Hey, Can I Come Check Out How Poor You Are?

I haven't written in such a long time! Blame it on the GMAT! Between studying for the GMAT, fulfilling my duties at work and job hunting, it's been a busy couple of months. As I start to reflect on my time here, so much comes to mind. If I could, I would write about 10 posts right now.....but I'll just stick to one that's been bugging me for a while.

Let's talk about bateyes. A batey is a "town" where sugar mill or ingenio workers live. They are typically found in Cuba and the Dominican Republic. I call them "towns" because they aren't what you would typically think of when you think of a town. For example:

Towns aren't comprised of rows of rooms that are, on average, about 10 x 12 feet big.

A Little Bit of History:
Bateyes in the DR came about in the 1930s when sugar production was big in the country. Because the sugar harvest (zafra) lasts about 6 months, seasonal workers were needed to do the arduous task of cutting sugar cane (cause God forbid Dominicans would do that type of work!) The expectation was that they would leave at the end of the season (tiempo muerto). Ingenio owners would hire headhunters (buscones) to round up large number of Haitians and bring them to the DR to work. (Is this story starting to sound familiar to you?  - i.e. those that leave in yolas to Puerto Rico from DR or coyotes who help Central Americans cross the border into the US, etc.) Haitians were promised the moon and the stars but arrived to deplorable conditions. They had to work long hours cutting sugar cane, which is probably one of the hardest physical jobs out there, and couldn't leave until what was assigned to them was completed. What ended up happening was that many of these Haitians, who in many cases did not have any formal documentation proving their Haitain citizenship, ended up staying past the harvest and starting families and communities. These folks are labeled "in transit" and thus do not qualify for Dominican public services like education and health services (not to mention that their physical locations make services difficult to reach them!) Because the sugar industry in the country is no longer profitable, ingenios have shut down, leaving these communities so incredibly vulnerable with no means of income or livelihood. A lot of NGOs have set up shop in or near bateyes to provide services to these communities.

In Comes Poverty Tourism
The organization I work for, The DREAM Project (dominicandream.org), is one of these NGOs. We operate a Montessori program in a batey called Caraballo, which is near Cabarete. I remember when I first went to Caraballo. It was during orientation. I remember sitting in our hot van in disbelief, even before I even got to the actual batey. We entered through a (real) town called Montellano. We crossed a one-vehicle-at-a-time, corroding bridge and then proceeded to drive through what felt like a maze in a sugar cane field. The driver couldn't have been driving at more than 15 MPH on a rocky, unpaved road. The heat was also unreal. The sky was as beautiful and blue as can be but there was not one ounce of shade anywhere in sight. I just imagined working unhuman hours in that type of heat and instantly felt a thousand times hotter. When we arrived in Caraballo 40 minutes later, we visited our Montessori school. We then went on a "tour" of the town and were instantly bombarded by locals selling us handmade crafts made out of recyclable materials like can tops. Our guide said something like, "we should buy something because this is the only way that they really make money." At the time, this didn't sit well with me. In fact, the entire "tour" didn't feel right. But there was a side of me that was curious to see what it was like in a batey.

In fact, every time I travel to a new place, I stay away from the resorts and often go out to explore what real life is like in these places. I should have been a cultural anthropology major because there is something about exploring different cultures that makes me tick like a crackhead on good crack. When I talk about exploring, I'm talking about befriending locals and asking questions about their every day lives. Or contributing to the local economy by consuming meals at a local spot or partying at a local nightclub. But it's a two way street:  I love to teach others about my own culture - Dominican, American, and the mix that the two make - and to make parallels between our cultures, customs and traditions. I didn't do any of this in Caraballo.

According to Wikipedia, poverty/slum tourism "is a type of tourism involving visiting impoverished areas," and it's been happening since the late 1880s. What Wikipedia doesn't talk about is how this type of tourism plays out nowadays. Imagine big tour groups, of mostly white folks, walking through really poor communities, taking pictures of homes or with members of these communities. I wonder if that act validates these people as good people?  (I also wonder if I can roll up in Riverdale, Greenwich Village, or Orange County and ask for a tour of their community? But I digress...) I heard the term soon after this trip and I felt like such a chump! I was a consumer of poverty tourism...after all, I did walk around the batey snapping pictures of their realities and in doing so, taking a little bit of their dignity.  The term is a topic of much controversy, and rightfully so. Those that defend the practice cite that it provides jobs and income, helps create interest and, presumably, investment in the area. Critics of the practice cite that it provides entertainment and a temporary "feel-good" moment at the expense of those living in these areas and their conditions. I'm a critic of the practice. It's dead wrong.

