Ralph Again

Well, it has been three months now since I have made my last blog posting. Much has happened in my life and around the world. Many of our friends, brothers, and sisters across the Dominican border were killed in Hurricanes Hannah, Gustav, and Ike. dlkskdf Zimbabwe or Africa, the Dow has plummeted 4,000 points. I have since returned to the land of eternal sunshine, a calm sea breeze, and more ridiculous wealth and consumption than Jesus would have thought possible. The good news is all of the hurt, suffering, and wrongs of the world are about to change since Barack Obama was named our President elect at the end of yesterday’s polls (I hope you can note the sarcasm in my voice even though I did vote for him).

Since my last entry I have been home to get a taste of Montana for a week, spent a wonderful month with my girlfriend before she took off to Costa Rica, and been juggling 17 tough units, intramural volleyball, men’s soccer league, microfinance club, an internship, surfing, cycling, cooking (I’m in my first apartment!), doing a long-distance relationship, and investing time into the lives of the wonderful people around me. To say I haven’t had time to write a blog entry wouldn’t be an understatement, but really just a poor excuse. Not having time to do something is a choice. It’s my fault this has taken so long, but now I would like share something from my time in the Dominican that has been on my heart and mind for a long time.
Earlier in the summer I wrote about an encounter that I had with a homeless man named Ralph. A man who had served in the US Army for years, had a family, been to rock bottom with many addictions, and finally found himself on the streets of Puerto Plata shouldering the humiliation of begging for survival. The thing about Ralph is that he is a very intelligent man, but has been cast aside by society where the walls to climb back seem to grow continually higher. Add a continuing struggle with alcohol to the mix and it is easy to see why he is where he is.

As the summer progressed I had many more encounters with Ralph. Several days after our first long conversation I purchased Ralph a bottle of Shampoo and a bar of deodorant. A bit of an offensive gift right? As he held the brown bag in his hands his eyes lit up when I told him of it’s contents. He looked me in the eyes and sincerely told me how much that meant to him. We sat together on a bench in the park that he frequented every evening at 6:30pm after a long day of begging. I shared with him my idea for him to begin a language tutoring business. I offered to print him materials or be a contact point if he needed. He really liked the idea.

Over the next weeks I would see Ralph occasionally, usually in the habitual locations that had become his life. To be completely honest, I feared running into him sometimes. If I did, it meant taking a large chunk of time out of my precious day to sit and chat with him. Sometimes at the end of our conversations he would ask me if I had anything that I could give him. My usual response was my friendship. I was rooted in my decision to not give Ralph any money, which can often be a quick guilt reliever for the benefactor. I had concluded that is not what he needed. While my thoughts on this was probably correct, it didn’t help the guilt and uneasiness that continually nagged at me as I walked away from a hungry friend, especially when I knew that all it would take was a trip to the ATM, swiping a plastic card, and ridding the hunger from his belly for a day or two. A couple of times I brought him a cup of coffee when he’d asked and another time brought him some rice and chicken from lunch.

The weeks past and I saw Ralph one day, he had on a new pair of pants, had shaved, and cleaned up quite well. He beamed when he saw me, telling me that he had quit begging. He also said that he had been sober for four days. His proud, haggard smile reminded me of a young child who has just simultaneously lost both of his front teeth and couldn’t be any happier. A couple, whom I believe were working with Catholic Relief services, had begun to help Ralph as well. They had given him a book for recovering from alcoholism. He pridefully opened the pages and showed me the underlined sentences as well as the exercises that he had written out in small spiral notebook. He shared things about his personality that he had realized that he must first overcome before escaping this addiction and moving on in life. He was a proud man and I was proud of him.

The night before I left I went to the park where he spent much of his time, hoping to say a final goodbye as I had promised. There, I found Ralph working with a young man on his English in exchange for a plate of food. While he had never chosen to try out my recommended career in language tutoring, this scene was great to see. He greeted me with a huge smile filled with bright, white front teeth and we spoke for sometime. On my last day in Puerto Plata he had finally gotten the long awaited dentures from a local pastor. I was touched by his words as he thanked me, more than anything, just for my friendship. He told me that on days when I didn’t come by or he didn’t get a chance to do a lesson with the young man he often tutored, going home to sleep in his abandoned hotel was a terribly difficult and lonely task. I don’t say this to toot my own horn, as I spent far less time with him than I really should have, but it was such an eye opening experience for me. Ralph’s words captured the need for every human heart to love and feel loved by others. Even if that is taking 10 minutes out of your day to have a conversation with them and show them that you believe they are something more than a street urchin, that they are a child of God just as we all are, and that we are united through our love for him and one another by his sacrifice and love for us. Ralph told me of his love for God that night (something we hadn’t spoke much of before). It was really a pretty neat moment to have three individuals from different walks of life united, a humbled rich white do-gooder (we’ll generalize my summer internship a bit), a proud homeless war veteran, and a poor Dominican boy sitting at a park bench together. After saying our goodbyes I got up to leave.

I began to walk away and Ralph timidly asked, “Can I have your shirt?” He said it as if he were half-joking, maybe to cover any embarrassment he felt from the request.

“You want it?” I replied.

“Well…. I don’t want you to have to go home without a shirt on!” Lucky for Ralph I had my sweaty wrinkled T from the gym in my bag. I happily pulled of my shirt and gave it to a beaming Ralph and as I began to walk away pulling my soggy work-out shirt over my shoulders I heard him say to the Dominican boy, “Tu ves? El saco la camiseta de su espalda para mi” You see that? He took the shirt off of his back, for me.

Microfinance.... A...+

It’s one thing to read about all of the incredible, heart-warming stories of microfinance, the Grameen Banks success in Bangladesh, and the ideas that basically praise MF as the second coming of Christ, however, it’s another thing to live among the people of these stories, watch their businesses grow (or not), and see the conditions that they live in. I have been so blessed to spend three months working for one of the best-run MF organizations in the world (Esperanza and Hope International juntos) to see their techniques, struggles, and focus. My experience here has been inspirational and insightful, but also unearthed a lot of frustrations and shortcomings that I’ve seen in the running of a non-profit and the entire concept of MF as a poverty alleviation tool. But right now I’ve just had two cups of morning coffee, watched the sunrise from the roof of my apartment, and am in far too good of a mood to address such topics. I’ll wait until I’m a little lonely or depressed (which hasn’t happened too often thankfully) or pissed off at someone who tries to take advantage of my white naivity and charge me triple the regular price for a cab or something, before I delve into such a topic. On a sidenote, I don’t get upset about much, but when people try to scam others that are not familiar with the area, usually foreigners, who are not familiar with their language or customs, it drives me crazy. It’s one thing to have sound business practices and jump on the opportunity to give some wealthy people a service for a handsome price that you are not going to get from your local patrons, but just plain ripping people off evokes this Holy rage from deep within by soul…. But I digress. All that was to say that I’d rather focus on some of the tremendous good that I have seen coming out of the work here.

