Poor Andre Misses Me

Andre says he's feeling lonely since I came back to California without him on July 25. I tell him not to worry. I'm trying to get everything done that I need to here in Santa Cruz so we can be together again in early September.

I hope you realize this photo is a joke. In the last blog entry I mentioned that Andre is growing his hair out. He wants to have an Afro, as we called them in the 1960s before he was born. So I used photoshop and browsed the internet to create this image. I certainly hope he's not enjoying himself without me! At least not with five other women.

Actually, that's something I appreciate about Andre. I can totally trust him. I call him the Boy Scout because he's even more straight and narrow than I am. Neither of us has ever tried illegal drugs or pot, been drunk, or smoked a cigarette. It's hard to find people like that. He drinks a beer or champagne once in a while, but nothing that I have to worry about.

I got him hooked on racquetball already. He's getting coaching from Danelo and Alberto, two brothers who play on the Dominican national racquetball team (see photo from July 24 blog). He's excited to score more against me in September. I was still beating him 15-0 quite often, although he could sneak up to 1, 2, or 3 points sometimes. I can't believe how quick he is, but if you don't know where the ball's going, it doesn't matter how fast you run. My 33 years experience (I started playing a couple of years before Andre was born) helps me beat most of the young, male, athletic opponents here at U.C.S.C. courts.

I've been working on the DVD project of Maya's memorial party, I still have my 2006 taxes to do, and my fingers are crossed that some tenants really do move out tomorrow (they talked me into two extra days because the husband has the flu supposedly). I have Maya's dad Daniel and his crew ready to renovate the place. If you know of anyone who's looking for a two-story 1200 square foot, 3 bedroom, 1 bath with yard, in a fourplex near Dominican Hospital, please send them my way. I need good tenants so Andre and I can travel for 3-6 months while we're waiting for his visa appointment at the U.S. Consulate in Santo Domingo. I think we have all the paperwork together.

I've enjoying getting together with friends here in Santa Cruz and playing racquetball of course. I'm house- and dogsitting for a former roommate who is visiting family in Germany with her little boy for three weeks. It made me realize I've never lived alone, other than a month or two in a tiny tiny studio near San Diego State University when I first separated from my husband long, long ago. I kinda like living alone, I discover, just as I find a good man to share my life with. Well, we'll see how that goes. I'm optimistic, but realistic too. Andre is such a sweetheart. I feel like I fall in love more and more each day. It's hard to believe that anything could ever change, but as I learned with Maya, you never know what could happen. Solo Dios sabe.

Happy First Anniversary

Here's a picture that Andre emailed me a few days ago. His hair looks longer already, even though I was just with him less than two weeks ago.

Andre and I met on August 6, 2006, exactly one year ago at the Hotel Atarazana in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic. Maya and I had just arrived from Puerto Rico where we attended my cousin's son's wedding. I hadn't had time to plan our 2-1/2 week stay in D.R., but I quickly looked on the internet and found the name of a cheap hotel.

Maya refused to stay there after the third or fourth cucarracha scurried across the floor. The rooms were quite filthy and I wasn't crazy about having to stand on the bed frame to connect two wires whenever we wanted AC. The young druggie (I'm guessing. No evidence) who ran the place also showed me how to turn on the pump outside in case the toilet ran out of water.

We ventured out to see what else we could find. By chance, just around the corner was a really nice six-room hotel. I told Maya not to get her hopes up because it looked too expensive. When I rang the bell Andre came down and let us in. I was immediately attracted to him, which took me aback because I hadn't had a boyfriend in 8 years, not since Daniel and I broke up for the last time. I hadn't wanted to complicate Maya's life, so I resigned myself to being single until she graduated from high school. I definitely hadn't gone down to the Caribbean to fall in love.

Andre showed us a few rooms, all very nice, then I asked if we could go up the spiral stairs to the rooftop. I pulled out my videocamera and recorded the view of the river and some nice historic buildings, never once turning the camera on Andre. I asked him the name of the hotel. He said Atarazana so softly I asked him to repeat it. That's the only video I have of him from my first trip to D.R., plus one photo.

