Perspective

The pessimist would tell my story this way: The morning of my departure from the DR, I couldn’t find my passport. (Classic me, right?) I show up to the airport with a photocopy of my passport that I had made before I left in June. Never thought I’d actually need to use it. So the American Airlines rep in Santiago calls ahead to immigration in Miami to clear me through, and says I shouldn’t have a problem. The key word here is shouldn’t. When I try to go through security, the guard tells me I can’t go through with just a copy of my passport, unless I have the very same AA rep walk me through. So I run back to the desk to grab him, only to find that he is no longer there. So I wait about 15 minutes for them to go through the process all over again and okay it a second time, all the while literally holding my breath. I finally got a different rep to walk me through security, and barely made it on the flight.
Thinking my troubles are over, when I arrive in Miami for my connecting flight, I get flagged in customs. The guy takes the copy of my passport and sends me to immigration, where I’m told I will wait about 15 minutes. Let’s just say that 15 minutes quickly (or should I say slowly…) became 3 ½ hours. Every single time I tried to get up and ask what was going on, someone would yell at me to sit down and wait my turn. Meanwhile, I am carrying a laptop for a friend who was traveling with me, and I can’t leave the immigration room to get it to her before she gets on her next flight (which was the same flight I was supposed to be on). It turns out, they lost my copy of my passport, and the officer I finally talked to after 3 ½ hours told me that they shouldn’t have even sent me to immigration. So he stamps my customs card and I rush out to see when the next available flight is. Well, I get stopped again, because apparently the officer who stamped my customs sheet failed to right the number 1 over the stamp. So I go back to immigration, and wait in line again to get all the way through customs. At this point, I have been told that because of all this mis-hap, I will always have to go through immigration when I come back to the State from out of country. Exciting times ahead.
So…I go to transfer to the next available flight, and after waiting in an hour-long line, I get to the receptionist who happens to be making plans with her girlfriends for Monday night. When she hangs up, I tell her I need the next available flight to Chicago, because I got held up in immigration. After staring at her computer for about 15 minutes, she says, “There is a fight RIGHT NOW! RUN!” So I run to re-check my luggage, run through security, and run about a half mile to my gate with no shoes on, and all my bags flailing in the air. When I get to my gate, they tell me I’m only a standby passenger, so I might not even make it on.
Eventually I did get to board the plane, still dripping with sweat from my half-mile run. Our departure time was delayed, so we sat in Miami for about a half hour before we took off. Then we had to be re-routed three different times due to extreme thunderstorms, (the severity of which the pilot announced he hadn’t witnessed in 33 years in flying). We flew around the Carolinas, up to Wisconsin, and actually right over Columbus, and finally landed in Chicago. At this point, I’ve already missed my connecting flight to Cleveland.Lucky for me, the last flight of Cleveland had been slightly delayed, so I hiked up my jeans and ran again (this time with shoes on), and just BARELY made it on the plane. It was a very tiny plane, and the guy next to me just so happened to take up half of my seat as well. Somewhat claustrophobic. But alas, I made it home to Cleveland! It’s a shame they lost my luggage in the process.


