A different Almirante

I walked into the building because I said I would be back and wanted to keep my promise. The dank air inside reeked of mold and piss and filled my lungs with its death. I soon became of aware of the regrets my mind was making a list of as I started to talk with the man standing in front of me. I didn't have time to back out of this one. I was the only one here and I had promised to come back. The lit sign in front declaring that a cyber cafe resided within this space lied. Only one computer and it was occupied by this basement dwellers' kids. No music. Not a sound. Just a loud interior decoration screaming that things were lively here once. Nice leather couches, large speakers, a big screen television and excellent art. Overload. Where was I. This can't be Almirante. The smell was familiar but the décor was foreign. Outside lay endless amounts of dilapidated buildings and trash. This was different, and once my senses settled down I felt good.

I had come to Almirante to wash all of my clothes at the lavanderia because always smelling like river is not always great. It took 5 hours taking me to the basement “cyber cafe” across the street. If you haven't read my other blog posts about Almirante, imagine Hati before the quake and more jobs from our friends at Chaquita Banana. The inside of the place I had stepped inside of took me by surprise. It was strangely nice and familiar at the same time. That was when I got to talking to its owner and operator whom spoke gwadi gwadi, english, and spanish. We spoke in spanglish. Come to find out, he was married to an American, was in the U.S. Army for ten years as a Heli Medic, moved back, and now is a medic for big dangerous projects here. What? As more time passed talking to this man, the more I understood this was a person with a story to tell. We didn't get into his stories. We mostly talked about why I was here and the people I hope to help. We both agreed it was the right thing to do and he made me a milk shake.

Time passed and I felt at home. People walked in the door. All aftrotilian. And all extremely agreeable and good mannered. I liked it. This was nice and I found a new place to understand a new culture just 40 minutes from my house. The milkshake was excellent and I watched CNN on the TV for hours until my clothes were done. I walked outside with a new understanding of Almirante and noticed how nice everyone really was to each other here. Here in a place where better life options are running dangerously low. I picked up my 50 pounds of clothes and got a taxi home. I know where to go next time I want to wash my clothes and get a good shake. I long for the musk of that dark basement, a good cheap milkshake, and friendly conversation on a black leather couch.

Other notes: I was struck at how great the art was in this place. Huge hand carved heads, paintings, miniature ships made of delicate wood, and other stranger small trinkets. I found out from the owner that a local older man makes the things and charges almost nothing for them. He just likes to create the art. He is also considered “crazy” by the locals because he will wonder around and talk to himself. The art blew me away to say the least and it is safe to say that these pieces would sell for much more than he was selling them for. Apparently people have come in and tried to buy the pieces and the owner has refused. He buys everything the guy brings usually for about 9 dollars a piece. Someone offered to buy one of the large wood sculptures of a native women for 250 bucks.