Dominican Heritage Month, Day 6

One of my fondest memories of the Dominican Republic was when I traveled there at age 10 with my Tia Nancy and her family. I was to spend the bulk of my time with my Acosta relatives, but first I spent time with Tia Nancy's people and it was such a difference from the usual Penzos I was used to. This was when I realized she had a different dad from my father (her maiden name was Tolentino) and I was really jealous. I wanted to be a part of that household- they were warm, welcoming and fun. Just like Tia Nancy.

While I was with her, Tia took me to La Romana and it was officially the most beautiful and pristine place I've ever seen in my life. I had fresh limeade- I always remember that- actually watched as this woman pulled limes off of a tree and made my drink, and ate a burger with GREEN tomatoes!

And there was a boy (isn't there always?) I was all of ten but I still had crushes. And he was so dreamy. He'd walk around in shorts, no shirt and a small portable Casio keyboard that he'd play random tunes on. Oh how I wanted to be his muse! Once, my cousins and I went to this place that I suppose was some sort of swimming hole, I can't really remember it well, but he was there playing a tune on his Casio, at least that's how my memories are recalling it, and I was so at peace with my life at that moment. I remember that feeling and reach for it often.



At my Acosta Family Compound I experienced a whole other style of living- more pretension that I had expected, but still fun (despite the armed guards, chaperones, thieving maids and visible firearms all over the place). I was taken to a salon for my first relaxer (against my mother's wishes!), played jacks in the road, went to a discotheque (at age ten, BITCHES!), went shopping at fancy boutiques and watched as a local artisan made me the most adorable ceramic poodle. It was definitely a life I could have become accustomed to. Well, except for having to grab chickens out of the yard for slaughtering. That I can live my entire life without ever seeing again, EVER.

I then went to stay with my Tia CruzDelia and visit with my Ortiz family. Again, a whole different style of life. Tia lived in a shack with a tin roof, a latrine out back and just the dirt ground for a floor. But I was ten so of course I had the time of my life at her house, too. I also noticed that my cousins were wearing a lot of clothes that looked familiar- my hand-me-downs that I'd seen Mami pack in a suitcase and ship down earlier that year. I knew that in Brooklyn we were poor, but the fact that my relatives on the Island were waiting anxiously for my cast-offs (perfectly good clothes that I just decided I no longer wanted, like a spoiled diva) made me grateful for what I had back home.

SIDE NOTE: years later Tia CruzDelia came to visit us in Brooklyn and apologized to me for the conditions of her home after seeing my room. "Tu vives como una princesa y yo te tenia en ese sucio!" I felt so embarrassed at ever complaining about not having stuff. I did live like a princess and I felt bad that Tia felt bad, and can only hope I didn't act like a brat in her home. I really did have fun with her and the new cousins I discovered that I never knew about. And Tia CruzDelia looked just like Grandma so just being around her made me feel at home.

On the flight home, back when American Airlines fed you real food, I had my fist taste of pancakes wrapped around a sausage link and realized the two were meant to be together always. I was also introduced to the uniquely Dominican tradition of applauding after every safe landing. That trip improved my Spanish, my bond to my entire family, my appreciation for what I had at home and made me feel this connection that wasn't there before. These were my people. This was where we came from. This is where it began. Even though I wasn't born there I felt as if I were HOME.

I cried when I had to come back to New York. I wanted to stay there forever.



Visit La Romana and even though it's probably all built up now, it might give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...with a sudden urge to call my Tias*
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amazing how life makes you forget who and what is really important sometimes. I miss my family- and how close we used to be- a lot.

Jaded Photographs: February 2012 Edition

"Babies In Paradise"

*besos...desde Quisqueya*
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look at how ADORABLE my mini-mes look prancing about DR; like they're HOME :)

Dominican Heritage Month, Day 3

We used to have killer parties when I was little. I mean apartments overstuffed with drunk adults (some of which owned and/or worked at the local bodegas) and rowdy kids, louder than loud music and FOOOOOODDDDDDD and ALCOHOL for days and days and days. These parties are where I learned how to dance, which relatives were true alcoholics, that Heineken is truly bitter and gross, and Mami is the hostess with the mostest.

In all the years that she hosted get-togethers in our apartment(s) at 572 Greene Avenue (between Marcy and Tompkins, BITCHES!) no one ever left hungry or unpleased, and Mami was never visibly intoxicated. We may have stressed beyond belief to get the place clean and cook everything just right, but all of our parties were a success. Honestly, this is an inherently Dominican thing. The capias, trays of roast pork, yellow rice, potato salad and refrescos.

-¿Y quien hizo el bizcocho?