Here’s an optimist’s version: I managed to lose my passport the night before I left the DR to come home, but it’s a good thing I made a photocopy of it before I left the States! Normally you have to go to the embassy (which was Santo Domingo, about a 5 hours drive from where we were), to get a temporary passport to leave the country. But since the representative from American Airlines was familiar with Orphanage Outreach, she walked me through security and I got right on the plane. Amazing luck…or providence?
When I get to Miami, I get held up in immigration for a little over 3 hours, where I was the only American citizen in a room full of different nationalities and ethnicities. It was so cool to be in such a diverse atmosphere, and to hear so much Spanish being spoken in the States. Although it felt like forever to wait, I met handfuls of people with incredible stories. It was here that my little pee-brain mind was opened up to a whole new realm of injustices in the immigration system. The Martinez family was stopped in customs and sent to immigration because the security guard claimed that they had a “common last name”. Suspicious I guess. A very professional-looking and –sounding woman I met (in about her mid-30’s) from the Caiman Islands was flying through Miami to get back home from one of her frequent business trips to the States. This is about her 50th time being stopped in customs because she was born in Cuba. Though she is not a Cuban citizen, she spent that whole first year of her life in Cuba. Again, suspicious, right? Another woman I met was ethnically Haitian, and even though she was born and raised in the Bronx, they stopped her in customs and sent her to immigration without reason. In the small crowded immigration room are officers herding people like cattle, and yelling for people to sit down. The bathroom is a tin can on a floor. The atmosphere was filled with tension and oppression. And we waited at the mercy of the officers, while they took their time scrolling through files, calling another name every 10 minutes or so. (There were probably 60 or 70 people in this room…families, babies, elderly, you name it.) They treat you so disrespectfully here, unless they find out you’re an American citizen. Then they try to save face and get on your good side.
I tell you all this to say that I am so thankful I got to experience immigration first-hand. I never knew it was so appallingly inhumane and undignifying. I had amazing conversations with the people I met during these four hours, some regarding more serious issues of prejudice and racism, and some more along the lines of comic relief (thank God for Kimberly, my Haitian friend, who has a smart mouth…she was absolutely hilarious). It’s one thing to hear people’s stories, and be aware that our system of immigration is slightly complicated, but it’s a whole different story to witness so much injustice first-hand. I could NEVER regret my experience at the Miami airport. It was such a painfully beautiful learning experience: something that I couldn’t have learned any other way. Even after I left immigration, I ran into my friend from the Caiman Islands periodically, as I was waiting in line to transfer my flight. It was kind of a cool thing to feel keep bumping into people I had already met...my little airport community.
When I got on my plane, I met a Bolivian girl a little older than me who spoke perfect English and perfect Spanish. She is studying physical therapy in Chicago, and she was home for the summer visiting her family. We had some amazing talks about both of our experiences in Miami customs, and she told me that she was stopped to for a reason which they never told her. This girl was hands-down the best airplane stranger I’ve ever met. We did the Sudoku puzzle and word games from the newspaper clippings Mrs. Miralia sent me down in the DR :) It was really a fun plane ride.
On my flight to Cleveland, I sat next to a man who grew up all over the world as a military kid, and went to boarding school in England. He just recently came back from a hunting trip in South Africa. Very interesting conversations we had. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I saw the most beautiful skies I’ve ever seen in my whole life. On our way to Chicago, we literally flew into the sunset. The sky was hot pink and orange: brighter and more vibrant than I’ve ever seen. After it got dark, we saw the coolest thunderstorms from the plane: huge cumulonimbus clouds and bolts of lightning flashing ever five seconds or so, literally lighting up the entire sky. Like I said, the coolest skies I’ve ever seen.

So you see, it’s all about perspective really. Honestly I think it's an exhausting task to be an optimist. But the thing about optimism is that it has the capacity to make your experiences so much richer…like every minute actually has value.

Lesson learned: Optimism is taxing, but so worthwhile.

And she RAMBLES!...

This week, Orphanage Outreach put on a camp in “Batey Isabella” each afternoon. A batey is a gated farming community, usually very poverty-stricken, with little access to good drinking water and almost no contact with the outside world.

I got an opportunity to train a group of volunteers how to run the English station, which—out of all the things I’ve seen here—may have been the most interesting experience I’ve encountered yet in the Dominican Republic. Volunteers come in all shapes and sizes, both literally and figuratively. Everyone is coming from a different perspective, a different frame of reference. Different ideas, different opinions, different personalities, different leadership styles, different motivations and/or incentives to do a week-long trip like this, and vastly different styles of communication. The four volunteers I worked with all had incredibly strong personalities. Muy muy muy fuerte. All, very passionate people: enthusiastic, excited, wanting to make a difference. At first, I thought planning for camp would be a breeze.