When you enter into a new community to provide microfinance services, you are looking for a group of women that know one another, that have the desire to run their own show, and are driven enough to get a loan that they will guarantee the debts of their neighbor, promising to pay back any defaults that their neighbor may have. In one or two loan cycles (6 months to a year) it is rare to see a large economic impact. The recipients of such a loan are not going to go leaping from their poor state into middle-class suburban homes (or the equivalent thereof). But what I have seen change, even in a short three months here, is the dynamics of a group of women and leaders within a community. By bringing together a group of women that often have the capabilities of being leaders and thinkers, by nature of the fact that they are business entrepreneurs, a unifying of community and change in self-image is achieved. Women that were once just passive housewives tending to the needs of their nearly starving children and depending on an irregular income from their husbands, now have the dignity of bringing in an economic income to the household and the pride of repaying a loan, something most of their husbands have never even done. The entire process does wonders for ones self-esteem and perception of their role in the household, church, and community. I have heard it said plenty before, but now I have realized the importance, firsthand, of changing the repressive mentality that is embedded so deeply within the minds of many poor. So many people here have the mentality that they were born poor, will be poor, will lack the ability to ever make their own decisions, or the power to change their own situations. After a years time with an organization like Esperanza, I think these women see a new light.

The interaction with the loan officers is also a very critical aspect of the program. No matter how well-funded a program is, how well-managed, or how recent their strategies are, the greatest impact that the recipients will ever see from an MFI is a direct result of their bi-weekly interactions with the loan officers. These are the people that make the trip to their villages, collect payments, teach them basic business lessons, encourage them to spend and save wisely, pray with them, and work out difficult situations when they arise. Loan officers often are not as well educated as management in an MFI, but their critical role and importance as the connection between an institution and it’s participants should never be underestimated.
Microfinance Plus is a term that was created in the last several year in reference to all of the aspects outside of the financial realm that are brought about my an MFI. It refers to aspects such as medical care, literacy programs, business training, kids camps and other aspects that are extremely important to holistic transformation. Esperanza is big on Plus, and I have since become a fan. Some organizations focus solely on microfinance and believe that their focus should remain on the financial aspect. Even if their intention is to do this so that they may become sustainable, bring lower interest rates, and focus limited resources, it still misses the point of, or perhaps I should say that it just fails to complete many aspects of holistic transformation. As I mentioned earlier, I really don’t think that we can plan on seeing a large transformation in lives, economically speaking, after one, or two, or even three small loans. What we see is that a family is now able to eat a bit better, they can depend on a small but steady income from avocado sales (that’s an example there are many other products sold/businesses run), their children might be able to attend school because the now have just enough to buy a uniform, and the woman (the true head of the household) now has a new dream and hope for her children. But this dream for her children doesn’t stem from having a few more pesos to toss towards their education, it comes from the fact that she now has the belief that she will be able to provide for them, she now has a stronger involvement in the local church (that’s where meetings are usually held and often times local pastors are involved in loan process and many women are involved in the church) which provides communal support, and she has established stronger relationships with women in the community that will now trust and make sacrifices to help one another, a step that may have been unthinkable before the loan process.

One example of MF Plus that I saw a couple of weeks that made an impact on me, was not so much in an established medical program or education center, but in the true dedication of a loan officer to the well-being of her clients. In an organization that is focused solely on giving loans and collecting them, this aspect would have been overlooked as the loan officer hurried off after doing their financial duty. In a bank of twenty women in a nearby community there was some hostility among several of the associates and members of the group had approached Dilcia to speak poorly of others in the group behind their back. Recognizing this dilemna that was occurring, she brought the problem to the attention of the group and all those involved. We spent an extra hour and a half after the normal meeting listening, encouraging, and working through the problem with the women. Several were indebted to others, one was on poor terms with another’s husband (from business dealings), several wanted others out of the group, etcetera. While things got a bit heated at times, each woman had an opportunity to share her input to a listening audience. Some women tried to leave but were scolded by the others. If they were going to do this, then it would be done as a group together. Dilcia continually reminded them that they were now like a family, they had solidarity, they shared one another’s joys, burdens, and responsibilities. By the end of the session the women had come leaps and bounds from where we’d begun. Watching these women struggle through these challenges, overcome problems themselves, and form stronger community bonds because of it is one of the greatest impacts that I have seen come out of microfinance. That was a looong entry. I’m going to stop writing.

If you want to check out Esperanza's website Click Here.

Water Falls

No matter where you're traveling there always seems to be an encounter or two that remind you about just how small the world really is. Vanessa Pridmore, a gal who I've recently gotten to know this last spring through the Microfinance Club and Business Law class, is spending five weeks down in the Dominican this summer as well working with a Nazarene church. She had a free weekend so she decided to take the four hour bus up to Puerto Plata for a visit. It was pretty strange to be spending a weekend in a foreign country with an Point Loma aquaintenance that was totally unexpected. We had a great time though. The highlight of the weekend being the waterfall adventure. Forty-five minutes outside of Puerto Plata lies the town of Imbert. If you continue into the countryside and take a 10 minute hike up a dirt road you arive at the 27 Charcos (pools).

Along with our guide, Wild Bill, Vanessa and I began heading up a narrow river gorge. We swam across ponds and then ascended small waterfalls by rope or just climbing up w/ the assistance of Wild Bill, who never seemed to stop shouting “Arriba! Adelante!Arriba!” in a frustrated tone. Yes…. thank you…. Willy. I understand we are probably going that direction, but this moss is pretty damn slippery and gravity and downstream water are going the other way. But, overtime Wild Bill kind of grew on me, despite his negative attitude and lack of patience. How could somebody be upset when they’re in the middle of a tropical paradise like that? After we reached the top of the 27 pools, the fun part began. Coming back down was one successive jump after another. The green water seemed almost surreal as we bobbed along before hopping down the next small cliff. The way up probably took two hours while the way back down probably only took an hour. As we walked along one of the trails Wild Bill earned bonus points by finding us some fresh mangoes at Vanessa’s assistance. Mangoes have become my new favorite fruit. Dominican mangoes are special, I don’t even know how to explain it. They are the sweetest, juiciest thing I’ve ever experienced. A little messy? Yes. Get stuck in your teeth? Yes. But well worth these small hindrances for such a nugget of ambrosia. Wild Bill did well with the wild mangos, but really proved himself by snapping photos of us along the way, while only keeping my camera wrapped in a grocery bag. I cringed as I watched him plunge off the first waterfall with my camera in hand. He just kept telling me to trust him, trust him, never letting me see if he had destroyed the camera. How was I supposed to trust a guy that kept telling us that the next time we came back we could go for free if we brought a woman to him? Nonetheless, Billy swam on, leaving the camera unscathed. Once, he even dove off of a ten foot cliff, headfirst, bending his arm awkwardly and spinning as he hit the water in order to keep the camera above water the whole time, unbelievable. Anyways, a good time was had by all. I’ll let the Pix do most of the talking.

Business Or Broke

My time here has been an incredible experience thus far. One of the main reasons I chose to leave my beloved Montana for the summer was to try and figure out what I’m going to do with my life. Although I began a career in business administration, making lots of money was never my goal. It was really more just to leave my options open more than anything… although I’ve never thought making lots of money would be such a bad thing. However, after my four months in Costa Rica and Nicaragua last year, my eyes were truly opened to another side of the world, that other three billion people that seem to make it (or often don’t) on just a few bucks a day. And not only did I become aware of the poverty that was out there, but the fact that there were entirely new cultures, ways of thinking about life, and ways of relating to others.
As the last year has progressed I have absolutely loved learning more about development, microfinance, poverty, Spanish, and the ridiculous consumer habits that most of us participate in. I chose to add International Development as a minor, a choice that has left me hungry to learn more about how we are going to save the world. Just kidding (we might not be able to save the world)…… but seriously. My involvement in microfinance this last year has also brought a lot of contemplative thought to the table for me. The greatest question I have been confronted with this year as I choose the direction I will head after college is, “Do I go the route of non-profits, grass roots organizations, getting to work directly in the development field? Or should I use my business acumen to take advantage of the opportunities in the U.S., global markets, and hungry capitalism that often does damage to those without a voice, then use those profits to work for the oppressed and marginalized?” Now, this is a bit of a simplified version of my thoughts, but it gives the basic idea. Each route seems to have so many ups and downs.

