Monte Plata Trip Diary 2014
Marie de Roos
Saturday, 2/15/14
Waking up at 1:45 a.m. is overrated. Totally worth it to arrive at the parish center and see the tired but smiling faces of my fellow travelers and their bleary-eyed family members. Bonus points for bringing my own homemade latte. Demerits to Dunkin’ Donuts for not actually having any doughnuts.
Stormy drive from Ithaca to Philadelphia. The bus was comfortable, but no sleep to be had for me. What I thought would be a quick stop for the bathroom soon didn’t seem quite so quick. No one got off except the driver. I started to wish we’d left Ithaca a little earlier.
Moving our twenty-odd pieces of luggage off the bus and through the serpentine line to the checkout counter was a finely orchestrated dance of two steps forward, push and pull suitcases, wait, uh oh, rush, rush, rush! Fourteen travelers with over twenty pieces of luggage. How did we manage to do that? With great planning and enormous generosity from our fellow parishioners.
After surviving the check-in process, we faced our next challenge: the TSA security checkpoint. Another longish line, which kept my anxiety right on the edge. Turns out that when you answer “yes” to whether you packed your own bag, and then don’t know what is in the box sitting front and center of your carry-on, it slows things down a bit. Full disclosure: it was a fancy light bulb for a projector.
Now we glide through the air high above the clouds, with our weary bodies slumped in our seats. My eyeballs feel like they are rolling around in two very small socket-shaped sandpits. No amount of coffee will make that feel better.
Arrival at Santo Domingo
Our arrival at the Aeropuerto Internacional de las Américas was promising. Costumed dancers greeted us at the bottom of the escalator. The music was intoxicating; the warmth was palpable.
Next stop was to purchase a tourist card. Check. Go through immigration control. Not so fast. Everyone else was breezing through, but my agent took my passport and Alex’s, and without a word of explanation, walked to a back room and was gone for a long time. A little fearful, I did not know what to expect, but she returned with our passports, stamped them with great fanfare, handed them back to us, and just like that we were admitted into the Dominican Republic.
Final stop—luggage carousel. Little by little suitcases of all shapes and sizes tumbled down the ramp and onto the carousel. Little by little they were claimed and whisked away by their owners. Except us. Fourteen of our suitcases did not arrive with us. Now we’re off script. And winging it.
Those of us whose checked bags had not arrived went to the luggage claim counter to begin the tedious process of trying to get our bags back. The rest of the group, pretty much all the youth, sat with the handful of bags that had arrived. They chatted and played cards. Things moved slowly; we weren’t the only ones with missing luggage.
The claim counter was staffed by two Dominican women who were busy taking care of the others. Eventually it was our turn. Our agent was taken aback to discover we were missing 14 pieces of luggage. She began to fill out a form, asking for details on the contents and appearance of the first bag. After starting on a second form, she more or less gave up and just pulled the identifying stickers off our boarding passes and stuck them somewhere important. By now the other agent had become involved, giving her advice and directions on what to do. It was like a party. Except without the fun part.
Maura went out to let the sisters know why we were delayed. Soon we were out into the main area of the airport, where we were greeted with great affection by Sisters Iris and Teresa. They had brought the new minibus to the airport to pick us up. This was its maiden voyage, since it had spent some time in Santo Domingo having the seats and floor recovered with vinyl, making it more childproof. Also welcoming us were Felix José and Génesis—two of the youth from Monte Plata. After much moving of suitcases onto the bus through the back window and accommodating of bodies in seats, I was promptly asked to join Sister Teresa in the pickup truck for the ride to Monte Plata, leaving everyone else to their own devices. First translation job—zero points.
It turns out that the sisters, Felix, and Génesis hadn’t been waiting that long for us after all. There is quite an elaborate story here, but basically, the new bus wouldn’t start when it was time to leave for the airport. Batteries were swapped with the old bus, then reswapped, then swapped once again, with the bus eventually going to Santo Domingo on Monday to get a brand new battery.
Saturday evening (aka You Tengo un Pollo Night)
Dinner together at the Portal. Meeting the youth group from Monte Plata. Lots of new faces and names to remember. A theme soon emerged. Pollo. Chicken. We played a game called “Yo Tengo un Pollo.” Funny icebreaker. We danced a chicken dance. Not the chicken dance. A mercifully shorter and less silly one. But still a chicken dance.
