Today is a Dominican holiday – Día de la Altagracia – and so we are taking a day off with the rest of the country.
Well, much of the country anyway. I was surprised to see so many of the cleaners and grounds crew this morning. Sadly, it seems that service industry staff never get a day a rest, especially in a tourist town.
As wonderful as it has been to come home to freshly washed floors and prepared beds, I will never get used to having other people cleaning up my messes. Especially when those individuals whose hands are in chemicals all day are bringing in paltry salaries.
One of our program hosts told us that hotel cleaning staff make something like $150-$200 per month. While rental prices in Cabarete vary greatly, one would be hard-pressed to find a space with privacy, safety, running water, and continuous electricity even if they used this entire monthly salary just on housing.
Given the lack of turnover at the place we stay, I want to believe that the staff here are making a better living than most Dominicans supporting the tourist industry. But I do not know for certain if this hope is the reality.
I have tried to get to know the folks who keep Nanny Estates so beautiful and safe and so have learned a little bit about the families and lifestyles of a few individuals who walk the grounds or pop in daily to ask, “¿Necesita servicio hoy?"
I don’t think it’s disparaging to assert that nearly every person from the Dominican loves children. Everywhere we go I notice women and men glancing at people with children - grinning, admiring, nodding, connecting. I’ve been lucky enough to bring my toddler son with me while traveling abroad and he’s been the icebreaker, opening up opportunities for conversations with locals, even if it's just to agree with comments like "¡Chiquito dulce!"
One gentleman in particular has been quick to engage Leo each year. Santo works at Nanny Estates and makes a point of stopping to give my boy a high-five (which was the nickname we gave him until we learned his real name) every time they cross paths. He’ll talk to Leo in Spanish, asking questions and commenting on toys or activities. I’m always embarrassed that I haven’t taught my son anything more than counting to 10 and gracias, and that my Spanish isn’t polished enough for me to say more than, “Lo siento. ¡Quiero que aprenda!”
This afternoon I listened at length to Santo as he talked about his four children and his home. Santo travels daily from el campo into Cabarete to work at our hotel. He was sharing with me that, although living in the country and traveling so far each day is a hard life, he is grateful that his children are growing fuerte by running in the fresh air of the countryside. Although he doesn’t have much money to buy things for his family, he feels fortunate that they have space and good foods - fresh fruits and vegetables - that are nurtured by the sun and not laden with pesticides.
Santo also talked about people - relationships - and his kindness to Leo quickly made sense.
He said that meeting and being with people brings him happiness, but that the world is also filled with mala gente.
Now, the existence of bad people in the world isn’t exactly front-page news (although, ironically, it is usually bad people who make the headlines). What was interesting, however, was Santo’s definition of bad people.
To him, mala gente are those who see their children as different-separate-better-more important than other people’s children. Mala gente not only shelter and protect their children, they pull them away from other people’s children, teach them to look down on other people's children, turn their backs on other people’s children.
Mala gente only see their own children as worthy of kind treatment and recognition (to me this meant not only their actual children but those who are the same as them - racially, culturally, economically, socially, etc). They only want the best for their own children and have no regard for the happiness or needs of children elsewhere.
Other people’s children.
To Santo this is a sad way to live. To him, no importa. It does not matter what a child looks like, who her parents are, or from where she comes. Each child is a child of this same world. Each child deserves recognition and compassion and smiles. To be noticed...drawn in.
All of this conversation was in Spanish, and most of it was understandable to me because Santo spoke slowly and included lots of gestures.
The most significant was his final gesture, for which he had no words. He simply swept each arm, first one then the other, in a wide outward then inward arc, as if to pull the children from each side of his dialogue together within the circle of his arms.
Then he smiled gently and nodded. Bueno.
...
Well, much of the country anyway. I was surprised to see so many of the cleaners and grounds crew this morning. Sadly, it seems that service industry staff never get a day a rest, especially in a tourist town.
As wonderful as it has been to come home to freshly washed floors and prepared beds, I will never get used to having other people cleaning up my messes. Especially when those individuals whose hands are in chemicals all day are bringing in paltry salaries.
One of our program hosts told us that hotel cleaning staff make something like $150-$200 per month. While rental prices in Cabarete vary greatly, one would be hard-pressed to find a space with privacy, safety, running water, and continuous electricity even if they used this entire monthly salary just on housing.
Given the lack of turnover at the place we stay, I want to believe that the staff here are making a better living than most Dominicans supporting the tourist industry. But I do not know for certain if this hope is the reality.
I have tried to get to know the folks who keep Nanny Estates so beautiful and safe and so have learned a little bit about the families and lifestyles of a few individuals who walk the grounds or pop in daily to ask, “¿Necesita servicio hoy?"
I don’t think it’s disparaging to assert that nearly every person from the Dominican loves children. Everywhere we go I notice women and men glancing at people with children - grinning, admiring, nodding, connecting. I’ve been lucky enough to bring my toddler son with me while traveling abroad and he’s been the icebreaker, opening up opportunities for conversations with locals, even if it's just to agree with comments like "¡Chiquito dulce!"
One gentleman in particular has been quick to engage Leo each year. Santo works at Nanny Estates and makes a point of stopping to give my boy a high-five (which was the nickname we gave him until we learned his real name) every time they cross paths. He’ll talk to Leo in Spanish, asking questions and commenting on toys or activities. I’m always embarrassed that I haven’t taught my son anything more than counting to 10 and gracias, and that my Spanish isn’t polished enough for me to say more than, “Lo siento. ¡Quiero que aprenda!”
This afternoon I listened at length to Santo as he talked about his four children and his home. Santo travels daily from el campo into Cabarete to work at our hotel. He was sharing with me that, although living in the country and traveling so far each day is a hard life, he is grateful that his children are growing fuerte by running in the fresh air of the countryside. Although he doesn’t have much money to buy things for his family, he feels fortunate that they have space and good foods - fresh fruits and vegetables - that are nurtured by the sun and not laden with pesticides.
Santo also talked about people - relationships - and his kindness to Leo quickly made sense.
He said that meeting and being with people brings him happiness, but that the world is also filled with mala gente.
Now, the existence of bad people in the world isn’t exactly front-page news (although, ironically, it is usually bad people who make the headlines). What was interesting, however, was Santo’s definition of bad people.
To him, mala gente are those who see their children as different-separate-better-more important than other people’s children. Mala gente not only shelter and protect their children, they pull them away from other people’s children, teach them to look down on other people's children, turn their backs on other people’s children.
Mala gente only see their own children as worthy of kind treatment and recognition (to me this meant not only their actual children but those who are the same as them - racially, culturally, economically, socially, etc). They only want the best for their own children and have no regard for the happiness or needs of children elsewhere.
Other people’s children.
To Santo this is a sad way to live. To him, no importa. It does not matter what a child looks like, who her parents are, or from where she comes. Each child is a child of this same world. Each child deserves recognition and compassion and smiles. To be noticed...drawn in.
All of this conversation was in Spanish, and most of it was understandable to me because Santo spoke slowly and included lots of gestures.
The most significant was his final gesture, for which he had no words. He simply swept each arm, first one then the other, in a wide outward then inward arc, as if to pull the children from each side of his dialogue together within the circle of his arms.
Then he smiled gently and nodded. Bueno.
...