As I think about working directly in a grass-roots organization, the thought of noble work and the gratification that comes from working directly with the poor or such objectives is very appealing. While not completely altruistic, I think that we all have that inherent desire to love others, see their lives bettered, and we get a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that we have done something for someone else. Reason number two, Papa Dios tells us to do it.

"Then the King shall answer them, Verily I say unto you, inasmuch as ye have done unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done unto me."
- Mathew 25:40

Is this not the fast which I choose, to loosen the bonds of wickedness, to undo the bands of the yoke, and to let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke? Is it not to divide your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into the house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
- Is. 58:66

Open your mouth for the dumb, for the rights of all the unfortunate. Open your mouth, judge righteously, and defend the rights of the afflicted and needy.
- Proverbs 31:8

Jesus was constantly calling his followers to give up their family, politics of the state, riches, and called them to love the widows, the oppressed, the orphans, oppressed, and marginalized. He flipped everything upside down. On another note, one of my professors said something that really impacted me this last year regarding how we choose to serve out call and duty to the poor whether as Christians or just fellow human beings. He said something like, “Don’t just give some of your money to help out the worlds needs, give your time, talents, and the very best gifts that you possess”. Very true, thanks Rob.

But I sometimes wonder if to neglect the opportunities around me in the business world would be a wasted opportunity for the poor. When I say that, I mean that we (the educated in developing countries, in my case the business realm) have the ability to make more money, establish critical connections/relationships, and influence businesses and corporations than probably 99% of the world will ever have. Using ones influence in these realms (corporate world etcetera) can have trickle down effects that will impact the thousands and millions that are daily effected by international trade policies, corporate policies, government politics, etcetera. I wonder if we would be better leveraging our personal impact from working within this realm. Another brilliant professor, whom I admire greatly and who has impacted thousands around the globe, shared a bit about his philosophy with me.

“While this doesn’t run that popular in Christian circles, I wanted to become a lawyer (and a very good one at that) so that I could just make tons of money, bundles and bundles of money. But not so that I could go and buy nice things with it, for I know that the houses, cars, and vacations aren’t going to satisfy our longing to be like Jesus, but so that it could be used to bless people.”

And bless people it has done. Check out this link below to see the organization that he started (and where he now invests most of his time).

Restore International

Money and business/law expertise that is acquired in the marketplace, from disgustingly wealthy building mega-contractors (that mess up), is used to free young girls from the horrors of sexual slavery and to bring justice to the oppressed and neglected in the jails of Uganda. Contacts made in the professional world now support this cause through Funding the Kingdom, a group of real-estate professionals that use their involvement in the market to give a part of their commissions to such causes. Suddenly, you have entered into a realm where business communities are using their access to the worlds richest to touch the poorest, narrowing the incredible disparity that plagues our world today. That is cool. These are just a few of the accomplishments of this professor, not to mention his involvement with young life in B.C. Canada and many other fascinating ventures. He continuously uses creative skills, resources, and business mind to just make cool stuff happen, while touching peoples lives along the way (just hanging out w/ them like Jesus, not imposing a religious belief). He’d probably be upset with me for writing this, but I can’t help but brag about really cool people sometimes.

Hmmmm, so should I pursue the route of hero Peter Greer (Hope Intl. prez and just great guy) or Bob Goff? I don’t know, and to be honest I hope I don’t ever really have to make that decision. I’m not too worried about it. If my time down here in the Dominican has taught me something very important it has been the understanding of another world. A world that keeps loving one another because they don’t have things to love, a world of people struggling to survive, and a world that can not remain neglected any longer. What ever I end up doing in life I know that I won’t be able to ignore this part of globe that has touched me so profoundly. Whether it’s working with a non-profit microfinance organization, as a real-estate developer, a lawyer, an officer in a renewable energy-source company, or the manager of the local food distribution center, these people will constantly be a part of what I do and work for, in some way or another.

And you thought you built a condom mountain...

This past semester in my Economic Development class, students formed groups to raise awareness and encourage action against many issues of injustice, oppression, and poverty around the world. One of the groups invested with the task of sharing about the unequal access to health care, education, or supplies around the world, built a mountain of condoms outside of the Point Loma Nazarene Chapel. While a little, edgy for a conservative Christian University, it was effective in not only gaining attention towards their cause (the condoms were representative of the AIDS epidemic and lack of access to HIV prevention/education), but to raising controversy over freedom-of-thought, speech, and ideas on a campus often immersed in conservative thought and controls. (This condom mountain had 160,000 High-Quality Pante condoms)

Well done guys. But I couldn’t help but laugh at their “condom mountain” that contained 50 or 60 condoms when I saw this.

We share our office with a Dominican Non-Profit called CEPROSH, a group dedicated to HIV awareness, prevention, and treatment of people infected with HIV/AIDS (I say treatment meaning counseling, medical attention, and administering Anti-Retroviral medication). Funded mainly off of USAID, Clinton Foundation, and other U.S based aid, it has been a pretty cool experience to see firsthand the impact and effects of such funding. Thousands are given free medical access, the ARV’s which allow them to continue living a normal life for many more years (rather than quickly spiraling to AIDS and an immanent death), and a hope for raising their children who would otherwise be left orphaned if this disease were left un-combated to take it’s toll. Esperanza has a close to tie to CEPROSH here in Puerto Plata and we often share clients through our Esperanza y Vida program, which is dedicated to providing HIV medical attention along with a loan and business training, that enables them to continue living their life and providing an income for their family..... to be added to.

40 Days of Purpose

I moved!

For the last month I have been living in a nice home about a fifteen minute walk away from the office. A single, middle-aged woman named Lucia, who works in the same office as we do owns the place. In traditional Latin style with the family staying close by, her brother and their family live upstairs in the front section of the house, and her sister and their family live upstairs in the back section. I enjoy Lucia’s company for the most part, except for her occasional outbursts and harsh tone with her niece Elliani who lives with us as well. Elliani is absolutely adorable. I don’t think I’ve ever met a six year old with quite as much spunk and personality as her. Every day that she comes home in the evening from school or daycare she comes running in and gives me a big hug and kiss and yells, “Encargame encargame!”, which means pick me up or hold me. Occasionally, she can be a bit much to handle with all of her energy (I don’t know why she doesn’t just want to relax and read for a couple hours), but she has been so fun to have around. About a week ago she left to go live with her mom for some unkown amount of time while she’s on summer vacation.
Elliani struttin' it

Communication here is interesting. A lot of times, they’re OK without it. For example, Elli’s mother, just shows up on the doorstep unbenounced after driving halfway across the country and tells Elli to pack her bags. When I asked Lucia how long she’d be gone for she just sort of shrugged. I can’t imagine that would fly in the US today with child custody matters. Mom, who has gone of the deep end, just show’s up on at the home of the legal caretaker of the child and takes off with the kid for some who knows how long, but that’s perfectly fine. In the states we like to have all of our ducks in a row. Things planned perfectly, legal issues in order, we know when this or that will happen, but not here. People just kind of go with the flow and suppose that things will work themselves out as they go. Well, I suppose there’s more than one way to skin a cat.

