Walking in Someone Else's Shoes

I was recently asked by Esmeralda, a Haitian / Dominican friend of mine, if she could borrow my “chancletas” - the very specific name given to the sandals (flip flops) that you wear around the house and for dirty trips outside. Here in the DR, I would never leave the house in my chancletas as I would when I go tromping around my coastal hometown in the US, or, really anywhere in the States. In case you’re behind the times, flip flops are pretty stylish these days in the States – there not just house chancletas any more. Needless to say, the trend has not hit the DR yet where there’s a great deal of attention paid to tidiness. Having a special pair of sandals for the house helps, among other things, to keep the dirt and germs of the city streets out of your home life.

Esmeralda and I have met on a number of occasions when we’ve both been staying at a medical house of hospitality in the capital run by a nun friend of mine. About two months ago I was happy to bring our relationship to another level by visiting Esmeralda in her home in a rural town about 5 hours from the capital and only 3 miles from the Haitian border. Her house was very simple, two small rooms for herself, her husband and four children and a hut out back for cooking. The visit was a surprise to her since she didn’t know I would be passing through. Along with the surprise, she was terribly embarrassed that she had nothing in the house to offer to eat or drink. Hospitality, even the smallest offering, is a big part of Dominican culture and pride and so, while I was certainly not bothered, I could tell that she was upset. Truth is, I really believe that she had absolutely nothing. Nothing.

Visiting Esmeralda in her home helped me get a better grasp on the reality lived by so many people – especially women, and especially in the border regions and Haitian bateys – in this country. Esmeralda discovered she was HIV positive after the birth of her last son, Javier. She’s been able to seek medical attention and advice in the capital and now she and Javier make the trip to Santo Domingo once every 3 months to receive check-ups and anti retroviral drugs for free through private and government sponsored programs. No, her life is not easy, not in the slightest. I know for sure that feeding herself and her family is a daily struggle that she doesn’t always overcome. But through the struggles, Esmeralda has impressed me in a way that’s hard to describe. She looks after Javier with a gentle love and kindness that I don’t always see in this culture and their bond and his development are proof of that love. She also shows relentless strength when it comes to her disease and is the farthest from being defeated by it. I’ve heard her sit and empathize with newly diagnosed HIV positive women in the house and give them straight up advice that cuts right through their despair and disbelief. Yes, the reality is hard, but Esmeralda is proof that there is life and strength in the midst of this deadly disease.

It’s hard for me to even begin to relate to someone like Esmeralda. We both speak Creole and Spanish, but I’m not sure if our life experiences could be more different. And yet we sit and talk together and play and joke with Javier as two people, two women just looking to sit, talk, play and joke. So, when she asked to borrow my shoes, while my first thought may have been “life without my chancletas??”, I knew I couldn’t say no. She asked to borrow, to share, like sisters and good friends do, she wasn’t trying to take, or to steal. It’s the little things like this that affirm for me the importance of sitting, talking, playing and joking. Knowing a part of Esmeralda’s story, her struggles, and more importantly her love and strength, how could I not share with her the chance to walk in someone else’s shoes.