Soon the host families came to pick up their house guests. Alex, Yaateh, and I stayed at the Mission House instead of with a host family. It is right next door to where the sisters live. In fact, Sister Iris and Aleiri, a postulant in the Misioneras de Jesus, live there and had moved in next door to make room for us.
Sunday, 2/16/14
Early start because we were going to the beach in Nagua, with a detour to visit the property the Sisters hope to purchase to build a residence for the youth of Monte Plata to live in while they attend university at the Nagua campus of the Universidad Autónoma de Santo Domingo.
Alex and I were awakened by voices singing “Las Mañanitas” in perfect harmony. It was Sister Nilda on the guitar with Iris and Teresa on backup. I cannot express what a joyful and perfect moment that was for me. Several of my worlds collided just like that, and my heart opened up to all that is possible. The song is familiar in many ways—from my childhood all the way to my life in Ithaca. And the loveliness of their voices was the perfect welcome to a new day and a new place.
Many of the Dominican youth came with us. We dropped them off at the beach first and headed a few kilometers down the road to see the property. The bishop has already visited and given permission for the project to proceed. The Sisters have even designed the house plan. The only thing missing is the money to purchase the land and build the house. The property is walking distance to the campus.
Nagua is a beautiful beach. Waves, clean bathrooms, and music for dancing. Sisters Teresa, Iris, Nilda, and Isabel, as well as Aleiri, accompanied us. Water games, sun, and sand. I don’t think Alex got all of the sand out of her hair until we got home. A small price to pay.
Back to our homes for a shower before returning to the Portal for dinner and youth Mass at St. Anthony’s. About the showers. Shower is a relative term. In our bathroom, there was a shower stall. The resemblance ends there. Clean water was brought to us every night in large buckets. The two best methods were to pour water on yourself with a small plastic cup that was provided, or the tried-and-true washcloth method. Except that I forgot to pack our washcloths.
Every night Alex, Yaateh, and I would be the last ones to leave the Portal since the Sisters would bring us home. After everyone left, Iris or Isabel would fill up the 30-plus gallon container with clean water for the next day’s flushing. And when we got back home, every night they would bring us our own pails of clean water to bathe—one for each one of us. They even heated up the water for us the first night.
It sounds worse than it was. It wasn’t bad at all. I appreciated being able to wash up, especially after a long, hot, sticky day. Humidity accompanied us throughout. Wet items carefully draped over bed frames at night became damp items carefully draped over bed frames in the morning. Other homes did have working showers, running water, and flushable toilets. Our little group in the Mission House did not have running water. No toilet paper can be flushed. It has to be placed in the garbage. Flushing was accomplished by pouring water down the toilet with enough force to push everything through. And as I learned, practice makes perfect.
Youth Mass
We walked from the Portal to the church. Our group really stood out. People looked at us everywhere we went, which is slightly disconcerting. I greeted people walking by in Spanish. It was a joy to be in a Spanish-speaking country again.
Sr. Nilda directs the youth choir. They sounded wonderful. St. Anthony of Padua is laid out very much like St. Catherine’s, with two large sections in the middle facing the altar, but with only one perpendicular section on each side of the altar. Our group occupied the front pew on each side of the main section.
Four youth from each country participated in the offertory procession. Bridget and Ovaez carried a large red heart with the names of the two parishes; Kristen and Yaateh carried in the Dominican flag; Yefri and Diogna carried in the American flag; and Alex and Maximo processed in together.
At the end of Mass I was asked to come up and say a few words into the microphone. Not sure why I didn’t see that coming. But it worked out. No time to get nervous. I don’t know what I actually said, but in my head I was eloquent and gracious. My message was one of gratitude for the welcome we had received. Until I started crying. Sigh. Clapping. Back to my seat. Whew.
Dancing
The dancing deserves its own section. Always. After Mass we all went across the street to a community room that is directly above the clinic where Sisters Nilda and Isabel work. We played a few games to get things going. While we were doing this, a couple of the guys ran out to get speakers and music, and the dancing began. We danced bachata and worked on a group rendition of the Cotton-Eyed Joe.
Getting Home Every Night
We were never allowed to walk home by ourselves. Someone from our host family would pick us up, or we’d be dropped off by one of the sisters in the pickup truck, or a couple of the youth would walk us to our door. One night Sister Isabel gave me a ride on the back of her motorcycle. It was awesome. Next visit, a ride on Emilio’s motorcycle. I was the motorcycle whisperer. I procured rides for Alex, Kristen, Bridget, Yaateh, Aidan, Maura, and Tammy.
