Esta noche de travesura

Just now I am recovering from a week of parties, and here tomorrow is the 4th of July. Obviously not such a widely-celebrated holiday here in the Dominican Republic, but a few of us are getting together a couple of pueblos over to celebrate in some yet-to-be-determined American way. The parties I went to last week varied from a surprise birthday party to an elementary school teacher trip to a big pool in Santiago – complete with water slides! – to the big school year end bash of all the teachers in the district. That party was perhaps the most fun, and it was definitely the most dancing. It ran from before 11 in the morning until 6 in the afternoon, with the dancing beginning before noon. I got complimented on my dancing, even though I dance like a normal person as far as I can tell, and a few people commented that I don’t dance like an American. That’s good, I suppose! Now I just need to brush up on my salsa to add to the merengue and bachata ever present, be it in clubs, colmados, or on the radio. I was reflecting the other day after my run how much I’ve grown to love dancing merengue and bachata for some reason, and how sad it would be if I ever live somewhere that I can’t dance them when I’m old and gray. Probably not the most pressing issue I should be worrying about, but there you have it.

The pigs have done it again. Why is it they are so gross yet so fascinating? Yesterday a neighbor came over, concerned about a missing pig some of our family was keeping an eye out for. He thought it might have fallen down a hole, and the hole turned out to be a huge deep pit behind the pigpen that is the drainage ditch for all the pig waste, and is covered pretty well with wood and sticks. Sure enough, the four-footed escapee had somehow fallen into the pit and was paddling around in the muck. It miraculously hadn’t drowned, and its white eyes looked up at us, wondering what was happening. After we stood around for a while thinking about what to do, the inevitable happened: one of the guys got the ladder out and descended into the pit. Into the muck. The poo. The slime. The disgustingness. He changed right before going down into a newly-made pair of cutoff shorts from pants of a skinnier person, which was fairly hilarious, but I just felt too bad for the guy. All the other men grabbed parts of the rope that David had tied around the pig to pull it out, and on the first try came really close to choking the poor thing. All this time I was thanking the Lord for the inflexible gender roles in this country that dictated that men would fix this horrible situation, and it was completely acceptable for me to be present without helping! The second pull was the charm, and that squealing pig was pulled out with the strength of five men. In my opinion, this happenstance was just one more reason that pigs are not worth the effort and smell.