Rain. I've spent my life in rain. The hard, sideways downpours of December. The occasional showers of May. The constant drizzle the rest of the year. I'm from western Washington and I know rain. Don't love it, but it's part of life.

I thought when we came to the Dominican for a year, I'd be escaping the rain for the most part. Boy was I wrong. I don't think there has been a week in the past year that it didn't rain. It doesn't rain for 12 days in a row, a la Grays Harbor, (thank God for that) but there haven't been any drought concerns, that's for sure.

But rain in the tropics, at least in the Dominican, is different. Yes, it still travels down from sky to ground, and it's still wet. But it's effect on life is different; and in many ways, much different from what I'm used to. People dread it, or should I say fear it. I've always disliked rain, but I'm not afraid of it and it doesn't alter my life, except for perhaps the biggest storms when they hit.

But people here don't want to be caught in the rain. If they have an appointment at three, and it starts to rain at 2:30, they won't go and the meeting will likely be cancelled. Blowing off an appointment because of rain flabergasted me when I first heard of it.

Like back home, many mothers chide their children to stay out of the rain (with limited success). But even adults themselves are this way, avoiding rain at all costs.

One day Abby and a friend pulled up to a building. The doorman normally comes out and opens the door for them. But today it was raining. He didn't have an umbrella, and he said he had "gripe (gree-pay)," a cold, so he didn't want to step outside. They had to manage the door on their own. It seems to be universally accepted that catching a cold comes from recently getting rained on. You can explain that having wet hair doesn't spread viruses any more than dry hair, but it won't matter. Rain brings and exacerbates sickness.

And sometimes, just plain old water in any form is the enemy. Months ago at one of Malachi's baseball practices, his face was beat red from running in the blazing sun. I took his water bottle and poured water on his head, sloshing around his hair to cool him off. One of the mothers there quickly rushed over and told me not to do that. It'll make him sick if you put water on him when he's hot.

That was the first time I'd heard of that. I explained it was the opposite. You need to cool down as much as you can when you're hot. Water's a good way to do that.  She was certain that was wrong, that if he gets wet he'll get sick, and warned me not to do it again.

I thought these ideas were very silly. And perhaps in some ways they are. But I've also seen some things happen that show me why these beliefs are held.

Rain messes up travel in ways we rarely see in Washington. Usually when it rains here, it rains hard. The drainage can't handle it and the streets flood within minutes. Driving through large puddles is never a great idea, but here there's a bigger problem. Potholes. Potholes are everywhere and cars constantly swerve to avoid them. But when it rains, they fill and you can't tell where they are. If you hit one of those at regular speed, you can pop a tire or break an axle. It's a nightmare.

Beyond this, a large segment of the city population doesn't drive. Which means they walk or stand in the rain as they head for public transportation. And then show up soaking wet at their destination. Even if you have an umbrella, cars and trucks drive by drenching you as you stand on the sidewalk. Best to avoid that if you can.

And as bad as this is, it's worse outside the city. There the streets are mud, and so are the house floors. A heavy rain can not only make your street impassible, it can destroy your home, washing it away in a flash flood of garbage and refuse. Undeniably the illness fears comes from this very thing, as sanitation fields and garbage piles were overrun, and the foul water carried into towns and villages, sickening many. They remember major illnesses that followed the rains, and the two are forever linked.   

So the rain is the same no matter the plain it falls on. (Couldn't resist). But results may vary.   

Toothbrush Day

Friday was toothbrush day. I guess it goes without saying that in these poor areas, dental hygiene can be neglected a bit. There's a grandma of several of the kids that Veronica lets come and eat. She's clearly not quite right in several ways, and Veronica tells me she lets her come because otherwise she wanders the streets and she's worried she'll get run over and killed. She shuffles in every day wearing a thin, dirty t-shirt, caprice pants and worn-out sandals.  She rarely speaks. Just sits on one of the plastic chairs waiting for the food to be served, and then shuffles back out sometime afterwards. I suppose she's lived in the neighborhood her whole life.

 At any rate, this lady doesn't have more than 5 teeth in her mouth, I wouldn't guess. She sits eating with her head cocked a bit to one side, pounding the food into submission with her jaws. She's older, but it's common to see clear signs of tooth decay in adults younger than her as well. Of course, this can lead to a whole host of health problems, even illness and infections throughout the body.