Monday 2/17/14
Not quite as early a start as the day before. The sleeping arrangements at the Mission House were as follows: Alex and I shared a room with its own bathroom, and Yaateh had his own room and bathroom. Sister Iris set up mosquito netting for the three of us the first night. After Leah moved in with us on Thursday, she got the third room at the end of the hall, with its own bed and mosquito netting.
Everything about that setup was familiar. Most of my childhood consisted of climbing into a bed covered by mosquito netting attached to the four corners of the room. There was a fan perched on the window next to me. All of the windows had screens, so I left them wide open to let in all the surrounding sounds. Music. Lots of music. Roosters. Dogs barking.
The sisters have a guard dog named Bellón. One of them came over early every morning to tie him up so we wouldn’t become his entrée when we set food outside our little compound. The gate was padlocked, then we locked the house door, struggling with it just about every time. Once we were in the house, I locked the hallway door behind us. Everything in the Portal is padlocked to within an inch of its life, including the bathrooms.
The children were already at the Portal when we arrived. They rushed to us with open arms. Hugs are the best way to start the day. Breakfast was in the back room next to the kitchen. To my great joy, there was coffee in a moka pot just like mine, but bigger. This made Leah happy, too.
Sister Teresa brought us to the baby room to hang out with the youngest children. It was wonderful to watch every one of our youth fall in love with the children in that room. Francis was shy and reticent; he cried whenever the option of leaving the teacher’s lap was offered. I plopped myself right next to her, with my knee touching hers, so that eventually Francis was sitting partly on my lap and partly on hers. That was a big victory.
Fernando is a bruiser of a boy with great personality and a smile that lights up the universe. The twins, Mariel and Massiel, were glued to Alex and Elizabeth. Or was it the other way around?
While all kinds of things were happening, I was off here and there translating. Calls were being made to the airport in search of our missing luggage. In a stunning bit of coincidence, Sister Iris’s nephew works for Jet Blue, and he was the first person she called.
Soon the children were ready to make their presentations to us. We sat at one end of the room, while each class got up and did something special. Some danced. Others presented in English. The babies from the baby room were sitting at our feet. I had the best time watching Fernando pull himself up to dance. There was a little girl who would grab his hands to dance with him. She even twirled him. Why don’t we do that here with our children?
The next item on the agenda was to visit most of the houses that the sisters have identified for the 200 Club fundraising goal this year. This was very tough for me. I think for others, as well.
The first house was a complete shock, and it never got better. The shock was not so much the state of the house—I’ve seen enough pictures to have had an idea of what to expect—but who lived there: Belleris, one of the teachers I’d been chatting with during the student presentations, and her son, Aneudi. He came out to see us wearing only his underwear. Backwards. Sister Teresa took me into the house with her. No running water, no bathroom, no latrine. It was a long, narrow, dark house.
We walked as a group from house to house, stopping to give children small toys we had brought for that very purpose. One of the houses was a bit far away so we returned to the Portal to board the bus to drive out there. That was followed by a long walk through unpaved streets that were in such bad condition that the bus could not travel on them. Our destination was the house of Montserrate, who walks to and from the Portal every day with her older sister, who drops her off and picks her up on her way to and from another school. We also visited with Yancarlos and his mother, and Yomarlin and her mother. Along the way we passed by the houses of some of the youth in their youth group: Angela, where Kristen was staying, and Felix, who is their youth group leader, and Marysa, whose mother Ivelisse works in the kitchen at the Portal. Ivelisse is the employee who has been at the Portal the longest. She and Elisa help Nanín, the main cook, prepare meals for the children. They also came every afternoon to prepare our dinners, and they put together lunches for our day trips.
Tuesday 2/18/14
A day trip into Santo Domingo. Felix and Marileise came with us. This was quite the day. We combined sightseeing with a glimpse into the weekly Tuesday trip Sister Iris takes to Santo Domingo to buy supplies for the Portal.
Sister Iris took us to the Basilica Catedral Santa Maria de la Encarnación, the first cathedral of the Americas. We also visited the Alcázar de Colón, the residence of Diego Colón, son of Christopher Columbus. She managed to get our whole group into both places without paying the admission fee. You don’t mess with Sister Iris!
The next stop was the Mercado Modelo, a very large market where the main products seemed to be crafts, souvenir items, and extremely aggressive salespeople. Sister Iris had warned us that the prices would be high, and that we should come get her to negotiate for us. We ended up doing a bit of our own negotiating. The prize at the end of this maze of stores was a cafecito in a place just outside the market. A few people bought coffee to bring back.
