THE DAY I SANG IN A DOMINICAN JAIL

                                                                                                                                  January 16, 2014                                                                                                   
1.                                                

                                              
My friend Anita and I were heading back to the capital of the Dominican Republic, Santo Domingo, from where we would fly back to Baltimore the following day.  We had spent ten days mostly in the little but delightful town of La Descubierta, near the Haitian border.  Anita spent two years in the area as a Peace Corps volunteer twenty-four years ago, and returns periodically.(She must have done a great job--she can't walk anywhere in the town without somebody joyfully shouting, Anita, Anita!)  On a clear, warm day, January 16th, we took public transportation to the somewhat bigger town, nearby, Neyba. Our plans were to visit an orphanage and,later,one of her Dominican friends, who is halfway through serving a ten-year sentence in a  Neyba jail.  Eduardo, the director of the little orphanage, was delighted to see Anita and me, and had a Dominican lunch which consisted of plantains, rice, beans, yuca and other savories.  Then we left for the jail, about 3/4 of a kilometer away.
The jail, a two-story concrete structure, painted bright green, was run by the Ejercicio Nacional, the Dominican National Guard.  We had to go back to the orphanage to leave our cameras and other belongings.  We weren't allowed to take even our dark glasses or hats into the jail.  A rather obese woman in fatigues copied all our details from our passports, which were to be kept in her care during the visit.  Then we went into separate rooms, one for men, one for women, to be searched.  Anita was strip-searched twice.  Maybe because I am older, or, as I suspect, the male guard, who wore civilian clothes, was less strict, I was cleared with a perfunctory tap over my wallet, tucked inside my pocket.  I then received a stamp on my forearm and was ready for the visit.
Once we entered the prison, men, some of whom were teenagers, were standing everywhere, blocking the extremely narrow, dark corridors.  We found our friend in his room, which was about eight feet long and seven feet wide.  It was as high off the ground as a bunkbed on a train.  I had to climb up a ladder built into the wall; it consisted of ridiculously narrow wooden slats, about three inches wide.  My friend had no trouble climbing into the room; I needed a little help from one of the prisoners.
Needless to say I felt a little uncomfortable and very claustrophobic. 
Anita, however, was very much at ease.  The prisoner, a robust man in his 50s, and Anita were delighted to see each other and talked about many things.  Al fondo de mi corazon, he said, yo se que soy innocente.  His room was very well ordered; clothes and toiletries, etc, were all in their place.  I sat on a little wicker stool in the narrow corridor beside the bed; he stood next to me facing Anita, who sat on the bed.  One small window with iron bars let in adequate light.  A portable radio was in a prominent place; neatly stored tapes were everywhere.  He noticed that I was wearing a T-shirt with a grand piano on it and thereupon asked me whether I could play piano; I said yes.  He plays guitar, but guitars are not allowed inside the prison.  He also said he sings.  He played several tapes of Hispanic ballads--all of them  contained only accompaniment by piano and a variety of other instruments; they were made for singers to use when no instrumentalists were available.
What a lovely voice! A warm, full baritone; his voice was always on pitch; his phrasing was impressive. . He was much better than all the popular singers I heard--(Recorded music is played very loudly all over La Descubierta--nearly all of them bachatas or merengues). He sang about five songs.   I was instantly put at ease, forgetting everything but the music.Prisoners gathered in the narrow passageway. I suspect that he provides their principal entertainment.  After that, I asked him if he knew one of my favorite songs, Silencio.  Yes, indeed;.we sang it together.  Man, I really got down, singing in full voice without the slightest inhibition.  (I rarely, but increasingly less rarely, sing.)  
We communicated the way musicians communicate for whom music is not merely entertainment, but the very center of life.  The prisoners enjoyed it almost as much as we did.  Anita was amazed; it was a peak experience, as she told us, for her too.
After our visit, one of the prisoners very kindly made sure that I didn't fall on my way down.
Before I left the prison, I said to him, Que tendriamos sin musica?  He replied, Nada, nada.  (What would we have without music?  Nothing at all.) We gave each other a long hug.  We declared that we had just become friends for life.
The song we sang is one of my favorites.  I heard it for the first time in Wim Wender's extraordinary 1999 documentary, The Buena Vista Social Club.  It is sung in the film by Ibrahim Ferrer and Omara Portuondo, two outstanding Cuban singers.  The song was written by the Puerto Rican composer, Raphael Hernandez (1892-1965.)  The singers, once very popular, were now in their 70s.  It is a very emotional intense performance.  Ibrahim has a lovely voice and phrases the words poignantly.  How well both of them know how to slow things down and take liberties with the meter for emotional effect!  Since I first saw the movie, I have listened to several recordings of both singers.  I don't know of any other singer who can slow things down to great emotional effect better than she can. (Most singers sing this song entirely too fast.)
The words also have a special significance for me.  They are as follows:
 

Silencio
Duermen en mi jardín
Las blancas azucenas^[3]
Los nardos y las rosas
[Y]^[4] mi alma, muy triste y pesarosa
A las flores quiere ocultar,
Su amargo dolor.
No quiero que las flores sepan
Los tormentos que me da, la vida
Si supieran lo que estoy sufriendo
Por mis penas, llorarían, también.
Silencio, que están durmiendo
Los nardos y las azucenas
No quiero que sepan mis penas
Porque, si me ven llorando, morirán.
Porque, si me ven llorando, morirán.
Porque, si me ven llorando, morirán
Silence
Sleeping in my garden
The white lilies
The nards and the roses
[And] my soul, very sad and heavy,
Wants to hide from the flowers
Its bitter pain.
I don’t want the flowers to know

    The torments life sends me

If they knew what I suffer
With my pains, they too would cry.
Silence; let them sleep,
The nards and the lilies
I don’t want them to know my sadness,
Because, if they see me crying, they’ll die.
Because, if they see me crying, they’ll die.
Because, if they see me crying, they’ll die.

 I've read an interpretation that this song, about flowers with very pronounced fragrances, "leads to the conceit that the flowers are as sensitive to our emotions as we are to their scents."  This may be a possible interpretation, but it is not mine.  The deeper meaning of the words as I see it is that the flowers are the young children of parents facing enormous difficulties.  They want to protect their children, keeping their suffering away from them as long as they can.  They well know that in the long run this strategy is not going to work.  It reminds me of Buddha's father who tried to keep suffering away from his son forever. (That didn't work either.)

This interpretation, for me at least, gives this song its special poignance.  As a pediatrician, I have seen many parents, hit very hard by difficulties, doing their best to protect their children.  Even in my brief stay in the Dominican Republic, I have seen some people to whom the words of this song apply .  I must admit that I am no different; I have been through several rough patches, and, as they say, growing old is not for sissies. In a certain mood, when no one else is at home but a fly on the wall, I play this balero over and over on the piano.

The Ferrer/Portuondo recording is on YouTube; I am now preparing  a (very amateur) recording of it myself.

The last thing I expected was to be moved to tears of joy  in a Dominican jail.  Once in a while, predictably, the unpredictable happens--when is such an occurrence likely, you might ask?  As Fats Waller famously put it, "One never knows, do one?"

Addendum:  I have recorded my version of the piece and have uploaded it onto the blog.