Being a woman here, especially a white American woman, kind of means being in a danger zone. It’s not that I am in danger (unless I do stupid things), but the “tiguere” culture is such that men are extremely aggressive and women’s reputations are really important. ie. The possibility of having male friends (who agree that we are just friends) is kind of unlikely. I’m hoping it will be possible to be friends with Dominicans my own age (male and female) in my community, but it is really more likely that my best Dominican friends will be children/teenagers, and woman above 35. Educated guess. Women my age will most likely already have children and be really busy. And if I hang out with men my own age, all the women in the community will probably hate me (or at least not trust me), and all the men will think I’m “that kind of woman.” A slippery slope. I was hoping that this was kind of exaggerated, but my experiences so far are confirming it. Then again, this is only the beginning of week 3...
Tiguere is a really interesting word. It is generally used to describe men, but can range from extremely positive to extremely negative. Tiguere could describe someone who is really smart and successful, but it could also describe the lazy guy sitting at the colmado all day, drinking a beer and yelling piropos (come-ons) at every woman who passes by.
Some examples:
1. Our language classes took a trip to downtown Santo Domingo to visit the Peace Corps office. This required walking out to the road to catch a guagua (bus), which they keep filling with people until there is no chance of anyone else squeezing in there. (The general philosophy of public transportation in the DR: “We can fit one more!”) My teacher walked us really far down the road, away from the other groups, to catch the guagua first. As we rode past, waving at the other groups from our full bus with bachata blaring out the open windows, another teacher yelled to ours, “Eres un tiguere!” More or less meaning, “You jerk!” in a joking way.
2. When I play dominos with my hermanitos and the little one mocks all the others when she wins, and starts dancing around the patio in victory, she is a tiguera. ie. She has a big personality and attitude… I think she’s hilarious. She is also definitely a tramposa. (Cheater.)
3. If I were to get into a crowded carro publico and have my wallet stolen by some ladron, he would also be a tiguere. In a bad way…
So this word is ingrained in the culture here, and means a million different things depending on context and tone...
In other news:
My life with this family is kind of loco. I mean, they are extremely nice and wonderful, but I also feel like I am being put on some crazy pedestal above their own children. This makes me uncomfortable… for example, as I write this, I am sitting on the couch with mami, papa, Frendi and Katy. They are treating me like a princess. Mami is literally petting my hair as I write this, papa just served me a glass of some vanilla milkshake thing he concocted, and Frendi is telling me that I would look good in some dress they are looking at in a magazine. I am trying not to laugh.
This weekend I am going to visit a volunteer in another town to see her project and experience how she is living a year into her service. Now mami is asking me if I will get back early enough on Sunday to go shopping with her so we can buy this dress that Frendi thinks will look good… Katy says, “Mami! Why don’t you take me shopping?” Um, weird.
Also, mami just changed my sheets and gave me a SILK pillowcase. When I got here the bed definitely was not made with silk sheets… now I get silk. She also handed me a pineapple and told me that she traveled to the best mercado in a different neighborhood to buy it, instead of our local mercado because apparently that wasn’t good enough. They were too small or something. Oy vey. How many times can I say, “Gracias! No necisitaba hacer eso!” They are very sweet. But it really is like I am constantly being watched, my happiness level constantly being evaluated. Good thing I’m pretty happy.
So all this is how I know my family loves me… after two weeks. And in one more week, I move to another town for community-based training (as opposed to the general group training we are doing now) and I’ll have a different family for the month of April. Then I come back here for a week and a half before being placed somewhere in the country and living with ANOTHER family for my first 3 months in my community. This family is actually the one that I will spend the least amount of time with, and they are already asking me if they can call me when I don’t live here anymore. I hope I get along with my next two families as well as I do with this one.
Ahora, the kids are in the kitchen singing and doing the dishes and inserting my name into children’s songs… “Laura la exploradora,” “Laura tiene una banda, ei-ay ei-ay oh.” “Entonces Laura, entonces Laura…” (I don’t think that last one’s a children’s song actually…) They keep looking over at me to make sure I’m amused. I am.
No comments:
Post a Comment