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Santo Domingo is an imposing city, far removed from the postcard and cellphone shots of my father’s childhood that first drew me here. It is however not imposing in the way that an African city, like the endless steel skeletons of Dire Dawa, or the almost fae-like forestries of China are. Santo Domingo is imposing like the victor of an eating competition is. Horrifying in his rapacious appetite, but subtly enthralling in his strength and constitution. Through Santo Domingo the spoils of the great slaughter up north come, and the city has grown fat gorging on them. Already twice the size it was ten years ago, at 2 million, not counting