Lindsay the Paralegal

It has been a busy couple of months. As Danilo is now a fully fledged lawyer, he is working on lots of cases, and making court appearances, together with his all important pom pom hat. This is a picture of him about to go into the courtroom in Puerto Plata.

Many of the cases he is working on involve expats, and so I find myself working as a paralegal, explaining everything to the clients, and acting as a bridge between the two, collecting evidence and statements, translating documents in Spanish to English for the clients, so I can add the role of paralegal to my job description.

When foreigners go to court in the Dominican Republic, by law, if they do not speak good Spanish, they are entitled to a legal interpreter. However, there are few legal interpreters around, and although the court pays them, it is a paltry US$20 a day more or less, plus, they have to wait months and months to be paid. Hence, they often state they are too busy to attend, especially if they can earn more elsewhere on that particular day. But if the hearing date comes around, and there is no interpreter, or they were booked but then don't turn up, the hearing is cancelled and another date set, which can be very frustrating.

Some courts allow the expat to bring their own interpreter, but the interpreters usually charge US$100 for the day. If Danilo is the expat's lawyer, then he offers me free as part of the package! So on top of my other work, I now operate as a free interpreter for the cases Danilo is handling.

As well as working hard as a secretary/paralegal, I am also getting on with book 3, which has good days and bad days, depending on my memory, but is around two thirds written now – well the first draft. I am pleased with the way it is going, so I hope you enjoy it when it comes out – eventually!

As I think I have mentioned before, I am a member of the We Love Memoirs Facebook group, and I will be in the Spotlight on this coming Sunday, 27 October. This means that from 9 in the morning until around 6 or 7 at night, I will be answering any questions the members want to ask me. I did it a couple of years ago, and it was great fun. If you would like to join in, or just listen to the conversation then you can become a member here. It is a lovely group, with great conversation and lots of free memoirs to be won as well.

We are still in avocado season at the moment, and look at these two whoppers we had.

A German PhD student came to stay for a week to interview the locals about getting old in the Dominican Republic, as her PhD is on retirees in the Dominican Republic and she wanted to understand how the locals approach retirement and whether it was different from the expat viewpoint. She interviewed all of my neighbours and each one gave her gift of something.

These avocados were one of the gifts, and she left them for us. Having eaten them, and they were delicious, I am hoping the pits will sprout and grow and in 10 years or so we should have a tree!

Finally, the animals are all fine, and Grumpy Grace, the mangy boxer pup who turned up here nearly a year ago now, is now into selfies!

The sad sad tale of the Guatemalan worry doll

When I was in the UK for Christmas last year, my mother gave me, as one of my Christmas presents, a Guatemalan worry doll. I had zero idea what it was – a tiny tiny doll, in a little sack, and the message on it said that you put it under your pillow at night, and it takes away all of your worries.

On returning home, I put it in the beside drawer and forgot all about it for a few months. Then I found it and did some research.

Worry dolls (Muñeca quitapena in Spanish) are small, hand-made dolls that originate from Guatemala. According to legend, Guatemalan children tell their worries to the worry dolls, placing them under their pillow when they go to bed at night. They then sleep peacefully through the night, and in the morning, their worries have gone. You are then supposed to caress the doll, as it now has your worries, and if you caress it, it stops it being in pain due to your worries.

The story of the worry doll is a local Mayan legend. The origin of the Muñeca quitapena refers to a Mayan princess named Ixmucane. The princess received a special gift from the sun god that allowed her to solve any problem a human could worry about. The worry doll represents the princess and her wisdom.

The worry dolls are made of wire, wool and colorful textile leftovers.  The face is usually made of cotton, or cardboard or clay. They are usually dressed in traditional Mayan style, clothes made with wool or aguayo, a traditional Guatemalan cloth ,and the size of the dolls can vary between ½ inch to 2 inches.

The dolls are usually kept in bags, mine was in a tiny sack, or some are in boxes, and they often come in boxes of 6, one for each day of the week, allowing rest time, to get over the worries they have absorbed.

They usually come with the following instructions:

Concentrate on your concerns or problems when you go to bed.

Tell the doll what you want them to take away.

Put the doll under the pillow.

Caress the doll’s tummy a few times so that your sorrows don’t hurt it, and in the morning, they’ll have disappeared!

So, I decided to give it a go, and unbelievably I had night after night of worry free sleep. Not that I worry a lot, but any worries I do have, appear much worse at 2 am.

Then, I went back to England, to help mum after her operation, and on my return, Danilo seemed as if he was trying to tell me something and then stopped. In the end, he came out with it. He told me he didn’t know how to tell me this, but when I was in England he was convinced I would die, or the plane would crash. I asked why on earth he thought that, and he said someone was trying to kill me (for a change!). He had cleaned all of the upstairs of the house, and washed the sheets on all of the beds and had discovered a voodoo doll under my pillow, which looked exactly like me.  He had carried out extensive investigations and he could not find who had put it there, and hence, he had no idea who was trying to kill me. But, he had burned the doll, so he was sure the spell was now broken.

Adios, my beloved Guatemalan worry doll. Rest in Peace. Back to sleepless nights for me!

Motherless in the Mountains

Doesn't quite have the same ring as Sleepless in Seattle but hey ho.

It is amazing how many children here are brought up without their mothers. I cannot imagine life without my mother, and we talk every day on Skype.

