Teacher Love

I am almost done with week number 2 in the classroom! Time has been flying here, but it has been so great. I really couldn’t ask for a better mentor teacher or better students to learn how to teach with

.

I went to a Christian concert at the school on Saturday night which was so cool and then went to another concert (Christine D’Clario, big Christian artist in the Caribbean) in Santiago on Sunday night after church (a different church that is much more typical of the types of churches that I tend towards). The concert started at 8 and Santiago is like 40 minutes away. It was an incredible night of praise and worship and her testimony really resounded with me. I had such a great time going with some of my new girl friends. Unfortunately, I have to be at school at 6:45 in the morning to start teaching a 7am class while the vast majority of the rest of the school (including the women I was with) don’t have to arrive until 7:45. So, with very little sleep I started school on Monday and had a wonderful day. I thought that I would be so dead the whole day but I found energy that was not my own. The students were so great on Monday and reminded me of why I’m here. It’s a really cliché thing to say, get all of your boo’s and awwww’s out now, but they’re really great and make it worth getting up every day.

I have led smaller parts and helped out with group work before but today was my first day teaching a significant part of a lesson. It went really well! Much better than I expected for my first lesson. I didn’t make some of the biggest mistakes that I usually make and it felt like it went really well. And Brad was incredibly encouraging afterward so that was good to hear. I’m so excited to get to start doing more and more in the classroom! I’m so thankful for the grace that my students have shown me thus far as I learn how to teach and as I’m taking over instructional time that they would otherwise have with their favorite teacher.  :)

Overwhelmed by the Spirit

Since I haven’t written in awhile and what I have to say is long and covers pretty unrelated topics, I am splitting today’s into two. This first one tells a story (at times…er…embellished appropriately) of an experience I had a couple of weeks ago:

Two Sundays ago I decided to go to church with my host mom. We had had a real heart to heart in the morning, I had lost my phone at this point so I couldn’t contact anyone as to where exactly the church I planned on going to was, and it seemed like it could be a great cultural experience. It was.

She warned me ahead of time that it was Pentecostal church and not her normal church. It’s her husband’s church but she’s been having issues at hers so we decided to try it out. She knew that we were in for quite the experience. The service lasted for 13 hours (embellishment-it was probably like 3 hours, which in retrospect is not as long as it could’ve been). We walked in and we were the only women there wearing pants instead of a dress or skirt. Oh the scandal that we must have brought to the church. I felt instant shame. The women were on one side and the men on the other side. If this wasn’t going to be a bonding experience with Minerva I don’t know what would be…

 The church building was the size of a large bedroom or a small classroom. Nonetheless, the members had evidently invested in or stumbled upon three speakers, all roughly the size of a small skyscraper (embellishment). What’s more, they were so incredibly invested in the gospel that they shouted it into this little microphone that carried a great deal of sound through the towering speakers right to the pulse in my eardrum. It made women fall to the ground and weep for Jesus and children fall to the ground screaming and covering their ears (embellishment-the women part, not the children part). I kind of wanted to be a child at this point. It terrified me to, kiddo, me too.

 At the end the preacher called out the newbies to bless them and pray over them. It mattered not that Minerva and I were already Christians. We, too, had to be saved and fully accept the presence of God that we had not accepted previously. A woman put one hand over my my breast and the other on one side of my face as her cheek touched mine and prayed very passionately over my heart. I didn’t speak in tongues or feel any different…besides the discomfort that this white girl felt from the proximity to another unknown person that I was experiencing at the moment. Plus she was talking so darn fast and it was so loud around us and I caught only like three quarters of what she was even saying anyway. The breath of fresh air that I took when we finally made it out of that building was extravagant and the wordless look exchanged between my host mother of two days and me priceless. I have never had a dull experience at a Pentecostal church and I must say that I do really admire the truth that they spoke and the fervor with which they followed the Lord. But I can say that rarely has fresh air felt so sweet. 

