Constanza. This place is probably one of the most beautiful places I have ever been. We went for a full weekend. We stayed in the most beautiful, quaint little houses that overlooked the valley that is literally breathtaking. We could sit on our porch, listen to music from all corners of the town, watch the motos cruising down the road, gaze over the patch-work-quilt patterned colorful hills that somehow fit all of their pieces together haphazardly and feel the slightly crisp air on our faces that held whispers of a perfect spring-time sunset from home. Peace. If I had to use one word to define Constanza, that would be it. Aside from the fact that it is situated in the middle of a broken world, I could definitely envision heaven looking a little bit like the view of
Constanza I had from my back porch.When we got there the first day we had the option of touring a greenhouse and seeing some hotel ruins or going on a short hike. I chose the hike. It was the path that the revolutionaries of the June 14th group took in their plotting against Trujillo. Which is pretty unfortunate if you ask me because it was super muddy. I thought it was fun, though, because I had time to explore and wasn’t fleeing from anybody. The next day we took “safari trucks”-trucks with benches and tarp in the back-up the mountain on this narrow, winding road up to a gorgeous waterfall. I jumped in the water, which was about 50 degrees Fahrenheit O.o . My whole body was numb when I got out. That night we had dinner at the place we were staying in this pretty gazebo of sorts. Afterward there was much music and dancing and we had a bonfire after that! (Made me miss camping…)
The last day we went to town to go to a market, which was a crazy free-for-all. It was like a few square blocks of tarp under which there were tons of tables. It was hard to tell who was the owner most of the time. It was kind of separated by nationality-one side consisted primarily of Dominican vendors and the other of Haitian vendors. The Haitian side smelled and looked and felt oddly of a Goodwill store on the streets with Haitian vendors. And here’s the thing: it sort of is. The stuff that the Haitians were selling was mostly stuff sent from the United States. And here’s the crazy point I want to get across: the majority of the clothes sent by well-meaning Americans does not actually go to the poor Haitians that need clothing! Here is what happens: some of it makes it to them, yes. But most of 
it goes to people who have money and they give it to poor Haitians to do their dirty work and sell it in the market for them. In turn, I do believe that they give them a small stipend, although I must admit that I didn’t totally understand this part. But both my host mom and our director have confirmed that most of the relief sent to Haiti ends up in the hands of the people who already have money. These problems can’t be solved by good intentions. It cannot be solved by people sending their second-hand clothing. (I’m not saying this shouldn’t happen, because it does help!) This just doesn’t have the necessary effect to solve the problem. They need more than the clothes we don’t wear anymore and would throw away otherwise. I’m not sure exactly what that is yet, but I know that what’s happening is not enough.