Let’s just say…I thought wrong.

On Monday, we basically fell flat on our faces. Like hard-core, bombed it. Because our personalities clashed so much, we couldn’t plan anything to save our lives. Haha, it’s almost funny in retrospect to think how horribly that first day went. I was going through any and every excuse that could possibly get me out of this particular group.

Well, today is Thursday. To everyone’s shock and amazement, we successfully completed this week of camp alive, with just a few scratches and bruises (not to mention 17 brand-new mosquito bites…). I really got an incredible opportunity to see change and growth in group dynamics in a way that highlighted each person’s strengths. Monday night after camp, we re-grouped to address the conflict and re-organize the structure of our station. By God’s grace (no joke) we learned how to work together, and I was able to learn the difference between enabling people and being lazy or apathetic. Let me explain. Because it was so difficult at times, I really just wanted to throw the towel in and let these four volunteers literally slit each other’s throats. But I just couldn’t do that at the expense of the kids who could truly benefit from this camp. On the other hand, it was also easy for me to just do everything myself. I’ve done it before; I know what’s best, so I can do it better, right?

Wrong again.

Empowerment is such a fragile balance. It is an important concept when doing social work, business, ministry, teaching, and even raising children. Helping a person or group of people in a way (or to the extent) that it cripples them in the long-run is not good. It forces a life-long dependency of this person or these people on you, meanwhile making yourself feel good. This is what we call in social work, enabling someone. However, you cannot then, go to the other extreme and provide zero guidance, zero instruction, zero tools, and expect this person or people to flourish; it’s simply not realistic. Empowerment is that fine line somewhere between enablement and apathy.

This past week, let’s just say I got plenty of practice with this concept.

What do they need?

When Tom Eklund first started Orphanage Outreach, he came to this orphanage in Monte Cristi that I’m at now. This time 15 years ago, the kids were dirty, and many of them had bloated bellies from malnourishment. There was very little food and water to go around. When Tom talked to Pastor Ramón about bringing some resources and volunteers down to assist the orphanage, he said “We’d be happy to provide you with more funding for food and water.” No-brainer, right? That probably would have been my gut reaction as well.

But Pastor Ramón simply said “No, what we need is a wall.”

If any of you are familiar with Maslow’s hierarchy of basic needs, the primary necessity is safety and security. The children at the orphanage in Monte Cristi had no sense of boundary before the wall was built. People from the community could easily roam in and out of the orphanage grounds, and kids could easily wander off.

Now that there is a wall, the primary need of the kids is met: security. There is a thick wall, about 10 feet high, that runs the perimeter of the orphanage grounds. Inside the wall is the orphanage itself, where the children live, as well as a playground, a basketball court, a main office/educational center, and a cluster of ramadas (where Orphanage Outreach volunteers and interns live). The children here have clear physical boundaries that allow them the safety and security they need to gain some sense of emotional stability, amidst the trauma they have already endured.

I love this story, because it just goes to show that when you come in from the outside, you cannot make assumptions about what a community’s (or person’s) needs are. You have to ask. Tom Eklund thought he knew: food and water; it seemed obvious. But it’s a good thing he asked, because the answer he received was vastly different than what he expected. This is a good lesson for me as a social worker, but it is also a crucial aspect of any kind of helping profession and mission work as well.

In other words, feeling like we already have all the answers can sometimes be detrimental, even dangerous.

American Perfectionism

This past Sunday, I went to church with the kids from the orphanage. It was hot, stuffy, and swarming with mosquitoes. People got there early; people strolled in late. Some sang on-key. Some sang off-key. The “band” consisted of a guitar (which was barely audible), a ripped drum, and a tall tin can. In the middle of the service, the city power shut off. This meant no lights and no fans.

