I, along with my thirteen travel partners, were rudely awakened by the sound of thirteen phone alarms going off simultaneously at three-thirty in the morning. We were staying at the Wesleyan Foundation on the campus of The University of Tennessee and we were determined to not sleep through our seven am flight to Miami. Although, we may have only received a solid four hour nap the night before, we all woke up bright-eyed and wide awake. After all, it was Spring Break and we were heading to the Dominican Republic. We arrived at the Knoxville airport around 5 am and successfully made it through security. Although it was early we were destined to start having fun right away. Naturally, after breakfast one feels the natural urge to go empty his/hers bladder. Poor Gabby, the student coordinator of our trip, was the first. As she entered the bathroom, the rest of us took our positions. We waited patiently for her to exit because when she did we were going to stand up and give her a grand applause for completing her morning duty. We had several false alarms, but eventually she exited the bathroom. In one simultaneous motion, we stood up and began to clap and cheer for her successful bowl movement. Greatly embarrassed and with the whole airport watching her, Gabby covered her face as she walked over to us and collapsed on the floor. A great start to a great day.
Though it often feels like eternity before you arrive at your final destination it wasn't long before we were on the flight to Santo Domingo, the capital of the Dominican Republic. On this flight I had some time to think about my upcoming week. Including some initial fears I had about my first mission trip abroad. There were six main concerns I had. The first of which, naturally, was food. As a genuine Southern Appalachian boy, I had to question whether I could survive a whole week without the southern fried goodness I was use to. In addition, rumor had it that in the Dominican Republic rice and beans was an every meal staple. Not too reassuring since I do not care for beans and only like rice when I hit the mood for it.
My second fear? Housing. After all, we were going to a developing country where we ourselves were going to be working on housing. In my mind I had constructed the worst possible scenario. One room shacks, mats to sleep on, open windows, outdoor toilets, etc. We were told before we left that would need bug-spray for night and to not expect a remotely warm shower. In addition, we were not allowed to drink the water due to bacteria that would turn our stomachs ‘inside out’. So, we even had to brush our teeth with bottled water.
The next fear I had was transportation. Our final location was going to be outside of Puerta Plata, which itself is a four hour drive from Santo Dominigo. Stories I heard from last year’s mission trip included a bumpy ride, with "bar-like" seats, and no air conditioning. I will tell you now, that we as Americans often take for granite the simple things in life.
The next three fears all had to do with my relationship toward the people I would be helping. I worried that the language barrier would be too hard to overcome. I worried that their poverty would be so extreme that I would not know how to comprehend it. Finally, I questioned my ability to be helpful, whether it be leading devotions in the VBS we ran or the construction component of the housing.
Before long, however, I had to face my fears. First up, the bus. To my pleasant surprise the bus was air-conditioned with padded seats and the road we traveled on---all paved. As a result, it allowed many of us to catch up on the sleep we had deprived ourselves from the night before. Needless to say, one cannot sleep comfortably on a bus for four hours. So after awhile, Jimmy-the Director of Housing at Emory & Henry College-brought out his IPad and begin to blast the Joyful Noise soundtrack. We may have sounded hideous, but Jimmy and I was singing along with every word being sung by the great Dolly Parton.
Around 8 pm that night we found ourselves pulling into the community that we would call home for the next week. The street was paved, but houses that were half-built surrounded us on all sides as stray and beaten dogs hid from us in the bushes. We pulled up to the Bishop's house and found ourselves to a grand welcoming by the community, complete with a meal of course. And could you guess what they served us? Fried Chicken. At that moment, I fell in love with the Dominican Republic.
After dinner, we were shown by the missionaries to our housing. The men, all four of us, were sleeping at a separate location then the girls. We were staying with the director of the Christian school in apartments that he had built on the bottom floor. Although it was considered an "apartment" it was not the typical American apartment by far. It had a total of three rooms, all of which would fit into my dorm room at college. One room had a small kitchenette. The next room had two beds and the last room had a shower, sink, and toilet. The "shower" was merely a PVC pipe sticking out of the wall. But after 18+ hour day of traveling, that apartment seemed like a mansion and that cold shower felt like a spa treatment at the Ritz-Carlton.
Come back tomorrow and hopefully I will have some pictures integrated into my story!