Anyway, with Elli gone it left just Lucia and I at home. And since Lucia is a “Christian” that means that it is just me at home. Whatever evangelical Christians pioneered the way here in the Dominican certainly put a strong emphasis on church attendance. Unfortunately, that has become the major factor about what makes you a Christian here. Everybody knows that every time you go to a service God puts a chalk mark next to your name. If you help set out chairs, participate in the worship band, or are a dancer on stage you get two. So what we get is five services a week (I’m not even kidding, these people live at church) with lots of chairs, a stage packed with neatly dressed, dancing girls, and a rockin’ worship band with too many keyboards (you get three chalk-marks if you play the keyboard here). I’ll save most of my ranting about my church experience here for another entry. But, things around the Lucia casa were starting to get lonely. The cute neighbor girls from upstairs who loved to come down and play games with me or look at photos on my computer had left for summer vacation as well. When the opportunity came, I jumped on the chance to move in with our manager Noberto. Noberto is a great young guy from Dominican and he’s really fun to be around. He speaks decent English but is kind of hard to understand so our conversations are usually a mix of Spanish and English as we switch back and forth from sentence to sentence between the two languages. It’s pretty fun, but can be a little difficult sometimes when you don’t know what language is going to come out so that you can be prepared to listen for the right words.

The new apartment is great. A bit outside of the city, it is about a ten minute motorcycle ride to get there from the office. The extra distance is well-worth it though, as our third story perch allows me easy access to the roof, my new morning spot. It also gets really nice and cool during the evenings and early mornings as it picks up the sea breeze. The ocean is only about a half mile away too! Noberto likes to cook, which is a definite plus. Just having somebody else to cook with might inspire me to go beyond the tuna melts, boiled veggies, and baked beans that compose my typical dinner. There’s also a couple of fun projects to do at the new apartment. Last night, we worked on making this cool, white leather couch (I say we, but in reality I just painted a little table and then sat back and ate delicious mangos and guacamole while watching Noberto
do the hard work). We are going to
design a dining table this weekend if we have time.

Ralph

Yesterday, I was walking back home from the local gym along a crowded and busy street when I heard my name yelled from back behind me. I turned to look and saw an older man seated along the sidewalk, begging for money with a small Styrofoam cup, giving me a grin. I’ve met a fair number of people here and unfortunately they don’t all stick in my mind quite as clearly as the gringo kid does in theirs. I inquisitively went up and shook his hand, searching my memory for where we had met. Ralph reminded me that it had been in the park a week earlier, where he had invited me to come and sit with him and some of the students he was teaching English to as I waited for a friend. He sheepishly looked down at his cup of money and said, “Well, this is what I do”.

We began to talk and I asked him what a guy like him was doing begging for pesos. Ralph was born in the DR, but spent 35 years in the states before returning back to the Dominican several years ago. At sixty years old, Ralph is intelligent, speaks 5 languages (English, Spanish, Italian, Hebrew, and German) fluently, and used to be the number one telemarketing salesman for his old employer. He even ran me through his typical sales pitch, imitating the women on the other end of the phone as well. He knows what it’s like to live with money, and he knows what it’s like to be at rock bottom with a Heroine addiction. He said he’s been clean from heroine for a couple of years now and I asked him why he didn’t choose to work. He responded to me, that despite the fact that he is intelligent, speaks perfect English as well as other languages, an employer just doesn’t want to hire someone without any top teeth, that is dressed poorly, and smells bad. He said, since he is living on the streets, he has no way to overcome this very first hurdle; he is caught in the cycle of poverty.

I sat there listening to Ralph share his story, thinking that there has to be some way of overcoming this initial hurdle to get Ralph a job and back on his feet. A man as intelligent as Ralph spends his days drunk and begging, because he just can’t make it past that job interview that could allow him to leave his current life of despair.
Probably the most impacting part of my time with Ralph was his confession to me that he drank. “Travis, I’m not going to lie to you, I have a couple of drinks…. Because I’m on the street”. At first I didn’t understand what he meant by that and prodded a bit more. Pausing, he looked at me and said, “Do you know what it is to beg? You can’t understand the hurt and humiliation that I go through when I sit here and ask for pesos from people. I ask for 1 peso, 1peso, that’s nothing! I am perfectly capable of standing, but if I stand no one will give me anything. I have to slink beneath them, sitting here on the cement, enduring the pains from sitting on the cement below the people all day. I drink so that I can beg. I’m not a drinker Travis, but I drink to numb the humiliation”.

It hurt me to see someone that once, must have been so proud, now here stuck in a rut of loneliness and humiliation. A father of two girls in the United States and once a successful business man and patron of the U.S Army for nine years, Ralph now sat alone on the island of Hispaniola, only wondering were his daughters and wife had ended up, alone and disconnected from the world. As I left, Ralph let me know where I could find him if I ever wanted to help. I assured him that I did. But I’m sitting here now thinking about how I can help Ralph, how I can be like Jesus for Ralph. I’m sure he’d be pretty stoked if I gave him five bucks and he could eat for a couple of days, but that’s really not helping Ralph, maybe just making my conscience feel good. It’s quite a bit easier to toss him some money than it is to actually care about Ralph, and help him to try and step out of the cycle of poverty. I think that I’m going to go and get Ralph some shampoo and deodorant tomorrows (I know that might seem offensive, but he let me know that he realized his underarms are “barking” and his bad smell is one of the reasons employers reject him). Then, maybe we can sit and brainstorm some ideas for work or about establishing a small language-tutoring program. Keep Ralph in your prayers and if you read this and have any thoughts or ideas for Ralph or how I could continue building a relationship with Ralph let me know.

Here is a photo of the Ladies from the project in Munoz as we celebrate the final day.

A Day in Shoes...

It’s hard for me to believe that my time here in the Dominican is halfway over. Each day passes by so quickly. There is a lot of work to be done each day, but it’s really pretty much a paradise, spending my days hanging out with people that give me a glimpse of what it is truly like to have nothing, to suffer, and how to depend upon God and his Grace to make it from one day to the next. I get to read, write, spend a lot of time thinking, and even learn a new language during the process. While I don’t want my time here end, I am also anxiously awaiting the end to near, because the end of my time hear means one glorious week in MT with my family, friends, and girlfriend, Cristen. After that, it’s on to my last year of school at Point Loma Nazarene.

It’s about 6:00am here right now. This is my time, I love it. The incessant reggatone and bachata music (a Dominican special that’s really pretty terrible) that blasts from front porches or distant bars is nowhere to be found. Waking up at about 5:30 each day, I seem to have the Dominican to myself for about an hour or so. I spend this time reading or writing over a strong cup of coffee made on a little Italian coffee pot. The only thing we have to cook or heat food with, is the propane stove, so I make little adjustments like heating my milk in a pot rather than the microwave to make my latte. Then I go outside to watch the sky start to light up from our front porch. It’s sort of looking out of a well-placed cell on Alcatraz, peering upon a lush green mountain through the cell-like bars that enclose every courtyard and window here. Nonetheless, it’s great, and is one of my favorite parts of the day.

