The semester has flown by and I can hardly believe that I have less than 6 weeks of school left. My time in the Dominican Republic is winding down and it is hard to admit that I will not be returning next year. Nonetheless, I feel at peace about my decision and am determined to be fully present and enjoy the time I have left in the DR. I look forward to reconnecting with friends and family in the US and seeing what God has next.
The spring has been eventful and busy. My leg is healing slowly, but surely, despite some struggles with tendinitis in the operated ligament. One of the most significant events was my recent trip to Haiti for Doulos’ French teacher’s wedding.
I have greatly appreciated the friendship and humor of our French teacher, Basile, as we shared stories about what it is like to be a foreigner and learn a new language. He even taught me a few phrases in French. I had been hearing about his fiancé in Haiti for the past two years and couldn’t wait to finally meet her. Basile had joyfully announced his engagement in January and proceeded to invite the entire Doulos staff to the wedding in Haiti. Doulos staff responded by banding together to buy our new couple a stove and stock their pantry. The invitation and the responding excitement was a true testimony to the community at Doulos and the ways in which God is breaking many of the prejudices between Haitians and Dominicans by bringing people together in our staff for a greater purpose.
Four other teachers, the director’s family, and myself set off on our first adventure in Haiti midway through our Spring break (second week in April). Due to a change in bus schedules, we ended up in a cramped minibus. Fortunately, we all know each other quite well and did not mind being cramped together with our luggage.
Customs and crossing the border was something else. Somehow, the entry and exit taxes kept mounting and the border officials refused to accept anything from us except American dollars even though we were still in the DR, which is run on pesos. We successfully exchanged money with a series of old men sitting in front of a near-by grocery store. After struggling to carefully fill out our customs papers and make sure they were stamped at the proper stand, we were escorted to the gate on the bridge. There were numerous UN peace keepers standing along the bridge that served as a strong reminder of the turmoil that has often been associated with the Haitian border. Once we reached the gate and waved our paper work in the air, the military officers opened the gates. We followed a train of goats, market men, and shoe-shine boys across the border into Haiti. Children that wanted to carry our bags for a small fee swarmed each one of us. I thought I was a magnet for attention in Jarabacoa, but this was a whole new level. This was the first border I have ever crossed on foot and by far the most interesting. Once we reached the Haitian customs office, we waited for a while to have our passports checked and arrange a bus to our final destination (Cap Haitien, on the Northern coast). Just before I left, I went into the back of the customs office to use the solitary toilet. To the left of the toilet was a pile of carefully filled out customs tickets from innumerable tourists like myself.
The trip to the coast revealed a surprisingly beautiful countryside. From the aerial photographs, I expected Haiti to be a brown dessert in comparison to the green DR. Deforestation in Haiti has definitely devastated the lush, thick carpet of green that covers most of the DR, but the territory was still speckled with small bushes and flowering trees. Once we arrived in the town, it became obvious that we stuck out like a sore thumb. I did not see another white person outside my companions the entire time we were in Haiti.
Seeing the cities in Haiti was also a strong reminder of the importance of simple things like a city plan for garbage disposal. The rivers and canals running through the city had become the most convenient trashcan and the beaches near the river mouths were heaped with trash. I think the sign of true poverty is not how poor a towns ghetto is, it is how large it is. The slums along the coast went on for miles.
The wedding was held in a church/retreat center just outside of town. We were humbled to be treated like kings while we stayed there. Basile even made time to show us around town the morning before his wedding. The town is an interesting mixture of decrepit French architecture from the colonial era, shacks, and modern fast-food restaurants. The church was beautiful and almost made you forget that you were in one of the poorest countries in the world. Several times a day, a mysterious pot of spicy goat stew would show up for all of the visitors. The wedding was beautiful. The church choir sang rhythmic a cappella songs in Creol and the groom’s cousin translated the service from French into Spanish for us. We finally got to meet Basile’s lovely bride and experience a glimpse of life on the other side of the island.
Please check out my web album for more pictures of Haiti.
