Dominican Republic – Day 5

If only I had known the insane drumming I was going to witness that evening…

We’re up early (again).. now I don’t know much about coffee, but I can tell you that the Dominican Republic has some seriously good coffee. The coffee drinkers who were with me thought it was pretty serious, and I’d say it was legit. It’s very strong.. and seems to have hazelnut, but not watered down.. more the consistency of cocoa, but undeniably coffee. Over the coming days I learned to live off basically this, bread, and rice.

This morning we get to interview the Medical Missionaries who are staying in the dorm with us. Some of them are still sick from something they ate in Haiti… real sick.

The parish in Banica serves as a staging ground for these doctors and nurses to venture into Haiti. Medical Missionaries was founded when American doctors visiting Banica realized the needs across the border were even worse. They visit Haiti regularly to serve the people there. If you work in the medical field and want to volunteer, you can contact them through their web site. They’ll even take folks skilled in other fields too. One man was there to repair a water tower damaged in the Haiti earth quake.

I meet a doctor sitting on the porch.. still in his scrubs.

“Did you just get back from Haiti?” I ask

“yea” he says.. staring off blankly into the distance

“is it bad?”

He looks down at the ground.. then off again into the distance. “yea..” he says.. “it’s real bad.. ”

He looks like a man with a lot on his mind.

I wander off to learn from one of the other missionaries that if you take a #1 clear plastic bottle and put it on the roof in the sunlight, that in 8 hours you’ll have drinkable water. That’s interesting, but I think I’ll still be boiling mine.

The Medical Missionaries take these army trucks into Haiti. Someone here in the states purchases old US Army trucks, refurbishes them, and then ships them to Banica. These are the only vehicles that can navigate the roads. Even dump trucks get stuck in the mud, but these things pass the impassible.

We visit the nearby town of Pedro Santa (Elías Piña), to tour the church. From the bell tower, Haiti appears as scorched earth, yet the DR has trees. The hills on the left are Haiti. The hills on the right are the DR.

Where are the trees? I couldn’t tell you, but they’re gone.

In the DR, the church is invited in by the government to teach general Christian morals to the school children. All of the children wear uniforms. The missionaries help teach the kids. One of the schools we visited had solar panels installed by missionaries from Japan. They were stolen the next day. I noticed the basketball hoop wasn’t there either.

If you aren’t careful here on the border with Haiti, you’re liable to walk face first into a power line. The power lines are sometimes only 5-6 feet off the ground. On top of that, they’re only held up by sticks. (I kid you not).

Hey, at least they have power. For that, I’m grateful, but it makes me think how different the ideas on construction here can be.

In the evening we head to one of the resident’s homes for a prayer festival.

The festival starts off as you would expect, with prayers. Afterward though the locals brought out their drums (audio below).

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There are hundreds of religious songs here having their roots in the thousand year old Latin prayers of monks. These chants have been translated into Spanish and put over drums that’s heavily influenced by the African culture here. These songs are passed down through generations. I imagine this is something unique to this part of the world, and it’s something special to hear these people sing them.

I look around and I see the school principle leading the drumming and singing… one of the security guys at the parish is also drumming, and a kid I was just talking with is now singing with them. There’s about 50 people packed into this dirt driveway.. dancing.. singing.. it’s starting to rain and the drums are like thunder. Intense.

I try taking pictures in the dark… I only take a few with the flash out of respect for what’s going on.

That night it’s off to another volunteer’s home for dinner. The locals always feed us well, and they’re thrilled to have us as guests.

The host mother sits and watches us talk while we eat even though she speaks no English, and we, no Spanish. She doesn’t sit at the table though.. but on a stool a few feet off watching us to make sure we’re fed.

Dominican Spaghetti rocks. There’s no doubt about it. I don’t know what’s in it.. but it tastes like salsa, olive oil, and tomato sauce. Awesomeness. Everyone loves it.

Tomorrow we’ll get to rest and tour the parish library. I’m definitely going to enjoy sleeping.

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