It seems the only non-Peace Corps foreigners that show up in the campos fit into one of two categories: religious enthusiasts, and enthusiasts of a more corporeal sway – i.e., they like-a da Dominican girls! I’ve seen discouragingly few white, foreign males in this country, even in the cities, and especially near the beaches, who don’t seem to be on some sort of shady sexual mission. So when I heard that Juanita from my community had an American male visitor – her novio, or “boyfriend”, everyone was calling him – I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone arranged for him to meet the only other American in the community, and I was more than a little suspicious of what I might discover in his character.
I was at my neighbor’s house, borrowing a pot in which to fry chicken – a skill I’ve finally mastered! Apparently the missing link was an extra 15 cups of oil – when I spotted someone I didn’t recognize coming down the hill, accompanied by a Dominican boy. I wasn’t sure if this was the visitor, because he looked Latino (Puerto Rican, I later found out, but nevertheless unable to speak Spanish) and certainly was dressed like a Dominican, in a tight white tank-top and colorful athletic shorts nearly falling off his body. His dress was not surprising, considering the gifts he had brought a bunch of the kids – colorful New York Yankees baseball caps entirely too big for their young heads, and an Ipod for his “girlfriend” in a community where she can’t even charge the thing regularly, let alone change the music on it. Practical, if nothing else.
The Dominican boy brought the visitor up to me and said he wanted to “practice” English, which further convinced me this must not be the guy. But after a few confused moments, he switched to English and I discovered he didn’t want to “practice” it, but rather communicate in English as this is his first language – this undesirable fellow was, indeed, the visiting American boyfriend. What follows is a sample of our uncomfortable conversation:
Ghetto beau: So, you live here?
Me: Yes. You must be Juanita’s boyfriend.
Ghetto beau: (genuinely surprised) Whoa, how’d you know?
Me: Um, everyone knows everything about everyone here. How’d you guys meet?
Ghetto beau: Yea, I was on vacation in Sosua (in my head: shady beach town) last year and there was all these girls and then I saw her and I was like whoa, I gotta talk to her.
Me: (blank stare, probably)
Ghetto beau: Huh. So, yea, they were like ‘there’s another American here’ and I was like no way, I haven’t seen nobody.
Me: Yes, I’ve been here 2 years working with the Peace Corps. (short description of what I do)
Ghetto beau: Oh, how can I get in to that?
Me: (quick recovery from absolute shock and disbelief) Well, you can apply online at peacecorps.gov, but you have to be ready for a 2 year commitment, and you should know you don’t get to pick where you go (in my head: in case you just wanted to move here and be “the American that sleeps around and buys people things”)
Ghetto beau: Cool, so what’s the website? P-E-A-C-E-C-O-R-E?
Me: No, it’s C-O-R-P-S
Ghetto beau: Ah, Peace Corpse.
Me: (nod of the head)
Me: So, they said you were working on some paperwork to take Juanita to the states?
Ghetto beau: (more exclamations of how it’s funny that I already know that) Yea, I mean, my Spanish is bad, so I’ve been trying to tell her it takes a while. But yea, we gotta go to the consulate and have an interview. They ask questions like “what side of the bed does she sleep on” and stuff, ya know, to know if it’s for real. But like, I’m not worried, cause this is for real. They say there are girls who just get married to get to the states and then leave the guy, but I don’t think that will happen. I mean, I really don’t want that to happen.
Me: Yea. OK, well…I can explain to her that it will take a while, if you want.
Ghetto beau: Yea, I think she gets it.
Me: OK
Both: awkward nice to meet you’s and such
It was truly horrifying dialogue, and everything I had expected. Where do they get these people?
