Contrasts

I said in an earlier post that the apartment where I´m staying is in a quiet and safe neighborhood. That is not to say that it is equivalent to an apartment in a American suburb. For example, there is no hot water, which means that to wash dishes I have to heat water on the stove before cleaning up. Not a huge problem, not even much of an inconvenience, but it is a reminder that this is still a developing country, and things are different here.

As to a hot shower, well, the water in the shower stall is attached to this enormous plastic showerhead that is about the size of a football. On the showerhead there is a switch hot-off-warm. When the switch is activated, the water passes over a heating element inside the showerhead and hot water emerges on the bather beneath. Supposedly. The water is barely tepid, which, believe me is a great deal better than cold (I took a cold water shower at La Comparticion and it was almost painful) Yesterday morning when I went to take a shower, I discovered that the water had slowed to a trickle from the showerhead. It takes a long time to take a shower under such conditions.

I arrived late for class, and explained to Angela, my teacher what had happened. Apparently water outages are just as common here as power outages. It just happens, and everybody takes it in stride.

My other water-based experience had to do with washing my clothes. I was told there was a washing machine on the roof of the apartment building, so I decided to check it out. The first thing I discovered about the 'laundry room' is that it had a great view -- I could see rooftops of buildings, the towers of the Altagracia church, and the mountains in the distance. In the US, the laundry room would be in the basement, so this was a very nice surprise.

As to the washing machine -- there were two derelict machines, vintage circa 1968, both unplugged. I was about to give up, when I noticed an odd-looking device, about the size and shape of a laundry hamper, situated next to the sink. Upon opening the cover, I saw that there were two backet-sized receptacles inside. One to wash, one to spin. No hot water, and what water there was had to be put in from the hose connected to the sink. So here´s how to do laundry on the rooftop: Fill the bucket sized receptacle with cold water. Add soap. Add clothes. Wait 10 minutes while the slow and inefficient agitator does its thing. Turn the knob to drain. Wait for water to drain. Wring out the clothes by hand. Put them in the spin bucket. Spin bucket does not work unless leaned upon. Set the timer for the spin bucket and sit on top of the apparatus, enjoying the ride if the load is unbalanced. Replace the clothes into the washing bucket to rinse. Fill with water by turning on the spigot at the sink. Agitate for 10 minutes. Drain. Wring out clothes. Place in spin bucket. Set timer. Sit on Apparatus until the ride is over. Remove clothes. Hang them out to dry.

As far as I can figure, nobody in this country uses a clothes dryer. After all, when it´s hot out all the time, there´s no point when you can just put them on a clothesline.

So...I have been pondering the difficulties and irritations of being in a developing country.

But something happened yesterday to change my perspective on all this. Fr Hipólito picked me up at 4 in the afternoon to go to the church for their weekly Bible study. Since we arrived so early, he decided to visit a parishioner who lived locally. I understood him to say that this parishioner´s mother was ill.

I have only passed by the simple houses, and not entered. Until yesterday. Fr. H led me down the street to a dilapidated wooden gate between two houses (shacks, I should say). From there we descended a flight of uneven and decaying cement steps to a tiny cinder block house. It was the home of Jyosi, who is one of the cooks for the pre-school and and mother of two. The walls, which were painted a variety of different colors, were crumbling and water-damaged in places. The floor was cement. Of course there were no screens or glass in the windows, only louvers to let in light or to keep out rain. The roof was made of the corrugated metal that seems to be the default construction material around here. There was a bit of furniture, and also a fridge, a stove, and a television. I wouldn´t describe the conditions as squalid, exactly, but ´simple´doesn´t capture it either. Really, it was probably my first hand look at living conditions for many in the developing world. This family lived in what I can only describe as poverty. And the irony is that they lived better than many people in this country. Much better.

And they are faithful Christian people, pillars of the church. Both the mother and her teenage daughter are members of their chapter of the Daughters of the King. The younger son I haven´t seen much, as he suffers from severe asthma. The father works on Sunday.

I never did meet the sick mother. But the teenager was sick -- swine flu? or something worse? Fr H gave Jyosi some money to go to the clinic and have her checked. Real ministry, I would say.

And a real contrast in so many ways for me.