The Hardest Day

Days 101 - 124

Note: This entry is a small story of what took place over a month ago.  Yet, it took a long time to reflect on what had happened.  Through meditation, prayer, and guidance from many people I have been able to take the positive out of this seemingly negative experience.  This has been hard for me to write as it digs deep into my true thoughts, emotions, and actions.

I still remember it all like it happened yesterday.  It was one of those days that you know you’ll never forget, one you’ll take with you the rest of your life.  The bad thing is that life never warns you when these things will happen.  Sometimes they happen slowly and other times they’re thrown at you like a blindside punch. 

It was a Sunday like any other at first with Mass at 8 in the morning.  Padre Edvard had given a long sermon and the announcements seemed to take another half an hour after mass.  When we left the church, I spent some time talking with my friends outside the church.  I was holding my songbook in hand when Maria, a young Dominican girl who goes to the school here, came up and snatched it.  She ran off with a grin and lost herself in the crowd.  I was not worried, as this was a normal occurrence – besides Maria felt like a younger sister to me.  She always accompanied us to the mountains for catechists.  It really is inspiring to see an 8 or 9 year old to teach and  help other kids her age discover their faith.

Maria and I.

When I returned back to the school and headed toward my room, I found Maria waiting for one of the sisters outside the door.  On Sundays after Mass, people in the town can come by and sign up to receive a few basic commodities from the sisters.  When I was talking with Maria, two elderly women approached me and I greeted them.  The following conversation ensued:

“How are you all doing?” I asked.

“Not very well, we don’t have any money.  Life is very hard for us,” one of the ladies responded.

“Yes, I understand.  It is very hard here in Barahona,” I replied.

“Listen, can you give us some money?  We need to buy charcoal and water to cook with.  We have no money and no jobs.  What can you give us?”

Whenever I hear this, I am torn.  Certainly, I have money to spare, especially for small commodities such as water and charcoal.  However, it’s a difficult position: giving money feeds into the impression that all volunteers have money and should always give money when asked.  In this case, I had no problem giving them money, but wanted to clarify my position, so I said:

“I don’t have much (which was true to an extent, I didn’t have many pesos), but I can spare a little for you all.  However the sisters don’t normally want me to give money to people, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

I went to my room to look for some change.  Maybe I chose the wrong words to say, or maybe my Spanish didn’t come out right, but I overheard them talking through my window.  They were asking Maria about me.

“Where is he from, the volunteer?” they began.

“The United States,” Maria answered.

“That’s what I thought.  He said he understands us, but he doesn’t.  He doesn’t know how we live, what life is like here.  He says he has no money but he has nice clothes and things.  He has money and he doesn't understand that we don't have anything.”

They went on talking about me for a minute and it hurt and angered me a bit to hear these things behind my back.  I had to take a second to calm myself down and returned with the money.  I smiled, handing them the money for their commodities.

“God bless you, young man!” the woman said.  They then took their leave and I took a seat next to Maria.  Somehow she could tell I was hurt, she is very smart in that way. I turned to her and said,

“Maria, when you see a person like me: an Americano, a gringo, whatever, what do you see?”

She knew exactly what I meant, and I didn’t need to explain myself further, “Money,” she replied.

We went on talking for a bit after that.  I explained how it wasn’t always easy being the outsider; being a volunteer.  I wanted to fit into the community so badly, to be accepted by the people. But it’s difficult when they assume that you have money and therefore that life is easy.  I told Maria that it was true I have a little bit of money, but that it was all relative.  With my savings, I couldn’t last very long without a job in the US.  Yet, I knew that the difference was that if I needed money, I have a strong family connection and an education.  I was speaking to Maria as if she was an adult, but I knew she understood what I meant.  I wrapped up the conversation telling her not to judge someone until you’ve walked in their shoes.  Little did I know, at that time, that it was the exact same advice I should have been giving myself.  Maria gave me my book and left.

During the afternoon, things started looking up for a bit: another VIDES volunteer from Italy, Antonio, was coming to stay for a couple days.  I had the chance to meet him earlier in Santo Domingo and really enjoyed his company then.  On top of that, he speaks English pretty well, which is a rarity here in the Dominican Republic.

Myself, Rafael, and Antonio in Moca...in Santo Domingo!

He arrived here with another sister, Sor Angela, who was the Director here in Barahona for a few years before Sor Elizabeth, the current director.  After lunch, we headed out to the different barrios (districts) so Sor Angela could stop by and visit with the community.  It was obvious from the start that her heart was still here in Barahona: from the way the people greeted her, from the way she smiled and hugged them, to the way she knew the alleys and side streets like the back of her hand.