Andre had a totally different experience that day. I could have been any foreign tourist, but it was Maya who caught his eye. That girl could charm anyone with her beautiful spirit. Each morning when we came down for breakfast he would cut extra mango for her and prepare a scrambled egg just how she liked it. She would hang out in the kitchen with him and help herself to more juice from the fridge. I remember them chatting and laughing while I snuck glances, blushing every time he caught my eye. I didn't really know him yet. I just thought he was cute. And probably less than half my age. I was 49 and he looked to be about 22.

Luckily I got enough courage to ask Andre if I could photograph him in the beautiful red kitchen. He asked me to email the photo to him and that's how we got started writing. As time went on he started asking me questions like what I thought of long-distance relationships and how do you know when you're in love. I thought that was sweet that he felt comfortable enough to ask me so many personal questions. He even requested photos of me and told me I was beautiful, signing his letters "abrazos y besos" (hugs and kisses). I still didn't get it. I couldn't imagine that such a young, good looking guy would be interested in an old lady like me.

Meeting Andre seemed to wake up something in me. I started looking through the personal ads on craigslist and went on a few dates. I told Andre all the details since he was my new, best friend. We were writing practically every day by then. He wrote back and said he was jealous. "If you need a man, here I am."

I kept rereading that line, trying to figure out what he meant. Finally I wrote back and confessed that I was very attracted to him. If only I were 30 years younger I would definitely take him up on his offer. Then he wrote back, saying he was turning 30 in April, which made a big difference to me. Plus, I give him a few more years for having grown up in a third world country and then studying and working abroad for four years.

So today is our first anniversary. Like anything in life, it's just one day at a time, but I've enjoyed every one of those days. We're both very committed to each other. Like I wrote him the other day, our relationship has really been put to the test: going through Maya's diagnosis, treatments and death; living so far apart from each other; only being physically together for two months out of this first year; and when we are together, it's 24/7 without a break. All that on top of the cultural differences and the fact that we mostly speak to each other in Spanish, which isn't our native language. His first language is Creole, followed by French, then Dominican Spanish (I speak Mexican Spanish) and pretty good English.

Now it seems weird how freaked out I used to be about our 20-year age difference...until we got together in March. Age is hardly an issue anymore. Shoot, if Demi Moore can do it, why can't I? I remember one friend said, "I'm glad you're with someone 20 years younger. Maybe he'll be able to keep up with you." Just barely. I tease Andre that he's the older one because he's more conservative, not as adventurous, and he even likes to rest or take breaks sometimes. And I can still beat him 15-0 in racquetball, although lately he started getting a few points sometimes. We'll see what happens when we're reunited in early September. He's got a coach and practices a lot. And in case you hadn't noticed, he's in excellent physical shape.

My last day with Andre

It's weird to be back in a country where I know the language. After two weeks in Haiti I was getting used to puzzling over the signs, zoning out conversations that didn't concern me, and straining to catch French words here and there when I did care. French is the official language of Haiti, but I believe only 40% of the people can speak it. Everyone in Andre's family is well-educated so I could get by with my broken French. And of course I had Andre to translate.

Today is my last day with Andre before I fly back to California tomorrow for a month. Yesterday we did last-minute souvenir shopping, visited friends, and played racquetball until the power went out at the courts. Andre will get coaching from brothers Alberto and Danelo while I'm gone. I told them that I expect him to get more than three points on me before late August or early September when I come back to DR.

On Saturday at the courts, we met an American named Joseph Kruchten who owns the only racquetball court on the north coast of DR. He and his Dominican girlfriend run a guesthouse and racquetball court outside of Puerto Plata (www.loase.com). They invited us to come stay there, but we'll have to do it next time since I'm leaving. Joseph, or Jose as they call him here, is a year older than I am and started playing racquetball in the late 1970s (I started in 1974), so we know a lot of the same old-timers in the game. It was fun to reminisce together.