My Thoughts
I have been fortunate enough to work in Caraballo. I work with a current Peace Corps volunteer who is assigned to that area and together, we work with teachers in the only public school in Caraballo. We provide workshops around literacy, math, and classroom management in hopes of making them stronger teachers and consequently, providing a quality education to the students they serve. The first time I visited the school, I little girl came up to me and asked for 5 pesos. I was shocked, not because she asked me for money, but at the facility and normalcy with which she asked me for money. I inferred that this was something she was accustomed to doing. I didn't entertain her question, but rather asked her what grade she was in. She then looked at me as if I was an alien and asked if I was Dominican. I told her I was and she said that I didn't look like I was Dominican. She then went about her business as usual. Granted, I get that all the time. What really bugs me is the perpetual effect of poverty tourism on this community. It sets them up for failure. Aside from poverty tourism being super messed up and creating this sort of sensationalism around poverty, it creates a dependent relationship with any foreigner that visits the town. It's like they are always given fish instead of being taken to the river and shown how to fish for themselves. If that's the case, what motivation do they have for improving their current conditions?

I said I was fortunate to work in Caraballo because I feel like I am genuinely empowering a community through education. What I do has a longer-lasting impact than buying all the can top bracelets available in all of Caraballo. This experience has also allowed me to witness a type of simultaneous vulnerability and resiliency that I have never experienced before. Needless to say, it's humbled me beyond words. I remember arriving from Caraballo one day and calling my mom in tears. I couldn't even speak from the emotion. I saw an elderly lady, she must have been in her 80s, who reminded me of my grandma. She clearly needed a walker or some other type of walking aid and had on shoes that were at least twice her size. They had a little heel which made it extra difficult for her to walk. I looked at her face and all I could think of was the word "struggle." Yet she was plowing through with a smile, walking slowly with amazing confidence. The tears came from a mixture of powerful and contradictory emotions: sadness, gratitude, humility, helplessness, and hope among others. My mom said, "witnessing, experiencing and dealing with the realities of impoverished communities is not for the faint of heart, especially in a country like ours. Take it in. Cry. Let it do what it has to do for you." I didn't understand what she meant then, but with time, I have some to understand her message clearly. 

Mi Negritud: Accepting Being Black

Hola Mi Gente!

I ran across an article yesterday that really hit home because it reminded me of my journey in figuring out my identity. Growing up, I was hyper-conscious of my hair. It was "malo," which is why my mom relaxed my hair at age 5 and continued to do so until I was old enough to work and cover that cost. Relatives would joke about my hair being so "bad" as a child that "water wouldn't pass through it." My mom would relax my hair at home sometimes and after the lengthly and painful process, look at my hair with such pride and joy and say, "que bella! ahora pareces una china!" The next day I would go to school so proud to have super straight hair that I could comb my fingers through. Being accepted at school and home made the painful and sometimes bloody scabs from scalp burns totally worth it. 

Fast forward to 2005 when I studied abroad in Brazil. During our 6 month program, we spent a month in Sao Paolo and the rest in Salvador, the capital of the state of Bahia and a place known around the world as the hub for Afro-Brazilianness. I remember being in Sao Paolo and feeling so disconnected to everything and everyone. I lived in an upper-middle class community with my host mom/sister (she was 27 at the time) who was fair-skinned with green eyes and dirty blond hair. My Portuguese was decent at best so my communication was limited to my other study abroad-mates. At week 2, I was ready to begin the real study abroad program. I was done with the easing-in-process.

