Read blog entries by 2005 volunteer Alex M. (link to http://drtrip05.blogspot.com)
“Two years since visiting the Dominican Republic, I still think about it daily. I feel an intense love for a culture other than my own; and learning to embrace diversity at such a young age is what I value most in my life.” Tricia S.
“The trip to the Dominican Republic has given me a spiritual home base to come back to time and time again. Whenever my life gets too chaotic, materialistic, selfish, frustrating or depressing, I just look through my DR photo album and regain my sense of hope.” Amelia T.
“I felt really comfortable with the culture and it allowed me to make deep friendships, not just use simple Spanish. I had a great family and loved them. The work was really amazing and I learned different skills like setting up cement, putting in cinder blocks and hammering in windows. Coming back here you see the world in a different way. It makes me grateful to have water, food, and electricity and also makes me want to live more simply. I mean, we have what we have and I shouldn’t feel guilty, but it makes me want to be more generous and loving.” Allie I.
“I have traveled outside the United States three times now and each one was an amazing experience in a different way. When I look back on my trip to the DR what stands out most are the people there. They’re the most open and friendly people you will ever meet. My first day in Duverge I managed to make a friend with one of the local kids who ended up taking me on a tour of the town lasting over an hour. By the end of the trip I felt I knew him as well as I knew some of my best friends back home and that’s with a language barrier. You hear people talk about life changing experiences; this is the real deal. I went on the trip to help others but I ended up the one indebted to them.” Ryan C.
“I cherished the opportunity to share such a meaningful experience with my teenage daughter. She encouraged me to join the trip after her first summer as a volunteer, and throughout the year she educated me about what to expect in the Dominican Republic. I was amazed at the demanding physical labor the kids accomplished with an optimistic spirit. The trip allowed me to move out of my middle-class comfort zone, and participate in a profoundly important community service experience.” Janet P.
“Two of my children have enjoyed the privilege of participating in these trips. The experience deepened their understanding of world cultures and made them into more mature, caring human beings… Dominicans are some of the happiest people on earth. They take time for you, they’re wonderful hosts…It always pays to be careful when you’re traveling, of course, but in the Dominican Republic I feel very safe.” John S.
An Essay by Erica Sedlander
The humid, sticky atmosphere of the Dominican Republic enveloped me as I stepped off of the airplane. While this wasn’t my first trip to a foreign country, I was unprepared for both the extent of its poverty and the graciousness of its people. I was apprehensive about living alone with a family who spoke only Spanish, but the warm Dominican greeting of a kiss on the cheek and their engaging questions made me feel welcome and comfortable.
Every year, a group of students from my school travels to the Dominican Republic with Mrs. Lynne Moquete, a teacher who was a Peace Corps volunteer there. We stay with host families and experience the extremes, from beach resorts to mountain poverty. In a village called Angostura we work to reconstruct humble dwellings. We mix concrete by hand to replace dirt floors; we remove dilapidated palm thatch roofs; and we paint the simple wooden houses with brilliant, Latin colors.
My most vivid memory is walking through the streets of Duverge with my host family. We strolled through a poor, overcrowded neighborhood. A kind smile radiated from the face of the old woman who sold roasted chickens hanging from her stand in the work night air. Meringue music blared from every corner. Unmufflered motorcycles, each carrying two or three passengers, swirled past searching for customers willing to pay a few coins for their service. With great concentration, old men played dominoes on a broken table, their comfortable camaraderie apparent to passersby. Their simple nourishment was a small plate of tostones, or fried plantains. I wondered how the Dominican people could be so warm and full of life, while living in poverty that would be unacceptable by U.S. standards. What motivates people who have so little prospect for an improved standard of living? What enables them to wake up in the morning with hope?
I still have not fully internalized how different their circumstances and attitudes are from my own, but my experience there altered my basic assumptions about life. I’ve grown up in a suburban town; the emphasis for young people is on attending a prestigious college and becoming successful, which really just means making lots of money. Our happiness originates from the acquisition of material property, while in the Dominican Republic their satisfaction derives from each other and the joy of life itself. The Dominican people treasure family, friends, and leisure. They enjoy these simple pastimes, and unlike hurried North Americans, they are satisfied just to sit and take pleasure from the sunset at the end of a hot day.
From the six weeks that I spent in the Dominican Republic, I realized that my conventional expectations were no longer easy assumptions. My sensitivity expanded and I glimpsed a different future for myself, a future with cultural diversity, altered priorities, and a changed outlook. I plan to start with a college education, but the possibilities for my life afterwards are endless. I may even join the Peace Corps and follow the example of the teacher that made it possible for her students to experience the Dominican Republic. This is the same teacher who told her students, “You can’t change the world, but you can change the world for someone.”
An Essay by Rose Hembrow-Beach
As the airplane soared through the darkness towards Santo Domingo, the capital city of the Dominican Republic, I wondered where the city was, where the lights were. Though I had signed up for the volunteer trip and read about the Dominican Republic for months, my sixteen year-old self had no conception of the all-encompassing nature of poverty; the city was below, but the electricity was out. Later, as our bus hurtled through hazy dawn in the countryside, my eyes drank in every detail, every mango stand, every machete-wielding sugar cane worker, and every stray dog. I returned the next year, to repeat the experience, and in 2009 I returned a third time, as an adult chaperone on the same trip for high school students. These trips changed my worldview, shaped my values, and gave me a new perspective of the world, and my role in it.
For the first time, I stepped out of middle class America and into poverty, with the goal of building houses and latrines to improve living standards of selected families in a small town near the Haitian border. I gave up the comforts of home: showers, plumbing, air conditioning, cars, a house full of gadgets, and days packed with activities and obligations. I stayed with a local family, ate what they ate, bathed in the local swimming hole, abandoned my reliance on cell phone and internet access, and adopted a slower pace of life. The family I stayed with and friends I made in the Dominican Republic taught me more and gave me more than I could have ever hoped to give to the people I had come to help. My family and friends in the Dominican Republic are poor by American standards—spotty electricity, occasional running water, no cars, and few material possessions. Yet, they give with open hearts. They give time and energy: a helping hand, a cup of coffee, an able body to help a neighbor dig a hole, or a couple hours playing cards with the grandmother next door.
In the town of La Descubierta, you cannot stop by someone’s house without drinking a coffee or lemonade, being offered a banana or mango, or even being served a full meal. As I opened up to the Dominican way of life, I felt my heart and my mind expanding and growing as I adapted. When given an invitation to do something new or go somewhere, I replied, “yes” instead of responding with the usual barrage of detail-oriented questions Americans ask. I extended my hand, hugging an elderly woman in the mountains of Haiti with an infection in her leg, speaking with my heart when I lacked the words to communicate. I abandoned American fear of making mistakes and learned to dance the Bachata with the family who owned the local corner store. I unabashedly communicated with broken Spanish, knowing it was more important to try than live in fear of making a mistake. By adapting to the conditions and customs in the Dominican Republic and embracing change, I opened myself up to an enriching cross-cultural exchange that has contributed to my development as a person.