Danilo was brought up without his mother, she found another man and his father took Danilo and his older brother Biembo to live in the mountains above Barahona. Danilo was aged 4. It is tradition in this country that if parents split up, the boys usually go with the father and the girls with the mother. However, if the father has the boys and he finds another woman, she often does not want another woman's child so they go to the father's parents - as in the case of Chivirico being brought up by his grandparents since his mother left when he was a few weeks old.

Chivirico and his grandmother

And Danilo's first two sons were also left by their mother when the youngest was 3 weeks old, as she found another man. Danilo's mother brought them up until she died a couple of years later, and then it was down to him. Even his third child, with another woman, was left by his mum with Danilo for a couple of years until she came back to collect him and take him to Spain.

Danilo and the three boys 2002

Mind you they have changed a bit now

We now have Albert living with us. Yet again, his mother does not want him, and his father isn't able to look after him, although he lived with him until he was 7. Often if the father cannot pay child support, the mother simply hands over the child, which is what happened in this case, and the father is Danilo's half brother but since he had a stroke he cannot manage Albert.

All of those boys without mothers looking after them. And when I see what a delight these boys are and what they have done and will do with their lives, I feel sorry for their mothers who do not know what pleasure and pride they have missed out on. And I really do not understand how they could do what they did.

It even happens to chickens. One of our hens died, leaving a load of chicks, and others look after the first few which hatch, but then if the more eggs hatch  a couple of days later they don't want to know them, so we have to take them away before the mother kills them. So we now have loads of motherless chicks - but at least they all keep each other warm at night in a plastic container.

I felt like I was looking at a picture of four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie last night.

The pups have all gone apart from one so the house is relatively free of poo and pee. We ended up keeping one - as she hid when the others left so she obviously wants to stay. She spends all day long finding things to take and hide - so methinks she could be trouble - Miss Brown Nose.

And finally, I sometimes come across other blogs which I enjoy and this is one I recommend you look at. It is written by an American lady who lives in Sosúa on the north coast, who describes herself as a nice Jewish girl. I think she is a lot more than that, and she too documents her experiences in the country - some of which bear remarkable resemblance to mine - including exploding Dominican Pyrex in the oven. Enjoy 

Another sad couple of months

Once again sorry for keeping you all waiting for so long, but honestly I have been up to my eyes.

This has been a sad couple of months with birds and people dropping like flies. Sukin, the owner of the colmado, whose wife died 4 months ago, has died. He was fine, went to visit his sister for a fortnight and never came back. Apparently he had a stroke, ended up in a coma on a ventilator then I assume was switched off. So his house is empty and the colmado closed.

I now have to walk about 15 minutes to another colmado - good exercise I suppose but they have a chihuahua who hates me and tries to nip my ankles - called Donkey of all things.

The other sad news is everyone's chickens are dying. No one knows why, although some say it is the changing of the seasons from summer to winter. I keep asking the locals to try and get to the bottom of it, and they say they don't actually die, they go to sleep at night and don't wake up. Hmmm. Well we have lost Sprout and Cranberry, the two turkeys so only have son/daughter of Sprout and Stuffing so that puts paid to Danilo's money spinning idea. Monster also went to sleep and didn't wake up which I am very sad about too. We do have the odd son and daughter of his. Some neighbours have lost over 100 chickens.

The puppies, Sweep and Grita Mucho are growing like topsy and causing total havoc - eating the furniture, chasing chickens and annoying Belinda. Several months ago a man borrowed Lobos bits and brought his long haired Alsatian dog to mate with him. Lobo performed splendidly and the dog was pregnant. We were promised one of the litter. Well he sold them all and Danilo told him he was not allowed to borrow Lobo again. Next thing we know he delivers a dog which is supposedly the son of Meg and Lobo's daughter (who he has) and a Belgian Shepherd. Now this dog was the size of a chihuahua when he arrived and I was all for sending him back. However, he is cute, but if he is the son of a Belgian Shepherd then I am a China man.

His name - christened by Danilo, I hasten to add -  is Rin Tin Tin.

I haven't had too many visitors over the last couple of months, apart from an English lady, and we all went to the river with Chivirico and her so she could experience that important Dominican event of bathing in your clothes in the freezing water, cooking lunch and drinking rum. We didn't quite do all that we should in that we bought lunch, she and I did not get in the river, and we had water rather than rum, but the thought was there. Here are my handsome boys, from left to right stepson Christian, Chivirico, husband Danilo, and stepsons Dany and Alberto.

And of course, no blog would be complete without updating you on politics, which of course is totally unbelievable, but true.

So, we got to the stage where they had done opinion polls and said that whoever had the highest with a margin of 10% would be the candidate. Danilo had over 50% and the existing mayor had 9%. Every other place in the country was announced - apart from Guayacanes. It appears they will give it to the existing mayor, and the party - PLD - said they would offer Danilo a job. So far nada, so he has signed up to be the candidate for another party. This other party is called the PLR - Partido Liberal Reformista, and the guy who owns/runs it is a chap called Amable Aristy. Amable means Friendly so we have Mr Happy going with Mr Friendly. Mr Friendly is into helping people so it should be a good fit. However, the PLD was purple and this new one is yellow and green so Danilo has a week to change all his posters to yellow and green and repaint his campaign headquarters, and change the PLD star to the PLR sunflower.