So a while ago, after talking with Abby, my Mom went around to some local dentists in the Grays Harbor area and got donations of toothbrushes and toothpaste. There were several that were very generous and we had two large bags of supplies.

Over the past month, Veronica has made some changes. They have started serving food everyday again. That's a major leap of faith considering the amount of food it will require. But she has also started to set up a system to make it all work. The parents or guardians of the kids have officially "enlisted" them at the center. There is a critical second reason for this, but the first reason is now she knows how many kids to expect daily. About 120 for now. Also, she can assign roles to the older kids. This, in particular, has been awesome.

There is a small group of older children, 12-14 in ages I would guess, that are small group leaders. They make sure their group of kids is there, seated, ready to pray, ready to eat, and behaving. A few older teens oversee the leaders. And of course Veronica, the 2 or 3 adult volunteers (and Abby and I the days we're there) are always available. It's great to see the leadership skills and sense of responsibility being developed. They are developing a vital skill that will benefit them for life.



Big thanks to hometown dentists, Dr. Tomlinson, Dr. Cowles, Dr. Earnest, and Dr. Lemon!!!!!!! THANK YOU so much!!!!



 So that was how the toothbrushes were dispensed. The group leaders took a handful and passed them out to their kids as they sat in their groups waiting. This may seem unremarkable, but undoubtedly some of you have been to a very poor location and have seen what can happen with gifts. An outsider showing up with something to pass out for free can be an absolute nightmare. The poverty and need combine with greed, desperation and a mob mentality that can literally endanger the safety of everyone there as the crowd presses in shouting and reaching for anything that can get.

I wouldn't call the scene here in Bienvenido "quiet" exactly, (they ARE kids after all) but at least it was calm and organized. Everyone got a toothbrush, and almost everyone got toothpaste. When the toothpaste ran out, we tried to make sure a sibling had one so at least it would be in the house.

But first, I lectured them sternly about using it, not just getting a prize. "Raise your hand if you're not going to use it," I said. A few hands went up.

"You won't use it? Well that's good to know because we can save yours for a different kid then."

"Oh, no, no." The hands dropped quickly. "I'll use it," they all said enthusiastically.

I hope so. I'll have to check in when we get out there next.  

The lighter side of int'l politics

And you thought WE had it bad.

One of the "downsides to democracy" is having to vote. OK, maybe that's not quite right. It's having candidates bombard us with reasons to vote for them, or more often, why NOT to vote for their opponents. Truly, it's a small price to pay to have a voice in a representative democracy, but still...it can be a bit annoying.

However, I have discovered that the U.S. is not the only country to suffer from this affliction. If possible, it's worse in the D.R. Or at least it's worse in Santo Domingo.

Probably because a third of the voters live in the capital city, but you can't drive a mile on a major road without seeing a sign for one of the candidates. I kid you not, that fully half of the billboards in the city are for a candidate. It's insane. And it's been that way since we got here last August. The election is in May. Finally. At which point all the billboard companies will be declaring bankruptcy, I assume.

Hipolito Mejia

Danilo Medina

 But that's not all. They have flashing neon signs, t-shirts, trinkets, TV ads and noise.

Noise, you say?

Yes, noise. As if the assault in the optics were insufficient, they back it with an amazing barage of sound.

On a recent trip out of town during Friday afternoon rush hour, we came upon (or were come upon) by a political motorcade for Danilo. Ten or twelve late-model, very expensive SUV's, all decked out with signs and lights, weaving their way through traffic, cutting people off in their senseless effort to stay together and spread the word of their candidate.

They expected people would move for them as they honked. They had police lights mounted but have no true authority to part traffic, and young ladies, in tiny tank tops of the campaign colors, hang out of the sunroofs waving banners and shouting. Going for the male vote, I suppose.

As if the one thing we needed during rush hour was to add a bunch of large SUVs weaving around, the worst thing of all was the caboose; a flatbed truck piled with nothing but speakers and lights. It announces the presence of the caravan with an overpowering blast of techno music.

You've been there, I know. Sitting at a stop light minding your own business when some kid in a souped up ride pulls up next to you and decides there is nothing in the world you want to do more than listen to his sub-woofer pounding. It's like that, on steroids.

