La Vida Dominicana: one month already

"Guagua al servicio de Dios" or "Bus at God's service" was painted across the windshield of this 1980s sixteen passenger van, capacity twenty-seven. I am growing accustomed to bold declarations of faith en la Republica. For example, I buy fresh mangos and pineapple on a stick from the lovely folks at "Fruteria a la gloria de Dios" which means "Fruitstand for God's Glory," and we buy bread from "God is Good Bakery." I'm told its a product of charismatic Christian missions and Haitian Christian tradition, in which public declaration of faith elicits blessing and protection. Either way, this was the first time that I had seen public transportation with a divine mission and I knew then this would be no average bus ride. Two hours in a public guagua, weaving through Dominican shantytowns, sitting on strangers laps, holding their babies, sticking my head out the window so the rest of my body would fit. A designated worker showed people how to squeeze in, packing us the way people pack their cars full of luggage for long trips. The unfortunate souls who boarded last had to hang outside the open doors. The assistant undercharged the Haitians, giving them the Dominican price, and the driver started yelling, reaching back with his big black palm and slapping the man on the head as if he were a school boy. We stopped every few miles to let on the old woman with her crate of chickens, the pair of Haitian carpenters with their lumber, the flock of chirpy school girls, the fragile old folks. We piled in, we piled out. We stopped every time somebody wanted to buy something off the side of the road, candy, avocados and the like; they shared this really yummy almond dessert with me. I laughed, I smiled. Thing is, its not funny to them, this is life. Although I think they enjoyed watching me watch them.

I was on my way to Rio San Juan with several of my friends from the program. We stayed at a hotel owned by an old French woman and staffed by a very friendly Haitian cook and bartender. It was built on a rocky cliff jutting out over the ocean; the place was a little run down, but the waves crashed against the cliff all night, spraying me through the open window and jerking me to sleep. The town was tiny and out of reach for most tourists, with cows grazing in the town square and kids playing baseball in the streets with sticks and coke bottles. The beach was stunning, the most beautiful I've ever seen. I hope you enjoy the photos.

Santiago has a way of snapping its fingers and waking me up from the dream that is...well, everything beyond Santiago. But this place is full of relational charms and challenges that keep me springing out of bed in the morning. Genarina certainly helps! She is back from South America with all the spunk and energy I love so much. She pounds on my door at six-thirty in the morning, shoves a cup of coffee in my face, and we're out the door to go walking. We never get very far because she knows everybody and always stops to chat, or we end up buying fruit. We have a fruit tab, its great. I remember being disappointed that I wasn't placed with a larger family, but now I realize that I'm supposed to accompany this person at this very point in her life and mine. She's lived alone for most of her life and is very set in her ways; sometimes I just have to bite my tongue, its not always easy. Apparently her other students didn't speak much Spanish and weren't very interested in spending time with her. Its an adjustment for her to be living with somebody who is as individual as she is, but I know we're both growing in this relationship. I'm taking her out to enjoy some jazz this week.

School is still challenging. I really enjoy my profesors so that keeps me motivated...but this is a serious university. Some days I feel confident, and others I feel like I have the communication skills of a first grader. The poetry in my contemporary lit class is killing me. But for all the frustration there are small victories along the way. I made an A on my cinema paper and my prof told me I wrote like a film critic! My hope is that it will become easier as my vocabulary becomes more collegiate. I have my first round of exams over the next two weeks.

Struggling to learn, its worth it. Now instead of speaking those words to myself, I can speak them to my own students again. But let me back up, and tell you about jumpthegun Katy. Homesick for the shelter in SA, I arrived in the Dominican Republic like a labrador puppy, ready to love and slobber all over everybody. As it turns out the organization I had originally planned to work with was not at all what I was told, to no fault of their own. This really upset me though, mostly because I knew I should have done my homework. I set out to find another organization to work with and hit one dead end after another. I pushed and pushed and finally decided that I just needed to turn it over into bigger, more capable hands. I don't do the wait and pray thing well at all. Its hard to live amidst such poverty, experience its aesthetics and its inconveniences (even for the gringa living with a middle class family) and not be able to work in it or see any of it being redeemed in any way. Its like my senses were heightened and everything drove me crazy, the safety issues, pollution, parasites, trashed streets, broken toilets, cold showers. It hurt me to watch little kids shine peoples shoes, wash car windows, beg for money in the streets and get slapped by fearful strangers. I started to notice them everywhere. "Who works with those kids? Hey Father, can that be me? Please?"

God is faithful. I ran into a fellow American student at a gas station who is taking a semester off and working at a public hospital downtown. Before I knew it we were discussing the cultural barriers that complicate volunteer work here, and sharing our experiences. In passing I commented on how the shoe shine boys here remind me so much of my students back home. He lit up and told me about Accion Callejera, an NGO that works with the shoe-shiners, providing meals, counseling, tutoring and health services. In the blink of an eye I found it, I had an interview, I was given a "Senorita Kati" nametage and told "welcome to the team."

Today I found myself sitting at the head of a table, surrounded by seven grimy, adorable faces, all staring at me with mischievious grins. Hungry children who have been raised by other hungry children. Sociologists call them urban tribes, to psychologists they are victims of "alternative socialization;" in this city many see them as a safety threat, a fiscal drain or a simple nuisance. Strip away the labels and you'll find a brother or sister. I don't know that I have ever encountered a more challenging culture than that of desperate children, but it excites me so much. They are many, I am one, yet society has taught them that they are the "out group" and I am part of the "in group." Today was a day to create unity, to get to know them, to inform them that unlike before, this would not be coloring class. We are going to learn to read. They are full of energy, and to be quite frank their social skills are all over the place and they're not at all well behaved. As street children they have every care in the world, and learning to read is not one of them. I can see now that maintaining their motivation will be my greatest challenge. By the time I left though they told me they were excited that I was coming, the little ones drew me pictures and they promised to be good next time if I would just come back. I'll be back, with materials and a plan next time.

Most of these boys come from the Cien Fuegos (one hundred fires) community outside of the city. It is built around a giant dump that the locals use for "treasure hunting," digging up appliances, car parts etc. that can be resold for a few pesos. Thing is, parts of the dump spontaneously combust in the heat and many people suffer severe burns and even die in the fires. The boys' families cannot afford to keep them, so they commute back and forth from the city center to the dump, working in both and sometimes going to school in between. Due to their jobs, their attendence is spotty and they are mostly illiterate, some entirely.

Accion Callejera's goal is to provide them with all the services they need to work less and attend school regularly. The organization also works closely with the families, trying to get the boys birth certificates so that they can enroll in school. Some enroll in accountability programs with their whole family, but most come and go on their own or with their sibblings. I was able to talk to the resident psychologist at length, and she explained the role that child prostitution and substance abuse play in their behavioral patterns. She's willing to let me sit in on the intitial intake therapy sessions. I also met two catholic missionary guys that work in the education wing, one from Guatemala and another from Colombia. They are very friendly, very sincere and I'm looking forward to working with them.

Family and friends I covet your prayers! I am well here, I am happy, I am learning so much, but all these sights and all this information requires a lot of processing and dialoguing, mostly with God. I can't do this on my own, as it should be. Please pray that I will be a blessing as I have been blessed, that I will plant seeds of hope in their hearts, and that everything I do there will bring peace and joy to these little brothers. I love you all. Please tell me how you are! Send me an email or drop me a note, I always love to hear from you.
Senorita Kati