Will it work? Your guess is as good as mine, but I like the values of the new party. So my job is to work my little cotton socks off to raise as much money as we can to keep going - what's new!

New beginnings

Number 2 stepson, Alberto, is 'married ' i.e. living with, which is Dominican married, to Chivirico's aunt Ana. Last Monday she gave birth to a baby girl, Adibel, which makes me a step grandmother.

Here she is just after she was born weighing 7 lbs 7 ounces. She was born by Cesarean section which is how most children are born in the DR. Not because a C section is needed but because the doctors want to make more money which was exactly what happened in this case. The doctor told Ana she would not be strong enough to push the baby out, carried out a C section and charged RD$40,000 which is nearly US$1,000. They have insurance which covers 80% but then had to find RD$8,000 which is more than Alberto's monthly wage and way beyond the reach of the majority of Dominicans. Family and friends usually have to come to the rescue as mother and baby were held hostage by the clinic until the bill was paid. In this case it was my mother and we were all extremely grateful.

Ana is now staying with her mother until she is "out of risk" or "fuera de riesgo". This takes 41 days but I am not sure what she is at risk of. She has cotton wool in her ears and socks on her feet to stop cold air getting into her body and cannot eat eggs or pork. She is not supposed to bathe during her "risk time" but she is doing so.

Chivirico thinks his new cousin is very pretty, but was more than pleased that he has finished school and can come and stay with us for the holidays until August. He wants to stay with us after then and go to school here, so fingers crossed his father and his grandparents will let him.

When I learned that Ana was pregnant I can't say I was over the moon, as I am now so accustomed to first world thinking that you should be financially stable, with good jobs and a nice home before you start a family. Everything is programmed so that it happens at the 'right' time. But as I was looking down at Adibel, laughing at me, just six days old, I remembered that so often I compare the Dominican Republic to the UK in the 1950s.

I was born only just over 10 months after my parents married, and Mum would tell me that women had a child as soon as possible in case anything happened to their husband. My Dad was a navigator in the Air Force and there were conflicts all over the world in the 1950's. Plus the memory of the Second World War was very raw. I was born when my parents were living in a rented room, and then a caravan. Not so very different from the wooden house where Adibel will be brought up.

And another new beginning. I make my living working for various clients, writing, doing marketing, translating and my main client has decided to probably close his business. This will mean a major hole in our income. So it has forced me to get off my backside and launch something I should have done ages ago.

I spend a lot of time answering emails to ladies who want to know if their boyfriend is a sanky panky, or wanting them investigated or people wanting information about the DR. I get asked to translate text messages, asked how to find a job, about schools and accommodation. I receive between 100 and 200 emails a month and have always tried to help free of charge. But now i have decided to make a business out of it - or try to. DR Sisterhood has been launched as a membership service where people can have access to me and other ladies for help and information and to be their eyes and ears in the country. Fingers crossed it works!

In the meantime Chivirico is helping collect the eggs for breakfast!

And as I sit here typing this he is making biscuits to go and sell. The puppies ate my cell phone (and a diary, two books, four CDs, 2 rolls of tape and a cushion) so I nicked his phone and told him I would get him another one. He wants an iPhone so has to make a few thousand pesos first. Methinks will end up with a basic phone again!

Taking the plunge to be an expat

I receive several emails from people about to make the leap and become an expat in the Dominican Republic, and I wish I had taken the time to speak to expats before I made the move which might have prevented me making quite so many mistakes over the years.

Having said that, when I first moved here over 12 years ago I was only going to stay for 6 months so I didn't make a conscious decision to become an expat, I just sort of drifted into it unlike most of the people who write to me who are doing all of the right things such as looking at different countries, sorting out their finances and doing all of their research properly.

I did some things right such as learning Spanish as there is no way you can truly understand and immerse yourself into a country if you cannot communicate with the people. Another thing I did right was to marry my Dominican husband.

I did a few things wrong too! I should have listened more to the people here about the fact that many things work differently here compared to the UK. For example we opened a gym and had a couple of hundred members. I didn't realize though that there is no direct debit system in the DR, so although people joined one month, if they didn't have money for the next month that was that. No money coming in. Not like the UK where the money is taken from your bank whether you go or not. That was a big lesson. Never assume that things work the same way in your new country compared to your home country.

Apart from learning about to best way to do all of the practical things such as open bank accounts, get residency, set up cell phones, internet and cable TV, it is the cultural differences which present the greatest challenge. For example, many expats become frustrated here with the lack of electricity but the way I see it is you either let it get to you or you accept that it is what it is and behave like the Dominicans who just chill and work around it. The wise expat will do everything they can to mitigate the situation by having an inverter and/or generator and checking online to see what times of the day they will be without electricity. The even wiser expat will have done their research and make sure they live in an area with 24 hour electricity – although those who have not done the research will probably not even know that electricity is an issue, nor how to find out about any particular area. Imagine going to rent a house in the UK and asking what the electricity was like!

So congratulations to those budding expats who research the move – it will certainly be much smoother for you than it was for me. For those who want more really useful tips and hints check out the HiFX expat page here which will also have some of my tips on it in a couple of weeks.

All I want is sleep

Where we live in the campo it is a little community of around eight houses and huts. Everyone gets up with the sunrise and is tucked up in bed by nine at night. It is beautiful and quiet – usually. As well as those of us who live here permanently, there are two houses owned by rich Dominicans from nearby towns and they come for the occasional weekend to get away from it all.

