned out okay.
So here's the falling story: I was on a bus (that I had waited for over an HOUR to catch), and it started pouring. My trip was to check out a potential site (the one I wrote about last time, that had sent a member to drop off their volunteer solicitation). The girl from that site had agreed to meet me with a motorcycle driver, because you really can't just hop on any motorcycle when you're going into the middle of nowhere. I get to where I need to get let off, and because my shoes are so worn and the floor is so wet, I wipe out and fall on the edge of the bus step. Now my butt hurts, I'm soaking, and my pants are dirty. So much for a good impression. So, blah blah blah, I finish the site visit, wait 2 hours for the bus to come back, get home, am late for my meeting, go to bed. A few days later I'm in a conference at a hotel, you know, where there are lights and large mirrors, and I happen to glance at my butt. Well, wouldn't you know it's black and blue! I have a black and blue butt! It is so gross. But, really, what's the point of having a gross butt if you can't even tell anyone about it? So now I've told the world. Also, it hurt a little for a couple of days, but now it doesn't anymore.
Other cute stories not relating to me getting hurt: I drink water out of a big 5-gallon jug (like most people here, since the water isn't potable), purified by the Alaska company. Yesterday, one of my neighbors saw in my Time magazine a picture of Alaska. He asked if I was from there, I said no and showed him Alaska on my map, and then he asked how they ship all that water down from Alaska! And why all the water in Alaska is so clean! Kids being literal is so cute.
Also, today I heard my baby neighbor saying "ooooh!" every 10 seconds. I went outside to check out what was going on, and she was huddling into her mother who was giving her a bucket bath. The water was cold, so she kept squealing every time it got poured on her....sooooo cute!
Last night I colored with about 10 kids by candlelight. Around 8: 10, as I was kicking them out, a mother came screaming at her 2-year-old (I had been coloring with him). "Why didn't you come when I called you?! D****o, c**o!" Now, keep in mind mothers generally let their children wander around the neighborhood, not really knowing where they are (the boys, that is). So me, after having spent a night of hearing or breaking up child beatings, I said to the mom "I guess you should have followed your kid or paid attention so that you would have known where he was! He's only 2!" But with a smile on my face so that she would not beat him and also so that she'll let him back in my house, because he likes it there. But on the inside, I was raging. I hate laziness. And, really? Letting your two-year-old son wander around, not knowing where he is, and then screaming at him? Just so that you can sit at home and gossip with your neighbors? geesh.
In a few days, my favorite siblings (that is, all of them!) are coming to town! It's better than santa clause!
Dios les bendiga,
Alicia
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