Goshen College is a small, Mennonite, Liberal Arts College located in Northern Indiana. I ended up there after a last minute change. I had planned to attend community college on a full scholarship and study courtroom stenography. It was around March of my senior year that I suddenly switched gears and decided I'd rather go away to college so I could have what I thought to be a 'real' college experience. They didn't offer stenography of course, but I figured I'd find something else of career interest once I got there. My older brother was already attending Goshen so it was the one school I was familiar with and I figured they would accept me late in the game.
However, one of the graduation requirements at Goshen is a Study Service Term (SST). Most students opt to fulfill this by doing a semester abroad. This quite frankly terrified me and kept me from pursing a Goshen College education in the first place. Since my language of study had been Spanish, I was assigned to spend nearly 4 months in the Dominican Republic with about 17 other GC students.
I lived with a host family in the capital city of Santo Domingo for the first half of the semester. We went to University to study the culture, society, economics and history of the Dominican and we also had language study (the Study part of SST). The second half of the semester I moved to the campo and lived with another family and taught English (yep, the Service part of SST. I'll tell you more about them and that experience in another post). I had never traveled outside the United States before this and certainly had never seen this level of poverty. This day, The 15th de Enero 1995 is a defining moment in my life. I remember it so vividly 24 years later and it totally was a catalyst for molding me into who I am today. Here's that experience in the words of my 19 year old self:
Well, we have now come to the first of my journal entries when I'd do anything to hop on a plane and return to the security of my peach room that smells of vanilla. I went to Ledi's house today--which I'm thinking wasn't a good idea because now I will be dreading going to the campo for service. Well, we got on a guagua (the Dominican term for bus. This particular day it was an old school bus from the U.S.) that was pretty full when we boarded, but that sure didn't stop the driver from stopping to let everybody and their momma on. I looked up and noticed a sign that said "No Standees. Capacity 66". HA! What a joke! There had to have been about 110 or more on the bus. Many stood 2 in the aisle with 3 people on each side. I sat behind the driver and listened to the guys call me gringa, Americana and rubio (all slang terms for 'white girl'). I also listened to them talk about having sex with me and other negative things that I couldn't quite understand, but could sure feel the bad vibes. Then, some guy JUST FALLS OUT OF THE BUS. We were crossing a bridge, pretty fast, and all these people start making a commotion. The driver stops. Everyone is screaming and yelling and trying to make a mass exodus out of the school bus. I looked down over the bridge and saw the campos and poverty and realized how much I wanted to go home. We eventually boarded back on the same bus and drove off. CRAP!! Someone fell off the bus and we just leave?? I think people were more concerned about wether they'd get to where they were going on time, or if they should pay their fare share if they get off there than this person. I was stuck in this horrible confusion. Nobody really stopped to look or help like they do in the states. Just kept going like nothing had happened. While I sat on the bus thinking "I will not cry. I will not cry." and praying for the man, Ledi held my hand. (I'll interject here to explain some context. Ledi was the housemade for the woman, Soja, with whom I lived in the capital. Ledi was my age and worked in the city to send money home to support her family in an outlying village. Soja was 'famous' for her empanadas and sold them in the barrio for a living. But, the truth was, Ledi made those delicious empanadas. And Ledi worked ALL THE TIME and took classes. She was bone tired. She invited me to travel to her home with her. I had been in the country about 3 weeks at this time.) We got off at a little town where her 'novio' (boyfriend) lives, but she didn't know exactly what house (!). We went up and down the street asking people if they knew where he lived. We found his house, but he was in San Juan, so we talked to his brother for awhile. When we were waiting to get on another guagua to go further to Ledi's house, I got seeds spit at me by a group of chicos (boys). When we finally arrived at the campo, I felt like I was on parade for everyone to make the comments they wanted, any noises they wanted and to look at me anyway they wanted. I felt cheap, like a slut. Her house was maybe the size of my garage. But it was divided in half by some cheap cardboard like wood and another family lived on the other side. The house was divided again in half where 6 people slept in the 3 beds. The grandmother was so thin and toothless. When she saw me, her face lit up and she gave me a sweet little kiss. I knew the living conditions were bad, but I did not expect this. Their possessions consisted of 3 beds, few clothes, a table, 4 chairs, a refrigerator and cooking utensils. After we ate (it was chicken--which would have been their only chicken that whole month and they cooked it for ME) everyone took a siesta and then Ledi cut her brother's hair. They all took showers (or more aptly a bucket bath since there was no running water) and put new ribbons in their hair and put on their nicest clothes for picture taking. (Ledi had requested I bring my camera with me and it wasn't until everyone started getting gussied up that I realized that was my entire reason for being there. They had never had an opportunity to have their pictures taken before.) I just kept thinking how sad that they got so excited about such a routine event. But, maybe I should look at it as a how good I helped them feel about themselves and hopefully helped them have a good day. The only thing that helped me make it through the day (I was entirely overwhelmed and engulfed in grief with the level of poverty) was knowing I didn't have to sleep there. I sat stunned on the guagua coming back. Wondering how on earth I'll handle 6 weeks in the campo when I glanced out the window and saw a rainbow. It was there only for a second, but that is all I needed. I just needed to be reminded of God's love for me (and everyone) and that at the end of the rainbow is a treasure. I'm not sure what that treasure will be, but I can take comfort in knowing that at the end of this experience, the treasure will be far greater than the hard times ahead.