Last night, one of these weekend visitors was in residence and it sounded like he had brought hundreds of people with him. He arrives maybe once every couple of months. The music was unbearable and when it got to one o'clock in the morning I gave up trying to sleep. I told Danilo to go and tell him to turn the music down as not only was it stopping me sleeping, the colmado man had been taken to hospital during the day with a suspected stroke, which ended up being a “sugar attack” so he is fine now, but his wife was on her own in the house and I knew she hated noise at night. Danilo asked what I wanted him to do and I replied that he had various options.
Option 1 was to  tell them it was a lack of respect for the community and please to turn the noise down. He said he couldn't do that as the man was a) rich and b) a lawyer. Plus that was the British way and it wouldn't work here.
Option 2 was to call the police. He said that was useless as there were no police here and  the man was a) rich and b) a lawyer.
Option 3 was to cut their electricity off. He said that was illegal.
He said I had not mentioned Option 4, which was the Dominican way. Intrigued I asked what that was. He said to throw stones and off he trotted in his dressing down, down the garden, with torch in hand whilst I lay in bed waiting. Five minutes later the music stopped. A miracle. When he came back, I asked him what he had said. Nothing apparently. The Dominican way to ask people to turn the music down, is to throw rocks into the garden or at the house! You do it from behind a bush so they can’t see it is you. Well it worked, and I was very grateful. Until 4.30 am.

The chicken house saga continues. Remember all I wanted was a couple of hens so that I could have fresh eggs and I ended up with 10 scraggy chicks and three guinea fowl. He realized that they weren't going to start laying any time soon, and so bought two more – a hen (which is apparently a pedigree hen, but he got it cheap for RD$150 pesos which is US$3) and a young cockerel, which he insisted you need for eggs. Well wonders will never cease and the next day we had an egg.

Unfortunately I was not allowed to eat it as apparently you have to leave it there or she won’t lay any more. The next day luckily there was another, but he told me I couldn't have that either as he thought it would be a good idea to have chicks. Being not impressed at all with this idea, I stole one of the eggs whilst he was out and had a fabulous poached egg on toast.

Each day I managed to sneak the eggs out but I think he is in cahoots with one of the cats who now sleeps in the egg basket on top of them. I wonder if they will hatch?

Then yesterday he turns up with two ducks and a cockerel. This is now getting out of hand.

He told me he had to buy the cockerel as the one we had was too young to mate with the hen and the eggs we had were guinea fowl eggs so to get chicken eggs we needed an older cockerel. He assured me it was a non crowing variety. He lied.

It started at 4.30 this morning and hasn't stopped.

Now, with all of these birds, the hen house needs to be bigger and he has put in the sticks for where it is going to be. You can see the original hen house in the corner and the stick on the left is the edge of the new extended version which will encompass the water cistern, half of the gym, and the utility room sinks which he sorted eight months ago and which have never moved. Apparently the sinks are now going to be filled with water for the ducks so it doesn't look like they will ever make it into the utility room.

The sides of the new hen house will be covered with chicken wire and I asked about the roof. He told me it was under control but I persisted to understand exactly what form it would take. Eventually he explained it would be a lona, which is a large tarpaulin. Now these are not cheap and we are talking a big roof. He then said he had a cunning plan. This would be interesting. He went on to say that on the road up to our village there are lots of big signs for coming events such as discos and famous singers appearing at different locations. He said there was one for Anthony Santos in early January and as the date had passed he could just take the sign down – not the wooden frame, but the plastic sheeting it was written on. It was useless now as the date had passed. So the plan is that the chickens will have a roof of various posters announcing famous singers which he would stick together with taypee. I asked how he was going to do this and he explained that WE were going to go out in the night to get them. I was to be the getaway driver and he would take the sign down with his pincers.

Next blog will probably be from jail.

Dominican Christmas Traditions

You think you know most there is to know about the Dominican Republic and its customs and then something new appears.

That is what happened at 4am this morning.

I am in the middle of a beautiful sleep, snuggled under my two quilts as it is a tad chilly in the mountains now, with just the odd rooster thinking it was dawn and crowing and suddenly there was this appalling noise from the road and the house in front of us. Shouting and singing and music and banging of drums. Our dogs started barking like crazy.
“Danilo, what is going on?” I asked. “What on earth is all that noise in the middle of the night? Is someone dead?”
“Los aguinaldos,” he grunted and went back to sleep.
“Los whatdos?”
There was no way I was getting out of bed to look the word up in a dictionary so I lay there and listened to them singing in Spanish. Excuse the spelling, those of you who understand it.

“Si no te levanta, ni abrí la puerta.
Yo será aquí cantando hasta que amanezca.
Allá entra veo, allá entra veo
Un bulto tapado y yo toy pensando
Que un puerco asado”

Which means in English:

“If you don't get up nor open the door
I will be here singing until you wake up.
Over there I can see, over there I can see (looking through the window)
A bag all closed up and I am thinking
That it has a roast pig in it”

As I lay there listening to this, over and over again, I thought “What burglars would sing outside a house that they wanted to nick a dead pig?”

Eventually, after about 30 minutes they moved off but I could hear them all the way down the road singing the same song and banging on the drums.