I spend my mornings in the office, catching up on emails, perhaps writing a short grant proposal for an independent, woman entrepreneur, and writing up stories for Kiva. If you’re not familiar with Kiva.org I’d encourage you to check it out. It’s a website that allows anyone around the world to become involved in Microfinance by presenting the stories of individual entrepreneurs or small groups of people that form the microbanks. Lenders can then invest amounts as small as $25 in someone’s business in a developing country. Six months later, they get the loan back (without interest). It’s a pretty cool way to take money that would just normally sit in a checking account and use it to truly impact the lives of others, and pretty risk free (I think it’s at least a 99% payback rate). So that is one of my main responsibilities here. I will interview the leader of the small groups of woman that form together to receive their loans (usually of about $150-250), hearing her story, background, and the details of her business. Then, I write a short story, snap a photo, and post in Kiva for people around the world to see and invest in, providing one of the major funding sources for Esperanza.

My morning work is usually broken up by a trip to the bathroom pictured here. In typical fashion here, you would NEVER through your TP in the toilet... I’d recommend folding versus crumpling on this one. This toilet is special though because to flush, you scoop water from the bathtub and pour it into the toilet until you’ve cleared your goods. Every man has, instilled into his human nature, the instinct to put up the toilet seat before pouring liquids into the toilet. After thousands of years of being chastised by angry wives, it has basically become a sixth sense in us. Unfortunately, I work with an office full of women. And it still has not occurred to them that, while they may not need to put the seat up while taking care of business, they should do so when pouring buckets of water down the toilet. This lack of consideration has caught me off guard a number of times as I sit down, only to find my ass thoroughly soaked from the previous flushing. TP doesn’t make for a great material to dry off either. Oh well, live and learn. I now do a much more prudent inspection of the turf before going to play. The beauties of another culture.

Some mornings, I will go with one of the loan officers out into one of the surrounding communities. I always love this, sitting in a dimly lit house (usually just 1 room, maybe with an adjacent kitchen) with floors of dirt or cement and ceilings of corrugated tin. About 10 women sit in a circle with their small booklet holding the records of their payments with their biweekly payment (usually about 500 pesos or 15 dollars) in one hand and a young baby in the other. Breast feeding certainly isn’t a private activity. Actually, there is a pretty neat patience and unity that exists among the women here as they help one another to care for a baby, endure the crying, or maybe leave for a quick spanking of the kid outside the doorway. When each woman has 3-10 kids, it’s understood that the kids can’t be stuffed in the nearby daycare while they carry on with their “careers”. It takes a village to raise a child; this saying is pretty literal here. Each of the community meetings begins with a prayer and is often accompanied by a teaching on HIV awareness or perhaps just how to arrive to a meeting on time. As many of the poor communities that we work in are primarily Haitian, the woman all jabber amongst themselves in Creole. Only one of our loan officers speaks Creole, so we are usually left to depend upon the one or two women in the group that can speak Spanish as well to translate the dialogue. Even, though I don’t understand what they’re saying, I love to see the women laugh, joke, and argue together. After finishing one loan meeting we will hop on the back of a motorcycle and head off ten minutes to the next village. It’s a pretty liberating feeling to be hauling-ass along a dirt road, watching the green fields pass by, filled with chickens and donkeys, passing along row after row of small wooden/tin homes patched together, dodging stray dogs, and just praying that the motoconcho driver knows what he is doing. Well, that’s my typical morning. I’ll save the afternoon for another day.

Feeling the Culture

It is always exciting to feel as if you have begun to blend into another culture. Here, after one month’s time, that feeling is finally setting in. It takes years to really understand the subtle nuances and complexities of a culture and I think that in most cases, foreigners can probably never really fully be accepted and integrated into a culture in which they did not grow up. But just the other day, I caught a glimpse of feeling as if I were at home here. Our work here at Esperanza is extending credit to those who would normally never have access to it, so that they may become empowered. What made me feel as if I was were able to rid myself of the image of being just another passing tourist? Extension of credit. Twice in one day, actually. In the morning, on my way to work, the panederia (bread shop) was not able to break one of my big bills, instead of rejecting me service they just said to pay them back sometime in the future, not a common move when that dollar could be half a days’ wages.

Some of the guys I have gotten to know along my daily walk to Munoz.

That evening, I stopped by a local internet café to make a couple of calls, as the internet at the office had been down for the day. I had gotten to know Angel (a man), the store manager, after a couple of conversations in previous weeks. While he was able to break the big bill for me, he didn’t have exact change. Instead of employing the usual technique, sell you extra crap you don’t want until it balances out for the change you should have received (which seems to be the common practice here at every super market, conveniently out of change or at least not able to see it in the corner of the register, forcing you to buy an extra dollar of Halls breath mints every time), Angel simply offered to have me pay him some extra the next time I came in.

In both situations the amount was no more than a dollar. Pretty miniscule to us, but as I mentioned before, a lot more to people down here, and more than anything it was the fact that they recognized me, knew I lived in the area, and offered to take a small chance in order to help me out. It wasn’t until just this last week that the moto drivers have receded a bit in their zealous attempts to pick up the business, especially a white guy. Their non-stop whistling, hissing, and yelling to offer a ride has subsided into smiles, offering a hand-shake, or at least kind, one-time offers to take me somewhere. They see me walking the same route every day or in other various parts of the city. After having been here for several weeks now, they recognize me, say hello, or even introduce themselves, rather than flock to take advantage of me.

As I mentioned earlier, I think that it would take years for me to ever truly understand the depth and differences of culture here, but it has been a really good feeling to at least get my feet wet. To feel as if you are shedding the tourist skins that make you into a chunk of juicy meet for every local, and replacing that image with a foreigner who has come to live amongst the people and try to embody their culture, at least for some time, brings an exciting and inspiring sensation of acceptance.

To Have A Purpose

One of the most important lessons that I learned this last week was one of basic human nature. I don’t think that it matters if you are an Al-Queda terrorist, a catholic priest, or a biker at Sturgis, all human beings crave to be valued and appreciated by their peers. The second and somewhat intrinsically linked desire is to feel useful, to feel as if your work actually counts for something, and you have a purpose in what you are doing.

The first thought was sparked while I was out in a rural community sitting in on one of the loan meetings with Eliseo, one of our loan officers. As these women struggled to make their loan payments on time, as well as show up to the meetings, one of the women (who was clearly a leader and forward thinker in the group) suggested that Esperanza do something to make the women feel important. She suggested giving a flower, anything really. Emphasizing that it had nothing to do with how large the gift itself was, what mattered was that these women saw that our organization truly cared for who they are, they meant something more to us than “just a loan”, and these women were crying out to be reaffirmed and cared for by someone. I think that that is a pretty good life lesson, give flowers. The small things that we do for someone to let them know that someone cares for them and appreciates who they are, I think, is not only gratifying to the giver, but will make a world of difference in the lives of the receiver who is getting more than just a small token of friendship, but a feeling of self-worth, affirmation, and whole new respect for the giver. Give Flowers.

The second inherent desire that I mentioned was the need to feel purposeful in our lives and particularly in our vocation too. Now, I say that never really having had a “real job” for more than several months, but as I reflect upon my experiences there are countless examples of this very concept.