New Beginnings

                My first week and a half here has been fabulous. The community at my school, Doulos Discovery School is incredible. As I have often bemoaned, even simple, day-today challenges that people face can be so much more difficult and draining when abroad, and the staff here are so committed to being that support for each other and showing grace to one another in any way possible. I very much miss everyone from home, but I have spent little time feeling lonely because of the strength of the community. Jarabacoa is also a really nice place and quite different from Santiago!! It’s been a bit of an easier transition that I had expected-the town is much calmer, which means that it’s not as easy to get anywhere you want to go but I’m surrounded by beauty and seeing a gringo isn’t such a rarity here so even though I’m still one of the tallest and blondest women here I don’t stick out quite as much (except in my house or when I do stuff with my host family, in which case I get the blessing of being the minority once again-a reminder of the diversity that I come to crave when I’m away for it for too long).

For the first week I stayed with two different couples that are on staff at Doulos and they hosted me with so much grace and I had a wonderful time. I am certainly glad to finally have (mostly) unpacked my suitcase and have a little space of my own now that I’ve arrived at my homestay.  It’s a tiny little house with a lot of people. It’s an adjustment getting used to freezing cold showers again and ants getting in everything but it’s a place filled with a lot of love.

We had our first day of “school” today. For the high schoolers, it was a retreat to the Young Life camp, Pico Escondido. I got to go on that and it was a lot of fun! We played some games, praised Jesus, ate and just spent some good time with the students. It was a little intimidating to just be thrown into such an informal setting the first day with my students, but it was fun and a nice way to ease into the school year for them!

The school is really small-there are about 250 students in Pre-K through 12^th grade so each grade has only one class. I am teaching 10^th-12^th grade Math, which is Geometry, Advanced Algebra and then a split class of Pre-Calculus and a more basic, Algebra-skill-boosting class. The general format for the core classes like Math is that we teach all morning, have lunch from 12:30-1:00 and then have the afternoon to plan. This is really nice for me because having so many preps is going to be a challenge in my student teaching!

My cooperating teacher is so great. I was a little nervous about having a guy at first, I must admit, but he is going to be a really great teacher to learn from. From what I’ve gathered so far from student reactions and what other teachers have said, he is the favorite teacher in high school. He’s a lot of fun and a really laid back guy but still really challenges his students and has high expectations. That’s the kind of teacher I’ve identified myself as and am really excited to learn from him how to balance those things, because it’s a tough role to play! This demeanor is also really going to help me in my student teaching experience and he’s already shown himself an advocate for me, whether in allowing me to try new things that might fail or in defending my time and protecting me from the other desperate teachers who need this document translated or another volunteer for X,Y and Z (it’s a really busy place with a lot of needs and a lot of great places to jump in and help). I know that he wants me to succeed and is very encouraging.

I’m so excited to see what this semester holds. I have already grown so much through this transition, even despite my fear that I wasn’t strong enough for it. I know that it’s going to be a very challenging semester, but I also know that I’m going to grow a lot. I’ve come here to learn and be challenged, but I also think that God brought me here to heal.

I've likely forgotten to mention some details that you may have questions about, so please feel free to ask about anything you would like to know more about!

La Llegada

I have made it safe and sound to Jarabacoa. I got in the airport at about 9:20, got my bags, found my school director and his wife, and got to their house by about 10:45. Today I spent the day in the classroom setting stuff up with my cooperating teacher, meeting other teachers, taking care of some details, etc. So far I am so in love with the community at Doulos and am so excited for my time here! Everyone has been incredibly kind and helpful and inclusive. The campus is gorgeous and I feel like this is a perfect place for me to be at.

My adventures for this trip, however, began a little bit sooner than expected. I committed a bit of an oversight this past week and a half-I hadn’t seen my passport and it never really occurred to me to look for it. It’s always there somewhere. And I had it in my car 3 weeks ago. Monday night I went to go get it from the place in my room that I always keep it and it wasn’t there…or in the 3 or 4 other places it could have possibly been. With a weeks’ worth of nightmares of various things going wrong in my travels swirling around in my head along with all of the mounting anxiety of the last week (or couple months), my stress level climaxed and full-fledged panic ensued. My parents, Matt, my sisters and I all began to tear apart the house, ransacking every nook and cranny. No luck. It was nowhere to be found. I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes in my time, but this topped them all and I had no idea where to go next. Do I keep looking? Do I look into getting another one?

