I thought I could handle it, you know. I thought I could handle all the poverty. I had seen pictures and heard stories about how people were stunned at the conditions in other countries, but I didn't think I'd be one of those people. I thought that because the poor and needy entered my prayers on occasion before breakfast, I wouldn't be caught off guard. I went through one of the poorest villages to give the people some food and wasn't totally shell shocked, so I thought I would be okay.
I was wrong.
My mission group was going to help install a water filter in a near by home, so we all climbed into the stuffy, small bus. The bus rumbled down the dirt path while the passengers tried not to knock heads together. Dominicans waved as we passed, acting as if we were some kind of celebrities. The homes er sped by were made out of things we Americans would throw to the dump pile.
When I came from the bus, the smell was one of the first things to hit me. It wasn't an all foul oder, but definitely something that I had never sensed before. Our translator pointed to the "house" we would be going into, but you couldn't tell which house she meant because they were all packed together.
Then, a young girl of maybe seven emerged from a pile of metal that was her home, and she latched onto the nearest visitor. That little girl name was Maria, and she was a pretty girl, tall and lean, much too lean. The mother of the house invited us in, though not all 25 of us would fit. With the translators leading the way, I followed, going into a house that would change my life.
My eyes took a moment to adjust to the shack because there was no electricity, and the whole house was barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Everything was just so dark. I peered off to the side of the house that was supposed to be a room. I could scarcely make out what I think was supposed to be a bed. All I could see was a pile of clothes that didn't look much like clothes.
I then turned to the kitchen....or what they called the kitchen. Old plastic Tupperware and rusted pots were set on splintered wood that looked lethal to the touch. This description is inaccurate on so many levels. I wish I could perfectly capture what I saw for you.
Everyone circled up in the back yard around a pile of stones that was used as a stove. I realized that these people never have cold water. They get water from where ever they can, and tote it back to be boil clean. So if these people get semi-clean water it would be hot from boiling. That struck me hard because I had grown to love my cold water while in the DR, and they don't have that.
The mother of the house proceeded to tell us that she had gotten a virus in recent months and wasn't able to take care of her children. One of the leaders asked how long they had gone without food, and she said a week. A week with no food, and they could do nothing about it. At hearing this, some of the girls pulled out all their snacks and gave them to the family. The mother handed all the snacks to her two kids immediately, and she acted as if we had done something great.
After talking with the family and praying over them, we left. My stomach churned as I got on the bus. We were all going back to our hotel to have a buffet lunch in the air conditioning while this sweet family was still out there. The thought of this made me sick, and why was I the one who was born an American with so many luxuries? Why? I asked God that all day with no reply. It was three hours later that a complaint leaked from my mouth, and I thought I was going to throw-up from my own greed and selfishness.
So many people come back to the U.S saying how thankful they are for all they have, and that came to me later, but the predominant thought in my mind was disgust. All we waist, how little we think on people in these situations, and how much we complain shook me to the core.
I came back from the DR disgusted at myself and my culture.
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