Now that I’m leaving…

As some of you know, I’m taking a strategically timed 5 month siesta from summer in the tropics (read bugs and heat) to go back to Alaska with the park service. As I sit here with my fan barely rotating, trying to recollect a distant two weeks ago when one still got to snuggle up in bed in fleece pants, two sweatshirts, two blankets AND a sleeping bag (even tropical countries get cold) I’m realizing that my excitement to return to Alaska’s cold weather might be short-lived. Every time I mention Alaska to a Dominican, even if they don’t know where Alaska is located, I get the same response, ‘oh yeah, Alaska, that’s where there is ice’. As much as I like to pretend that I, Californian native, I, wearer of fleece and two sweatshirts in 65 degree Dominican winter nights, am thick-skinned enough to have no ‘weather-shock’ when I go north, I can only go so long without realizing that maybe a year of living on a tropical island has actually turned me into a cold weather weenie. This is a concerning fact considering that the place I’m going to in Alaska is known for not just its ice, but its plethora of ice…rivers and mountains filled with the stuff! (UpperR: the beach trip w/ the Ark kids...why am i leaving again?)

So as I take stock of all the mountains of winter clothes I’ll be packing for my ‘summer’, I thought I should also take a moment to reflect on the ‘accomplishments’ that have presented themselves along this journey here in the DR. I must admit that I love being in this ‘I’m leaving in 7 days’ period. The realization of leaving gives a new perspective and sense of gratitude for the multitude of life’s blessings that have given great comfort and encouragement. Unfortunately some of which only happen once you really start to know and understand a place and people…and of course that only happens right before you leave. So in honor of the short lived blessings…

Now that I’m leaving…

10. Now that I’m leaving…I am finally able to understand the guys talking about me as I run by…and I am now able to politely let them know of that fact.

9. Now that I’m leaving…I finally have found a store that sells caramel frappacinos that would put Starbucks out of business.

8. Now that I’m leaving…I finally know where enough kids live around town that all my running loops have an emergency toilet plan…

7. Now that I’m leaving…I finally have convinced another missionary that accompanying me on the mail run (the fortnightly mail pick-up at the airport) to the city is not only a chance to test a post-missionary career with the postal service, but is also a convenient time to take a close study of the inside of McDonalds.

6. Now that I’m leaving…I finally can travel outside of Jarabacoa, Dominican style, (aka back of a pickup) without a map and not get lost, at least not physically lost. I, of course, have no idea where I am, but thankfully Dominicans have some sort of internal database that somehow tells them where to send you…‘No I don’t know Josue, but go straight, stop at the market, and ask there’. Sure enough, it works every time. (Matt & Lindsay with Josue, their sponsor kid that we hunted down and found!)

5. Now that I’m leaving…I finally know that the key to getting the local bus price requires being a little strategic. At the opportune moment, quickly ask the lady sharing your seat what it cost to get to stop X then hand the exact amount to the driver, this shows him that you know the fare and he’s not gonna get anymore out of you. However, make sure the driver is distracted or outside when asking or else he might intercept your question and name his Americano price. Above all, do NOT wait till you’ve reached your destination and then ask your driver how much, you’ll be broke before you know it.

4. Now that I’m leaving…I finally know what signing up for a Dominican camping trip with the Ark (the kids home) little kids will entail: spaghetti…for breakfast, camping in a cow pasture, a non-flushing toilet for 61 persons, thankfulness for the cow pasture after seeing the non-flushing toilet for 61 persons, the 1.5km hike actually turning into a 1.5 hour hike, the littlest of the kids walking the 1.5 hours and us realizing that they now need to walk back, being sent to clean the kid who had a bout of diarrhea…in his pants…

(R: The cow pasture & some of the Ark kids)

3. Now that I’m leaving…I’m realizing that the mysterious small amount of food that I have been buying is not because I’ve been eating less, but because I somehow keep finding pressing reasons to visit missionary families around 6pm.