In the morning, all was explained. It was los aguinaldos which actually means Christmas bonus and is a tradition, especially in the countryside. Groups of people get up before dawn and go round the neighbourhood banging on doors, playing music and singing the very same song. You are supposed to get up and give them ginger tea and biscuits.

There is a YouTube video of the music here but I couldn’t find one of them banging on the doors. Mind you I have no idea what the old lady is doing in the video.

They didn’t come to our house as they were scared of the dogs. Oh dear what a shame, as I would have loved to have been woken up at 4 am and have to make ginger tea and biscuits.

I suppose it is like the British carol singing tradition but not quite the same as angelic children singing Christmas carols in the early evening. At least in the UK they don't look through your window spotting dead pigs in bags.

And now I have just had another custom explained. We are supposed to clean the whole house, wash it all out and mop it and then paint it before Christmas and burn all our old clothes and get new ones. We have to put all our old brushes and mops and brooms out at the corner of the street and buy new ones. Again I think not – I can feel this gringa is going to get a reputation as being a tad bolshie!

Expat experiences

My book was published by Summertime Publishing which specializes in books by expats and about the issues facing expats, whether the effect on the families, the kids, being an expat wife or a memoir about living abroad like mine. We read each others’ books and review them and so I have been exposed to books which I would never usually read.

For example, I read Perking the Pansies by Jack Scott - a tale of two gay men in Turkey. A fabulously witty, funny and insightful book about Turkey and the adventures of Jack and Liam. What was interesting is even though Turkey is not the DR, the issues facing expats are often similar.

You can visit Jack's website here

Another book I really enjoyed was Expat Life, Slice by Slice by Apple Gidley. It is a story of her life and childhood moving around the world and as well as superb writing which brings the places to life, it looks at all sorts of issues which affect expats such as child rearing in foreign countries, making friends, dealing with elderly relatives at home and relationship management.

Apple's book available here

Reading all these different books has got me thinking as to how people change and cope when they spend a long time in a foreign country. I am English and always will be although I have lived in the DR for 12 years on November 2nd! I am married to a Dominican, have Dominican step kids, live in a purely Dominican campo and only speak English to my mother on Skype and if I ever have English speaking visitors. But I will never be Dominican. I will always speak Spanish with an English accent, and I don’t think I will ever act or think like a Dominican. But having said that I could not imagine living in England again. Not being able to pop into anyone’s house without letting them know I was coming; not having people calling round at all times of the day or night with an avocado, plate of food or cup of coffee; not listening to music everywhere you go; not laughing most of the day.

That is not to say I will not change the way I do some things. I used to be conscious of being on time, time was important to me. Now it is not. The Dominican way is to be late and unless I am meeting a fellow Brit I will not panic if I am late. If people are coming for dinner I never expect them to arrive on time and plan accordingly. I remember once we had dinner at home and I was just going to bed when my husband exclaimed that he had forgotten we had been invited to dinner in Santo Domingo, an hour away. I had to get out of my pyjamas, get in the car and we arrived at 11.30 at night for dinner – the second dinner of the night. Everyone else was there and they were all starving, waiting for us to arrive.

But in many ways I will always be English. I will cook English food; cut off a piece of cheese if I want to eat it, unlike this piece I found in the fridge a couple of days ago. I don't need forensic analysis to recognise those teeth marks, and they don't belong to a mouse.

People born in one culture, growing up in one culture and then moving to another face special and often rewarding challenges and even more so the children. They call them TCKs – Third Culture Kids. I receive many emails from people every day about this blog, or my book, and I recently received one from a film producer, Rahul Gandotra who had made a short film about this very issue. It wasn't just any old film, it was actually shortlisted for an Academy Award. He sent me a link to watch the film for free.

You  can download the film here

It is an extraordinary film, beautifully shot in the foothills of the Himalayas and follows the story of a young British boy of Indian parents sent to boarding school in India. It explores this very issue of being born into one culture whilst genetically from another. He has given me permission to share the film, and you can download it here, together with interviews and discussions from experts on Third Culture Kids. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

The problems with passion fruit

Mango season is drawing to a close and although there are a few avocados starting to appear, now is the height of passion fruit season.

Passion fruit is called chinola here, easy to grow and makes great juice. And therein lies the problem.
Apparently, so I have been reliably informed, men can eat the chinola fruit with no problem, but they cannot drink the juice. It causes impotence.

However if you add evaporated milk to the chinola juice then it doesn’t cause impotence, somehow the evap milk (Carnation as they say) negates the effect of the juice. If you want to be even more certain that there will be no issues with the juice, then you add oats as well.

I would love to have fresh chinola juice, without Carnation and without oats, but methinks in a house full of men that is unlikely to happen.

The gym has a new machine. Bars that you do dips on. Luckily they didn’t need anything else from the house.

Hector fans can see it in use!

And it is now confirmed that the buckets I used for compost, which I was promised were just moulds, are not moulds at all – the concrete is firmly stuck inside, and they are now being used regularly.

And fed up with the attention Hector is getting, husband insisted on a photo of him too!

Help - there is a witch on the roof

Chivirico is staying here for his summer holidays. The other morning, having slept like a log all night, he told me he had heard something on the roof.

As the house is three storeys high, and the roof slopes and has a big overhang, nothing can get up there – not even a rat. I told him it must have been a bird.

The following morning at 6 am, I heard something on the roof, and if it was a bird it was wearing hob nailed boots. It scampered around for around 10 minutes and then silence again.