When I got to Salvador, however, everything changed. While I still lived in an upper-middle class community, this time with an older host mom who was fair-skilled with green eyes and dark blond hair, I attended University with people that looked like me. My Portuguese improved trememdously, I started to make Brazilian friends, and I started to train capoeira. I also went to beach...A LOT. Salvador itself is on the northern-most part of the country and I was lucky enough to live in a neighborhood that was literally 2 blocks away from the ocean. The first time I went I was so surprised because I saw dark-skinned people tanning. Yes, TANNING! I thought to myself, "they are buggin'!" Now. You have to understand that as a child, I would come to the DR during summer vacations and my mom would slather sun screen lotion on me WHERE EVER we went. Not because she was afraid of sun damage but because she didn't want me to look Haitian (read: Black) (I've spoken about Dominico-Haitian relations in another post). Naturally, I couldn't understand why in the world people who were already dark wanted to...dare I say it?!...get darker. Interestingly, in time, I too started to be okay with being darker. After all, in Salvador, as negras são gostosas  lol (dark-skinned women are desirable/sexy/fill-in-any-positive-adjective-here) But jokes aside, in this part of the world, it was okay to be dark....to be Black...to be of African decent...to be all the things that for 20 years, directly and indirectly, I was told not to be.

A few months into my program, one of my capoeira instructors expressed interest in me. He was light-skinned with green eyes. When he expressed his interest, I was in disbelief. I couldn't believe that someone like him could like someone like me. It wasn't because I wasn't pretty, spunky, or funny. It was because I couldn't belief that someone who was lighter than me could be interested in someone of my skin color. Let me put that another way: I didn't think I was worthy of dating someone lighter than me. Of course, at the time I didn't internalize this situation in this way. But as I started to learn more about myself and my culture, I realized that the self-loathing doctrine that was ingrained in my grandmother from growing up in the Trujillo era was also ingrained in my mom and later, me. (The brainwashing is real, ya'll! There has been so much written about the link between hair and psychology). Unlike them, however, I have been fortunate enough to have had experiences to help me see this foolish reality, and reverse what would have been an inevitable cycle of self-hate and deprecation with my own children. Living in Brazil was incredibly transformational for me in more than one way. I left Brazil feeling so proud to be Black....yet I still relaxed my hair. Some may say that hair is just hair but let's face it, it's so much more than that.

You see, the process of accepting my Blackness, of self discovery, happened in pieces. I've always been pretty adventurous with my hair. One year I cut my hair three different ways. I sported Rihanna's asymmetrical bob for a few months and then her subsequent pixie cut. One time I washed my hair and noticed that my hair curled like crazy where it was shorter (aka the "unrelaxed" part). It made no sense to me for I had cabello "malo" and this type of "bad hair" just doesn't curl. Common sense told that, well, if that part of my hair curled, all of it would too and I did the big chop (I cut off all my hair). For the next couple of months, I got to know my hair like it was the curly long-lost sister who I always wanted. It was amazing! People ALWAYS asked me what I did to get such an amazing curl pattern and, gleaming with pride, I would say, "nothing! It just happens that way!" I also felt angry. Really angry. I was angry at my mom for putting me through all the pain and suffering of relaxers. I also thought, "dang, you know how long my hair would have been now?!" lol. But seriously. I relied on blogs and the internet to learn how to care for my hair and about the natural hair movement in general. As I started to learn more and more about it, I started to feel less angry at my mom and started to feel more hopeful for me, my friends, and our young girls who will inevitably find themselves in the same predicament I was in. I realized that it was an ignorance problem. People just didn't know any better. That means that there was is a solution. All hope was is not lost. 

Like Tejada says in her article, "...I am Black because I am Dominican." I am Afro-Dominican. My personal journey has allowed me to "decolonize my identity" and reclaim what's rightfully mine: mi negritud. 

A Funny Thing about Habits and Perception

Happy New Year, everyone!

It's funny how some folks wait until the new year to set up goals, focus on doing all the things that they didn't do the previous year, get a new body, blah blah blah. I, myself, was suckered into this for a while until I became a teacher. When 10 months of the year revolve around setting up goals, constantly measuring progress towards those goals and adjusting accordingly (talk about TFA jargon!), all the reflecting that only happens on Jan 1st of any given year for most folks is just a normal, everyday item on our to-do list. While I was in NYC for Christmas and had a lot of free time in my hands, I started to think about my own goals that I had set up for myself and where I was in relation. The funny thing is that all the while I was in NYC, I kept thinking was "I really want to be back in DR!"  Sure, it was cold and ugly in NYC but it was more than wanting to be near the beach and in 70+ degree weather that made me feel that way. When I was DR I couldn't wait to be in NYC but when I was there, I couldn't wait to be back in DR. Why did that happen?  Was it a matter of habit? Or, had my quality of life changed so much that I craved to be back in a fulfilling and stress-free environment?  Better yet, was it both?