2. Now that I’m leaving…my 6^th grade terror art class, that think clothing and skin are a substitute for paper on painting day, that laugh when I ask them to be quiet- the ones that heard that is, whose work I confuse with second grade, was appalled at me not being in class this week. And of all things, when they asked, I was actually sad that I wasn’t! (L: first grade art class)

1. Now that I’m leaving…I finally can see that God has blessed me with such vast riches in the time I’ve had teaching these kids, working with them doing sponsorship, playing soccer with them, being loved by them, etc, etc, etc. God had been really good over the past 16 months. I came to the DR knowing nothing, and I’m leaving (for the time being) with a better glimpse of the heart of God.

Psalm 71:20-21

²⁰ Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter,
you will restore my life again;
from the depths of the earth
you will again bring me up.

²¹ You will increase my honor
and comfort me once again.

Prayer:

That my 5 months in Alaska will be instructive in seeing if God wants me to continue with the NPS after my time in the DR

That I will have ministry and fellowship (sometimes very hard to come by) within the NPS community in Glacier Bay.

And like always, continue to pray for the kids and ministry here in the DR

(below: the highlight from the Moca zoo 2nd grade field trip)

A whole revolution

(from January...)

That’s right my friends, it has been a whole year. I was reminded of the continuous course of time with my first overlap; the arrival of Randy and the St. Mary’s college team. It was a year ago that I flew down with them and got my first taste of Dominican life. With my year-ago self in mind (the naïve, shy, new, dependant American), I am moved by the grace given to me by my students, roommates (poor Sonia who had to teach me everything), families, friends, parents, and teachers. Considering where I came from 12 months ago, the learning curve has been dramatic. SO, many thanks to you all for your prayers during this year, I feel so undeserving of your remembrance, but so grateful. The Lord has blessed me so much in my time here and I pray that he will bless you beyond imagination.

Peace and Love to you all,

Erica

Rolando's World

I have nothing funny to write about this month. It seems that as I have turned the page into year two, I have become an expert in third world living. Break-ins? Fire brigade saluting and marching? Bugs in the fridge? Is this the real third world!?! My stories need some new sub-Saharan characters: crocodiles, lions, wild hippopotamuses!

But no, Africa isn’t in the plan anytime soon. I could share a number of amusing mishaps, most of which involve me, my motorcycle and looking rather ridiculous, but amusing just doesn’t cut it. So in light of having nothing earth-shattering to say, I will tell you about my funny friend Rolando (in Hawaiian red). I went to visit his house with a couple other teachers and Micah Trautwein (she’s a MK). He and his brother sure were camera shy. That’s a joke. I think every picture I have of him some how involves kungfu. His story is hard, and yet, there are even worse stories out there. His story is a reminder to pray without ceasing!

Rolando (above) is five. He is Haitian. He doesn’t have a birth certificate so he cannot go to public school. Instead, he comes to the morning ABC class. The ABC program was developed to teach Haitian kids to speak/read/write Spanish in hopes that they will be able to move into kindergarten the following year. At Rolando’s home, every day his parents wake up at 4:45am to cook some rice, if there is any, for Rolando and his two older brothers. They start walking towards the fields where they work around 6am. Once they leave, the boys are left home alone. Rolando’s 11 year old brother, Chofry, is in charge of the food for the day. The rice has to last for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Before 7am, Rolando and Chofry start walking the 3 miles through town to Anija. In winter it is still dark when they head out. Because school is so far, Chofry waits for Rolando to finish school so that they can walk home together. While his brothers are at school, the middle brother (7 years old) has spent the day alone in an empty house next to a busy street. Mom comes home around 6 or 7 and dad sometimes much later.

Nothing can really prepare you for the hard realities of some of the kids in our programs. A few weeks after school was back in January, I learned that Rolando hadn’t been attending class. It appears his family is gone; returned to Haiti after an attempt at finding a better life working the fields.