Oh there was a treasure alright! I developed great empathy because of that day. Learning about cultures and traditions became an insatiable curiosity for me because of that day. I learned about white privilege that day. I went on to teach English to migrant workers because of that day. I experienced tremendous heartache a decade later because the path my life took as a result of that day. Right now, you all are reading about God's faithfulness in my life because of THAT DAY.
A Treasure indeed.
However, one of the graduation requirements at Goshen is a Study Service Term (SST). Most students opt to fulfill this by doing a semester abroad. This quite frankly terrified me and kept me from pursing a Goshen College education in the first place. Since my language of study had been Spanish, I was assigned to spend nearly 4 months in the Dominican Republic with about 17 other GC students.
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| Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic |
Well, we have now come to the first of my journal entries when I'd do anything to hop on a plane and return to the security of my peach room that smells of vanilla. I went to Ledi's house today--which I'm thinking wasn't a good idea because now I will be dreading going to the campo for service. Well, we got on a guagua (the Dominican term for bus. This particular day it was an old school bus from the U.S.) that was pretty full when we boarded, but that sure didn't stop the driver from stopping to let everybody and their momma on. I looked up and noticed a sign that said "No Standees. Capacity 66". HA! What a joke! There had to have been about 110 or more on the bus. Many stood 2 in the aisle with 3 people on each side. I sat behind the driver and listened to the guys call me gringa, Americana and rubio (all slang terms for 'white girl'). I also listened to them talk about having sex with me and other negative things that I couldn't quite understand, but could sure feel the bad vibes. Then, some guy JUST FALLS OUT OF THE BUS. We were crossing a bridge, pretty fast, and all these people start making a commotion. The driver stops. Everyone is screaming and yelling and trying to make a mass exodus out of the school bus. I looked down over the bridge and saw the campos and poverty and realized how much I wanted to go home. We eventually boarded back on the same bus and drove off. CRAP!! Someone fell off the bus and we just leave?? I think people were more concerned about wether they'd get to where they were going on time, or if they should pay their fare share if they get off there than this person. I was stuck in this horrible confusion. Nobody really stopped to look or help like they do in the states. Just kept going like nothing had happened. While I sat on the bus thinking "I will not cry. I will not cry." and praying for the man, Ledi held my hand. (I'll interject here to explain some context. Ledi was the housemade for the woman, Soja, with whom I lived in the capital. Ledi was my age and worked in the city to send money home to support her family in an outlying village. Soja was 'famous' for her empanadas and sold them in the barrio for a living. But, the truth was, Ledi made those delicious empanadas. And Ledi worked ALL THE TIME and took classes. She was bone tired. She invited me to travel to her home with her. I had been in the country about 3 weeks at this time.) We got off at a little town where her 'novio' (boyfriend) lives, but she didn't know exactly what house (!). We went up and down the street asking people if they knew where he lived. We found his house, but he was in San Juan, so we talked to his brother for awhile. When we were waiting to get on another guagua to go further to Ledi's house, I got seeds spit at me by a group of chicos (boys). When we finally arrived at the campo, I felt like I was on parade for everyone to make the comments they wanted, any noises they wanted and to look at me anyway they wanted. I felt cheap, like a slut. Her house was maybe the size of my garage. But it was divided in half by some cheap cardboard like wood and another family lived on the other side. The house was divided again in half where 6 people slept in the 3 beds. The grandmother was so thin and toothless. When she saw me, her face lit up and she gave me a sweet little kiss. I knew the living conditions were bad, but I did not expect this. Their possessions consisted of 3 beds, few clothes, a table, 4 chairs, a refrigerator and cooking utensils. After we ate (it was chicken--which would have been their only chicken that whole month and they cooked it for ME) everyone took a siesta and then Ledi cut her brother's hair. They all took showers (or more aptly a bucket bath since there was no running water) and put new ribbons in their hair and put on their nicest clothes for picture taking. (Ledi had requested I bring my camera with me and it wasn't until everyone started getting gussied up that I realized that was my entire reason for being there. They had never had an opportunity to have their pictures taken before.) I just kept thinking how sad that they got so excited about such a routine event. But, maybe I should look at it as a how good I helped them feel about themselves and hopefully helped them have a good day. The only thing that helped me make it through the day (I was entirely overwhelmed and engulfed in grief with the level of poverty) was knowing I didn't have to sleep there. I sat stunned on the guagua coming back. Wondering how on earth I'll handle 6 weeks in the campo when I glanced out the window and saw a rainbow. It was there only for a second, but that is all I needed. I just needed to be reminded of God's love for me (and everyone) and that at the end of the rainbow is a treasure. I'm not sure what that treasure will be, but I can take comfort in knowing that at the end of this experience, the treasure will be far greater than the hard times ahead.
Oh there was a treasure alright! I developed great empathy because of that day. Learning about cultures and traditions became an insatiable curiosity for me because of that day. I learned about white privilege that day. I went on to teach English to migrant workers because of that day. I experienced tremendous heartache a decade later because the path my life took as a result of that day. Right now, you all are reading about God's faithfulness in my life because of THAT DAY.
A Treasure indeed.
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| Soja and Ledi in the kitchen where they made the empanadas |
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| Inside Ledi's House. The back room was the bedroom with 3 twin beds. |
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| Ledi and her family |
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| Me and Ledi |
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