That truck got stuck next to us for one hellish moment. We couldn't even talk. Our car shook from the waves of sound cascading down on us as the mountain of speakers rumbled their techno anthem.

"Don't worry about it," I would have shouted to them if it would have mattered. "We'll hold conversations after the elections. You just keep on rocking!"

"Does this work?" I asked the companions once we could hear again. "Who could possibly find this persuasive?"

I've asked some Dominican friends and they find it annoying as well. But apparently the campaigns are convinced it brings in votes, because they still do it. Both sides. All the time.

At Malachi's baseball game the other day, a smaller truck drove by the park, doing the same thing. I took a video of it but my cell phone speakers aren't ideal for that and so the impact of the sound was lost. But at least you can see an example, the truck loaded down with as many speakers as it can carry, the banners waving. Again, we had to shout to be heard over the sound, and if anyone in one of the houses happened to be taking a nap or sick at home, well they were out of luck.

As to what these candidates will actually do, I have no idea. If possible, the campaigns are even less issue oriented than ours in the States. Danilo tells us he will "keep what is good, correct what is broken." I guess that's better than the other way around. Hipolito simply declares on every billboard that he has "arrived." Goody gumdrops.

I'll bet if pressed, they would admit, like U.S. politicians, that they are in fact in favor of good education and jobs. And opposed to government waste.

An interesting note, the vice-presidential candidate running with Danilo is the current first lady, Margarita Cedeño de Fernadez. She's the most popular figure in all the polls, and she's more attractive than all the guys that are running (lots of 3rd party candidates) so we see her on the billboards a lot.

And I have no idea who the running mate of Hipolito is. He (or she) must be terribly unpopular or unknown or unattractive because I haven't seen him mentioned once.

I can't wait 'til May and this all ends. At which point I can jump right into the excitement of the full-throttled U.S. campaign.

But I will say, even though I'm a die-hard conservative, if I get back to the States and get stuck next to a decibel blasting Romney or Santorum motorcade, I'm voting Ralph Nader.

A Light in the Darkness--my effort in economics

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SBWi3NtND68

As I mentioned last time, when faced with a world of challenges, it's easy to mutter, "I'm one person. What can I do?"



The bright idea


The answer might be to become more than one person. To duplicate yourself. You remember the old saying about teaching someone to fish rather than giving them a fish. That's the idea I've been acting on recently.

I like helping people, and so do you I imagine. But what if you're not there to help? Or what if you're helping someone, but about 6 billion other people on the planet could use some help with something, too. How do you possibly respond to that kind of need? That's why I love business.

Business in its purest form is two parties helping each other. That's all. You give me bread, I give you $5. We're both better off than we were 30 seconds ago. And there is no limit to the amount of help we can be to each other when both sides benefit. This is how God operates. And this is how mankind operates when we are properly following His character.

So...with that introduction, here's the plan. I want to help people in the Dominican Republic become self sufficient as much as possible in the time we have left here. I want to help them mutually benefit each other. I have two ideas (and I'm looking for more), and one of those I will tell you about now.

If you watched the attached link above, I won't have to explain the vision much, but I want to find a market for these solar lights in the D.R. and some people who will install them. I decided to start with this project because, well, I think it's doable. It's not huge, but it's something, it would benefit both the buyers and the sellers, and I think we can actually get it done.

A month ago I spoke with Veronica. Would this work in Bienvenido? She thought it might, and there's a young man there, Juan, who might be just the guy to take it on. I envisioned him installing these solar bottles all over the place, grossing $500 pesos a pop. Maybe it could provide a steady income.

I had talked with some guys who would be willing to help, started making a supply list, and watched the video a bunch of times, when the first setback hit. Veronica called. She'd been looking around and thinking about it. She wasn't sure that the homes in her area were dark enough inside. They aren't stacked up like the ones in the video and there may not be much demand. The plan was to have a practice run in a few days out at her center, but she wasn't sure if it was worth it. She'd keep an eye out though for maybe a better spot.

I hung up the phone a little discouraged. I was relying on her location and contacts to start this.

What now? Do we bag it? Try to find another place to work? Looking back on life, I've had a lot of ideas. Things that I thought were real winners that I should try. Or someone should try. Then invariably someone would give a reason it wouldn't work. Like Dad telling me I couldn't build a functional, full-sized airplane out of balsa wood and fly to the bottom of the hill in it. That woud have been SO awesome!