Habits/Routines. I started to think about habits and how a lot of what we do as human beings revolve around this notion. Someone somewhere said that it usually takes 21 days for a new habit to take form and become a staple in someone's life. While I can't say that totally happened for me when I first moved here (it took me about two months to fully adjust!), I now realize that I need routines. When I was in NYC, it was nice to wake up whenever I wanted and do different things on different days, but after a while, I became restless.....although all I could do is rest. Funny, right? While I love, love, love NYC and it will always be home, the reality is that Cabarete is my home now and thus my routines and habits are all here. 

Quality of Life. I had a 4 week vacation...but I couldn't wait to be back at work. (Blasphemy, I know!) I remember when I was a teacher and dreaded being back to work after a 1.5 week break. Back then, I would kill for a 4 week vacation. Upon more reflection, I realized that part of the reason why I wanted to be back at work was because my work here is fullfilling and demanding, but NOT DRAINING. I know there will be some sort of stress related to any job but life here is just so easy. So simple. It makes work so much more enjoyable. Mind you, my job responsibilities have changed and acutally increased: I coach teachers, develop and deliver professional development workshops, and I devise curricular materials. Even so, I love it here. My work is fulfilling, I know I am making a difference in not only the lives of our students but also our teachers, and I am happy. Isn't that all that matters?

When I return back to NYC, I want to bring back this lifestyle with me. I want to be in a fulfilling and challenging role while still living a stress-free life. I know it will be a challenging in a place like NYC, but I will make it happen. Watch.

Oh Social Media, How I Love-Hate You!

Now that I'm home for the holidays, I've had a whole lotta time to catch up with friends, get through my to-do list, listen to podcasts I've been putting off, watch movies I've wanted to see, etc. I've also been on Instagram and Facebook a whole lot, and am constantly reminded of why I "shut down" my Facebook account a few years ago (that stuff never goes away, does it?!) 

Anyone who knows me know that I'm as honest and direct as they come. I have a very low tolerance for the BS. My time is much too precious for that. This past weekend I realized that Facebook and Instagram (I'm not a Twitter-er) are nothing but a highlight reel of people's lives. I have a friend whose FB/IG life is NOTHING like her real life. And I get it, who wants to post their struggles, weaknesses, mistakes or limitations on the big, bad world wide web? Nevertheless, I think that people take to FB or IG in this sort of "My Life is Better than Yours" competition that's truly sad. What's more, FB/IG has become the go-to platform to verify facts and put the stamp of "realness" on life events. Has FB/IG become the social media version of Wikipedia? 

On the other hand, I've also seen how folks use FB/IG to promote their businesses, ideas, movements, and to simply keep in touch with people near and far. I can't say that these social platforms are the devil. This simply isn't true. I think they are a powerful vehicle to brand yourself and market whatever product you are pushing. There are definitely huge perks to being on these social sites. 

It's just a shame to see how some folks use social media to become delusional. Stop comparing yourself to someone's highlight reel. You'll never measure up.

Just my two cents. 

(PS - this is not as a result of someone saying something or doing something to me on a social media site. This is purely my opinion based on things I've seen)

Dancers Don't Make Money

My roommate came to me yesterday and told me that one of her best students from the dance class she teaches is going to drop out of the program. When she approached him to find out why, he said it was personal and couldn't share. Then, as is so common here, a student's classmate approached my roommate and told her that the reason why he had to drop out was because his mom said he couldn't make any money as a dancer. She had him drop out of the dance class and start taking music classes at our center because "you can make money as a musician, not as a dancer."

This story made me think about when I was in college and would travel here or speak to someone that lived here. While people seemed pleased with the fact that I attended an Ivy League institution, they definitely were baffled by my  Latin American Studies major. I often had to explain that the major was a critical look at Latin America from a sociological, anthropological, historical, and political point of view. My explanation was almost always followed by "what are you going to do with that?" I then had to explain that in the US, your major didn't necessarily have to correlate with your career choice. Employers, save for a few industries, looked at well-roundedness, skill set, applicable experiences, etc. From the confused looked on their faces, I knew they didn't understand what I was saying....and after my roommate's story from yesterday, I understand why.