I told my husband when he woke up and he quite calmly said “It is a witch”. He said they live in the countryside and come when there is a child in the house. They suck the blood from the children, but only if they have not been baptized. He was deadly serious.

I decided to do some research, and speaking to the neighbours they say it is not a witch but a Ciguapa (pronounced see – gwa – pah) and they are well aware of it/her around here.

Ciguapas  have the form of a female with brown or dark blue skin, and very long manes of smooth, glossy hair that covers their otherwise naked bodies. They supposedly inhabit the high and remote mountains of the Dominican Republic and are beautiful but evil.

They only come out at night and are very difficult to follow as their footprints go backwards as their feet are backward facing.  Some people believe that they bring death, and it is said that one should not look them in the eye, otherwise the person is at risk of being bewitched permanently. Also, the only sound they make is said to be a kind of whine or chirping.

Luckily for me and Chivirico they are not into women or children. It is said that usually only men see them and they are so beautiful they lure the men into the forest to have sex with them only to kill them afterwards.

Legend says that the ciguapa are the spirits of Taino women who died while hiding from Spanish settlers in the Cordillera Central – the central mountain area. They haunt the mountain trails by night, seducing young men to their deaths. However it has been argued that the myth was brought to the island by slaves during the colonial period.

They are known to be insanely jealous, so it is said that if you hear them howling, hold on to your man to stop him following her as that would lead to certain death for him. Gulp!

Dominican men - trying to understand them

This is a blog post for ladies who have relationships with Dominican men! The majority of the searches where people end up on this blog are from people looking for information about Dominican men. I also have lots of emails from ladies who are in relationships with Dominican men and having problems, and also from those who have taken their Dominican husband to live with them overseas who are also experiencing some issues. There is a major cultural difference between Dominicans and people from more developed countries and it is that difference that we women fall for. However, understanding the differences might help to avoid some of the conflict. I know that every relationship is different, and every Dominican man is different and some are better than others and here I am pointing out the worst points. Obviously there are plenty of good points - but I wanted to look at the problem areas. I also know that I am generalizing here, but, for what it is worth, here are my top 10 golden rules for foreign women as to how to have better chance of  having a successful relationship with a Dominican man – especially when the men are living overseas with them, away from the Dominican Republic.

1. Communication

Firstly there will obviously be communication issues if both parties do not speak the same language. In most cases, although not all, the women will not speak Spanish and the Dominican man has to learn English. This will not always be easy, and puts extra pressure on him, especially if he is not used to learning. Many have to attend classes in their new countries where teaching is done in a very different way from what they are used to. They may feel uncomfortable and nervous and under pressure to achieve. Trying to have a successful relationship with someone where you do not understand each other fully puts additional pressure on you both. You should try and learn Spanish too – don’t just rely on him to learn English.

2. If he comes to your country, understand how he feels

In most cases if a Dominican marries a foreign woman and goes to live in her country, it will be the first time he has been out of the DR. All he will know about his new country is what he has seen on the television, or talking to people who have been there (who always talk about the good!) The culture shock can be massive, not just the way things are done, but maybe the cold, missing family and friends, language barriers, different food, different everything. Some Dominicans will step up to the plate and embrace their new country, for others it is much harder, but understanding how they feel and trying to make them feel at home can help. Think of how many expats live in the DR and end up going home as they dislike too many things about the place. And what Dominicans consider normal, such as lack of electricity, expats will dislike.  It works the other way around too, in that what you think is normal, they will not like. You should anticipate a period of adjustment.

3. Understand stress

Foreign women are used to coping with stress, as life is stressful in the developed world and people just get used to it. Long journeys to work, long working hours, maybe working two jobs or more, money issues – especially when saving all of the time to visit the DR. Rules and regulations which you just take for granted. One of the great things about the DR is the lack of stress. Few time pressures, lots of laughs, no appointments to go and see people as you just call in, drinking at the colmado.  Imagine how a Dominican man feels when he experiences stress for the first time. It is a feeling which he is not used to. I remember my husband once asking me, when he was working very hard, that he felt strange and was that ‘estress’. And if the stress is ongoing, which it usually is, then the discomfort and unhappiness he feels builds. Many will miss feeling happy and relaxed.

4. Stress leads to anger

Many Dominican men have temper issues – although you may rarely see them. When they feel under stress, or cornered, they become angry. This is usually verbal but unfortunately can sometimes become physical. I think it is simply because they are not used to communicating and it is the only way they have learned to express how frustrated they feel. This is by no means condoning it, just that by understanding you can help to avoid these situations. Dominican men will become like a cat, cornered by a dog and hiss and spit. Afterwards they forget about it, but many relationships fail due to the woman not appreciating the stress their man is under, as for them stress is a way of life and they know how to cope with it. All they see is the man they married disappearing, and being replaced by someone who is sullen, uncommunicative and with outbursts of temper.

5. The past

Assuming that both parties can understand each other, Dominican men hate discussing the past. Maybe all men do? What is past is past and there is no need to bring it up again. However, we as women seem never to forget! Any discussion will almost invariably involve “Remember when you did this that or the other,” on our part. That is guaranteed to annoy the Dominican man who will yell " 'ta pasao!"

