la casa de Francisco

We approach our host’s home with a bit of trepidation because we have met Francisco and we know he speaks no English. A honk from our driver opens the iron gate. This house is outside the city, but the neighborhood still feels tightly packed and perhaps unsafe. We drive into a small courtyard surrounded by a tall concrete wall. Francisco’s wife Veronica greets us on the charming front patio, framed by an arched entrance. Two giggling children join the greetings – Francisco (8) and Gabriella (6). Their sister Natalia (12) is sleeping at a friend’s house.

Veronica leads us to her daughters’ room – Mom and Dad will sleep on Natalia’s double bed and I get Gabriella’s single with the pink Barbie bedspread. We gather in the lovely, tile-floored sitting room. The children are in their pajamas, giddy with excitement. Four Chihuahuas bark ferociously at the screened back door.

Our conversation flows in its own funny, broken way – with hand gestures and a mixture of words in Spanish and English. “How you…together?” Veronica attempts, pointing back and forth between me and Mom and Dad. I reply, “Mi esposo esta el hijo de ellos.” And in case there is any confusion, I add, “Y tambien, ellos son abuelo y abuela de mis ninos.” I don’t know if my sentences are entirely correct, but I can’t help thinking of how proud my high school Spanish teacher, Senor Fierros, would be right now. Words I learned in 1985 are still in my head somewhere! However, I soon realize my strenuous attempt at fluency might have been a mistake. While I have been imagining a muy bien from el maestro, Veronica has misunderstood my competence and has spoken about 4 more sentences, of which I understand about 3 words.

She serves us tamarindo juice, and habitueles con dulce – a warm puree of beans with milk, sugar, and cinnamon. Francisco encourages us to crumble crispy dried yuca on top. It is 10:30 and we are ready to fall flat from exhaustion. After our dessert, Francisco offers the use of their Internet, and I am glad for the chance to e-mail home. The Internet service seems temperamental and Veronica has to reboot the computer a couple of times. She shrugs and says “Is normal.” I see a Facebook icon on her desktop, and together we solidify our new friendship on the global social network. After that, to bed, where Dad’s sleep apnea machine hisses softly across the room and we all sleep soundly until the 4 am rooster call.

At a more reasonable hour in the morning the three of us take turns showering and getting dressed before emerging from our room. We find the family up and about, all pajama-clad. Francisco enthusiastically greets us in his short blue bathrobe and shows us around his fantastic backyard. It is not all that big, but grows an amazing assortment of tropical delights – mango, banana, coconut, lime, avocado, and cashews. Inside, Veronica has prepared a typical Dominican breakfast (she says this is very special because she does not usually cook). We enjoy strong Santo Domingo coffee, eggs with ham, papaya, mango, yuca, batata (like a sweet potato), and mangu (mashed plantains with butter). We present host gifts, play with the children, play with a Chihuahua puppy, take some photos, and then it is time for adios.

After a busy Rotary project fair at another location, we return to the hotel around 3 pm. It is Superbowl Sunday but we cannot find a TV in any common areas. I make a quick, expensive call home on my cell phone and end up missing my family even more.