Rolando’s sad story is one of 13 others. Over the year I have seen our Haitian program grow from 5 to 13 with one kid in kindergarten and one in first grade! Kids Alive has reached out and helped so many kids just like Rolando. Although hard, stories like Rolando’s remind me that I need to be spending more time in prayer for all of our kids, whether they are doing good or bad.

So please pray with me for Rolando and his family and for provision for the millions of children like Rolando around the world.

In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other's spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out.

Ephesians 6:18 (message)

Part 2...And for the parting shot

I may have embarked on uncharted territory with this one. After much thought and research as to fulfilling my EMT re-cert requirements, I have concluded that the only answer is to become a Dominican Republic volunteer firewoman. Requirements of: two pictures, a passport and cell number, my address (which consisted of just my street name since house numbers are inexistent), and a sentence stating my interest in volunteering. I handed those in and became an official DR EMT. I had to laugh when I turned it all in. In fact, I haven’t stopped laughing since I started volunteering. I hit my third Saturday and each week takes it to a whole new level of absurdity. Day one highlights: I learned how to play Dominican dominos. I got invited to be the fire department’s honored guest at Jarabacoa’s 150th anniversary celebration. I went inside both ambulances and was shown the one first aid kit with packages opened and unsterile. I was also shown that they DO have a C-collar (for head traumas…see below)

Day two highlights: Practiced proper saluting for a good 20 minutes with the fire boys (12 year olds training to be firemen and then me). The 20 mins. because I guess I just couldn’t figure out the correct contact of the index finger and corner of the eye. They also practice saying something like ‘yes Capitan, your most excellent honorableness, please, let me wash your motorcycle, and your wife’s motorcycle, and then the fire truck and the ambulance…’, at least that’s what I made up in my mind as they slurred every possible word into one big run on sentence and then asked me if I got it. I stared at them for a good minute with wide eyes and a little smile and then had a good laugh right then and there. Also we practiced unrolling fire hoses…and were getting ready to practice marching when I was called away to go on a run. We arrived on the scene of a man who had fallen off his motorcycle with obvious head trauma. Now typically this would mean C-spine immobilization, checking his heart & breathing rate, BP, dressing wounds etc. Well here in the DR we bypass all that…it’s better to grab him by his arms and legs, dump him on the gurney and run off to the hospital. He’ll be fine for the 5 minute ride and they can do all the rest at the hospital. So the guy wasn’t too bad, so this wasn’t too much of a problem, until we backed up to the emergency room door and couldn’t get the ambulance door open to wheel him out. So the guy I was with made Mr. Head Trauma get up, walk out the passenger side door and hop into the hospital…leaving bloody footprints behind. Oh, and I’m pretty sure the clean up was one swipe with a paper towel.

The second call was to transport a patient to the trauma center 45 minutes down the mountain. It was another head trauma patient, practically dropping off on us…as for monitoring the patient, I mentioned that maybe we should check to see if he was still conscious (luckily he was). The 45 minute ride was one continuous jerk back and forth...between speeding up to 60mph to screeching to almost a halt when nobody would pull over on the road. Unfortunately the head trauma victim had to feel the brunt of this without any spinal immobilization. At least at the hospital we were able to hose off the gurney pad with water. Much more effective. And the conversation for the way back up the hill was how the EMT got his training (his friend in the hospital showed him some stuff) and if I had a novio (boyfriend). Wow, what a day. Day three highlights: Nothing could really top day 2, and I really only stopped in for an hour on my third trip to the Fire Dept…It was then that I realized that I was in the newly formed class to become an actually fireman…I sat in for about 10 mins, watched some salutes, and then got a better show of the ambulance by the other city EMT who knows that you actually should use a C-collar when there is a head trauma. At least half of the week’s patients have a better chance of making it. But even still, the bottom line: don’t get hurt.