My time last week with the dental clinic is an example that is particularly fresh in my mind. I spent the morning entertaining children, organizing adults into a line and carrying out my role as the photographer of the waiting area. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this. These are some of the endless details that have to be done for this kind of project to work and a wonderful opportunity to try and “serve the least of these” albeit through making them laugh or just bringing cups of fresh drinking water. However, in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but ask myself if I was really being as effective as possible. After pouring tens of thousands of dollars into a college education, raising support to travel thousands of miles, I found myself feeling as if some of those resources were going to waste as I did menial tasks that really could have been done by most anyone.

I’m not saying this attitude is right, but it’s what I felt. And what I was really searching for, I believe, was something to make me feel special, to feel like I was needed, and the making the clinic run smoother. I was longing to feel as if I was needed to make things work. It wasn’t until I was given the honor of holding a light and snipping stitches for the doctor that my desires were fulfilled. Or as I got to look into the patients mouths and send them to the appropriate dentist/hygienist, that is when I felt as if I was making a difference. Now, really, none of those tasks were really that difficult, nor were they things that anyone with a sixth grade education could not have done. But what is important is that I “felt” a whole new purpose. I was charged with a new energy and excitement about my work there, my confidence increased, and I think my Spanish even started flowing a little smoother, kinda weird.

Dentistas

Yesterday, Esperanza hosted a free dental clinic for many of the clients in the Puerto Plata area. Eight dentists from Santo Domingo came up with a group called Smiles for Life. The clinic was held about fifteen minutes outside of Puerto Plata near the community of Muñoz, where we work with the women. The Muñoz community is the remnants of an old Baté or sugar cane community. Sugar cane was once the largest industry and export from the Dominican, but the current President, Leonel, has spent his last four years in office ramping up most of the countries economic efforts towards attracting tourism and has practically abandoned the sugar cane industry altogether. What is left, are many low-income communities that are filled with Haitians and Dominican laborers who no longer have any work or education systems in place. If you cross the highway, literally fifty yards away from the deserted cane fields, you will find one of the many new resorts/golfcourses that has sprung up along the Northern coast of the DR. It would basically be like California deciding that it was going to stop its fruit production and divert all of their efforts/resources towards condo development on the coast. A few rich people would have a nice place to go vacation, but millions of the immigrants and domestic workers in this industry would be up a creek. Meanwhile, the food shortages and prices would just continue to escalate even further for those around the globe. I’m getting distracted from my original purpose with this entry. All that is to say, that the dental clinic where I spent the last two days was nestled nicely into one of these old cane fields.

People came by the dozens. As only seven or eight could be helped at a time, crowd control over the other fifty people waiting in line was a full task in itself. One of the beautiful things about the slow-paced and sometimes inefficient lifestyle found in Latin America, is that the people are pretty content waiting. While my Dad would have gone bazurk, these people just quietly sat for a couple of hours in order to receive such a free service, despite any of the inefficiencies they had to wait through. We had the group sit and wait in another building where we took advantage of the opportunity to share some basic, but much needed information. Several of the doctors from the clinic shared about nutrition for infants, STD’s, HIV/AIDS, and general health, while a pastor shared about Jesus with each group of people as well. Since most of the lessons were done in Creole, I found my purpose entertaining the little grommets running around by pulling a surgical glove over my head and inflating to the size of a beach ball. My favorite part was when Nancy, this sweet old lady that stands at about 4.5 ft tall came running over to me to try and help me get it off, thinking that I had somehow accidentally got my head stuck in the glove and I was suffocating as it kept inflating bigger and bigger.

While this young girl probably wouldn't qualify for a dental assistant in U.S, these people would gladly take whatever they could get

I spent most of my afternoon in the clinic itself, which was just a big room that had been converted into a makeshift dental/orthodontics office and oral surgery room. I seated the waiting patients into the room and then commanded each to open their mouths. It was my job to see if they needed to have their teeth pulled out, drill and fill the cavities, or just get a good cleaning. I now have a whole new appreciation for the thousands of dollars that my parents poured into my mouth growing up.

The highlight of my afternoon was getting to spend about an hour as one of the oral surgeons assistant. I held a flashlight for him, got to snip some stitches, and documented a couple of the surgeries. It was so knarly! I was truly amazed at the speed and precision that all of them (the hygienists and dentists too) worked at to crank through about two hundred patients. One of the coolest surgeries I got to help with was a young man that had to sets of upper teeth, kind of like a shark, where a short row of teeth lay behind his primary row of top teeth. A lot of Nova cane, yanking, blood, and a few stitches later, the guy was good as new.

All in all it was a great couple of days. The crew of dentists were a blast to be around, and the five or six members of Esperanza from the Santo Domingo office that came up were really enjoyable to be around too. What I appreciated most, was huge impact that a few people were able to make when they took a little bit of their time, skills, and energy to share with others. What was fifteen minutes of work for one of them, meant years of less pain for one of these individuals.

Pedro Was a Hillary Fan

Earlier this week I was able to spend the day with Pedro, the supervisor of all of the microfinance aspects of Esperanza here in the Dominican Republic. It was really interesting to drive from community to community with him hearing his thoughts on microfinance, sustainability, and what it means to be a Christian in this day and age. My Spanish continues to improve every day, but I’m still far from being fluent. The Dominican accent is particularly hard to understand and I usually have to make people slow down a little bit. They drop the s from the tail end of most words and will turn an “r” into a “y” sound with just about every opportunity. Instead of hearing, “Como esta usted Carlos”? You might here, “Como eh-tah oo-ted Caiylo”?

(Here is a photo of Norberto, our office manager, and Jennifer, another volunteer from Seattle that was here for five months and just left yesterday)

Haha, nonetheless, I’ve been having a blast learning to communicate in a new language. All of the work and moments of frustration that come with learning Spanish are well worth the struggle when you get to have a meaningful conversation with someone or group of women that you never would have been able to even communicate with before. Every day has it’s ups and downs too. One day (or afternoon) I feel as if I’ve got the language down and I can share how I feel or make people laugh, but then there will be other times that I still feel like I’m in Señora Himsl’s Spanish I basic grammar class in high-school, and that I will never be able to grasp hold of this foreign tongue.

All that is to say that I had a wonderful day spending time with Pedro, who used is very intelligent, an effective speaker, and a balls-to-the walls Christian who is ready to save anyone he meets (I’m going to leave that one open-ended on whether or not that’s a good characteristic). As we drove between communities we discussed a lot, but I was particularly interested in hearing the thoughts and opinions he had on our Presidential elections and his political views on war, poverty, and the United States.

It fascinates me that nearly every person I talk to down here can ask me about who I think is a better candidate for U.S President or they can tell you that they were disappointed to hear that Obama had won the democratic electoral vote the night before (most people are big fans of Hillary down here). I am 99% sure that one could say that the people of the Dominican and probably most of Central America (excluding some of the very poor that don’t have access to a tv, newspaper, or internet) are FAR more educated on topics such as history and politics in America than most people in America.

Sometimes their views are a bit slanted in one direction, as they all get their information through the same biased news channels, but still, it was shocking to me.