I don't know what our plan is for today. I'm still hoping I'll be able to see Margarita's grandson. He was born on 7-7-2007. Seems like an auspicious day. She's really sad that her son and daughter-in-law moved into their own apartment a few months ago. She can't get enough of her only grandchild. I'd like to take photos of the little guy.

We're also going to get together with Nena, our police officer friend, whose baby is due in early Sept. I'll be asking friends in Santa Cruz for donations of used baby clothes, an umbrella stroller, a kangaroo pouch, etc. so I can bring them to her when I come back. We had talked about doing a baby shower, but Andre and I didn't stay in Santo Domingo very much this time, and Nena's best friend Antonia is working near Punta Cana several hours away, so she couldn't have participated. Besides, I don't think Nena's friends have any more money than she does.

Babies, babies, babies. Seeing mothers with their daughters still makes me cry. I do get excited whenever Andre and I talk about kids, even if it's way too soon for that subject. It sounds so conventional to me to raise a boy and a girl with a husband -- a real nuclear family. We've even discussed which language he would speak with the kids: Creole or French. On the one hand, Creole would be great because it's Andre's mother tongue, the one he speaks best, that he loves the most. Then the kids could speak with everyone when we go down to Haiti for vacations. But French is tempting because of its universal appeal. They could still communicate in Haiti, but also in France, Canada, other Caribbean islands, many African countries. So I don't know, but if you have an opinion, let me know. Even if it is way too early to decide.

To my friends in Santa Cruz, I'll be seeing you soon. I miss all of you, the cool foggy mornings, being able to walk around at night. I just wish Andre could come back with me now instead of having to wait until Feb. or March of next year. Hopefully, this will be our last separation.

Back in Santo Domingo

A FEW MORE PHOTOS OF HAITI.

We took the Caribe Tours bus back from Port-au-Prince to Santo Domingo on Friday. The trip takes most of the day, but didn't seem as long this time because we made friends in the back of the bus. The conversation started out in English, then switched to Spanish. By the time they settled into Creole I pulled out my reading book, The Farming of Bones by Haitian author Edwidge Danticat. I enjoyed her first book Breath, Eyes, Memory and have another one, Krik? Krak! waiting for me in Santa Cruz. I'll be there after midnight on Wednesday, July 25.

It's funny how much richer and cleaner Santo Domingo looks after two weeks in Haiti. I hadn't noticed the difference so much the other direction. I guess I was expecting Haiti to be worse after everything I'd heard. They say kidnapping of foreigners is popular, but with all the U.N. soldiers everywhere, the place seemed pretty mellow. Most of the fighting was over prices, but the yelling usually ended with smiles and laughter. I told Andre I'm more Haitian than he is because I'm so animated and he's more reserved.

Andre acted surprised (and probably relieved) that his relatives liked me so much. Hey, what's not to like? My camera also helps make friends, too. With digital you can show people their image right away, which they liked. Andre's brother Johnny, the police officer, asked me when they are going to meet my family. I explained that I have very little family -- my dad and his wife Judith, no brothers or sisters, one aunt and uncle and their three kids. Somehow I can't picture my dad and Judith coming to Haiti. They think Santa Cruz is too far and too bizarre.

Andre's beautiful grandmother asked if she was invited to our wedding. She's 77 years old and has never left Haiti. I'm sure she has no idea how far away California is or how big the U.S. is. But she was ready to come to our wedding, which will probably be in May 2008 if things go as planned in our relationship and with U.S. immigration. Andre should get his residency six months after marriage, so that means hopefully we'll travel to Haiti in December 2008 for a big wedding reception for all his family and friends.

Our relationship almost ended in Jacmel when I bought some items from a voodoo vender in the marketplace -- a small mirror, some handmade candles, wooden maracas, and a rustic metal cross. Andre wanted me to throw everything except the maracas into the ocean. I told him we should talk first because these things mean nothing to me more than curiosities. I didn't realize he believes in voodoo. He and his family are Christians, which was obvious with all the Bibles, prayer sessions and beautiful Christian songs they sing.