Lunch turned out be complicated. Randol, our driver, was amazing. He handled the chaotic traffic of Santo Domingo with great patience. But this is where he shone, pulling the mini-bus into a parking spot with only an inch to spare on either side. Well-played. Unfortunately, it was not a legal parking spot, and the pizza place Sister Iris was headed to was gone. After sampling the pizza next door and not liking it, we took off in search of another pizza place. There was a bit of a wait since it was already full, but eventually we got the whole back room to ourselves. Easily after 2:30 by then. We were hungry and tired.
The best thing about the pizza restaurant was that there was Wi-Fi. Felix rushed over to my table, where we deployed Facebook on my phone so Tammy and I could send him a friend request. Technology at its best!
A stop to buy diapers. Sister Iris hopped off the mini-bus and melted into the crowd. When she returned, we drove around the corner, stopped in the middle of the street, where someone brought out an incredible amount of diapers. Quick load on to the bus, and off to the next stop.
Another stop to buy several pallets full of toilet paper. While everyone waited there for the mini-bus to pull up, Sister Iris dragged me to the craft store across the street where we bought a rainbow of yarn for craft projects. We also stopped at other stores here and there. Last one was the Farmers Market where Sister Iris buys fruit and vegetables for the Portal.
This was a huge, very spread out market. Clean would not even be in the top 100 words I would use to describe it. But interesting would be right at the top. Ashley came across a man with a Kansas City Chiefs hat. See what I mean by interesting? After several quite fascinating stops, one of which included live goats, we boarded the bus back to Monte Plata. We’d run out of time for the supermarket stop so that would be done another day.
Dinner and more dancing. Before we got to the dancing, something exciting happened. Just as we sat down to dinner, someone ran to tell me our suitcases had arrived. Five of our 14 missing bags were delivered that night. It was hope-restoring moment if there ever was one. One of the suitcases contained the glow-in-the-dark bracelets that Steve Jesch had brought along, which came in very handy when the power went out for quite a while later in the evening. We put them on, and continued to play games in the dark. Bachata and merengue after the power came back on. Note to self: suggest to Father Joe that there should be dancing after every Mass.
Wednesday 2/19/14
Breakfast at the Portal, like every morning. Since carnaval was only a week away, the children put on a costume show for us, parading one by one down a short runway. It was interesting to see how their personalities were reflected in the way they approached this task. There were several doctors and nurses, but my heart belonged to Aneudi. His mom had drawn a fake beard on him, and he had donned glasses for the part. Best of all, he was the only doctor wearing latex gloves.
We visited the family of one of the first-graders from the Portál. The girl has been diagnosed with skin cancer, and she has not been going to school regularly. Her face was covered with freckles and lesions; she was very shy. It must have been overwhelming to have all of us show up at her house unannounced.
We toured the clinic run by Sister Nilda and Sister Isabel. I was very moved by Sister Nilda’s words. She said something that has stayed with me: Just because their clients are poor, that does not mean they should receive shoddy treatment or poor-quality medications. On the contrary, they deserve the very best we can give them.
After lunch, we sorted through the donations that had arrived in the suitcases the day before. Some of the clothes were damp so we hung them to dry out. Soon colorful piles of clothes festooned the tile floor that goes around the common area of the Portal. This was the point in the trip where I suddenly felt overwhelmed with everything I had seen and experienced, and I just sat down for a few minutes to process it all, while watching the activity swirl around me.
There were still 8 suitcases missing. In our confusion at the airport, we miscounted the number of missing bags; it was 13, not 14. We’d found out that the suitcases had gone on their own side trip to Miami so that they could be flown in on American Airlines. They were at the airport in Santo Domingo now waiting for us.
Since this is a service trip, it was time for physical labor. The sisters have purchased land next to the Portal. Our job was to clear the land of weeds, tree stumps, and garbage. Machetes were involved. Well, one machete. But it was quite empowering to whoever used it. Kind of like a super hero.
We got dropped off at our homes so that we could wash up and return to the Portal. Aidan got off with us since his house was a bit out of the way, and it seemed time was of the essence. There was something planned for the chaperones tonight. Upon our return to the Portal, we had just enough time to eat dinner and head out. Our destination was the public basketball court that Alex, Yaateh,and I walked by every day. Emilio set up the volleyball net for the youth, and the adults continued on to the Mission House to experience a meeting of the Misioneros de Jesus group, led by Sister Teresa.