Part 1...Bring on the New

I was still half asleep, wanting to be back in bed, with morning eye crusties not yet brushed away, opening the cupboard in my new house (a very normal ritual for anyone to say the least), when four legs came hurtling for my face. Even though I live in the DR, it has yet to become a norm to find frogs living next to the glasses, and I’m surprised that the neighborhood didn’t come running at the racket I made. He didn’t stick around too long, although he found the orange juice and didn’t want to part without trying some. I managed to show him the door and decided that frogs in the morning are a bit stronger than any coffee I could ever make.

Sadly, a month ago I had to say goodbye to my old house with the lack of running water and the nasty kitchen. I unfortunately now pay less rent for a bigger room and my own bathroom, running water (and hot showers!), mostly constant electricity, a clean house and more importantly kitchen, 5 crazy-fun Dominican roommates, and living close enough to school that I can bike in under 4 minutes (close was important so everyone could walk to work since everyone is petrified of driving a motor). Why I didn't move earlier is beyond me. ( Right: The neighborhood boys enjoying the big puddles outside my new house. Below: my 5 roomates: L-R Walkiris, Randa, Loida, Elena, Rebeka)

The house is actually the Kids Alive women’s house. It was formed as a solution to our three Ark graduates whom needed a ‘transitional’ house of sorts. Now, the DR is no United States where girls leave home to stake out on their own before marriage. To find a woman’s house here is nearly impossible unless they are missionaries or Americans. So I imagine we are the talk of the neighborhood, the 5 girls and the bike riding American…which I add only because that is actually how people track me down. All they need is: American. bike. lives with 5 Dominican girls…in which I will add makes dodging unwanted house guest a little tricky.

On the topic of new, I have been instated as the official art teacher here at Anija. Yes Anija is a school, accredited by the country. And no I am not a teacher and I have not really taken any teaching classes, let alone art classes. I did paint a mural in my office. And that is good enough to secure my Dominican teaching future. So I’ve been thrown into 1st -8th grade Dominican madness, blindly wandering from one class to the next with paper cutouts unknowingly glued to my bottom and my hair falling out (or pulled out by my own hands to alleviate the pain of trying to stand up front and teach to attention spans of zero). But…the pay is great, and I always still have my other fulltime job of sponsorship to look forward to at the end of my teaching day. Thank goodness school goes just to 12:30.

But in all seriousness, teaching art and getting in the classroom has actually been fun. It takes you to a different level once you become a teacher. I now know the kids better and vice versa, I finally get 25 voices of correction for every Spanish word I say wrong (which is all of them), and I’m teaching art, something they are excited about. And I get to keep the best/silliest/cutest work and put it up on my door and get a constant laugh from the Mr. Potato Heads look-a-likes and attempts at 3D birthday cakes.

Excitingly, Anija has added a new program to our repertoire. Last year we had begun a small afternoon program for Haitian students needing to learn to speak, read, and write Spanish, with the hope that eventually we could get the then girls good enough to enter into our equivalent of kindergarten. This program, now officially the ABC program, has grown to both the morning and afternoon. We have both boys and girls, and it is for any students in our programs that need extra help getting caught up enough to enter a classroom. At the moment this pertains to mostly Haitian kids who have never gone to school, but on occasion we have similar cases with Dominican kids. (Left: Jenny, one of our ABC girls. Right: An ABC student's home and family)

It is remarkable at how fast we can see changes in kids that have so many factors fighting against them. From the house visits we have done, the trend is that they live in a one or two bedroom house, sharing a bed with 5 others and living with 7 others, brothers, sisters, cousins, parents, and family friends. They speak Creole and so must learn how to read, write and speak a new language. Their families are the poorest of the poor; they are discriminated against by the Dominicans, and can’t go to school unless they have a Dominican birth certificate, which is rare. And YET, they know much more Spanish than me, they love school, are learning about Jesus, and have a drive to learn. And two of our girls from last year are now in pre-premario (Kindergarten) and first grade!