It didn't really matter because we ate that cake like it was the last cake to ever hit the bottom of our bellies- mostly frosting, heavy and filled with pineapple with a scoop of generic vanilla ice cream on the side.

I don't really know what parties were like on the Island; in Brooklyn, though, us Dominicans partied like it was 1999 all the damn time. The conversations were great and gossipy; someone always fell asleep long before it was over; the movements on the dance floor was borderline inappropriate- I can name a few uncles that made me want to hide in my room- and you could always count on Grandma and Papi cutting a rug at least once, Grandma with her hands in the air like she don't care and everyone cheering her on. Sometimes Mari's dad and godfather would grab maracas and the cheese grater from the kitchen (to use as a guira) and belt out a few tunes. Us kids would roll our eyes like it was embarrassing but really it made the party that much more fun. I'm sure I wasn't the only one who dreamed of the day I could host parties like Mami.

Do me a favor: invite 50 to 60 of your closest friends to your place. Serve them mounds of yummies that will clog their arteries and libations that will kill their evil livers. Order a cake from Valencia Bakery in the Bronx and then put together a music playlist similar to this one for the night of the festivities:











It might give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...realizing what an amazing childhood I had*
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really, though, no one had more fun than we did. no one. our parties were legendary!

Dominican Heritage Month, Day 2

Being a Dominican from Bed-Stuy had its pros and cons. PRO: I didn't have to deal with the ratchetness that was Washington Heights. Because there weren't many of us for miles around we kept to ourselves and lived rather peacefully. CON: I didn't get to be one of those kids that was shipped to DR every summer for fun in the sun. In fact, I've only been there three times in my entire life. THREE TIMES!

Us kids did manage to stay connected to the Island not only through our elders (who watched us like hawks!) but through a great program called "Santo Domingo Invita." Every week hosts like Negro Santos took us to different regions of the Dominican Republic and made us long for fresh guavas and coconut water, fish and goat (yes, goat. Child, don't ask!).



And the music! Musica tipica Dominicana, as hokey as it may sound (an accordion, dude; that shit includes a very prominent accordion.), moved me.



Most of what I learned about DR was learned on the weekends, thanks to "Santo Domingo Invita." I didn't know it at the time, but it was instilling in me and sense of pride in the place from which my people came. There's always been room in my cold, Jaded, American heart for the Dominican Republic and "Santo Domingo Invita" made that happen.



Take a minute and look for Santo Domingo Invita in your TV Guide. Watch an episode or two, whether or not you speak Spanish. It might give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...wondering if I can watch this streaming online*
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you know, N already has two out of the three instruments needed for a "traditional" merengue band; she's only missing the accordion. thank god!

Dominican Heritage Month, Day 1

Hi, I'm Raquel (don't forget to roll that R!) Ivelisse (pronounced ee-veh-LEE-seh) and I'm of Dominican ancestry, first generation of my family born in these United States of America. This means Spanish was my first language and I was well-versed in many (but definitely not all) Dominican customs and traditions by my stay-at-home grandmother, Rafaela "Fela" Bermudez Ortiz (God rest her soul), who raised us kids while our parents worked nine-to-fives. When I was little my world consisted of whatever was encased within the walls of my grandmother's home; that was all I knew. I wrote about it briefly in a small piece called I Used To Only Be Dominican. Read it and then come back. We'll wait for you.

Ready? OK.

This month, New York State honors our heritage (although good luck finding events outside of the Bronx. WOMP.) and I realized that in the five years of having this blog I've done very little to educate y'all on the beautiful people whose blood courses through me. And yes, I know it's Black History Month, too, but that mostly celebrates the accomplishments of African-Americans. Dominicans are African, too, but not from this part of America, you feel me? So I'm gonna go ahead and assume you've had your fill of tales about MLK and Malcolm and all those cool cats, and expose you to some tidbits of Island history, mythology, culture and let's face it, tomfoolery.

Today, however, all you need to know is that los Leones del Escogido are representing the Dominican Republic in the Caribbean Series (February 2 - 8), which is being held in Santo Domingo. Damn I wish I were there!

You should also go to your library or local bookstore and pick up one of Junot Diaz's books. He DID win a Pulitzer Prize, you know. The least you could do is see for yourself why this Dominicano ROCKS the literary world.

Finally, look up singer and band leader Johnny Ventura, one of my favorite Dominican artists of all time. Play some of his songs while dancing with wild abandon in your living room. It might give you a small taste of what it was like to have grown up like me.

Wonderful, beautiful, Dominican me.

*besos...hoping you stay for the full ride*
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and if you don't it's not like I'll notice anyway...