More from Mom

My mom felt that that letter wasn't truely representative of her whole experience here especially since she is removed from it now and can look at it as a whole. So she wrote a little something else to include here and instead of removing the letter I've let it stay and just added this on top. While sometimes similar I think they are different enough to include them both.


Well, Matt has asked me to write something about my recent ten-day visit to the DR. I don't know where to begin, but as I think about it what comes to mind are the people- individuals I got to know by name. There are the Dominicans like Daybi, Benendicto, Andres, Cherri, Lilly, Carmelita, Joncito (who I helped swim), and Amarillo (yellow). I have pictures in my mind's eye of many other people whose names I have forgotten (or could not pronounce very well from the beginning). Then, I see the faces of the Peace Corps volunteers I met at one of two conferences I went to with Matt. The young men and women of America who have left their comfort zone to nurture youth in community programs, or teach kids with special needs in their schools, or build acquaducts, or help coffee farmers be more productive, or bring technology to businesses and communities. So, mostly what comes to mind when I think about my visit are the people. But there is more. The sounds.

For two days after my return to the states, I still heard the music in my head -merengue, or bachata, or reggeton complete with Spanish lyrics I can't understand. The music that blasted from every single bus or car we rode in and that reverberated in our neighborhood daily (and nightly). The roosters and chickens nextdoor were a torment at five in the morning- now they are, happily, a fading cacophony.

Besides the people and the music I often have random mind-pictures of the lush green not-to-big mountains around Pedro Sanchez, the cattle grazing (and random pigs, chickens and turkeys in the yard). There are flashing images of clear blue skies and white sandy beaches abutting emerald green water and palm trees bending just so.

Then the people appear again, this time, nameless smiling faces stopping in greeting- one after another after another on the streets of Pedro Sanchez. "Hola," "Adios," "Buenas," or "Mateo,"- always something said. Happy images all.

But I have to admit that there other jarring slideshow glimpses that are discordent and screechy, like a fingernail on a chalkboard. They slip into and amongst the happy images and cause me to catch my breath. Rough wooden shacks with tin roofs and lots of holes, empty concret block buildings, paper/plastic/glass/concrete in piles or floating in water on the side of the street, broken things. Children scantily clad running barefoot or digging in the dirt, men and boys just sitting and staring, women just sitting and staring, and broken up heaving land.

At first when I got there, I wanted to change things. They need this and this and this and this. Then I began to meet the people, and I still wanted to change things. Then, I decided to just do what I could. So, I brought out the bottle of bubbles and wand that mercifully had not spilled in my checked baggage. I sat in one of Matt's plastic chairs in the front yard under his cherry tree and started blowing bubbles. I waited for the little neighbor kids to come over, and I showed them how and watched them do it. Later, when a few older ones were over, I brought out the puzzles- one on colors and the other on opposites. We put them together and I passed out Tootsie-Pops and Laffy Taffy. It was better than trying to change things. It was better than thinking of my sweaty self or watching the trail of ants on Matt's windowsill or doorway. When the older ones came over, I brought out Go Fish and Uno and War- one at a time. Always the Tootsie-Pops or Laffy Taffy. Somehow we managed to play- play around the language barrier. Even Benedicto who cannot hear or speak learned how to play. What expressive, funny faces he would make to tease the littler kids! It was better than trying to change things. And so I watched a soccer practice and a soccer game; I went to an English class; I sat in while Matt led a meeting of youth leaders; and I got my nails polished by someone who just wanted to do it.

I was amazed by many things...Matt's mastery of the language, the way the kids hung around him and listened, the way the adults in the community cared for him and told me so. It took away my mother worries. And the images and sounds linger.