Or how about the bird trap made out of bean poles to catch starlings. Or the functioning two-story elevator for my tree fort.

Yeah, the balsa-wood airplane was probably a bad idea. But maybe I should have tried anyway. Start on a smaller scale. Just gone for it, keep trying until I crashed and burned, (hopefully not literally in this case,) but see what you can do until the idea proves undoable. Go to failure.

That's what I decided to do here. I would "go to failure." This was an obstacle, but every project has them. It hadn't proven a failure yet. Maybe in the end, this idea won't work here. But I would push on until I was sure. I called her back a couple days later. Let's start anyway. First, let's figure out how to build the light, and then find the market to sell it to.

We trooped off to the hardware store, the four of us. Bowin and I, joined by short-term missionaries Brendan and Jeremy. I'm not what most people would refer to as a "handyman," or "construction competent" or "capable of using a hammer," so having others along helped in picking out the right materials. We came back to my apartment and started in the parking lot.




Brendan and our building watchman, Nelson, cut the sheetmetal.




I'm "carefully observing." Not to be confused with "standing around watching others work."

Once we had some of the pieces cut, we packed up and headed out to Bienvenido. We met up with the Oliveria family, where Shawn pitched in as well.

Juan and Shawn (that should be rock band name; or maybe a sports drink) apply the silicone to hold it and prevent leaks. 

Pounding out the hole in the template

Bottle and skirting drops into the "hole in the roof." We'll use an actual roof soon.

So finally the moment of truth. The above events took place over two different trips and days. Remember, I'm still working full time in my insurance agency so we can't be out there everyday. Yesterday, the Oliverias picked us up and we headed out again. Brendan and Jeremy have since headed back to the states, and Bowin wasn't available to come out this time. But the day's plan was to get 'er done. We would put the light in the roof and see if it worked.

I had pointed out to Veronica that the bathroom in the little church/kids center was actually quite dark when the door was closed. I thought it would be a perfect spot to try out the solar light.

She agreed. We should try it there.

Up on the roof. We sweep off the leaves and debris then carve a hole in the tin.



From inside the bathroom. A hole appears in the darkness. You can see the rotting support beam in this photo.



The roof is weak. This had been a point of concern from the beginning stages. These tin roofs aren't exctly built to code, and their ability to hold a person's weight will always be an issue. But we stuck to the main beams and no one went through. It sounded like an elephant parade from inside the building, with the crinkling metal and sagging beams groaning. But thank God that was all.

Then is was just a matter of dropping the template into the hole and gluing it down. While the ladies did arts and crafts with the kids down on the ground, we did our finishing touches on the roof. Well, actually I took pictures and passed the broom back and forth. But that counts as manual labor, right?

Now the big test. The whole point of this project. (No, that's not true. The point in just a second. But still, this was important.) What did it look like down inside the bathroom?

It worked! Better than I had even hoped!

The bathroom has a 75 watt lightbulb in it, and this solar-pop-bottle-light-bulb was almost that bright. I'd say about a 60 watt equivalent. When the power is out (which is all the darn time in these parts) they can still use the bathroom. Even when they have power, they won't have to turn it on during the day.

We had the ladies come check it out. They beamed as brightly as our little bulb.

"Now that's energy saving there," one of the neighbor ladies said excitedly.

So now what? That's the question. We know it works. I'm sure there's a bug or two we'll learn about, but it works. Can it become a business here? Will Juan, the young man who spends three days a week cooking for all these kids and one day a week, Sundays, in high school, will he take this on as a trade? If he doesn't, will anyone else? 

Maybe the next step will be teaching the sales process. How to find a prospect, show the benefit of your product, and close the sale. Juan said he wants to put a light in his bedroom, which has no windows. I said we could help him next week, but he said it would be done by then. After seeing this one done, he intended to put one in that afternoon. 

Fighting the Tide

One thing about life, some days are crazy. Abby almost started an international incident the other day as she mixed it up with one of the local woman. And I have a vision to help the people here learn to earn a living,  but I'm not sure which obstacles to tackle first. But more on that later. First, here's a story.