When they asked me, “Travis, why is it that Americans don’t know about or care about who their next President is?” after I had shared with them about our ignorance in general. I sort of paused, searching for a good answer that I have never really had. “Well, I’m not entirely sure, but basically we have become pretty apathetic in general. Because of the hard work of our last two generation who came out firing from WWII and the Cold War, busting their ass to make it to the top and provide a safe, successful future for their children, our generation has had everything they need at their fingertips without have to do a dang thing. Many people live comfortable lives without ever really having to work too hard and if they don’t have enough, they can either fall back on Mom and Dad or a very secure government that will at least provide for the needs and necessities that would be found among the upper-middle class in a country like the DR,” I tried to explain that, “many of us have put up blinders to anyone outside of the US or really anything that is not directly related to our own self-interest. We have no idea of the impact and power that our country has on the world or even how our consumer/political decisions effect those in foreign countries. A lot of people really just don’t care because they are sure that these same amenities and securities that have been passed down to us from earlier generations will just keep flowing no matter what we do, how hard we work, or who our president is. Meanwhile, the rest of the world is chomping at the bit to find out more about the US, the war in Iraq, and our newest trade policies that will drastically effect their economies.” Now I’m sure I didn’t exactly say that in Spanish, but you know, I think they got the gist of it.

To Give or Not to Give

I’ve come to realize how important it is for the poor and the community in which they live to take hold of development initiatives themselves. Often times, development agencies and kind hearted individuals will generously give much of their time and resources to “help the poor”. Their help takes the form of offering free medical clinics, building orphanages, bringing clothes for the needy or building shelter for the homeless. These are all wonderful things, undoubtedly, and can even be life saving to individuals that have absolutely nothing, but in the big picture they can have a negative effect too. Seeing the look upon the face of a child that has received a nice new toy that you paid for (as their parents couldn’t pay for it) on Christmas day brings us the warm fuzzy feelings that come with giving and the satisfaction of bettering the lives of those less fortunate. But do we think about the feelings of shame and remorse that are further ingrained into those parents, knowing that they can not adequately provide for their children? One sided “giving to the poor” where we are the benefactor and they are the recipient of such aid, allows us to reap all of the benefits of our altruism while maintaining a comfortable distance from the hurt, disparity, and real issues that plague many of these individuals. Our role as the giver will continually keep the poor in the position of the receiver. This furthers the mentality that they will never be able to leave the life of poverty that they were born into. It continues the devastating mentality that has been ingrained in them from a young age, a mindset that MUST be changed in order to see a true betterment in an individuals quality of life and self-worth.


With that being said, I am more convinced than ever that microenterprise has the potential to transform lives by its inherent nature that demands creativity, hard-work, and the satisfaction of providing for ones family through their own endeavors. It offers, “A hand up rather than a hand out,” as the cliché saying in the industry goes. In my first full week of work down here, I have been so blessed to get to see this truly at work.

For the first time ever, Esperanza is trying a new program that began last week. I mentioned Munoz in an earlier entry, the Haitian community of roughly 6,000. Sixteen women plus several volunteers have been chosen to participate in the program that will focus on investing in the lives of women who have been in prostitution, but want to leave that lifestyle. In a nutshell, these women will spend a couple of hours everyday with someone from Esperanza or volunteers from their community, learning about Christ, vocation, and putting a purpose in life, um, to drive it (they will be taught lessons out of “A Purpose Driven Life”). After training the women with some basic skills such as baking, sewing, and making candles, they will receive a loan or lump sum of cash. Continuing to guide them with business training (which is pretty basic, but it’s amazing some of the stuff we assume is common knowledge until you see a village who’s average education is probably not much above 6th grade), the women will be required to make payments on their $150 business loan every two weeks.

The women form groups of 4-5 that comprise a “bank”. The women unite in solidarity to make their payment as a group. Meaning, if one of the women doesn’t make a payment, all are penalized. This social pressure is a pretty strong incentive for the women to pay up. Called “social collateral”, this dispersion of risk among several women and the relationship they have with one another takes the place of the house or car that would function as the collateral in a normal banking loan. If one woman can not make a payment, often the others will unite to cover her for the week (while I say “women” there are men too, but women make up nearly 85% of Microfinance clients).

After one week with these women, they have honestly captured my heart. Every afternoon we gather in a small church in their community where we sing, do a devotional, and usually some other sort of training that has to do with basic skills or health education. While many of the women only speak Creole, I am able to speak to them in Spanish (and they understand the majority of it) or there are a couple of them that can translate into Creole for us. The women come faithfully, usually bringing one or two of their young children that are still breast-feeding along with them. Yesterday, we had a gathering with them where we played music, shared about who Jesus was, and opened up the floor for any of them to share about their lives. After having only been with one another (and us) for two weeks it was amazing to see how comfortable they were. I think that many of them were just touched by the fact the other people would want to invest any sort of time or energy into…. Them? They have never had people who believed in them, cared for them, or wanted anything more to do with them than getting something from them. Their stories were uniquely different, yet all so similar in the pain, separation, and oppression that they had or are enduring. I’m excited to see how this particular program goes and I know that it will be a blessing to both us and them regardless. Friday was definitely a success in all aspects except for when I was thoroughly peed on by a little baby girl that was sitting on my lap, leaving me with a stain for the rest of the afternoon yesterday :(

What is Microfinance?

The basic concept behind the work that we’re doing down here is microfinance. To most, microfinance means providing very poor families with very small loans (microcredit) to help them engage in productive activities or grow their tiny businesses. Over time, microfinance has come to include a broader range of services (credit, savings, insurance, etc.) as we have come to realize that the poor and the very poor who lack access to traditional formal financial institutions require a variety of financial products.

Microcredit has largely been a private (non-profit) sector initiative that avoided becoming overtly political, and as a consequence, has outperformed virtually all other forms of development lending. The typical microfinance clients are low-income persons that do not have access to formal financial institutions. Microfinance clients are typically self-employed, often household-based entrepreneurs. In rural areas, they are usually small farmers and others who are engaged in small income-generating activities such as food processing and petty trade. In urban areas, microfinance activities are more diverse and include shopkeepers, service providers, artisans, street vendors, etc.

While it certainly isn’t going to solve all of the worlds problems, as some advocates may proclaim, I am pretty convinced that microfinance is one of the most effective ways to empower individuals, communities, and create a sustainable form of development to better the lives of the poor and marginalized.

Sshweaty Taxis

My arm stuck to the guy’s next to me as I pulled it away to re-adjust it, trying to get comfortable in the small public cab. However, the cramped conditions and heat were a small price to pay as I stared out the window at the lush green fields, palm trees, and tattered homes along the side of the road. I’ve found that it’s usually best to stare out the window and don’t watch the road. Next to India, it’s the craziest driving I have ever seen. Although, even in India they have the excuse of elephants and sacred cows that they have to dodge in the middle of the street, adding to the pandemonium, but here, there’s no excuse it’s just crazy. Motoconchos (motorcycles that serve as personal taxis) whiz by on either side of you, paying no attention to any sort of driving code or law except not getting hit by something bigger than them.

Five of us were packed into this little Toyota Corolla as we headed to a small Haitian community about twenty minutes outside of my new hometown, Puerto Plata. Ahead of us a guy waved his arm for the public cab to stop, “Sorry buddy, we’re a little full in here,” I silently chuckled to myself, but the driver slowed down nonetheless and came to a stop in front of the man. As the guy opened the back door I thought to myself, “you have got to be kidding me”. It didn’t seem to phase him nor the other two guys in back with me. After jostling around for about twenty seconds and several unsuccessful attempts to close the door, we did it. We were in, four grown men in the backseat of a Corolla. About 2 minutes later a hefty woman in her late forties waved on the side of the road. To my astonishment, he pulled over again. This was getting ridiculous, I thought. However, she headed towards the front unlike the first guy. The man in front slid up onto the center console, partly on top of the woman and partly on top of the driver. Oh good, not only are we driving like we were in a Talladega free for all, now we had immobilized our driver’s right arm. Well, I soon learned that I shouldn’t have had any doubt whatsoever. Our driver was so good, that he was able to take money from all 6 passengers, dig for coins on the floor, and give us all proper change with his one free arm while he easily maneuvered in between the truck in the right lane and the oncoming car in our (of course the left) lane. All in a days work. Anyways, we continued on like this for about twenty minutes before reaching the exit for Munoz where they dropped a couple of us off to make the half mile walk through abandoned sugar cane fields to the community.