Laundry day - Photo courtesy of Antonio

As we entered one alley, we found a house the sisters were looking for – a family with a sponsored child in the school.  The house itself held more children that just that one and we were greeted warmly by the family.  As the sisters spoke with the mother, Antonio and I looked on at the innocent children playing naked in the street.  It was a very common sight on weekends as Saturdays and Sundays were laundry days and the people don’t have the luxury of more than a couple sets of clothes.  

The sisters continued along the side of the house and motioned for us to follow, and I was again put in a situation I couldn’t prepare for.  As we walked along the side of the house, there was a ledge that looked over into the next “yard” of their neighbor.  On that ledge in a chair sat a boy with muscular dystrophy.  It was one of those moments where you’re conscious of where your eyes go, and you know that the person you’re looking at knows that you’re shocked by what you see.  In this case, his thighs were no bigger than my arms.  His knees looked like bones with skin tightly around them.  He did not wear a smile on his face.  

The alley where the boy and his family lived, on the left.

The sisters were talking about the sanitation in the back and left Antonio and I on the ledge with the boy.  I spoke to him in my broken Spanish, thinking it was the least I could do.  He responded quietly to my questions and soon enough the sisters asked us to continue along.  I put my hand on the boy’s shoulder and said I would pray for him.  He shook his head, held out his hand and asked for money.  My heart sank at the request; even more when I drove my hand into my pocket and felt nothing buy my keys.  I said I was sorry and I had to go as a confusion of pity and grief took over my heart.  

As we headed back to the house, we made one more stop to a house with a recently deceased family member.  Antonio and I stood in the doorway a listened to the grieving family.  Across the street, we heard a father threatening his son before him a swift blow to the face, followed by the boy running out of the house crying.  Antonio and I exchanged sad glances with each other looked on.  Another man approached us and started talking to us soon after.  This time, I knew it was coming, I knew he was going to ask for money – and I hardened my heart. I smelled alcohol on his breath and he told us about his family and how he just wanted a bit to buy milk for his kids.  Again, I told him that I didn’t have any money, but I would certainly keep him and his family in my prayers.  In my mind, I was convinced that he just wanted money to buy more alcohol.

When we left, he walked with us, asking the sisters for money and telling them his story.  We approached another house and a little boy no more than 4 years old ran to the man and wrapped his arms tightly around his legs.  Other children came out of the house and the man told us that these were his kids.  He instructed his son to introduce himself to us and greet us kindly.  When he did the man chuckled and we all smiled.  Yet, I felt such guilt in my heart.  How naïve and conceited was I?

When we finally got back to the house, I wanted to rest, but I needed clarity.  Still thinking about myself, I approached Sor Elizabeth and told her all that happened today.  Why are people so concerned with money here and why do they think that is all I’m good for?  I asked her these things and she sat down with me to explain them to me.  I wanted a compassionate answer, to be in right, but she gave me the truth.  

“Russell, what the women said, is true.  You don’t understand what it is like to live here.  You have a bed here, you have electricity, you have clean water and food provided to you.  Have you ever wondered when your next meal would be?  Had to drink unclean water and pray you don’t get sick?  Even if you didn’t have anything here, you’re educated and have a beautiful and loving family who could take care of you.  Those are gifts and luxuries that many people here don’t have.  That’s just the reality of the world.  The work you do here is wonderful, you show the people that not all Americans fit into a mold.  You break that mold by being here and helping out, but you must know that life is not easy for the people here and you can’t fully understand it all until you’ve lived like they have.”

I looked down, not feeling any better about myself at these words.  I thought, Comparatively, I am not poor and do not know what it feels like to struggle to get by.  I do have decent clothes and things that only the wealthy would possess here.  But it pains me to hear them say that I don't understand them, because of my background, because of who I am.  I am here to learn and give my time, but is that all I will ever amount to?  An outsider looking in; like watching a movie of the life of these people?  I would say no, it's more than that, especially from everything I've experienced so far.

This, I have learned, can be a problem of being a volunteer.  People always tell you what good work you do and how great it is that you give up your time for others.  Sometimes, this can add to a person’s ego, even if they are a “humble volunteer”.  In my mind, because I had seen much including astonish poverty of Ethiopia and Guatemala, I took it that I understood it all, but it was far from that.  At that time, I did not realize it though.  I wanted re-affirmation, so I went to Sor Gloria, the VIDES USA director, for guidance. 