Dominicans who are lucky enough to attend and finish college and/or graduate school usually go into architecture, engineering (for my Dominicanos out there, how many ingenieros do you know?), accountancy, law, medicine, or information technology.  As of late, psychology and teaching have become a fan favorite. For as long as I could remember, I would come back to the island and hear of a cousin or family friend who had just finished school and majored in one of the abovementioned fields. I always wondered why this was the case. Didn't people want to study classics like Plato or Aristotle or critically examine The Holy Bible? Clearly, I received a liberal higher education lol. But regardless, I have always wondered why majors were so "limited" here.

Now I know understand that what I viewed as "limited" is in fact not so, but a function of the environment. In a place like the Dominican Republic where earning a decent living is a matter of life or death, folks can't afford, literally, to spend time pondering and reflecting on the works of Machiavelli. If they are going to spend time on schooling, it has to be directly correlated to their earning potential. Point period. No ifs, ands, or buts. This also explains why, when I informed my mom of my major, the first question out of her mouth was "what are you going to do with that?" (Thankfully, I am lucky enough to have a mom that supports my decisions no matter what, even when she doesn't entirely understand them.)

Upon reflection, I think about my students and how I've had such a hard time getting them to think critically or even understand what critical thinking is. For my 12 and 13-year-olds, asking questions, whether it is to clarify a misunderstanding or question an idea or thought, is a completely foreign concept. When I first arrived here and learned about the education system, I was a shock because I grew up hearing my family members boast about the Dominican education system and how it produced some of the smartest people in the world. Thinking about it, this was when Balaguer, who was a scholar and prolific author, was president. Once Balaguer passed in 1996 and Leonel became president, the Dominican Republic became synonymous with tourism and foreign investments. I can't say that the Dominican education system has gone to h-e-double hockey sticks because of Leonel but there is something to be said about the change in political and economic landscape in this country and our education system. Is there a correlation between how we're grooming (or not) our young minds and how Dominicans earn a living? Is the education system molding reflective, critical thinkers who will be change-makers in their communities or are we letting minds go to waste by fostering rote skill memorization that could be used in hotels and resorts? 

One of the biggest lessons I learned as Teach for America corps member was to be aware of my locus of control. As someone who is a natural problem-solver, with a type-A personality, I am prone to wanting to fix every problem I encounter. I really wish I could change how education is often viewed and consequently, how teachers are trained and students taught. I so desperately want my students to be able to argue and defend a point of view using appropriate vocabulary and ideas instead of focusing on the skills they will need to earn a living. Of course, I am not so naive to think that this is solely an education problem...but that's where my locus of control is. While I can't change the Dominican education system in 10 months, I can surely have an impact, even if it's in a small way. 

"We must not, in trying to think about how we can make a big difference, ignore the small daily differences we can make which, over time, add up to big differences that we often cannot foresee" - Marian Wright Edelman

Super Overdue - My Trip to Haiti, Las Fiestas Patronales, and Montecristi

A few weeks ago, I visited Haiti as we (we as in DREAM staff and volunteers) participated in the Border of Lights' annual event. BOL (borderoflights.org) is a "collective that comes together to commemorate, collaborate and continue the legacy of hope and justice." They bring a lot of awareness to the issues plaguing Dominicans and Haitians in both countries, especially those surrounding human rights (if you have been living under a rock and do not know what is happening in this country as far as stripping folks of their statehood, read here.We got up nice and early (6:45am - thank God I'm a morning person!) and traveled to the border town of Dajabon.

Funny aside - when I told my mom I was going, she was like "Mira! Make sure you take your mosquitero!" Naturally, I'm like, "Mom, how can I take my mosquitero to a hotel?" She says, "Make it work! It's Dajabon and the mosquitoes there are on steroids!" LMBO

Anyway,we arrive in Dajabon and the first thing I notice is that it is DUS-TY! It's super fast paced, there's a million and one things going on. After we drop our things in our hotel, we have lunch. Later, one of my colleagues and I are set to faciliate on the BOL's workshops so we are chatting it up with one of the conference leaders. I step outside and who do I bump into? Julia Alvarez! Yup, the one and only! Ever since I read "How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents" in high school, I've been hooked on her work. I do a double-take because she has aged quite a bit and doesn't quite look like the pictures on the back covers of her books, but I'm sure it's her. I ask our Executive Director to confirm and indeed, it is Julia! Thankfully, I got to chat with her quite a bit and she is so incredibly smart and insightful. Naturally, I had to snag a pic!