We're continuing to work in Bienvenido with Veronica, feeding the many children there three days a week. Abby and I generally go on Fridays, and every other week we take the kids out of school early and they go with us. I think it's worth them missing some class time for the life experience they gain. This last Friday they weren't with us, and several of the kids asked about them. In their small way, our kids are impacting the children there as well as being impacted by the experience.

I've already written a little about the everyday lives of these kids; about the lack of opportunity and the daily tasks of just getting food, shelter and schooling. But the development of good character is a significant challenge as well. All people, but especially children, copy what we see modeled. And in one area, the model is quite bad.

A couple weeks ago, Abby went out to the feeding center meeting with some other ladies.  While she waited, she spent a couple hours playing with the kids, making up things for them to do.  When she returned to the center, the ladies were standing around talking when they heard screaming across the alley.   As they gazed across, they saw one of the neighborhood mothers beating her young boy, Amelia's age, with a stick. He shrieked while she pounded him for who knows what. The boy had been with Abby the past couple hours eating and playing, but apparently the Mom was unhappy about something.  She then left him, only to walk by a little 4 year old girl, who had also been with Abby, and kick her.  This little girl was standing there holding her Mom's hand and the other Mom just came up and kicked her..... twice.  Later, we did find out that these women were two out of the three "wives" of the same man. 

Abby lost it, running out to the street, yelling at the women.

"No toca!" "No toca!" Meaning "don't touch".  It was the only phrase she could think of.  The men and women standing around witnessing this abuse just looked at Abby and laughed.  Realizing she might not be safe, she walked back to the center.  Moments later, everyone was shouting. The neighbors were yelling, the mother was mad,  "That American thinks she's better than me!"  The chaos continued and Veronica, the director, went out to deal with the neighbors.   A little while later, Veronica returned, holding a metal-studded belt she had somehow taken from one of the women. They were in the process of beating one of the boys with it. With tears in her eyes, Veronica explained the violence that occurs to the children she serves.  Majority have many scars on their faces, their necks, legs, and backs from continuous beatings.  Every scar a reminder of their life of fear and hunger. 

In the days and weeks since, we have learned that Abby probably didn't help matters. Most likely that night the kids got beat even worse, for the shame they had brought on the mothers by getting someone else involved. The mothers were furious with Abby, an American outsider, for trying to impose her standards on them. When Abby called me on the way home later, she was in tears. And again that night in bed. For several days she didn't sleep well with those images running through her head. She did the only thing she could think of, and what seemed reasonable and right. I would have done the same thing.

But the issue is largely cultural. In the poor barrio areas of the country, this violence is the only way they know. Moms that behave in such a reprehensible way were themselves raised under constant beatings. The woman that Abby confronted we have since learned is really scarcely more than a girl, 20 years old, and with three children already. What kind of life is that?  She beats her kids because that is what she was taught. I'm sure she hated it when she was on the receiving end, and she probably is still beat by whichever man is staying with her for the time being, but when she feels a need to discipline, she does what she knows.



This boy, Franky, showed up Friday with a significant gash in his leg. He told us his mom hit him, possibly with some sort of metal object. Fortuantely, we happened to have along a lady with the medical knowledge to clean and bandage it. We'll check it this Friday and see how it's coming.



Two weeks ago, a neighbor of our housecleaner, Estel, caught her young son stealing 5 pesos from her (about 12 cents.) She grabbed his hand and held it down on the lit gas stove as punishment, leaving massive burns and tortuous pain. Estel tells us 2 out of 3 houses in those areas have similar stories of regular abuse.

When was the last time you heard the word "femicide?" You probably know it means the killing of a woman, but I can't recall ever seeing it used. Here "feminicidio" is constantly in the papers, as they recount the latest story of a woman murdered by some man who had been in her life but no longer wanted her. I guess the awareness of it is positive, as efforts are being made to discourage this. Recently, the workers at the grocery store near us wore shirts for a month that read "Zero tolerance of violence against women."

But what can be done? Between the poverty, the hunger, the lack of skills and education, and the violence, it seems like an impossible task. And then when you act, as Abby did, and learn all you did was perhaps make it even worse? What's the point?

Faced with the width and depth of poverty, with the brokenness of lives, and the painful cycle of choices and consequences, it can be hard to know where to start. But some have started. Veronica has. And for this short time in our lives, my family can help. The kids are rowdy here. Heck, kids are rowdy everywhere, but especially here. But when the food is passed out under the shade of that sun-baked lot, the children sit quietly and wait for it to be brought to them. She doesn't just feed them, she has shown them how to behave. She is teaching them how to live.

