Solo Le Pido A Dios

“Still my heart, and hold my tongue.”

DISCLAIMER: This entry is a little upsetting, so if you’re reading this to children, you might want to skim through it beforehand.

The contrasts between the DR and Haiti are numerous. It’s undeniable that the DR has some serious problems; poverty, lack of adequate health-care, an imbalance of wealth, a skewed education system… But, if you can believe it, Haiti is far worse off. First of all, the land gives them nothing, it is dry and hardly produces enough food to live on, let alone make a profit off of. The living conditions are ghastly, unreal and very similar to pictures you might see in a National Geographic issue on poverty…. The tensions between Haiti and the DR are nothing new. If was not from the desire of control by one side or the other, it was a longing of separation and distinction between the people. Some of the more distinct moments in history lie under the regime of the DR’s most infamous president, Trujillo. He is known for his want of a “whiter” island (Haitians are much darker-skinned than Dominicans) and the drastic measures he took in attempt to achieve it. Some of his stunts include mass deportations, discrimination and unimaginable killings. He put Haitians under ridiculous tests in which their accents were bound to get them killed. In 1937 one of the greatest anti-Haitian movements scarred the western part of the nation. Trujillo conducted a mass murder of Haitians, and then disposed of the bodies in the Massacre River in a border town called Dajabón.

Our 1st night in Dajabón we visited the bridge and the future location of the market. Standing on the bridge and looking down to the (rather high) waters of the Massacre River, I couldn’t help but imagine what it was like in 1937. I had just finished reading The Farming of Bones by Edwidge Danticat (story about a Haitian in the DR in 1937) so my mind was racing around, placing my fictional characters into their intended surroundings. Oddly enough, there are no markers or memorials symbolizing the act… the only thing left were the old trees along the banks that had surely seen the horrible sights.

Upon our return, the next morning, we walked into an almost completely different town. The streets were packed with people selling and buying their goods. We made our way around, observing and taking it all in. It was difficult, for I felt like a “poverty tourist” but I knew it was necessary for me to see it all. After a while we found our way back to the bridge. Now, instead of just a bridge, this instrument served as a path to money, sustenance, and a possibly better future. The people of Haiti want so desperately to get out. They travel for days to get to the border of Dajabón on Friday morning in order to cross into the DR to sell their goods in the market over the weekend, only to return home on Sunday and do it all again the next weekend. The strength and endurance I saw absolutely blew my mind. I saw tiny old men carrying multiple sacks of rice (about 100lbs each) on their shoulders as they crossed the bridge barefoot. Many people even cross the border by way of the (dirty, unsanitary) river, so as to avoid the UN guards, long lines, and crossing fees. It was very hard to see the exploitation, the injustice and the disregard (or lack of opportunity) for a suitable way of life.

A motif in The Farming of Bones was putting names and stories to faces of the millions of Haitians lost in the Massacre. The narrator was sure to provide keen details of every face that she encountered, for “Famous men never truly die. It is only those nameless and faceless who vanish like smoke into the early morning air” (Danticat, 280). This stuck out in my mind as we weaved our way through the crowds in Dajabón, led fearlessly by a 12 year old boy; mute and blind in one eye. I kept wondering what he would say if he could, what his eye had seen on the streets of the town, from the edges of the bridge. In a sense, he is a nameless, faceless encounter, but he does not have to remain that way. I, along with my group, am telling his story along with his neighbors and fellow workers of Dajabón.

As if I thought things could not get worse… Our next step was to visit the International Highway. “The highway along the north-south border dividing the island of Hispaniola into east and west. The road is an international highway in the sense that it is the only direct route through the very center of the island, right along the Dominican-Haitian border. Rather than the grand thoroughfare its name suggests, the International Highway is a maze of rocks, crevasses, and quicksand strung together through the mountains that helped give Haiti its name, from an indigenous Taíno word meaning ‘high place’ or ‘mountain’” (Why the Cocks Fight, Michele Wucker, 27). I don’t think I could have said it better. The majority of the bus ride along the small portion of the highway that we drove was muted by shocked, glazed stares out the windows at the new level of poverty we were witnessing. These people literally have nothing. One of the most hard-hitting images I have engraved in my head from this trip; the small children (some with no clothing) running after our bus, hands extended – not for a hug but for money. All I wanted to do was pull over, pick them up and play with them all day – feeding them, clothing them and wiping their runny noses. These children, along with their families, are truly an invisible race, for they do not live in Haiti and they do not live in the DR. They live on this border and are not recognized, nor helped by either country. They are in true need of aid, of support, of mere recognition, and of prayer.

Those of you who know a little of the history of the DR, will probably know that Trujillo’s regime did not end with El Corte, but instead drug on for another 30 years or so. It wasn’t until yet another brutal murder that the people finally took their stand against the dictator. On November 25, 1960, Trujillo was responsible for the death of 3 of the 4 Mirabal sisters. The Mirabal sisters (Patria, María Teresa, Minerva and Dede) were known for the “anti-Trujillo” movements. Patria, María Teresa and Minerva were brutally murdered after visiting their imprisoned husbands, standing as the last straw for the Dominican people. Shortly after their assassination, a group of citizens took to murdering Trujillo. The Mirabal sisters are known as Las Mariposas (the butterflies) and have inspired the novel/movie; En El Tiempo De Las Mariposas (In the Time of the Butterflies.) We had a chance to watch the movie and visit the memorial that the surviving sister, Dede, constructed out of one of their homes in a nearby town called Salcedo. This story is a favorite of mine, for the sisters are truly an inspiration. Not only did they take heroic measures against a serious injustice, but they did so as women in a time where women hardly had the chance at an education.

Though things have been stressful here with a looming 20 page paper, some members of the familia falling under the weather, and some “at-home-issues” amongst us – we have been managing to have some fun. This past week the goal was to get Kyle situated in his new apartment. Yesterday a few of us went shopping for some furniture and food. Later, we all went over to watch the baseball game and cook tacos for a family night. We definitely have our work cut out for us, furnishing the ultimate bachelor pad, but it’s a bonding experience that we’re all excited for!!

Coming up I have the 20 page paper that I am writing on Liberation Theology and Latin America, so that will pretty much knock me even further from the outside world. Also we have a slight change to the schedule in that our 2nd session of classes is extended an extra week and our next campo immersion is, in place, a week later. So we will continue forging ahead with the school work, looking forward to our next campo, Easter and our final weeks in the DR. It is amazing how quickly the semester has been passing!!

I also want to take a moment to ask for your prayers. We have had some sad news about Kyle’s sister back home being diagnosed with cancer. I believe that prayer works, and she needs all the prayers she can get. So if you can, please pray for Erin to have a successful treatment and for strength, support and comfort to shower her and her loved ones. Thank you…

Finally, I am guessing that this entry may seem a little depressing and disheartening. Know that all is well, I am still having the time of my life, and that these feelings simply come with the package. Life down here is very different and we are being exposed to ways of life that are not acceptable, but we are accompanying these revelations with motivation and hope for a change. We are not just sitting there with tears in our eyes. We are taking what we are observing, pairing it with what we are learning, and using it as inspiration to work for a difference.

And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best. (Phil. 1:9-10)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VAiNYpbD6o

Vivan las mariposas –
A

PS- please feel free to email me if you have any comments or questions, I’d love to hear from you!! amandareinhart@creighton.edu