I was cursed and I think I've been cursed

I waited for a taxi, a golden chariot of the "Ruta Muñoz," which usually comes sans bumper or with cracked windshield, seats four people in the back and two in the front passenger seat. That 30 peso ride of fright delivers hundreds of people to and from the countryside each week - if not safely, well then, at least delivered. I waited in palm tree lined, sun-bleached Parque Central plaza where locals meet and foreigners wander looking lost. I am not perdida anymore; still, with my bright pink t-shirt on (a so "not me" clothing article but one purchased here out of necessity), light cream linen shorts (of the sort that Dominican women do not wear), not to mention my height, and blasphemous wearing of rubber flip-flops in public, I felt obvious that day. Un-homogoneous in a land of homogeneity.

Walking towards me on the sidewalk where I stood, I noticed a woman who, like me, was unlike the rest. Her curly gray hair was pulled high on top of her head into a pretty bun. She wore a long, black gypsy dress with white, embroidered flowers at the bottom. She was older but, as is common here, age is impossible to tell. Her skin was shiny brown and flawless, despite the full gray head of hair.

The sidewalk is narrow where I waited, so as she approached, I looked her into her grey eyes and smiled. She stopped dead in front of me and stared back hard. Immediately, I sensed danger and looked away, up the road to where the taxi would eventually come into view. The woman stood in front of me scowling into my eyes, seeing I suppose if I would turn my attention back to her. One man passed and looked from her to me, obviously startled by her behavior. A lady in a slow passing taxi said said to be careful, "Mi amor." Unfazed, the woman moved to my side all the while focused on my face and now muttering under her breath. I thought of possible options: look at her again and try to speak, ask for help, escape. I did nothing of these things. I searched the crest of the hill for the taxi. The little car would take me from this place of panic and embarrassment, burning in my cheeks...to no avail, the taxi wasn't coming. The mutterings became audible now as she came closer and growled in my face, "Tu eres una maldita traicionera." "You are a cursed betrayer," she said, with the sentiment meaning something more like "You are a goddamned, cursed sinner." She turned to argue her case to a man sitting nearby, who moved away with no effort to intervene. Adrenaline was hot in my face and throat but I stood motionless, focused only on where the taxi was to appear.

Panic crested in my chest yet I had the thought that I shouldn't move one inch. "Oh, so you're not gonna look at me, heh?" she said as the demon rose in her and made her raise two clenched fists just a foot from my face, which I could see only in periphery. In that same moment, I spotted the sweet letters, "Ruta Muñoz," on the white, black and brown sign atop a familiar looking Toyota Corolla. I took off towards the carrito, hoping that she wouldn't strike me from behind as I passed her. I rushed clumsily into the front seat, and, upon seeing that she was right on my heels at the taxi door, fought the urge to tell the chauffeur to book it. We pulled away as she mumbled a curse and burst into a fit of crazy laughter. When I say crazy, I do mean crazy.

Memorable quotes from a surprisingly good book

Today I finished "Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister," by Gregory Maguire, and was pleasantly surprised at what a good book it is. Two quotes that struck me are:

"We're all mysteries, even to ourselves."

and

"Beauty is no end in itself, but if it makes our lives less miserable so that we might be more kind - well, then, let's have beauty, painted on our porcelain, hanging on our walls, ringing through our stories. We are a sorry tribe of beasts. We need all the help we can get."

The Look

Yesterday we went to a Haitian medical clinic in Cangrejo where a friend was being checked out for worms. Fifteen or so people waited in the small room outside the doctor's office. There was an old Dominican man who had injuries to his knees, hands and feet, as if he had fallen off of a motorcycle or a pasola (scooter). In the waiting room, with everyone there able to see, a doctor took a scalpel to his half-healed injuries. Right there in the waiting room.

While there, we ran into a friend, a former employee at Suncamp, where I used to live, who is a lovely but feisty Haitian lady of about 5'1." She's always dressed neatly and in color coordinates, this time all in blue: blue skirt (she's a Baptist and wears skirts over the knee, as do most of the evangelical Christian ladies here), blue fitted t-shirt, and a light blue shawl wrapped around her head to keep the hair in place. She's confident; she has seven children so she would have to be to keep order. You would never guess that she could be old enough to have had so many. She's a little fire-ball but also a devout and good Christian. We asked another lady to move over one seat, so that we three could sit together. The woman mumbled something in Kreyol that was clearly, "No." Our fire-ball friend looked for a long moment at this woman. I could just barely see annoyance in our friend's face at this unkindness as she debated what to do or say. This time godliness won out: our friend just moved past her and crouched in front of us to chit chat.