There are far too few tables for the mass of kids there, so the older kids eat with the plate on their lap. But this last Friday, she had the older kids use the tables, with a knife and fork. She told a story of when she was 13 and invited to a friend's to eat. She didn't eat any of the meat because she was too embarrassed to admit she didn't know how to use a fork and knife. She told them, "Someday you might be in a situation where you need to use silverware, and be seated at a table and know how to conduct yourself. I want you to be ready."

She has great dreams. A full-time school there. Vocational trades. Housing for a full-time director. A water-purification system. Buying the lot next door and putting in an aquaponics system that would provide food and income. But first is a larger kitchen.

The plan calls to bring the wall out to past where that table sits. The green wall behind is the current kitchen. She could feed twice as many kids.

If there's not enough room on the stove, we cook outside also. Here, the sauce for the rice is cooking with whatever meat was available to add. It doesn't work if it's raining, but today it turned out great. And no, that's not a gas can next to the fire.



This back wall of the kitchen would be built in concrete block. The current wood siding is far from weather proof and is a potential fire hazard so close to the hot gas stove.



Abby and I have decided to try and make the kitchen happen before we leave this summer. Many of you have read these stories and generously donated money. Thank you! In fact we've raised $1,500 dollars already without a ton of effort. Veronica got a bid for $3,300 for materials, remarkably cheap for the scope of the project. Local neighbors that believe in the cause have promised to provide free labor to build, if we can find a good foreman for the job. So that means we are almost halfway there.

If this is a cause that strikes a chord with you, will you consider donating to build this kitchen? And if we are fortunate enough to raise more than we need for that, she wants to spend $2,300 to build a protective wall around the center or $3,000 to buy the adjoining lot and make the property bigger. But one thing at a time.

And "one thing at a time" is the approach I know we have to take. In light of the expanse of the problems around us, all we can do, is all we can do. For our family, we can't let ourselves get overwhelmed, but rather we must focus on what God has set in front of us and do the best we can with it.

If you would like to have a part in this project, let me know with an e-mail or Facebook message. We have an account set up at Twin Star Credit Union where people can deposit money. A hundred percent of any donated money will go to Veronica's center in Bienvenido. I'll continue to post stories of our adventure.

A boy helps his younger brother eat. The older siblings regularly do this. 

Plates ready to go. Our kids help pass them out to the waiting children.

I should add one quick story. This same past Friday, another boy showed up with a swollen jaw. He was almost unrecognizable from the week before. This time, it didn't appear to be abuse. It seems he had a tooth problem of some kind. An absessed tooth maybe, or some sort of infection. At any rate, he wasn't eating. He was lethargic, with a massive fever. He clearly needed to see a dentist. This boy had a mom, so Veronica sent for her.

Turns out it was the same mom that Abby had the confrontation with. She showed up and talked with Veronica. Abby swears the young woman gave her the evil eye when she walked by, but nothing else came of it. I was busy elsewhere, but I was told a new visitor offered to pay for the trip to the dentist. (There were several new visitors this last week who came out to see what is going on.) Even though dentists are quite cheap here, they probably didn't have even the small amount needed to pay for it.

Moments after we left that afternoon, we were passed by a motorcycle taxi. Crammed onto the bike behind the driver was the boy and his mom, headed for the dentist. She saw us, smiled broadly and waved. Who knows, maybe she won't be an enemy forever.

Earthquake

Damage to a street close to the epicenter which was about thirty miles northwest of us. Photo from Bowin Tichenor.

I sat up suddenly in bed out of a dead sleep. The clock read 5:30 and it was still dark out. What was that? Why was I awake? Still groggy, but I knew I had felt or heard something, so my feet swung off the bed and hit the floor. Abby was still sleeping. It's funny how she wakes up all the time at night, and I usually sleep straight though, but on things like this, I'm the first to wake.

Like the night last winter in Montesano when our house was hit by lightning. We were both fast asleep when it hit, but I awoke while the dazzling, piercing light was still illuminating the bedroom; even before the booming thunder struck, setting off the fire alarms and shaking the house like it would tear it from the foundation. Abby bolted up in a panic, but I had already grabbed her and assured her that it was just thunder and we were ok. The dog and kids were in our bedroom a second later. Fuses were blown, the garage door opener was fried, and lights were burnt out. It was quite an experience.