Andre says that voodoo killed his uncle and his grandfather. But an unexplained illness isn't enough to convince me that voodoo is real. I believe that people invent superstitions to explain what they can't understand. In the case of Maya's death from brain cancer, I could easily believe in evil. But instead I choose to believe the doctors at Stanford.

Once Andre realized that I wasn't planning to use these objects for evil rituals he let me keep them. I would have thrown them in the ocean to save our relationship. But this time it wasn't necessary.

Jacmel, Haiti

Well, the dinner with the Americans didn't go exactly as planned. A thunder storm with torrential rains got in the way. Andre thought we wouldn't go at all, but his friend with the car, Francois, and his girlfriend, called to say they were on the way. Just running from the house to the car with an umbrella we were both soaked. Francois had to drive very slowly to avoid all the lakes, stranded vehicles, and potholes big enough to swallow a car. It didn't help that we had vague directions to a wealthy neighborhood that none of us were familiar with and Francois' cell phone with the number I'd given our hostess, was out of charge. By some miracle, we finally arrived -- two hours late -- just as the rains stopped.

Barbara's house was huge and well lit, with R&B music drifting out into the night. The security guard showed us in. Because of the music, Barbara didn't hear us knocking at first. She'd invited some friends from the U.S. embassy and it appeared that they weren't too inconvenienced by our late arrival. They'd been trying to call, but finally ate Barbara's delicious chicken curry, followed by brownies for dessert. Unfortunately, we had to take ours to go because Francois and his girlfriend were too afraid of driving in Port-au-Prince at such a late hour (8:30 p.m.). Everyone keeps talking about the dangers of Haiti, but I have yet to see anything that looks remotely scary.

While Barbara served us drinks and brownies and packed the dinner in tupperware, I had a chance to chat briefly with her and her friends.. One gal was complaining that her hot showers lasted only 12 minutest. I told her she was lucky because I've had nothing but cold splash baths with water brought up from a well. The Americans all had generators to back up any power outages, but in their neighborhoods the outages were infrequent.

I asked Barbara about the waterfront, since from the map and from the name I assumed Port-au-Prince is a port city. Neither Andre or Francois knew of any waterfront. Barbara said the Haitians destroyed it. They filled a lot of it in with junk, she said. The USAID offices used to be down there, but they had to move. There even was a Club Med on one of the beaches north of town, but that's long abandoned as well. I asked about the garbage. She said they have landfills, but can't figure out how to get the garbage to them.

The next morning Andre and I took a bus up and over the mountains to a beautiful, historic coastal town of 15,000 called Jacmel. Our bus was greeted by dozens of moto-taxis. We hopped on one and were taken to the perfect hotel, right on the water, with lots of charms and a view of kids playing soccer on the sand. For $70 we have a nice, large room with a view of the water and breakfast included. It even has hot water, a fan and AC. And no TV! Yeah, I'm happy.

We have the whole day today to explore the town, which we both agree would be a nice place to live. It's only two hours by bus to his family in Port-au-Prince, so if he can't get his visa to the U.S., you might find me here in Jacmel. It even has a decent cyber cafe where they let me hook up my MacBook for $1 an hour.

I'm really feeling like Haiti gets a bad rap. The country is so beautiful, aside from the garbage everywhere, the people are really friendly even though they haven't been trained in how to give good service, the food is delicious when it finally arrives an hour later, and the beaches are gorgeous and empty. Dominican Republic, which shares this island, is teeming with Europeans and Americans, tourists and ex-pats. Here the only foreigners you see are U.N.,soldiers, missionaries and charity workers. It's definitely not a cheap place to travel and the tourist facilities are pretty rough for the price you have to pay, but what potential there is. Poor Andre gets way more frustrated than I do. He admits he could never live here again and even his mother told him the same. He's gotten used to a higher standard of living in Dominican Republic, but wait until he arrives in California next spring, God willing. He'll definitely only come back to Haiti as a tourist and to visit his family. I hope we'll be coming back together each year, maybe in December when it's not so hot.