I called an automated appointment system to try and set up an appointment ASAP in either Chicago or Detroit to get a new passport same day. The earliest dates were the 12^th and the 13^th at those offices. I was supposed to leave the 7^th. We continued searching places we had already checked 3 times over. My dad, the voice of reason, finally decided that we should just call and talk to someone in the Chicago office first thing in the morning.

So I got up the next morning, reported my passport as lost (which was scary because then even if I found it after that, I wouldn’t ever be able to use it) and then got transferred to an appointment specialist. She took my information and told me that she would send in a request to the Chicago office. At first she made it sound like there was no chance I would be getting in today yet, but then I asked how soon I would be able to know when I could get an appointment because I would need to change my flight accordingly and she said that hopefully they would call that day to let me know. I thanked her and hung up, still really unsure of what to do. I called my school director’s house to let him know what was going on and decided to just take a shower and then keep packing and getting everything ready to get a new passport so I could go right when they called me. I didn’t have to wait long. 1 minute out of the shower my dad called me over because he was talking to the airline to ask about the costs of changing my flight ($200 at least for each change) and my phone rang. It was the Chicago passport office calling me to let me know that if I could make it there by noon-12:30-at-the-very-latest then I could get my passport today. It was currently 9:15 and I was in a towel without any of the things gathered that I needed. I quickly changed and ran to Walgreen’s to get a passport picture as my dad sent forms to my mom to print out an drive home (our printer isn’t working well) and gathered the things I needed like my birth certificate. We got everything together and were off by 10 (thankfully Chicago is an hour behind). Nonetheless, we had very little wiggle room for traffic delays (which have happened every single time I’ve travelled to and from Bloomington-Normal this summer).

I never would have dreamed that I would lose my passport. Who does that? Apparently a lot of people. There was quite a line when we arrived to the office at 12 on the dot. As I waited in line I heard a few people say that they were trying to get passports to leave the country that same afternoon. I waited in line for 45 minutes, then got a number to put in my request. I waited about 10 more minutes, then got my request in and she said that hopefully they would get it in today yet. My dad and I, a little shell-shocked with our newfound relief of pressure kind of wandered around for a bit and then decided to go get lunch at a German café he had heard about. We wandered to the outside of Millennium Park after that, and then decided to head back to see if my passport was done.

With 30 minutes until the building closed, I was handed my new passport!

God is good. As are my parents and Matt, without whom I definitely would not have gotten on that plane in time.

When I finally made it back home, I ate dinner quickly and then began packing with Matt’s help. Or maybe he was packing with my help (he’s much more efficient with space). We got done at about 1:00am with everything. Then woke up at 3:30am to get ready and head off to catch my plane from Grand Rapids. I was travelling all day, with an 8 hour layover in Miami and snuck in a few short naps throughout.  I also ended up sitting next to and meeting a guy who works for a church just down the street from Doulos, so he helped me with a lot of traveling things and told me more about the city. It was wonderful to have the company on the trip, especially in the state that I was in!

Our flight to Santiago was delayed for about 40 minutes so I got in late but unbelievably, I made it despite all of the big obstacles! Life is crazy and miracles do still happen. And as my dad reminded me on our drive home, you never know what the day may bring (and don’t beat yourself up if you lose your passport because there are a ton of lost passports out there…).

The whole passport ordeal really made me question my self-proclamation as an adventure-lover. This was one adventure I could do without, I thought. It also really made me question why someone like me should be allowed to travel independently to another country in a kind of remote place. I had serious doubts about myself. And I was hoping for a clear reason as to why I lost my passport so that it wouldn't just be because I am scattered :) But nothing dramatic happened: I didn’t have to change my flight only to realize that a plane I was supposed to be on crashed, I didn’t meet any life-changing people because of it and I’m still out $200. But it did remind me that I need to trust God. He carried me through the whole process by using my amazingly supportive family and boyfriend and a very kind stranger. He took care of me and made possible the unbelievable. I’m still scared for all that this semester will hold and what I should do after it, but I know that He will carry me through and that everything will be alright. I just need a little more faith and trust sometimes. 

Transitions

Well folks, over a year has passed and here I go again into the world of motoconchos, fried everything, tiny coffee mugs, Spanish, dancing, Caribbean heat and the most adorable children you ever did see. But this time I’m going to play the teacher instead of the student.