So this morning I woke first, and walked quickly out of the bedroom. My mind churned slowly, and I wondered if it was a dream, or maybe a truck had hit the building. Or an earthquake. The door to the girls' room was open and Keilani was awake.

"What was that?" she asked. So there had been something, not just a dream.

"Probably just the wind,"  I said. "Go back to sleep." It had been unusually windy all night, so that was a possibility.

I walked down the hallway and Abby was groggily slapping at my side of the bed. I later learned she thought I was shaking the bed and was trying to hit me to make me stop moving around. Really? Like I want to get a jump on my morning workout but don't want to make the effort of actually getting out of bed?

I got out to the patio and it was totally silent. Still. No wind or movement at all outside.

Hmmph, I thought. Guess it wasn't the wind. But if it was an earthquake, wouldn't the trees be swaying or something? If it was a truck hitting the apartment, surely I would hear some activity down on the street. But I didn't. So I walked back to bed. I told Abby I'd felt or heard something, maybe, but I didn't know what it was.

I learned later that about two miles north at the Root's house, it was obvious that an earthquake had struck. People filed out of their houses and apartments and filled the dark street. They spoke loudly, sharing stories. Several miles north of them, at another friends' house, they felt the rocking for about 30 seconds. It was 5.3 earthquake, and was rather strong for them, but thankfully no damage.

Almost exactly 2 years ago, Haiti was devastated by that enormous 7.0 quake about a hundred and fifty miles from here. This was nothing like that. I'm glad

Welcome to Bienvenido

Her church is only about 30 minutes from our apartment, but in many ways a very different world. The pavement ends a half mile before you would like it to, and electricity is hit and miss. But this is where Veronica works. This is where her vision and heart lie. She is Dominican, speaks little English, and may be in her late 40's. I don't know much more about her because we just met today.  Well, that's not totally true. I do know a little more.

Abby met her a while back, heard her story, and decided that we should go visit. Veronica has taken it on herself to feed over 100 children every day. That burden became too much, so now it's three days a week. Every Monday, Wednesday and Friday, she and a few helpers cook and then feed the children of the area. We drove out today with some other missionary friends of ours, the Tichenor family from Kentucky.

It's name means "Welcome" in Spanish, and we might refer to the area as the slums, but I guess it's really not as bad as others closer to the Haitian border. It's close enough to the city that some of that money finds its way out. Veronica eagerly showed us around the church building. Not a church in the way we normally think, it's really a small single-family home used as a church.

It has a living room that they use for services, or they go outside under a tent when missionaries come to visit, she said. There are two bedrooms, and then the kitchen in back where the daily miracles happen. Two fridges, one is broken and used for storing plates, but they're hoping to get it fixed. Look at the photo. It reminds me of a rustic camp kitchen, but showing more wear. The sheet metal roof is dotted by tar from numerous patch jobs, and must leak something awful during the thunderstorms that frequent the Dominican summers. The walls are just painted, 10" siding pieces, one on top of the next.

Veronica told me they are praying for a family that would come live there full time. They would teach school and music ideally. I'm not sure what else, but the idea made me shudder a little. Imagine living in such an environment full time. Maybe if you treated it as camping; really long term camping.

The kids started to arrive. Normally they come for lunch, but she changed it to dinner tonight because we were coming and she thought it fit our schedule better. I didn't realize she changed the whole thing for us and I felt a little guilty. Plastic tables surrounded by chairs were lined up in the gravel yard in front of the building behind the fence, and I sat at one and talked to a few of the boys.

They had a plastic toy they played with for a while, and then asked if I wanted to play basketball sometime. It was close enough to walk, but I said we would have to do it a different day with the sun starting to set. These boys were 10-13 probably, and very friendly with me as a total stranger. One kid was blind. He was enjoying the clicking sound and rhythm of the plastic toy.  He gets around just fine by himself, I was told. Hard to imagine in these crazy alleys and shanties. More kids showed up. All kinds of ages. Where were the parents? I would find out later.

Veronica yelled for attention. It was time to eat, but first she had me introduce my family and Bowin introduce his. Then she asked me to bless the meal and the kids all sat down. Turns out we would take the food to them.