After the day's activities, we went down to Massacre River/Dajabon River/Parsley River which is literally a river that divides the DR and Haiti. In 1937 (and a few times after), DR's dictator, Trujillo, ordered the massacre of tens of thousands of Haitians and most of them happened in this river as many were crossing into the DR. Everyone in attendance lit a candle to commemorate those that perished and still suffer the ramifications of the deep-rooted racism in the DR.

Look closely. Those are Haitans waiting to cross over. It was SO many of them.

Coincidently, that weekend was also the Fiestas Patronales (patronage festivals). According to Wikipedia, A fiesta patronal is usually dedicated to a saint or virgin, who is the patron of whichever city holds the fiesta. Usually, town members adorn the town streets with colorful decorations and other things. In some larger cities, there may be several fiestas, one fiesta for each neighborhood, usually about the patron saint for the local parish. All this means is party + booze. We went to a mass, of course, but after that it was a par-tay! A local artist, Vaquero, came out to perform and we had a blast. I accidently drank Brugal and can't remember the rest of the night. Oh well.
In the morning, it was time to go to Haiti. I was so excited. We all loaded our trucks (we were about 35 in all) and set for Ouanaminthe, Haiti, which is a border on the Haitian side. I wasn't ready for the stuff I saw at the border. First of all, the day before, Julia (Alvarez, I mean. She's my boo, now!) and her crew had gone to customs in Dajabon to clear us for the next morning. When we get there, the "boss" in charge was giving us excuses about not knowing that we were coming etc etc. He was being a total prick. A lot of us had cameras and he took an issue with that saying that we had to right to photograph him blah blah blah. After a lot of back and forth, Julia and her crew asked for our passports (I was PETRIFIED OF LOSING MY PASSPORT!!) and she took them to customs and had them stamped. She also paid whatever the fee was for us to leave the country (I think this was what she was trying to avoid by going the day before. Tons of volunteer and aid groups go to Haiti this way). We waited for TWO HOURS before being able to cross over into Haiti.

So. Remember when I said I drank Brugal the night before? Yea, well, I wasn't feel too hot the next day. When we got to Haiti, we participated in a park clean-up and youth development activities at an orphanage. I,unfortunately, couldn't participate because I was feeling so sick. I spent the afternoon in a nun's bedroom sleeping... :-/ When we left Haiti, we picked up our things and headed back to Cabarete via Montecristi:

El Morro, Montecristi

This beach was so incredibly beautiful. I hadn't been here in about 10 years. So nice, peaceful and completely unadulterated. 

We got to Cabarete super late and I was hungry, tired and upset that I got caught in the rain. All in all, it was an AMAZING trip and I would do it all over again if I had to. Minus getting sick, of course.

OMG! I totally forgot to tell you about the Dajabon Market! We went there the first day we got to Dajabon. It's a market that is only open on Fridays, I believe, and it's Haitian and Dominican vendors alike selling anything and everything you can POSSIBLY think of. And the heat! OH MY, THE HEAT! It was incredible. There was so many things going on at the same time. I didn't have my camera with me so I couldn't take pictures but if you ever have a chance to go to Dajabon and are up for an adventure, this is surely it!

Only in DR

I should have totally written this weeks ago, but between my birthday weekend, going to the beach, and just chillin', I totes forgot! Hahaha!

I've always known about Dominican "car washes." They are a legitimate place to wash your car....BUT! It also sort of becomes an outdoor club. Think chairs, tables, booze, and tons of dancing. When I arrived in Cabarete, the locals began to talk to me about "la bomba." I had no idea what they were talking about....a gas station as in una bomba de gasolina LMAO. I wanted to die. But of course, I went the following weekend. 


 (here's the gas station on one side)


(and here is the party on the other side)

We were having a blast! The Executive Director of the org I'm volunteering for came out as well as most of local staff members. It was awesome....until we find ourselves in the middle of the corre-corre (translates to "run-run" lol, but it means everyone was running for cover). I didn't think but just ran for covering behind a motorcycle. Turns out that someone had broken a bottle on someone else and a fight broke out. Literally, like 2 minutes after the bottle shattered on the floor, the music came back on and the DJ said all was well with the world. I thought to myself that this was an everyday occurrence around these parts and didn't mind staying but other folks wanted to leave. So we headed back to Cabarete (we were 2 towns over in Sabaneta de Yasica) and went to the only club in town called Ojo. All in all, it was a great night. #onlyindr