Expected Cultural Experience

So today, I had one of my first major recognizable cultural experiences. It sounds strange to say such a thing being as we´ve been here for nearly 6 months. And, in truth we´ve had many cultural experiences - some of which we´ve failed to recognize, others that we only saw in retrospect, and still others that seemed like small things. Today however, I saw it unfolding and saw the significance of it almost at once. Perhaps it is because there is so much literature about this particular type of incidence, who knows, all I know is I saw it happening and could only hold on for the ride.

My cook, and friend, invited me over to her house to have lunch with her family today. They are an incredible family and we are so lucky to have her as our cook. But, without Kel here, I was a bit aprehensive about going over. You see, by nature, and often by practice, I am an introvert. Social risk taking is one of the most intimidating and exhausting things in my life. Nearly always, I find myself joyed and thankful for the experiences, but the dread I feel leading up to them constantly reminds me that I am an introvert through and through. So, Kelly is my gift - my buffer if you will. I´m digressing a bit, but I definitely had some trepidation about going for a 3 hour lunch by myself to a family that knows zero English.

So I find myself at their house, having a ball. Important to the story though is that they do not have much money. They live in a neighborhood that I cannot go to after about 5pm, even with a Dominican, and while they are extremely hospitable and generous with what they have, they truly have very little. I don´t believe that specifics are necessary here, suffice it to say that it was a sacrifice to have me over for the most important (and largest) meal of the day.

We had a great time chatting and fumbling through conversation for about an hour. Then it was time to eat. We had been sitting in the backyard when she called me, specifically me, in to eat. As I went in, I saw that on the table there was a veritable feast set out, and only one place setting. Yikes! She asked me to sit down and I asked who else was going to eat. She said everyone so I sat down. Then I stood back up and followed her into the kitchen, prolonging conversation and stalling for the moment I could see coming. She again asked me to sit and told me to begin eating. I asked again, who else was going to eat. She said everyone so I sat. This time she waited until I began dishing up my food. Then she left the room. For a few minutes I was alone with a beautiful spread of rice and beans, fruit, salad, meat with salsa, and a glass of juice all on an incredibly beautiful tablecloth that would have seemed out of place without the beautiful food on it. Then her youngest daughter came in the room and sat down on a chair away from the table with a portion of rice and beans, and nothing else. I invited her to the table and she came, a bit uncomfortably (I think I overstepped on that one) and ate with me. Then mom came and sat too with her portion of rice and beans (nothing else) while the other two kids exited the house. Uncomfortable.

I knew from the outset that the food set out was for me. All of it. And the hope was that I would eat it and enjoy it. The culture appears to say that I should eat all of it to show gratitude to my hosts. Thankfully I have learned that this appearance is an illusion, in matter of fact, I needed to eat enough to show thanks, and leave as much as possible for the rest of the family who had yet to eat. So I attempted to find this balance. It was tough. Mostly because every bite was a guilty one. And then I felt guilty for feeling guilty. Thankfully, I think I satisfied expectations for how much I would eat, and I watched as the rest of the family got portions of what I had not eaten. And some of the neighbors too. May God´s grace cover our meal that we shared today for I know that they cannot normally afford what we ate today.

There is a tradtion among Dominicans of eating ¨concon¨. Concon is the rice at the bottom of the pan that has turned brown and is crispy to the point of being hard. In the US we´d say it is burned. But here, you´re not eating rice if you don´t have concon to go with it. However, to get it, you really have to scrape it loudly off the bottom of your metal rice pan with a strong spoon. I learned later that in her neighborhood, many people don´t cook and eat until late at night because they only have money for 1 meal a day, if that. So, those that cook in the middle of the day, those that can afford it, very slowly scrape the concon out of the pan, to minimize the noise, so that their family can eat first, before neighbors just ¨drop in¨ and the hosts are obligated to share whatever they have with the unexpected guests. For here in the DR, it is always a ¨good time¨ for visitors to come by, which simply means, ¨yes, come in an eat for we long to share with you.¨

My prayer tonight is that we never lose sight of what we´ve been given.

Thoughtfully,
M