They set up a table outside the kitchen and several adults were there to help with the giant pots of rice, shredded beef and salad. They dished a massive portion of rice onto plastic plates, a little less of the other foods, added a plastic fork, and our kids walked it over to the tables, plate by plate. It was messy and noisy, but perhaps at little less than I would have guessed under the circumstances.

Keilani was having trouble understanding a commotion at one of the tables, so I walked over. A little girl no older than three, wearing a shirt and nothing else, had peed all over her chair seat. She remained kneeling in the puddle, eating happily.  I don't deal with those situations well. At all. My only thought was of a hose; no other way I was getting involved. One of the teenage girls was summoned for clean up, and she was not excited about it. She slapped the little girl on the arm a couple times, scolding her, then dragged her out of the chair by her arm. The child didn't seem to mind a bit, and wandered over to another girl of the same age that was sitting alone and eating.

Behind us, were a row of chairs where more kids sat and ate. One boy, probably two years old, was stark naked. He sat on the chair, with the plate of food resting on the seat. The food was everywhere, and his naked butt mashed the rice into the plastic seat as he shoveled the food in with a little spoon. I was frozen. He needs to be cleaned up. He needs some clothes. He needs something; at least some shorts. Again, this was not my area of expertise. I left him as he was.  

That's what I saw. Now for what I learned. I walked back to the serving area with some questions.

How does one lady do this? Well, it's not just her, really. She has a few faithful people who help her cook and clean. But beyond that...it's a lot of faith. One day someone will donate 10 lbs of rice. The next day someone will bring them a chicken. Or lettuce. Or whatever. Veronica used to work in finance and is used to budgeting and planning. But it's hard to do there. Sometimes you have something to budget with, and sometimes you don't. But God provides and the children eat.

And the children. That's where it get interesting. Where are the parents? For the most part, dead. Dead, I asked? Really dead, that many? These are street children, mostly from Haiti, and they live with whomever they can, or no one at all. Be it through disease, violence or accident, many of the adults in their lives have died. Though some were abandoned, at times by mothers who were mere children themselves.

Their lives are why Veronica is here. The food they get allows them to skip work for the day, or for half a day anyway. The children must earn money every day if they hope to eat. Shoe shine work, washing car windows at stoplights, or just regular begging. But there are other, worse options, too. School though? School is for kids who have parents; or at least have food and then don't have to work that day. And that's why the food matters so much.

Lunch is at 12:30. School here can be morning or afternoon classes. So the kids can go to work in the morning, then get a good meal, then go to school after. Or vice versa. Except for one problem. I've written before about the immigration issues. If the kid has no papers or birth certificate, they aren't allowed into school. Many of these Haitian children have no papers, and the Dominican taxpayers aren't excited about paying for their education when they are so short on education money already. An understandable position, and there are no easy answers.

This has really made me think about the importance of education. The purpose of education is to learn how to be a benefit to others, and in so doing benefit ourselves. Tragically, the main skills we are born with mostly damage others. Without learning a skill, so many of these kids fall back on the skills that come naturally; prostitution or crime. One or the other, often depending on your gender. Nobody has to teach us those. No schooling. No studying. They come naturally  and then they destroy us and those around us. Before long, these "children" end up pregnant or dead, creating still more orphans and perpetuating the vicious cycle of sin.

Veronica's mission is to educate these children to love God and to know how to love others. We love others by doing good things for them, but what if you don't know how? What if you can't fix their car, or develop a more efficient engine for them, or grow a more disease resistant food, or help them invest wisely, or write an entertaining movie script, or show them how to save their crumbling marriage, or teach their children to read, or ship their goods to a buyer, and on and on and on. What if you have nothing to offer because no one ever taught you how to love? That is her mission. And it is huge.

She wants to start a school. A school where every kid can come and learn, papers or no papers. They can learn of a God who loves them, and how they can in turn love Him and His people. And they can begin to learn the skills required to put love into action.

We drove off into the darkening night back for our house thinking and talking about what we'd seen. I figured this would be a one-time trip. A trip to see a different part of the country and to add to our experience here. But now I think we'll go back. For one thing, there are some boys in need of some basketball lessons. But God may have something more besides. Guess we'll see. Guess we'll see.