I was basically fearless going into my first long-term adventure into this beautiful country. I had much more to lose than I realized, but I just felt like I was ready to get out of this place and go somewhere new, breathe some Caribbean air, experience a new culture, embody a new culture. I was ambitious, yes, and took much for granted. My life was not in a great state at this point. I didn’t think I had much to lose, and thought that it would only make me stronger. Well, it definitely did, but maybe not in the way that I had planned. God had a different plan, as he sometimes does.

As I continue to prepare myself for my departure,  even while my heart and mind (and body) are here in Bloomington-Normal with my research group and the lovely little life I have made for myself here this summer, I cannot help but to feel pretty apprehensive. I’m already wondering what came over me when I decided to do this. I am fully assured that it was written in God’s plan for me, and that’s why he made the application deadline when He did, because if I would have known how it would feel now, I’m not sure I would have been strong enough to follow through with it. I love this country with all of my heart, but all of my heart also stays home, with family and friends and the love of my life. I also know what I’m getting into this time around a little bit better. I am so excited for all of the beautiful parts of this country and can’t wait feel home again in the part of my heart that remains there. But I also know the demons that plague in the loneliness and stress that comes with being in a new place away from what I’ve known my whole life. And I’m not too proud to admit this time around that I am certainly not strong enough to face them alone. But I have been redeemed enough to know that God is strong in my weakness and that encouragement is available for the weary and downtrodden who seek it.

So it is with great excitement, trembling and humility that I begin this journey, and I humbly ask for your prayers as I go on this journey. The director of the school in which I will be teaching (Doulos Discovery School) urges me to regard myself as a missionary in this experience. It is a missions’ school that I will be teaching at, and all teachers at the school raise their own full support. Again, had I know then that I was committing myself to such a position, I know I would not have had the strength or courage to accept the call of missions. I do not feel prepared to be in that position, but I once again trust fully that God knew exactly what He was doing and my prayer is that He uses me as He sees fit in my time at Doulos.

I humbly request your continued prayers as I embark on this journey, that God protects me from harm and temptation, from the demons that persist, from the doubt that invades, the depression that paralyzes, and the fall to which we are all inclined, and that in the times in which these things prevail that I may persist in the faith and the hope that God provides, that I may pass through those times and God may continue to use me to further His kingdom. I am already overwhelmed and encouraged by the outpouring of love and support that has been shown me by my faith community and feel so blessed to be a part of it. I can’t wait to see where this new adventure takes me.

Haiti and issues of race.

In continuation of my last post, perhaps what needs to happen are some movements within Haiti. I experienced one of these a couple of weekends ago. Some of my friends from PUCMM are Haitian and are involved in starting up a company that is working to promote tourism in Haiti. Yes, they have the job because they need the money, like every college student (trust me, I’ve seen their apartment-a couch or two wouldn’t hurt them :P). But they all decided to put so much work into this company to bring people into Haiti. They are educated men-they know what people outside of the country think about Haiti. They have also come to the DR and seen how much tourism has helped out this country’s economy (…more or less-the problem with tourism is that it’s an unstable sort of income that is susceptible to the economy of other countries and to natural disasters everywhere…but still.). They want to improve their own country by working hard to get people to come to Haiti to just see what it is like. Haiti is such a beautiful country and if people could just see that, they would want to come. Well, we went. And it was an adventure for sure…

First off, let me just say that our guides are from the south and we went to Cap-Haitian in the North, where they had never been before. The guy who started it lives in Miami now so he told them where he’s been going for the last few years and they went off of that. We were definitely safe with them and we so appreciate the work that they did for us and the friendships we have built with them. Nothing that happened was in any way their fault, and they remedied every situation the best that they could. That being said, it wasn’t that bad I just feel the need to add a disclaimer haha. You will understand if you choose to read on…

First, crossing the border. So this is how it works: you go through immigration/emigration on the DR side, cross a bridge that also serves as a market so it is crawling with people, and go through immigration/emigration on the Haiti side. On the bridge, 5 minutes into Haiti, one of my friends had her camera stolen right out of her hand. There was this huge ordeal because a guy there was pretending to be with immigration and he was not. So he was asking for our passports and for some money and our guides knew better than to give it to him so a fight broke out (in Creole, mind you; none of us knew what was going on until after all of this had passed). Finally we pacified him by letting him check our passports and we went on our merry way. But in the confusion, my friend’s camera was incredibly stolen right out of her hand and she didn’t even notice until after the fact. Crazy. Sooo we made it eventually. We were stopped a lot along the road to Cap-Haitian to have our passports checked. A van full of white people draws attention in the DR but it draws 10 times more attention in Haiti. Most of them were good cops, some were a little rude and intimidating but none of them were really bad. The scary thing was just not really knowing.

