Steve North
March 22, 2003
INCO480

Morning came far too early for my tired body, especially after my late night talk with Dr. Lucas. However, a cold shower woke me up quite thoroughly, and a good breakfast of scrambled eggs and ham, along with mango juice and fresh fruit did the trick in jump starting the day. I continue to be struck by, and appreciate the graciousness and joy of Mercedes and her staff in serving the meal, and in welcoming us to their work here again this morning.

This morning is research orientation morning with Drs. Mike and Anita Dohn. They are people with an obvious desire and a matching commitment to the people here – a commitment to help them achieve physical, mental and spiritual wholeness in life, through researching and implementing preventive community-wide health measures.

The Dohn’s included in their talk demographic information that, put in context, is pretty shocking. I admit that our first evening here I was thinking that the Dominican Republic is probably much better off economically than Mexico, and it may actually be. But numbers like 25% of the households (2000) we will survey this week live on less than 50 cents per person per day cannot quite be grasped without seeing the actual conditions. I got pictures of those conditions later this morning, when we visited the area, but photos do not accurately convey the feelings conjured by being there.

The teams for doing the research are now fixed, and I am working with Cathy and Bev in Dr. Dante’s area of the colonia. After reviewing the map and being oriented on paper, we are taking a brief tour of the colonia itself. Dr. Mike is dropping Dr. Anita and a half dozen of us at the “entrance” of the colonia, near the Good Shepherd Medical Center, where we are beginning a walking tour of the areas we will survey.

We’ve created an instant scene – children are coming out of the woodwork to investigate who these strangers are. They are a bit shy, in some ways, but are also smiling, happy and expectant. It’s as if they are waiting for some great thing to happen. They seem happy to be noticed by strangers, and even play little jokes to gain our attention. As we are walking down the street with Dr. Anita, one little boy slid his toy alligator into my path – and I about jumped out of my skin as it slid into my line of sight. The roar of good-natured laughter from the boys and our group is a connecting bond between strangers checking each other out.

It comes as a great shock to discover that the dirt paths down which we walk are actually the streets on the maps to which we were oriented only a short time ago. Most of them are only wide enough for perhaps two persons to walk abreast. The children follow or lead us in their bare feet – most of them have no shoes, and some have no clothes at all. Their natural shyness is overcome by their curiosity, and our entourage grows larger by the minute.

It is, I think, a reflection of what I believe to be a universal human need – that of knowing and being known. These children don’t know who we are, they just know we seem to want to be where they are. They seem to know we’re not a threat, but that we care about them. This is a reflection of another universal truth – children everywhere can tell when someone notices them and cares about them, and if they sense some-thing different, they are afraid. There is not much fear here on these streets today.

The Good Shepherd Medical Center, at which Dr, Anita sometimes works, operated by the Sisters of the Transfiguration is in the middle of the colonia. It has apparently become a part of the landscape of this little community – not a separate entity, but part and parcel of it.

As we take a left turn onto an even narrower “street,” we are walking beside an above-ground sewer water channel running parallel to it. This aqueduct is about 4 feet high and 6 feet wide, with a rounded top. It is made of concrete, but is in disrepair. We hear that every time it rains, the rainwater causes the system to overflow onto and into and among the houses built in a row not 20 feet from the channel. The high-water marks from these toxic overflows on the houses are about 18 inches above ground level, which of course means that the water gets inside the houses as well. One woman describes for us the effects of the floods on her home, and showed us that she has put her meager furnishings up on blocks to protect them from water destruction. Still, we can easily see that the blocks have not always been high enough

This same woman shows us the stones she has strategically placed around the outside of her home, allowing to get out of the house without wading at times of these floods. I am trying to imagine living in these conditions, picturing the frustration and sorrow, when she speaks up in praise to God for His deliverance and care for her and her family. These are resourceful people who think less about what they don’t have than what they do; who worry less about what they suffer than how they are blessed. And it’s a humbling thing to witness.

This is a garbage dump colonia. At the end of the aqueduct is a dump, presum-ably just for this small area, where I’m sure they have no trash pick up. This setting is a set-up for sorrow and despair and hopelessness. Many of these people, according to Dr. Anita, have moved to the city from the country, where they once worked in now corporate sugar cane fields. The opportunities in the city are not great enough to support this influx of people, and they wind up living in these slum conditions, waiting for a break – waiting for hope to be restored.