It is a blessing and an encouragement to be apart of something that is breaking the mold here in the DR and giving hope to the most oppressed. Last year I dreamt of program growth that would allow the involvement of sponsorship. And as we entered a new year with the provision of day and afternoon classes, lunch, and a classroom, we have decided that we can take the dream a little further and start entering these kids into our sponsorship program. This means that our goal is not short-term with these students, but instead to see each one through 8th grade and beyond. (lower left: the ABC morning class- the two kids on the left live at the Ark and had never been to school before). Right: Angie and Rebeka on a ABC student house visit)

I’m appalled that I have yet to make
a plug for sponsorship in any of my blogs. I want to encourage each of you to think about sponsoring a kid. Kids Alive has taken a big hit with increasing food and oil costs, in addition to program growth and increasing teacher salaries, etc. Please consider sponsoring a child OR helping us by spreading the news about Kids Alive and finding people in your town, church, soccer team, bible club, school, etc that want to sponsor kids. Feel free to email me if you or you know of anyone with interest: erfrancis@gmail.com.

Thank you for all your prayers over the past months...my new house situation and roommates are truly a blessing. Please continue to pray for sanity as I teach art and try to keep sponsorship for multiple sites organized. More so, please pray for willing bodies to come fill the missionary vacancies that are and will be in the next months.

Oh the things that happen when your roommate leaves...

It’s funny how things go in phases. Over the past month I have found myself painfully throwing out a lot of food. It started when Sonia, my roommate, left to go back to Colombia. We actually had another American girl staying with us at the time, and so the first thing Emily and I did was to scour through what Sonia had generously left us: fermenting purple jello and freezer-burned mystery meat (the chicken that she left, unfortunately, had to be tossed after it leaked all over the de-thawed freezer…keep reading). In this whole process, Emily and I were working on getting the honking-big fridge (which sat in our kitchen holding photos for six months before I even tried to turn it on…I always wondered why we didn’t use it…) to work, so that Sonia’s fridge could be given to a friend. We got the repair man to come and fix the big whopper, and that night, Emily and I huddled together as we listened to the booms and bangs coming from the monster deep within our only hope of ant-free sugar and cold milk. The repair man visited us three more times after our noisy night. And of course he was always sooo punctual and sooo knowledgeable about the new parts that we were going to need. At the end of it all, we decided, heck, two of us don’t really need such a monster fridge for just a few items anyways. So the fridge still sits in my kitchen, holding pictures and wedding announcements, waiting for the next renter to delight.

(pictures- self-portrait of one of the girls at the ARK 2 in Constanza; Breakfast at Tom (one of my home church's pastor) & Tori's summer apartment out at the ARK; below: Jarabacoa interns, Tori, the tshirt flag and me. in the background: beautiful Constanza)

I want to you all to know that the fridge drama was actually quite enlightening as to how far my comforts can be pushed. I never realized how much my emotions rest on the dependability of a fridge! Yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it (you go live out of your comfort zone and we’ll see what you end up writing about). Anyways, a fridge in the DR is actually quite the same as a fridge in the US. Typically, there are no bugs…or mold (unless it’s your own fault); it keeps things from rotting or going bad within 24 hours, and sadly, for some of us, it holds our comforts. I never knew my addiction to cereal and PB&J was so substantial until this past month. I realized all I really want from my fridge is: cold (or even just unspoiled) milk, my PB&J, and unspoiled mangos and avocados. BUT, when you open up what you thought was a working fridge, to a wall of heat and smell, dripping water, a stream of ants, a couple cockroaches and flies, and thawed chicken, you have to reconsider the quality of the other items. The water didn’t even escape. It tasted like dirty fridge. Same for the bagged chocolate chips. Found that out when I attempted to make cookies. That was a sad one. Oh the tortillas…yeah, dirty fridge too. But hey, the butter was salvaged! And the sugar was still ant-free (sadly the same cannot be said about the bigger bag of sugar that lives in the cupboard). Oh, the ketchup was still good; can’t see that one going bad. Luckily, I was rescued by a mini-fridge. It’s on loan, but for now it is perfect for my new milk, PB&J and fruit, and the butter, sugar, and ketchup.