Munoz is one of the poorest areas in the Dominican. While it lies only minutes away from expensive beach hotels, it is a community of nearly 6,000 Haitian immigrants, most of whom are illegals I would imagine. It was truly a beautiful place. Just before you get to the village, there is a small creek where you can always find children playing and often adults bathing. The houses are usually only 1 room that is about the size of our pantry room at home, or the average bathroom. The walls are made of whatever material can be found, usually scraps of wood and corrugated metal that are hastily hammered together and the roves are mostly made of sheets of tin.

I have already spent four days in this wonderful community, and I have many more to come. Jennifer, a volunteer who has been here for four months was been working on building a program for the women of Munoz. My arrival here couldn’t have been any better as I caught the tail end of the of first week. The program will be five weeks long. It is aimed at restoring the dignity and the lives of women who have been forced into prostitution. I will have much more to write about this, but it’s getting late and I’m going to sleep. I will make an effort to write a bit more about the actual work I’m beginning to do down here for those of you who might be wondering what that is exactly. But, I just wanted to share a couple of these new experiences while they were still fresh in my mind and hadn’t just become routine. Thanks for reading!

Buenos Dias Santo Domingo

Well, I was indeed sweating upon arrival to Santo Domingo. The first couple of days here were in the 90’s and HUMID! Hauling my possessions for the next to months in my big Jansport backpack, 1 duffel bag, and a smaller backpack, I was greeted by several smiling faces and your classic “Welcome Travis” (or whoever sign) after shuffling through customs. After exchanging sweaty cheek kisses (as seems to be the custom in most of Latin America) with the ladies and friendly hugs with the guys, we took off to a nearby restaurant on the ocean.
The food here is pretty similar to that of Costa Rica from what I have seen so far. It is generally fairly plain. Lots of soups, veggies, chicken, and of course a TON of rice and beans (habichuelas here in the DR). The restaurant we went to seemed fairly upscale, but I still thought it was pretty odd when we received our bill that showed we each owed 520 pesos. Here, there are 33.6 pesos to the dollar. So our meal, which cost us 16 dollars each, should have been enough for the average Dominican to live on for a week. Hmmmm, I quietly thought to myself, I come to a country to walk among the poor and try with whatever skills I may have to move towards a world where poverty is abolished and the inequalities are lessened, and this is how I begin this work?
Like most developing countries the DR is subject to the huge inequalities that exist between the majority of the poor and the fraction of wealthy individuals that hold nearly all of the countries wealth. Most of this money is concentrated in the urban cities and dotted along the northern coastlines where small resort towns thrive upon tourism. It is said that 60% of the people in Dominicana live on less than $2.00 a day. A pretty staggering fact that was hard for me to digest at the time as I looked around me at the well-dressed families (who were actually celebrating mothers day) and nice cars that drove the streets of the city. But as I found out a couple of days later, you don’t have to drive too far to find yourself amongst those that live each day hand to mouth. I’ll go more into that later.
So my first several days were spent doing an orientation with Esperanza. Similar to our time in PA (although certainly on a much more Latin schedule (Slooooow)), we were walked through the inner-workings of the organization and met all of the people in the Santo Domingo office. My two other companions for the first couple days were Lindsay Garber and Julie Lutz, who are also down here for a few months before they transition into the big, bad, post college world. We arrived on a Sunday afternoon, so our first morning at the office began with their Monday morning ritual, which was pretty cool. To begin each week, everyone at the office gathers on top of the building where they sing worship songs in Spanish, have coffee, and someone shares a message for the week. It was so cool to sing all of the old Sunday school classics a capella and in Spanish! The entire group of people at the office in Santo Domingo is amazing. After spending only 3-4 days there I was sad to leave the people that had so quickly befriended me. From what I have seen in my first week here, Dominicans are some of the friendliest natured people I have ever met. When walking down the street, a prolonged stare will usually end in a friendly smile or a “buenas”, a nicety that is usually spared to most gringos visiting Latin American countries. Relationships between friends and coworkers are filled with plenty of jokes and a pretty light-hearted atmosphere. While undoubtedly still with their own share of problems, like everyone in the world, these people seem to genuinely care for one another and at least appear to respect and show kindness to foreigners. Well, this shouldn’t be half bad ☺.

With Whiz or Whizzout

After spending several wonderful days in Denver hangin' with my sis, I took off at the crack of dawn for Philadelphia. I was met there by Chris Horst from Esperanza. We cruised around town for a bit, passing by the liberty bell and Independence Hall where our forefathers signed our declaration of independence several hundred years ago. I mean, that's cool there is all of that history and stuff in Philadelphia, but I was actually more captivated by the roof of the bell tower, replaying in my mind the scenes of Nicholas Cage narrowly avoiding a barrage of gunfire behind the clock on the top of the building while saving our nations most precious documents in National Treasure. Oh, Nicholas..... Anyway, after seeing Cage's stomping grounds we went to Jim's, one of the three most famous Philly Cheesesteak restaurants. I had never felt so much pressure to order my food right. Apparently, the goodness of the cheese steak is able to substitute for good customer service. If you don't say your order followed by “whiz with” or “whiz whithout” immediately, you’re already on bad terms with them, usually receiving an unsympathetic glare and angry tone of voice for the rest of your order. One soft-spoken victim in front of me did not say his drink order loud enough and was immediately castigated, “Why don’t you speak up boy!” said the heavy set black man as he finished flipping the last of the thinly sliced meat on the huge grill in front of us.
Well, props to them for running a successful business without conforming to consumer-driven standards where the customer is worshiped this day and age. Forget customer service, just make a great sandwich. Well I made it through the congested line without too much hassle and had a great Philly Cheese Steak with onions, meat, and yes whiz cheese. It sounds a little odd, but it was great! It was good enough to go out and have another one for dinner after we had returned to the airport and picked up the other 8 interns.

We went down to Lancaster, PA (1.5 hours away) where we spent the next 3 days doing an orientation with Hope International. The group of people that work at Hope greatly surpassed my expectations. Composed of young adults (22-35ish), this group of motivated, Christian individuals have grown Hope into an incredible organization. We spent several days meeting with people from every department at Hope. Breakfast was shared together, allowing all of the interns to mingle and talk with everyone in the organization (about 25 in Lancaster). Throughout the day, speakers presented different aspects of Hope and how we can be a part of them, from Spiritual Integration to the finance and details of operating a successful MFI. More than anything I was impressed with the kindness and friendly atmosphere both in the workplace and outside of it. I mean, how often is a new intern in an organization able to BS with the president and founder (2 separate people) of an International Organization and then go play volleyball against them that night at a BBQ! There was such a fun sense of camaraderie between them, yet also a driven professionalism that stemmed from their solidarity and passion for touching the lives of the poor physically and spiritually. I’m excited to be a part of such a group in the states and also it’s counterpart, Esperanza, here in the DR.