6. Questions

Don’t ask them! Latino men are by their very nature, macho. They like to know where you are, who you are with and what you are doing – until you manage to train them otherwise. However you do not have the same rights. Constant questioning is another trigger for temper tantrums. And you rarely get the right answer.

7. Don’t play the blame game 

Long distance relationships are never easy, but what makes them bearable is the anticipation of what it will be like when you are together. Unfortunately the anticipation is often better than the reality, and when things don’t turn out as you have dreamed or planned, it is easy to blame your Dominican man. “Do you know how much I had to suffer to bring you here?” “Do you know how hard I had to work?” “Do you know how much money I spent?” No he doesn't know and to be honest, rightly or wrongly he probably doesn't care. You are  usually the one who decided to do it, not him. This is one of the key issues which causes problems, as you then burden him with guilt, which again leads to stress. They think you love them, that you wanted them there, and now you are blaming them. They too will have been anticipating a life which was significantly better than the one they left and may also blame you for taking them away from the DR, especially if their life is not what they anticipated. And remember, Dominicans like instant gratification. They do not understand planning and saving for something. If they want a motorbike, they go and buy it on credit. They will not understand if you tell them they have to work for x years to have enough money to get them the lifestyle they want. “I want it, and I want it now!”

8. Understand the importance of family

Family is very very important to Dominicans, and they are usually all very close. Children are expected to look after their parents, there are very few old people’s care homes here, as the parents move in with the children or vice versa. Dominican children are also supposed to provide financially and there is extra pressure on those who go overseas as they are thought to be much richer. Every couple will handle this in their own way - some will send a small amount monthly, and some nothing.  Again this can turn into a key bone of contention. Just be aware it is not only your man, who wants to look after his family but almost all Dominicans.

9. It isn't exactly lying

Dominican men don’t lie, they just don’t tell you the truth if they think it will cause conflict, which they hate, or if it will hurt you. Learn the signs, and don’t ask the question if you know the answer. “Did you take my chocolate from the fridge?” will always be answered with a “No” as they know they will get into trouble.  If there are only two of you in the house then of course it was them. Next time hide the chocolate. Another option is don’t get annoyed when you find out they have crashed the car, so they work out they can tell you the truth and you don’t get annoyed. The childlike behavior of many Dominicans and the emotional immaturity is something that is attractive in the beginning. The ‘I love you,’ all the time, is just like a child – telling you what they think you want to hear. However, the childlike behavior, lies, tantrums and need for immediate gratification is the other side of the same coin.

10. Embrace the different cultures

It is difficult to understand how different two cultures can be. I had a comment on this blog from a Dominican lady who went to visit her American husband’s family in the US and he was amazed that she started cleaning their house – just like Dominicans do here in the DR as a way of saying thank you. When I married my husband in church in the UK, he shook my hand as I reached the altar. Many things will make you smile, and some make you cringe, but try looking at your culture through their eyes and live the best of both worlds.

If you want to know more about relationships with Dominican men and read real life stories then check out www.drsisterhood.com. It is a site for anyone who wants to know about the country and the people.

Also, to learn more about Dominican men and the culture of the country, you can read my two books "What About Your Saucepans?' and "Life After My Saucepans." They tell my story, warts and all, how I made the decision to leave the UK and come to the DR and the ups and downs of living with and marrying a Dominican Man. Most readers love them, and they are both best sellers on Amazon. You can buy then in  kindle and paperback versions on all of the Amazons sites, in Chapters as well in Canada, and on Smashwords for the iPhone, Kobo and Nook versions. I hope you enjoy them and please let me know what you think of them and if you have time, leave a review as well!

Saved by the boil

This has been a busy week so far. More visitors this weekend but they were North American and Dominican who behaved like North American. No mopping, no sweeping, no taking my clothes out and washing them. Normal lovely visitors. Not only that, they also brought me so many goodies I was totally blown away.  Cadbury chocolate, kitchenware, seeds for the garden, gardening boots and gloves, clothes for me, husband and Chivirico and even a leg of lamb which we devoured on Saturday evening.  My lovely neighbours  found me some mint so we could have mint sauce.

Chiviro loving his new clothes and my new gardening boots

They left on the Sunday and then yesterday I had to drive to pick up a chap who was coming to train me in the newfangled world of online marketing, so I had arranged to go and pick him up.

I got into my jeep and realized that the seat belt would not work, as it appears that Chivirico had shoved a half chewed sweet into the bit you stick the end into. I was a tad concerned about driving without a seat belt, but hey ho, off I went.  As  I approached the military base, on the edge of town, I could see that helmet-less motorbike drivers were pulling over to the side of the road, well before the traffic lights. My heart sank as that could only mean one thing – AMET.

AMET are the traffic police. Supposedly unbribable, they are well known for their interesting hats, lack of a sense of humour and their love of issuing tickets or impounding your car.

I was too late to turn round, and unfortunately there is nothing they like better than a gringa who is not wearing a seat belt. If they saw this truck, which I took a picture of the day before, then there would not be a problem, but with me there was.

They pulled me over. I tried to think quickly. Should I suddenly not speak Spanish? Should I say the seat belt was broken? I wound down the window and tried to smile sweetly as the stern AMET chap pointed out  the glaringly obvious fact that I wasn't wearing the seat belt. And then it came to me. A master wheeze. “I can’t wear it as I am disabled,” I said. He looked confused. “I can’t wear it as I have a boil. A golondrino.”