This was one of the highlights of the trip for me. First of all, there were several familiar faces: Felix’s parents and two of the teachers from the Portal. There was prayer and singing and fellowship. Sister Teresa had all the married couples share their stories. This translating job was nothing short of amazing for me. People were sharing intensely personal stories, and I focused on listening so as to convey their words and meaning as accurately as possible. I am very grateful that my vocabulary did not fail me. How could it? We also were given the opportunity to share, although not so much about our lives as about what we were thinking at that moment. I think we all felt very privileged to have been a part of that meeting. Tears. Smiles. Hugs. Peace. Joy. Trust.
Thursday 2/20/14
Another beach day. This time our destination was Boca Chica, a beach near Santo Domingo, with a very large shallow area that was perfect for the 15 first-graders, along with their teacher, who accompanied us. But first, a detour back to the airport to claim the bags that we’d been told had been detained by customs. Sister Iris, Steve, and I got off the bus with much hope for success. First we had to find the Swiss Port office, which is the company that handles luggage for several airlines. Random men walking by would direct us with great confidence, only to find out they had no clue. Eventually we found it. They gave us the blue forms that we had to present at customs to claim the luggage, and back we went to the customs area.
It turns out that the luggage was detained because of the vitamins. Not the suitcase with the 10,000 syringes. Public health was called, and a woman dressed in white came eventually. She looked things over, and a doctor was called. After some time, the doctor came. He deliberately picked up each vitamin bottle and examined the expiration date. He looked at the Tylenol and said it had been banned for sale in the United States. Not true, I thought, but I just crossed my fingers and smiled. Although I may have said it out loud. The end result was that 7 suitcases were released into our custody. And if you’re keeping track, there is still one missing. Mine. Filled with donations.
During the hour and a half we’d been in there, Randol kept having to move the bus because he’d be kicked out of the parking spot. The first-graders were hungry. They had not eaten breakfast so they wouldn’t throw up in the bus. Somehow the 7 suitcases fit in the very back seat of the bus, the children doubled and tripled up, and off we went to the supermarket. Sister Iris bought bread, ham, and cheese for our lunch. The rest of us managed to buy something: Tampico, Oreos, and other things. Me, I bought a mirror, something I had yet to encounter. I’d gone without applying makeup every single day thus far. Ugh.
Boca Chica was very nice. Sister Iris and I took a walk down as far as we could until we reached the resort area and were not permitted to go any farther. There were a lot of tourists, mostly European, on this beach. It seemed strange to me because by then I had totally immersed myself in the Monte Plata experience.
We played with the children in the water. None of the older youth accompanied us on this outing. At about 3:30 we headed back. Sleepy children and sleepy Ithacans on the bus. Our little group from the Mission House got dropped off first at a corner about a block away from home, along with others who lived nearby. Some people stayed at the Portal and started organizing the donations that were in the suitcases we’d picked up that morning.
After another great dinner, it was, surprise, Talent Show night. We had about 10 minutes to come up with an act. Aidan, Yaateh, and Thomas sang “The Lion Sleeps Tonight.”
Alex, Kristen, Bridget, Elizabeth, and Ashley took to the stage as Cinco Pollos and performed the cup song while Ashley sang.
More dancing. More joy. As the Dominican youth left for the night, we gave them each a teal t-shirt just like the ones we’d had arrived with. The t-shirts were in one of the suitcases we’d picked up at the airport earlier in the day. I handed out origami cranes that had been made by one of our youth.
Friday, 2/21/14
One of our goals had been to give something to every single child in the Portal. This was the morning we distributed the clothes we’d sorted on Wednesday and Thursday. There were enough things to give out that we were able to leave toys and other small gifts for the Sisters to use for another time.
After the children went back to their classrooms, Alex mentioned she wished she’d said good-bye to Aneudi since this was the last time she would see him. Sister Iris fetched him from his classroom. Alex had a very emotional moment with him, and it was emotional for me to see them together. Fortunately, it was not to be the last time we saw him.
Another outing planned for the day, starting with a trip to the clinic for Leah to see a doctor since she had not been feeling well. After the clinic we set out for a waterfall called Salto de Socoa. We were accompanied by Miguel, Yefri, Sabrina, and Jesikary. Emilio and Felix joined us a few minutes later on Emilio’s motorcyle. Ovaez and Francisco came by public bus. They came back on our bus.
Getting down to the waterfall area involved a long downhill walk, which was nothing compared to the long uphill walk back. There were steps, but the tread on each step was huge, making it difficult to climb easily. Sister Iris’s parting words were that she’ll return when they put in an elevator. Lunch brought down to us was pollo. Complete with chicken feet.