Les Cayes, Haiti

Wow! So much to write about since the last time. I don't even think I'd arrived in Haiti yet and now we've been here more than a week and planning our last few days. It's been such a great experience. I'd always wanted to visit Haiti, but never imagined it would be with a Haitian boyfriend to meet his family.

Andre says I passed the test. He says everyone in his family loves me so much. They are all so sweet and friendly. My age doesn't seem to be an issue at all. In Port-au-Prince, we stayed at his sister Marjorie's, with her husband Lesly and 7-month-old son Joel. What a joy to have a baby in the house. He is so mellow compared to Ms. Maya who was tremendous. They can even leave Joel in a playpen or stroller in the house and he's totally content. Maya's life was go-go-go in comparison. Andre's mother is also staying at Marjorie's while she recuperates from a massive hysterectomy. She showed us her scar from the surgery. Wow! They cut her across the stomach, like they used to in the old days in the U.S.

Haiti is nowhere near as poor or dangerous as I'd heard. It doesn't seem much different from Dominican Republic except there are very few foreign tourists. I feel sorry for Haiti because they have some of the most beautiful beaches I've ever seen, but no one will come here because of the reputation for violence and poverty. Dominican Republic, which shares the island of Hispanola, does a great job of attracting European and American tourists. But so far, I haven't seen anything attractive about Port-au-Prince, the capitol city. It doesn't have a nice colonial zone like Santo Domingo does, and it's piled high with garbage and suffers from horrendous traffic.

On Sunday we watched the finals for the American Cup between Brazil and Argentina. Andre was outnumbered by all the Brazil fans who jumped up and danced every time Brazil scored. Final score 3-0. The power went out at Marjorie's house just as Andre and Lesly got the TV set up on the patio to get out of the heat of the house. So we had to go to the mechanic shop in the neighborhood because they have a generator. Andre and Lesly helped pitch in for the gasoline to run the generator. I was surprised how many women and children are completely fanatic about "football" as soccer is called everywhere else in the world. I asked Andre why he didn't jump up and dance (besides the fact that he wanted Argentina to win). He said, I'm a fanatic, but I'm not sick.

Andre and I went off to an island paradise at the suggestion of our friend Khadija who used to work for USAID:Haiti. She had her going-away party just days before I arrived in DR. She's enjoying the summer off with her daughters before going off on her next mission in Sudan, Africa. Ile-a-Vache was everything Khadija promised. The French couple who run Hotel Port Morgan are really sweet and their accommodations are very nice. The views of the bay were so romantic, and the AC was a nice touch. We took a 9-passenger plane from Port-au-Prince to Les Cayes, a taxi to the dock, and speed boat from there, all arranged by the hotel. On the way back we stayed in Les Cayes, a colorful quiet town where I had a field day walking around and taking photographs. The next morning we took the bus back to Port-au-Prince, scoring seats up front with the drivers. Another scenic adventure for 4-1/2 hours.

Tonight we're having dinner with some friends of Khadija's. It will be nice to see how the other side lives here in Port-au-Prince. In Marjorie's neighborhood they're lucky to get electricity for more than a couple of hours a day and water has to be pulled up from a well. Drinking water is bought in 5-gallon bottles and a bag of ice is purchased daily to cool the drinks. No one has a refrigerator, but without electricity, what good would they be anyway. Same for a fan.

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

Andre and I took the bus from Santo Domingo to Port-au-Prince on Sunday, which lasted most of the day. Andre warned me that the border crossing would be horrible, but compared to my experience in third-world countries, it was nothing. No military, just U.N., nothing scary, no bribes, they didn't even look at our baggage. It took a long time because they do it in a Stone Age fashion. First we had to wait on the bus a long time, then everyone piled into an office where our passports were stacked on a desk. An uninspired clerk called out the names one-by-one and waited until the owner of the passport responded. Once he went through all of them, the passports were taken to another office. Again, we waited while they called out our names all over again, this time adding a stamp and returning the passports so we could continue our journey.