I was telling the truth, not that you can really lie about something like that. Stepson had a boil on his face a few months back, so, rightly or wrongly, I blame him for infecting me with the particular brand of bacteria or whatever it is that causes them. His went after a couple of weeks but then a boil appeared in my left armpit. Half outside and half inside, the size of a ping pong ball. I was told to put hot water compresses on it and wait until it ‘ripened’, then it would burst and get better. I did and it did. Instant cure.

Another one then appeared a couple of weeks later in my right armpit, which disappeared on its own, only to reappear by what I can only describe as a monster boil. Think tennis ball. I am still waiting for it to ripen. I will spare you the picture of it.

Anyway, the AMET man asked me to pull over to the side of the road which I did. He then asked to see the boil. I assume he wanted proof. I had a T shirt with sleeves on, so I had to take my T shirt off, to the amusement of the crowd of onlookers who seem to enjoy watching AMET nab people. Of course they had no idea why I was taking my T shirt off.  Luckily I had my nice Victoria Secret yellow bra on, and not a holey one.

Mine is like this but smaller!

I lifted my right arm and his mouth dropped open. He then called over his AMET mate, and he disappeared into the army barracks, reappearing with what seemed like 20 squaddies. I was then instructed to show my boil to all and sundry.

There followed a long litany of advice as to how to help it to ripen it quickly. Everyone was talking at the same time, shouting to make their particular cure heard.  The cures ranged from rubbing it with a lime, to using a papaya compress, putting plantain skins in the gas flame and putting them on it, mashing up or boiling leaves of one tree or another, bikbaporoo of course (Vicks Vapour Rub), and a selection of various concoctions to drink. I was eventually allowed to get dressed, was wished all the very best, asked to report back as to which cure worked best, and sent on my way. Still without a seat belt.

Don’t you just love this country?!

Dominican Visitors

When I lived in the barrio we had very few visitors coming to stay. Now we have moved to the mountains the invasions I had forgotten about have started again. Dominicans love being in the mountains as it is cooler, and many of those who can afford it have their country homes which they go to at weekends and in the summer for an extended vacation. Those that don’t have a summer home are happy to make friends with someone who does. We now appear to have a lot of friends.

We were on our way back from the book launch in Sosua, and called in to see a man whose sister had died the day before in order to pay our respects. My husband invited the man and his wife here for Easter weekend.  Fine, I thought, I can cope with two people and I do like having visitors.

Friday I cleaned the whole house,mopped the floors, changed sheets and bought the food.

Saturday morning arrived and so did said gentleman, together with his wife of 6 months, her daughter and a friend of hers. Two had become four.  Later on in the morning appeared my two step sons, the girlfriend of one of them, who is Chivirico’s aunt, and a friend. They had called husband and said they were coming and he said fine. Hmm. Two had now become eight. Plus husband and me and Chivirico, there were eleven people in the house.

The cats were the first to lose it. They all disappeared into the mahogany woods next to the house and did not return until everyone left on Sunday, apart from the latest addition, a little grey kitten known as Mariposa, meaning butterfly, who desperately tried to find somewhere to hide. Firstly the wine rack.

And eventually decided to stay in bed under the covers where there was at least some peace and quiet. Wise  move.

The dogs were also unimpressed, and managed to escape under the fence into the wood. It was then decided that we had to strengthen the fence so husband climbed a few trees and chopped off branches to stick in the ground in the fence to fill the gaps. These were laurel trees and another one called the copper wood tree. Apparently you just stick branches in the ground and they root and grow quickly. Great idea, but not sure I would have worn my dad's cream cashmere sweater to do it.

When Dominicans come to your home they do not sit and wait for you to offer them a cup of tea, and to cook a meal. They do it themselves. And they don’t just cook. They clean the house which you have just spent a day cleaning and thought was spotless, they wash your clothes even thought they are clean and stacked neatly in drawers and in the wardrobe, they garden, they mend things, they totally take over.  Now on the one hand this is very nice, and I know I should appreciate it, but I think I must suffer from some sort of "Leave My House Alone Syndrome" as it does my head in. I watch my coloured clothes being washed with bleach and have to shove a fist in my mouth; my new knives disappearing one by one to dig the garden, or to gouge holes in the wall to put up pictures. And when I saw a man in the garden fast approaching where my parsnips are planted with a pick axe in hand, I had no alternative but to retire to my bedroom with a small bottle of rum and do some deep breathing exercises.

I must be honest that the man whose sister had died, Cesar, was amazing. He re dug the new vegetable patch as apparently it was facing the wrong way and planted onions and peppers.

He transplanted watermelons and cauliflower, and dug another 4 vegetable patches ready for seeds.

The kids and the women took over cooking the evening meal, which was just as well as I had bought enough stuff for 4 and now we were 11, so I left them to sort that one out.

At last they all left on the Sunday and the silence was blissful. Then the trauma began of trying to find all the things that had been put in different places from where they belonged. It was lovely of them to wash the dishes, but now I had to find them. The machete had disappeared but was eventually found.

I unhooked all my clothes from the barbed wire fence and had them ready to take upstairs when I went to bed, when the peace was broken by the arrival of some of the neighbourhood women. They saw the basket of clothes that I had already neatly folded and couldn't stop themselves taking everything out, and folding them all up again while I just looked on in amazement.

 Then they took the clothes upstairs and put them away. No idea where.