I asked her the same questions and told her the same stories, wanting some sort of sympathy.  However, her responses were somewhat the same.

“It is probably true [about me not understanding the women]. Who of us has really lived poverty, hardship, and misery as they have?  Stay with the pain… Let it touch you deeply… And pour your heart and your love into who you are and what you are doing… Your very presence there will speak volumes to them now and when you’ll be gone. Your words are much more precious than money.  All that we do should have a goal to lead them to help themselves. I hope they also get to realize the great sacrifice you are doing of giving of your life and talent to help them help themselves.”

Hearing her words helped a little, but I still wasn’t feeling great about myself.  I wanted so badly to fit into the community that I’m helping, yet I felt so much like an outsider.  For the moment, I put the events behind me and continued my day.

In the evening, I had the chance to talk with my parents, before dinner.  The sun was still out, so I didn’t need to have the lights on.  My room was illuminated by the evening sun and I was glad to hear their voices after the long day.  We were talking and catching up on events that occurred the past week.  I was enjoying the lighthearted conversation as a contrast from the heavy things I witnessed today.

However, I started talking about my day that day and everything started coming out: the women, the conversation with the sisters, and my frustration with not fitting in.  I continued to talk and talk and talk and finally got to the part with the boy sitting on the ledge.  The memory made tears swell in my eyes and my throat tighten.  I stopped speaking for a minute to regain composure, I had to be strong and I didn’t want my parents to see my cry like this.  I started talking again, but the memories were too fresh.  It was like opening the gates to the dam and letting water flow, there was no stopping once it started.  That’s when it began to hit me: It wasn’t just the boy who will never walk, nor the abusive father, nor the women who will continue to struggle each day, nor the father or the countless children in this village alone who are hungry.  It’s the reality and gravity of the whole situation; that this is the world that we’re living in.  I was born into a good life and am different.  It’s not a fair world and it never will be.  I was tired and confused.  Is this the world you created, God, in all its glory? Reveal to me the truth of it all!

I looked at myself on my computer screen, the mini image projected from my web cam.  The sun was setting and my face was obscured, I was glad as they couldn’t see the pain in my face.  But, they are my parents, and know me all too well – they could hear the pain in my voice.  My parents offered me healing and kind words that only parents can truly give.  For that conversation, I’ll keep between us.

Over the next month, I revisited the words of Sor Elizabeth, Sor Gloria, and my parents.  I prayed continuously for clarity and truth.  In time, it came, little by little.

I now have seen that it is true – I cannot fully understand what it is like to live as they live, but I can do my part to help.

Reflecting on pictures such as this reminds me of the gravity and reality of my surroundings.

God has answered my prayers and I feel connected with the community, but I need not let my ego get in the way.  The other day, while running in the street, a boy from the school started running with me.  He told me how he sees me running all the time and has wanted to come with me, but didn’t have the courage until today.  The small gesture did wonders for my spirit.

I am praying to continue to see and not to have my ego clouding my vision.  Surrendering the ego makes me feel weak and vulnerable many times, but through that I am able to find a greater sense of reward in the work I do and a certain inner peace.  

I am learning that I am not important, nor should I ever think I am.  However, the paradox is that we are all special because we are unique.  The soul needs meaning as much as the body needs food. I think sometimes we overuse the term, “Jesus saves”.  It is a very true and delicate phrase, but He is saving us from ourselves, from our emotional neediness and hurt.  By having this sort of sense of meaning, we don’t have to rely on outside comforts to pull ourselves up from pain, God will pull us up every time if we allow him and let him take control.  This is perhaps the hardest lesson for me to accept.  To realize that in the spiritual life, what we think we are doing is actually being done to us, and all we have to do is say, “yes”.

Freedom to love.

I also realize now that I would not have grown to learn these things without first feeling that pain.  Pain pushes us out of our comfort zones and we feel like we’re not in control.  As I handed the reigns over to God, it was easier for him to show me where I went wrong in my thinking.  As I meditated, I saw my selfishness and conceit.  But it would not have been possible without first letting go and falling.

I will not change the world being here, probably not even the small town I am in.  But, if I am able to love and have the people- even just a few- know that I love them and care about them then I know I have connected on a spiritual level.   We all have that spiritual hunger and their fulfillment is also my fulfillment, which is the glory and mystery of it all.  If I can do just that, my mission here will have been a success.