Next comes the hotel. The guys had to pay in advance to get this hotel so they couldn’t change it without us having to pay more. So we decided to tough it out for 4 days. “Tough it out” means that one time there was running water and we got showers (over days of trekking through incredible heat). It means that the air didn’t work most nights. It means that there were bed bugs and we had bites all over our bodies (but that’s not as bad as it sounds, because thankfully bug bites don’t really itch, they just look bad). It means that there were tons of mosquitoes. It means the toilet didn’t flush most of the time. And that there was one lightbulb in the whole room, and at night we couldn’t have the fans on and the light off at the same time. It was rough. Thankfully they found another, much nicer hotel while we were there that they can use for the rest of the trips.

When we finally got settled in to our hotel after arriving we went to some beautiful fortress ruins by a beautiful beach. We spent some time just hiking around and exploring. Nearby was the other, much nicer hotel so we spent some time exploring that and just sitting on the patio watching the waves roll in. We came back content but sweaty after hiking around in the Haitian heat...to find no water for showers :) So we went out to eat as we were and enjoyed a dinner without a time schedule: eating, talking, laughing, sharing, and dancing on the patio.

The next day was a little bit rougher. We went to the citadel, which was built during the Haitian revolution. We had the option of taking a horse up to the top of the mountain, but thought it would only take about an hour to make the trek so most of us declined, with one exception. As soon as we began the climb we were surrounded by a hoard of people yelling and pushing and pulling us to try and convince us to pay them to take us up the mountains on their horses. It was so hot and confusing (it was hard to tell what language they were speaking to us a lot of the time and we kept getting separated from each other) that a few other people gave in and mounted horses pretty shortly thereafter. Being prideful, without a single goude or peso on my body, and a little wary of the strangers pushing and pulling us all over the place, I continued on with many of my friends. But it was HOT. So much hotter than in the DR (not really sure why, it’s not that big of an island, I’m not sure how there was such a drastic weather difference hah). And it was rough going. And I have no idea how long we were walking but we eventually learned that it was 7 kilometers to the top. Which is just shy of 4 and a half miles. Which would take almost an hour to walk if you were power walking on flat land, not climbing a mountain. Finally, after we were about half way up (I was walking with my friend Tyler) we caved and Tyler paid for horses for him and me with barely enough money for two of us to get a horse the rest of the way up. It was a physical relief but not an emotional one! The horse kept slipping on the rocks and I could feel it was even more tired than I was. But, we finally made it up the mountain. And I think it was worth it in the end. The Citadel and the view from the top were more beautiful than words could possibly describe. We walked around to see the views and we walked through the fort. We got to see the canons that pointed through every window and went on the rooftop where the men would do their workouts. The view from there was breathtaking. After spending some time exploring we made our trek back down. Some of us had paid for a horse up and down, but those of us who hadn’t decided to walk down and just stick together more this time. Then a friend and I decided it would be fun to run wildly down like children. My shins didn’t think it was so fun. But the rest of me did and neither of us wiped out! And we got off that mountain faster, so I would say it was worth it ;) We got to the bottom faster than everyone except the people who took horses down and sat next to a tantalizing mini-waterfall, dripping in sweat. The children were playing naked in the pool. It was really tempting to jump in with them. If only running around naked was still acceptable in this world…But anyway, everyone else eventually made it down and we continued. We couldn’t go back the way we had come because it was closed for some reason so we had to go the long way around, naturally. We finally got back, walked to find a tap-tap (this is what they call Haiti’s version of guaguitas-except they’re really just like trucks with tarp over the back so everyone sits in the bed of the truck and you tap twice when you want out-hence, they call them tap-taps) and made it back to the hotel…to find that se fue el agua otra vez (there was no water. still.).  Our guides went down and exchanged some creolian words with the man downstairs and eventually there came some water. We decided to group shower por si acaso (just in case), which was a good idea, since it went pretty shortly after it came. We got ready and went out to dinner, where I tried Creole sauce, which is super spicy and I am not a fan. We got back exhausted, but it was okay because the next day was a beach day!!