(pics- Sally (who just moved to Jarabacoa with her husband John and their 3boys from Lafayette. Sally and I are the proud woman's 14+ 1st and 2nd place Ark Marathon winners. My winnings? an XXL tshirt; below: Eladio the bus driver, some nice gardener's hose, and the steaming engine. I'm glad Eladio was in charge of that one.)
And through all this food tossing, which doesn’t include the bugs Emily found in the rice and the ants that took over the baked oatmeal I just made (which I happen to notice a bit too late to spit out), I have clung to the gratitude of my noisy next door neighbor friends. They tend to not mind what I despise and in fact seem to get fatter with everything I toss into their field. If the food trend continues, I will have to actually consider getting my own friends, so I can at least get some fresh eggs out of my chucked food.

I know I have been rambling about nothing with the happenings of work. In reality, so much of my energy is poured into learning how to live outside my comfort zone. I cannot say it is easy to be here in the DR as a single woman. One of the hardest things is walking alone through the normally- mindless daily tasks in life. I never thought that a hot fridge or a flat tire or sometimes even a trip to the store would need multiple deep-breathes. But also, I couldn’t imagine not having this period of sometimes near-desperation; for it is in these times when I remember, ‘oh yeah, YOU are here God’…’YOU are going to do it with me’. Of course my pea-brain tends to remember after the fact; but even then, as I’m slowly learning to see God and talk to Him in every moment, life becomes a bit more amusing and God becomes a bit more of a silly best friend…who likes to put ants on baked oatmeal.
(pic: english class food night. we had american food but we never got anyone to talk in english)

P.S. I guess maybe I should write a word or two about actual work…spent four weeks being gofer for the summer construction teams- aka- my new best friends are at the hardware store. And in the process I got to watch one man in less than a week fix all the toilets and sinks in the only bathrooms that all 260+ kids use on a daily basis. He is my hero. On top of that, you know you have made some serious language improvement when you can go into the hardware store and come out with semi gloss light blue paint, faucets, pipe caps, a bow saw and the innards for a toilet (obviously I don’t even know the English names).

But now that teams are done and the summer interns have left, I have spent the past week trying to spice up the horribly drab office I work in. I’ll post some pix. Happy August!

Before and after...!

Part 2

(picture: a Sunday out at the Ark)

Being in a place long enough also introduces one to the stories and realities that some of the kids walk in. Back in the beginning of the year a girl from one of our programs decided that our rules dictating her approach to dating was unsuitable for her situation. Thus she left our program and temporarily went to live in her boyfriend and his mom’s house. Time went by and obviously Kids Alive cannot continue to support her in the decision to live with her boyfriend. Many hours from multiple parties were poured into finding a different arrangement that would be less compromising. A couple things to keep in mind: first, people here tend to assume the worst; second, they do not go by our American philosophy of ‘their own business’; third, living together as boy/girlfriend is not done. Once under the same roof a couple is thought to be ‘married’ whether with or without the ceremony (not that that keeps them from seeing others or separating). Because the church is very conservative, in a Christian home, the daughters will not leave home to live solo. They live under the protection of their family until they are married. Thus the situation at hand had to be walked rather finely. It seemed appropriate that she would come and live with Sonia and me for the time being. Well, she came, moved all her stuff in, and stayed for the evening. Sadly though, she made the decision around midnight that she really didn’t want to stay. So Sonia brought her back to her boyfriend’s house. What really hurts though isn’t that she is 16 (although she might actually be 18) and he is in his 30’s, or that when she came to us that night after living with him for months she didn’t own a toothbrush or more than 2 pairs of underwear, or a pair of running shoes (and she is known as the best athlete in our programs); no, rather it’s that she has been offered full payment for her university (the chance of a lifetime that hardly ever comes around) and she is choosing not to take the gift. She has a chance to break the cycle, but she doesn’t even realize that she’s in it. Live here and you realize that this cycle of poverty is everywhere and fairly easy to break with perseverance and hard work. We see the answer and we want to scream and shout and hit them over the head with it, but these kids are trapped in a sight and soundproof room that poverty has put them in. And it’s only a few who are able to make out the light coming from outside and are able to find the door and break free from their prison. And it’s hard to imagine that all the fight that we do is only for a few to struggle free. Many are quite happy to have the same life that they have always known. But we do have some who want a change. This year we have 9 who have graduated and hope to go on to university. I came across a writing by C.S. Lewis about five months ago…and it is only after watching people walk through the situation with the girl from our program, that I understood how significant his words are, in both the realities with kids here and the tastiness of our own sin.

