Well, after being held over in the first airport for nine hours, causing us to have to stay the night in Miami then fly out the next day, we arrived in the Dominican. And after having expected that it was going to be EXTREMELY hot, I was pleasantly suprised to find that the temperature was not so bad. Due to the fact that the hurrican had passed near the DR, we got nice cool weather, while back in the states where I lived my city was experiencing record-breaking heat. Ironic. Anyways, after spending a day getting to know the compound where we were staying, we headed out into the villages. It was a sunday, so we were scheduled to go to a church in Atcencion (SP??)
pic of the church:
and to a church in Congrejo, but before that Jana, the missionary we were working with, took us into a nearby Hatian village to show us the living conditions. It was really sad to see. The best of the homes were decently constructed from metal sheets created from recycled oil kegs, and about the size of an average American kitchen. Some of these homes had families of 7 or more living in them. As we arrived, we immediately had children accost us, wanting to hold our hands. I ended up with a small child who wanted me to carry her all around the village, and I did so, despite the fact that she probably weighed 50 pounds. Osaka had a small child on each side holding her hands, one licking his finger and rubbing it on her wrist for some unknown reason-- in hindsight I think he wanted to rub one of her freckles off (freckles are some kind of phenomena down there, all the kids were amazed that Osaka and I had a number of brown freckles on each of our hands and arms, and were in the habit of counting as many of them as they could see.) Anyways, as we got toward the back of the village we saw the voodoo hut where the poorest people I'll probably ever see were decieved into thinking that if they gave a witch doctor their precious money, he could cast curses or blessings on whomever they selected. Across from the voodoo hut, there was a man in his tiny two-room home mourning his fathers death. We went into his home and sang hymns over his fathers body, after which they placed the man into a coffin to be buried. We were informed later that because the coffin was so expensive, the family would wait until after the man decayed and dig him back up, dump out his remains, and save the coffin for the next person to pass on. After this, we loaded back up onto our truck and headed out to the church, where we danced and pretended to sing (it was spanish and I had no idea what they were saying, but I did my best to sing along with whatever I could pick up.) That night we attended the church in Congrejo. After those two experiences, I realized how lifeless most American church services are. Everyone in the church down there would dance in their place and clap and sing at the top of their lungs, their praise full of joy. The kids did a performance for us in which I have no clue what the tune was, because none of the children could possibly carry a tune while singing that loudly. I think to them, the policy is volume over quality
. It was extremely cute.
Here's a pic of the kids singing.
The next day, everybody got up and dressed and headed back out after breakfast to work. Except Osaka and me and four other teenagers from our group. We headed out to play! We were clowns and in charge of a VBS in the church in Congrejo. So for five days we would get dressed up in our clown outfits and make-up and do skits for the kids and sing songs with them. The first day we went in there, you should have seen the looks on their faces. None of the teenagers in the village, much less the children, had ever seen a clown before, so they didn't know quite what to think of us. We all marched in and their faces went blank. They just stared at us. After the first day though they were quite fond of us. We were told later by the pastor's son that all the kids in the village talked all day long were the clowns!
The most memorable thing was when we did the Zacheus skit. While we sang the song in Spanish, Ben, the only boy in our group, would squat down and pull his ginormous shorts over his knees so that he looked like a "wee little man", climb up in a "tree" (Two chairs that Osaka and another girl stood in front of), and I walked past as Jesus and instructed him, "Zaqueo, baja ya de mi!" (Zacheus, you come down.) Every time we sang the song, none of the kids knew the words until we got to "Zaqueo, baja ya de mi!" at which point they would scream that line at the top of their lungs. From that point on, Ben became known to all the children of the village as Zaqueo. I can't tell you how many times they yelled, "Zaqueo!" when he walked past, or asked me, "Donde esta Zaqueo?" It was so funny. Below are some pics of some of the kids who came to VBS.
(These are the kids waiting to get into the church for VBS)
Anyways, while we played, the some of others in our group worked building a home for one of the families in the village (before that the family had lived in the homeless shelter that Jana had established), and the other part of the group helped paint the new mustard seed, a place Jana had built to take in handi-capped children (a larger building had become necessary as more children had been brought in.) On the way home the second or third day, we stopped by the old mustard seed to see the children. Most had autism or clubbed feet or cerebral palsy, or a combination of those conditions. Seeing them made me very grateful for what Jana and our group could do for them-- these kids had no chance of survival on their own. None could function mentally except Lola, and even her mental capabilities were very poor. Around half of them couldn't walk. They were very precious and I thank God that he's taking care of them. Below are pictures of two of the thirteen children.
On wednesday, we went to the dump. We went on a good day though, they weren't burning any trash then (I've been told that when the trash is burning, it feels like you're standing in the middle of hell.) The dump is where the poorest Hatian refugees have to live in order to survive. They dig through the garbage every day to find anything to eat, drink, or wear. Now, though, Jana has established a ministry with them where she takes a group there once a week to play bingo with them and feed them a meal. When we play bingo, we cheat
. See, we want everyone to win something, so we make sure that everybody has the numbers called that they need. Every time someone would win, they would come to me (I was the record-keeper), and whether they had a bingo or not I would say they did and they would go collect a prize. The prizes were hotel-sized bottles of soap and shampoo-- things they rarely came by. However, by the very last man we ran out of prizes, so our pastor gave him a football cap with our state's team logo on it. The man was evidently pleased with it 
. At one point, we opened the floor for them to perform for us. We had a man and a woman each sing a solo; and though we couldn't understand a single word they sang, we smiled big clapped enthusiastically when they finished. See, most of those people have never been singled out in their life for anything, so getting to sing by yourself in front of a group of white people is an honor. I don't think they knew how honored we felt to be able to hear them. Then six or seven of the guys there pulled out metal barrels or glass jars or anything that would make a sound and beat out a rhythym as we sang with them. Below I have a picture of the dump and the man and woman who sang solos for us.
(sorry about my finger in the corner there, ha ha)
(continued in next post. . . )
) but that covers all the basics. Thanks for taking the time to read about our trip, and please remember to keep the Dominican Republic in your prayers!
Yumie