            To get to the beach the next day we all hopped in the back of a truck that was uncovered. This wouldn’t matter except for the fact that we barely fit and started out almost falling out and then were twisting and turning through mountain roads hah. But we made it unscathed and got on a yola to glide through some of the clearest, bluest water I have ever seen (including all of the other Caribbean beaches I had the fortune to visit!). It was gorgeous. We got to this little beach that was carved out of the mountainy forest surrounding it and there we would pass the entire day. We ate lobster and crab and all sorts of good things for lunch. We explored the coast and found starfish and more sea urchins. We drank milk out of coconuts. It was a beautiful day spent with beautiful people. Timeless beauty. A little piece of heaven in the ordinariness of life.   

            We took our yola back and got back in the truck and precariously made our way back once again. We got ready (with or without water this time, I can’t remember for sure but I think what had happened is that we had filled up water bottles so we didn’t have water but we bathed with the water we had saved) and went out to our last dinner together. It was a great time.

The next morning we made our way back in the guaguita and had to pass through customs again. Then, we had to cross the bridge again. The same man was there. And he remembered us. It was trouble right from the get-go. He came right to Josh, the most hot-headed of our fearless leaders, and began pushing him as soon as he refused to hand over our passports or money. Clement and Soumaho, the other two, were holding Josh back and people were beginning to swarm around us, all speaking a language we don’t know. I felt okay while Clement and Soumaho were holding him back, because the situation seemed mostly under control. And then Soumaho and Clement joined in. This is when I got scared. They are quite level-headed, peace-making men. They don’t want to cause problems. I felt that the situation had lost control when they had no choice but to try and defend themselves and everyone else involved. Finally, after standing by and watching and laughing this whole time, the Argentineans from the UN stepped in and let us through after checking our passports. Which brings me to another sidenote: The UN in Haiti is virtually useless. We were told and witnessed on various occasions that it’s like these people are on vacation. They just sort of hang out and go to the beach and nobody’s there to tell them to do any different. It was quite aggravating. But fortunately, the ones at the border stepped in eventually and we made it across the bridge and through customs on the DR side and onto our guaguita to go home. We eventually made it and all got in wonderful, coveted showers and enjoyed traveling through a country in which there is (almost) always toilet paper in the bathrooms. :)

         On the way home there was an interesting dynamic. Like I had mentioned before, when we rode through Haiti we were stopped often so that the guards could check the white peoples’ passports (I don’t mean to offend anyone by using direct terms, I have just become accustomed to calling it like it is in my conversations about race and ethnicity in the DR).  On this ride back from Haiti to Santiago we were stopped just as frequently but this time they literally only checked the Hatians’ passports. Every single time. I was sitting next to my Haitian friend and had fallen asleep on his shoulder. And still they asked for his and not once asked for mine. I got to thinking about the injustice of it all. And about where else this would happen. I didn’t have to look much further than our own country. Isn’t this something that would happen with a truck full of migrant workers from Mexico? Haven’t we seen thousands of cases of injustice towards our African American and Mexican American brothers and sisters in particular, not to mention the other minority groups? Why is there more trust and preference given to me, simply for having white skin? I once overheard an international student who is often mistaken for being Haitian, although he is actually from another island (which one, I cannot remember at the moment), speaking about the issue. He is on the receiving end of much injustice, and he mentioned that Haitians in general haven’t really done much to help the issue. He says that they get stereotyped as causing fights all the time and the reality is that even though far from all Haitians cause fights, enough of them continue to do so to perpetuate the stereotype. This was an interesting thought to me. It only gives further insight into how complicated the issue is. Does the stereotype perpetuate the action or the action the stereotype? Who can say…All I know is that I have looked into the eyes of beloved people who have been wrongly discriminated against because of some stupid stereotype that reaches much farther into the spectrum with its discrimination than do the people who are actually perpetuating it. And it is heart-breaking.

Constanza

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.