We are half-hearted creatures fooling around about with drink, sex and ambition, when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased! -C.S. Lewis

Prayer request:

Please pray that the Lord will fight against thoughts of hopelessness in the situations of some of our hardest kids.

Please pray for open ears and changed hearts towards Jesus in our kids

I will be taking some vacation time starting June 12th, so for renewed vision and purpose for my time down here

Strength for all the missionaries as we enter into summer programs and summer teams (below: this morning looking down the street from my house)

Thoughts over May and June Part 1

So I don’t really have any big break-in stories or weird customs to report about this month. Life has been rapidly plowing along. Things always tend to be a bit chaotic at the end of the school year.

I have begun to notice that now when I go around town I actually see people I know. BUT the amazing thing is that it isn’t just gringos that I see. No, I see kids from school, I see friends from soccer, I even recognize family members of friends. It makes me feel less like an American tourist and more like a, hmmm…not really local…maybe the cousin or the couch surfing friend that never really takes a hint to get lost. Of course I’m still ‘Jessica’ (the last American girl here) to a few of the students and to one of my neighbors- but heck, can I blame em?- I’m sure all we white people just look white and pasty and the same to them. But in a way, the white pastiness (which to my standards is actually tan) is rather a nice identifier to friends. Any white person walking/driving by or seen in the store is most likely someone known. It makes grocery shopping always fun. Last week my grocery trip ended up getting me a wonderful chocolate cake recipe and an invite to a party (from two different stores and two different sets of friends that I ran into). Unfortunately I was unable to attend the party (which I heard had a steady flow of Meringue (the dance)! So sad!) due to a untimely stomach virus that directly followed the eating of the chocolate cake…

I know I am absurdly slow but I feel I am making real progress at tiptoeing my way into the Dominican lifestyle. For what felt like the first time, I was able to sit at a Dominican friend’s house and start a lengthy conversation with a neighbor. It turned out that I had been to her house for the last party and we ended up having a good laugh (at my sake of course). Pause a moment to briefly go over this last party. Picture the PE teacher. He’s about 30, married to the office accountant at school. They have a young daughter and live in a one bedroom place with a kitchen and small living room. Their alley is full of identical places, which are full of his nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers, etc. The family goes up the street and around the block as well. It’s a lot of people in a little space; busy, if you haven’t gotten the picture. So when a party is happening, it really IS a party. With the entire block. And there is always a party. When I arrived that night I jumped on an empty seat inside next to the couch. On the couch were the high school musical prodigies flowing with their bachata (a Dominican music and dance). Inside count: maybe 15 people- directly outside the window: 30 or so. Plates of steamy food (yes rice and beans) are tossed out to the waiting crowd. Pop is flowing, and the music, oh the music! It was a riot. (below: pictures from a recent trip up to our Contanza site. Constanza is a agriculture town up in the mountains about 2 hours driving from Jarabacoa. Kids Alive is building a care center that will open in October. On the same site is the Constanza children's home as well. The truck with the carrots is a typical site on any road in the DR.