It keeps getting better

And then there was Haiti!

I have been wanting to go to Haiti ever since I've arrived. I'm not sure why it has such a pull over me, but I've been itching to go over and have my eyes opened and my soul awakened to the reality of the world. I certainly see my share of poverty and destitution here in the Dominican Republic, but I've been curious to see what it looks like in the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. The corruption, instability, lack of resources, and poor governance make it a country that many people are afraid of. So many people have written it off as a lost cause. But I have met plenty of missionaries and volunteers who have served over there who think otherwise. Yes it is a country crippled and wounded by years of mismanagement and abandonment. But that does not mean its' people do not have something to offer. If anything they are to be admired for their resilience. In 1937 the cruel Dominican dictator Trujillo ordered the Parsley Massacre in which 17-35,000 Haitians were killed at the border over a span of 5 days. And today Haitians continue to be given the short end of the straw especially in the Dominican Republic where they are sorely discriminated against, being denied rights, work, money, and especially respect.

Check out this compelling trailer:
http://www.thepriceofsugar.com/trailer.shtml

I wanted to see it all with my own eyes.

The ride there shouldn't take as long as it did, but as we got closer to the Haitain border we found the roads to be in deteriorating condition, slowing down our progress. Buses there don't run often, and when they do they are jam packed stuffed to the brim with mainly Haitians and a few other adventure seeker types. Which explains why by the time we got there the only bus running back to Santiago in the afternoon was already full. (Flashback to our resourceful guagua catching skills!)

On Mondays and Fridays there is a market, and for those days they open the border and allow goods to be traded back and forth freely. It was crowded with people both shopping and selling; the merchandise was spilling into the streets as people "opened shop" wherever there was an extra foot of space; everything imaginable could be found somewhere in the maze. Dishware. Shoes. Hair barrettes. Purses. Perfume. Rice. Bleach. Eyeshadow. Comforters. Potato chips. Hats. Soap. Pants. Suitcases. Stuffed animals. Gatorade. All brought in bulk and carried in wagons or on heads.
Sidenote: The sheer amount of weight those women can put on their heads is astounding enough in and of itself to deserve a sidenote! Though by far my favorite sight of the day was women who walked around with one Converse sneaker carefully balanced on their head as a way of advertising what style they were carrying. Not a bad business practice!

Along the way I somehow managed to pick up a little girl who latched onto me after I took her picture selling bananas. She never once asked me for money or anything, but seemed just more intrigued by my light skin and pregnant bookbag belly (our solution to pickpocketers). She stayed close, and whenever I would turn around to check if she was still there she was always just a step away with a shy smile on her face. After a while I remembered the apple I had put in my bookbag for a snack and I took it out and gave it to her.
I've never before seen someone look so proud to have an apple.
Another girl bathing in the muddy river saw us and climbed up to ask for money. I had a package of crackers that I gave her and that seemed to satisfy her. As I was walking away I took a quick glance back and just had to stop as I saw her ripping open the plastic bag with her teeth. I had never before considered that saltines could be seen by some as precious.

Over 1/2 of the people we saw weren't wearing any shoes. In some parts the stench was overbearing and made me want to gag. The prices for everything were so low, and I realized that the people were willing to accept any amount of money. Because something is better than nothing.
Everybody was working. Everybody was bustling about.

Even just looking at the border, at the bridge uniting Haiti and the Dominican Republic, you could see the different worlds on both ends. On the DR side, a building, an office, a concrete structure. On the Haiti side, dust, a crumbling pile of rocks. Nothing much.

How did I not see how privileged we are? How can it be that we are so blessed when others live in such poverty?
My heart spills over for them.