Back at the top, all except three got off the bus to walk to the highway so that the bus could negotiate the horrible road without our extra weight. We got home early enough that we had time to relax before returning to the Portal for dinner. Leah had moved into the Mission House with us the night before so Alex, Yaateh, and Leah hung out. Sister Nilda gave some of us a tour of their backyard, which is bursting with all kinds of fruit trees and bushes. Even sugar cane, which I love and haven’t had since childhood. When I mentioned that, Sister Isabel’s brother cut some for us. We brought it back to the Portál since we had no way to peel and cut it. I started packing so I wouldn’t have as much to do the next morning.
Back at the Portal, Elisa from the kitchen peeled and cut the sugar cane for us. Dinner was made for us by Mario, the husband of one of the Portal teachers, and also Cali and Tammy’s house father. Mario is a chef who works in hotels in the area. He came back the next morning to make us breakfast before heading out to the airport: chicken cordon bleu and potatoes. Unusual, but delicious. Breakfast pollo.
Friday night’s after-dinner activity brought us to a park where we played games and hung out. At some point Sister Nilda drove up in the pick-up truck with ice cream for us. Alex slipped while running on the wet floor, fell back and hit her head fairly hard. It felt like my heart stopped beating when I saw my child laying on the floor without moving. Sister Iris wanted to take her to the hospital, but Alex was able to get up. Looking a little wobbly so Bridget and Elizabeth immediately stepped forward, locked their arms in hers. and walked with her until she was okay.
Back home to finish packing and get ready for what awaited us the next day—goodbyes and departure. Mixed feelings for many of us. I was ready to come home because I’d just about run out of clean clothes, but I wasn’t ready to leave.
Saturday 2/22/14
Good-byes with host families, breakfast, one last chance to hang out with the youth. Several of them came, and we did the craft projects we’d brought with them. Origami cranes, friendship bracelets, clothespin dolls. Angela had arranged for Aneudi to join us. This four-year old who had made his way into all of our hearts took the only picture that has all the youth and adults who were there that morning.
Too soon it was time to head to the airport. Many of the youth who’d come to hang out piled onto the minibus to come to the airport with us. It was a quiet ride. No singing. Not looking forward to saying good-bye.
There was still the issue of my missing suitcase. Before we left Ithaca I had decided to leave it behind. It was at the airport somewhere. We arrived at the check-in area before the US Airways counter was open. The first people we saw were the two women who’d helped us at baggage claim the week before. They came over and gave me a big hug. One of them immediately took Sister Iris and me up an escalator to an office where the suitcase was waiting. I had my baggage claim ticket handy, and as soon as I produced it, the suitcase was ours. It made it to Monte Plata after all!
Time to say good-bye. It was a very emotional moment for all of us. Many hugs and lots of tears. Walking with us with until they couldn’t go any farther.
The other travelers who’d lost their suitcases were on the same flight back. Curious, I asked about their bags. The honeymoon couple got theirs eventually. And the other couple never did. We were lucky.
After an almost two-hour delay, soon we were airborne and on our way to Philadelphia. Cleared immigration and customs, and the familiar wait for the luggage. Amusingly, there was one suitcase missing. Steve found out at the luggage claim counter that it had arrived, but had probably fallen off the truck on its way from the plane to the terminal. It would be delivered to his house within the next couple of days.
Now to process this wonderful and unforgettable week. A lot of thought and many feelings ahead. Not sure where to begin or how this will change my life. I only know that it will.
Coda
Upon returning to Ithaca, I went through a slight existential crisis. I had experienced many things that were both familiar and new, and I didn’t really know what to do with them or where they fit in my current life. Or if I even wanted my life to be the same as before I went. The answer is I don’t.
One thing I know for certain is that I never want to lose the feelings I had in Monte Plata. Simply put, it was feeling part of a community. We were received with open hearts and arms. Our youth and their youth began the process of getting to know one another. I say process, because we have continued to get to know one another since we came back.
Almost every single day I hear from one of the youth in Monte Plata—a text, a message, a phone call. Usually the contact is brief, dependent on where they are and the method of contact. But I find it meaningful knowing they want to stay in touch with us. I’m not the only one who has kept up the contact.
All the people we met make do with very little, yet their faces reflect sense of happiness that for the most part I don’t see in the faces around me here. They trust. In God and in one another. And that’s the way to change my own life. Trust.