I'd been told by one of the owners of the hotel where Andre used to work in Santo Domingo that Haiti is "another world." I really haven't found it to be that different from Dominican Republic, except that they speak French and Creole instead of Spanish. Also, the power outages last most of the day, instead of just a few hours. For a treat, the power came on at the beginning of the semi-finals of the America Cup last night and went off just as Brasil finished off Uruguay 5-4. I doubt that was a coincidence since Haiti is crazy for soccer. Tonight we'll be watching Mexico vs. Argentina in the 2nd semi-finals. This will be our first fight. I'm rooting for Mexico and Andre wants Argentina to win. But how can I turn my back on Maya's birthland, the country that was 8 miles from my childhood home?

We stayed 3 nights with Andre's sister Marjory, her husband Lesly, their 7-month-old nephew Joel and his mother Maude who is recuperating from a major hysterectomy. They obviously haven't gotten word yet that you don't need to cut a woman completely open to take out her uterus. Maude just had the operation 2 weeks ago, so her recovery period will be much longer still. She's on complete bed rest, on a cot in the carport/patio where we all hang out during the daytime heat. They don't have a refrigerator, but since they hardly get electricity, what would be the point? They have a well instead of running water, so they pull up bucketfuls as needed, to bathe and flush the toilet, etc. Otherwise, the house looks very modern since it was just built a year ago. Marjory's husband is a teacher of French, Creole and French Literature, so they're definitely middle class. He told me that elementary school teachers earn about $60 a month. We spent $30 on lunch for four in a restaurant, so I don't know how they make it when everything is so expensive.

Instead of taking taxis or tam-tams (pick-ups that are covered in back), we pay gas money to a friend of Andre's youngest brother Reginald. It's somewhere between $4 to $6 a gallon. I can't figure out the money at all because it's a mixture of Haitian dollars, gourdes, U.S. dollars and Dominican pesos. I just let Andre pay for eveyrthing because he seems to understand it better. Very few roads are paved, so Francois, our driver, goes really slowly and carefully to take care of his nice car. Yesterday, Andre's stepfather showed up with another neighbor with his car. He had to restart it a million times in traffic until he pulled off and put water in the radiator. Andre started laughing as I pulled out my videocamera to document our whole group pushing the car off the road with people crowded all around.

Looks like I've passed the test with Andre's family. My crash course to relearn French seems to keep them laughing at least. Lesly speaks good English, Reginald knows some too. I pick up enough of their Creole conversations to know what's going on. I've taken tons of photos and video. My age hasn't been an issue at all. I had him ask his mother if she had any questions for me. She wanted to know how I was handling the heat. I suggested to him she might want to know what my intentions are with him. He's already told her that we're planning to marry next year after he arrives in California, if all goes as we anticipate. She said the important thing is that we love each other.

I was really happy to meet his grandmother. She's the one he credits for making him such a gentleman. You can tell, even though she's in her early 80s, that she's a beautiful, educated woman. She was so sweet and clearly happy to meet me too. She's suffering from anemia, brought on by lack of appetite. I told Andre I'm afraid she won't live much longer because it sounds like someone who's getting tired of living.

Today we arrived via 9-seater plane, taxi and speedboat, on an island paradise called Isle a Vache (Cow Island) off southern Haiti. The Hotel Port Morgan (one of two on the island) is owned by a very nice French couple. We were served an exquisite lunch of quiche, rice, bread and butter, fish with sauce, green salad with sauce, and for dessert what looked and tasted just like flan but was called creme something-or-other, but not brulee. It was filling, but not heavy. Andre is sleeping it off in our air-conditioned room. I'm taking advantage of internet in the office, surrounded by smoking French women.

This would be the place to bring someone if you wanted them to fall in love with you forever. I'll have to post photos soon. It really is another world.