I believe the most important reason for the apparent correlation between poverty level and visible garbage (the lower the income level, the more visible the garbage) has to do with hope. The innate sense of human dignity that people all have is mitigated by inadequate resources, severely limited opportunities, social hierarchies, and debilitating disappointment. The resulting loss of hope is reflected by diminished pride and resulting neglect of personal property. This correlation seems as crystal clear to me as anything I have ever seen or known.

A further insight into this issue is that the insides of the homes we see are neat and uncluttered – perhaps a sign of hope not completely dead. Is it possible that while these folks cannot control the environment outside their homes very well, inside they can and do? Is this the one place they can maintain a sense of pride and personal dignity, in spite of living in or near the garbage dump?

At lunch we’re eating with and meeting the group from Colorado staying here at the Conference Center this week. Their group is very open about sharing stories of how God made it possible for them to be here this week, in spite of up to 7 feet of snow in the Denver area. I expect that God is going to be doing something wonderful here this week as these two unlikely groups cross paths in the Dominican Republic.

I’ve been designated the group’s cruise director, and am helping our group find its way to and around the downtown area for phone calls, currency exchange and shopping. One of the memorable events of the trip so far is in answer to the question: “How many Ohio University students can you fit in a 7 passenger minivan that already has 2 people in it?” Answer: 15. We all piled into a public transportation van for our trek to the downtown area. It’s another reflection of resourcefulness – as well as bravery – to see the “recruiter” on one of these vans hanging our the side of the van where the sliding door has been removed, trying to gain more business for he and his partner, the driver. They’ll take us anywhere in the city for 5 pesos a person – less than 25 cents. They’re hustlers who deserve the tip we gave them for our return trip home. As we’re unloading, the recruiter is very gracious in helping our seemingly unending number of people out of the cramped quarters.

A woman approached as we stand waiting in the park for our return ride to arrive. She looks to be about 60-something, but is dressing in a tight, otherwise sexy dress, with a hairband and young-looking jewelry. She wants to know if I speak English, and I reply, “Yes.” She is asking for money for feeding her children. Of course, I can’t do that, but I wonder if she may be a prostitute. Her attempts at looking young and attractive seem over the top to me…People will do whatever it takes to make it.

Everywhere we go, the kids follow: a group of shoeshine boys and others who are just curious. They are helpful and try to direct us to places they think we want to find. I’m not sure if they hope to receive money for their companionship and advice, but they don’t ask for it. They hang around and are more and more playful as time goes by. Familiarity comes quickly to these folks – again, I think this reflects the universal need and desire to know and be known.

Once again, I noticed Dr. Lucas speaking with folks in the park while I was shopping in a souvenir store. I watch him interact through questions and intensive listening, and I’m reminded again what this trip is about. While I don’t like the term Liberation Theology, and what it stands for, it is the truth that we are here to listen to folks to whom few ever listen.

And they want to be heard. What else can be behind their continuous tagging along, practical joking, warmth and openness. When these folks – like all of us – sense that someone is willing to listen to their story and enter their life for even a little while, they respond with great candidness and even joy.

Mercedes is a great lady. Her gracious and warm nature is summed up accurately in her lunchtime introduction statement: “I am your servant.” This, to her, is not a self-deprecating remark. She means to say that her joy is in facilitating the work of those who come to this place to help these people. She has a perspective on life and service to others not often seen – it’s a very humbling and inspiring experience to be with her here.

P.S.: A priceless moment, filled with eternity, happened just now. As we sit eating pizza at Portofino’s, three boys approach asking for some pizza. We refuse them and continue to eat, but Kim is touched by these boys who withdraw to sit and watch on the wall around the restaurant’s outdoor patio. It’s apparent this is not an attack of guilt; it’s a genuine response of compassion for people whose names she will not ever know, but whose faces will remain etched on her heart for a long time to come. We have tried to find them so that Kim can give them the food we’ve gathered, but they’ve disappeared. I don’t know what other chances Kim will have to fully experience what was missed here, but I hope grace gives her a moment to fulfill what was in her heart to do for someone else, and that that person or persons will receive her gift gladly.