Learning to Laugh

The Dominican Republic has taught me to laugh.

Let's face it, I'm weird. I look weird, I talk funny and I all around stick out. Reddish-blonde curls, red cheeks the second I step outside in the sweltering heat, this hint of gringa accent and my lack of hip-hugging rhinestone studded Gucci knock-off jeans...you can tell I'm different.

But one thing I do damn well is laugh and this is my common denominator.

Working abroad in a culture that points with its lips and is extremely offended if you walk between two people having a conversation, I sometimes find myself having more "American days" than I'd like. I am slow to recognize the social cues being played out (or I recognize them fine, know what I should do, and am just reluctant to comply). But there is always laughter.

As I consider being able to prep, execute and land a joke in foreign language to be a relative measure of your proficiency in that language (and sometimes I am just NOT) I am thankful that most of my Dominican friends have humorous leanings. They do the difficult work of joking and I get to simply laugh along. I cannot tell you the friends I have made or the relationships I have reinforced with a good chuckle.

While before I lived abroad, I believe many would have said I was a funny person – the Dominican has taught me to open up and find the funny in near everything. Life here can be difficult. There is a common phrase used as a response to the questions "how are you?" cogiendo lucha – losely translated grabbing a fight. It has the sense of "struggling" or "pushing on" and I feel is indicative of the daily fight necessary to survive for many people here in the DR.

After being in the States for the holidays, I am amazed by how easy everything is. I'll often tell my friends that the weirdest part of being home is that "things just happen" – meaning that life seems to be ordered and running on its own. It seems as if life in the DR is powered by the visible sweat, blood and tears of so many, whereas life in the U.S. is shiny and automated.

I have learned to laugh during 30 hour power outages, through the seemingly constant struggle to be treated and charged fairly when dealing moto-taxis to street vendors and through blaring merengue music on long bus rides when all I want to do is sleep and the lady behind me and another 3 rows up are both singing along, NOT in harmony.

Laughter and a gentle touch on the shoulder has smoothed out more informal business deals, opened up more client's homes and hearts to share their stories with myself and groups I lead

So I carry my smile and my laugh with me wherever I go, for no matter how near or far I travel on this Earth, these are things that need no translation, open many doors and make me quite a number of friends.

Ears that hear things different than yours do

She starts off in a voice as small as winter, her usually cadence of muttering which often makes me brush her off like autumn's leaves – today makes me stop. Today makes me listen. The hush of her voice intensifies my effort; in her old Spanish, sentences aren't like the Wall Street tickers of my generation's Spanish; clean, fluid. Her's runs like the arroyito she told me she drank from as a little girl, I catch the bulk of her story but certain words that define her, splash in my face as they hit a rocks of my misunderstanding. I struggle to remain intently concentrated, not wanting to miss another word.

She tells me of her childhood, 13 brother and sisters she had, in the campo, on the hill she lived. She tells of when she was twelve and went out with her father on a caballito to collect viveres for her younger siblings to eat. She remembers drinking milk with coffee in it – no water, no boiling. She remembers being so hungry and the hidden gem of a bunch of bananas God placed in her path. How her father told her to eat, eat, eat my child. And how she ate, ate, ate until her barriga was out to here. And then, that arroyito trickling with fresh mountain water, she grabbed a green leaf and drank until she was full. THAT was the bandera, her version of rice, beans, salad and meat. THAT is so many dominican's reality. She smiles like Spring and I am refreshed and entranced by her honesty with me.

So often I walk around this country frustrated with people and wanting to lash out against the cultural insensitivety they've shown to me. I want to find just ONE Dominican that doesn't think I'm odd for not liking bachata, just one Dominican that doesn't think I look funny with my rosy cheeks, just one Dominican that I can sense home with.

But Diose's (my coworker's) somewhat odd entrance into my mental cubicle of "workday"… her sharing life with me spoke in it's subtext about our similarities through stories.

I may be VERY different then so many of my Dominican friends, but one thing is true, that sharing life together is a universal art. And the best part about sharing life together…it is even richer when your lives are so different. If you can find someone who will honestly contarte ("story you") about the seemingly mundane parts of their day – and you, them; the mundaness evaporates as your stories fall on ears that hear things different than yours do.

So, to this I raise my itty bitty cup of Dominican coffee, yes, I drink it amargo (bitter) in many Dominican's opinion but that's ok. It only makes for that much more interesting conversation.