And yet, in the dark, humid sanctuary, the service continued on. We sang songs—some of which I understood and some of which I had no clue what I was singing. (I’m guessing they were about Jesus…) The mosquitoes attacked. The pastor preached a beautiful sermon. We swatted the mosquitoes. And we absorbed the Word of God.

I have to think that these kinds of things wouldn’t happen back home. I mean, we Americans are punctual (well…if you’re not a DiNardo), we make sure our worship bands and our church choirs are up to par, and we work hard at preventing the unpredictable. We get anxious if there is a glitch in the service, or if something doesn’t go as planned. If the lights aren’t right, if the air conditioning isn’t at the right level, if someone forgets they were supposed to usher…etc. Needless to say, our standards are very very high.

Now before I go on, let me throw out a disclaimer…a very large one, actually. It is truly a beautiful thing to utilize the resources to which we have access. It is CRUCIAL to view them as blessings—meaning we have done nothing to earn them, because they are gifts. It is a very godly, noble thing to make the best use of our talents and to be dedicated to our work. It is respectable and respectful to be on time. These are good, positive attributes found throughout American culture.

Okay, so that was my disclaimer. Now I can tell you what I really think…(just kidding, I really meant what I said!) BUT, I want to play devil’s advocate for a minute and challenge American Christians to—instead of seeing all of the imperfections around us—see the good. To focus our eyes on the things that are going well, instead of being overly critical about the things that don’t really matter. Because sometimes, our obsession with perfection is more of an unhealthy anxiety, rather than a genuine desire to glorify God. We cannot earn more of God’s love or more of his divine favor by making the flow of our services more perfect.

What’s more, is we cannot continue to let our faith ride solely on what makes us comfortable. Would we stop coming to church if there was no AC? Would we stop coming to church if the pews were uncomfortable or if—heaven forbid—there were no doughnuts or coffee?



So I ask the Church in America, what if we faced the reality of imperfection instead of letting it mercilessly taunt us with the fear of discomfort, or worse: failure?

the elefante in the room

Today at camp we talked about the huge elefante in the room: race.

We started the conversation by talking about differences in general. Likes, dislikes, short, tall, age, gender, personality, etc. Then it led to "soy dominicano and eres americana". Then we talked about how some of us are darker skinned than others and some of us are lighter skinned than others. Some of us are American, some of us are Dominican, and some of us are Haitian. Nuestras diferencias son magnificas. We need to treat everyone with respeto (respect), regardless of race or skin color. It's basic. It's true. But it is something that mankind has consistently struggled with throughout history.

There is another social work intern here named Etsuko, who lives in Hawaii, but is originally from Japan. The kids call her "americana" along with the rest of us, or they call her "china". Needless to say, there have been many teachable moments. We have also coached the kids to call us by our names, instead of "americanas" or "teacher".

Random side note: The cutest thing in the whole wide world is little Dominican children learning English. Yes that's a strong statement. But oh so true. Especially when they say the word "coconut". If only I was that cute fumbling around with Spanish.

Mas Fotos

one of my fave houses in monte cristi...

Mery Risa and I...she is so beautiful and precious...always ready to jump into your arms. She shows signs of autism, and has apparently come a long way since she got to the orphanage. She is finally starting to remember my name. She pronounces it "Dis-dina".

This is my new friend who came to camp everyday last week in Monzenio. Same spot, everyday. Faithful little oinker.

This is the house of Ozzie Virgil, the first Dominican to play for the MLB. Here's a news article I found, for all you baseball fanatics. http://mlb.mlb.com/news/article.jsp?ymd=20060922&content_id=1676418&vkey=news_mlb&fext=.jsp&c_id=mlb

"El Moro"

finally figured out how to upload pictures...

my favorite kind of tree...they're everywhere down here!

futbol americano!

this mosquito net has become my best friend

this is Yanena...looks like we're both stumped on this one lol

Yeah I know I look good in this one! This is Nicole Rosie.