Rain, Rain, Go Away

Sorry, I know this is a long post, but I have a lot to say that can’t be summarized. Don't feel pressured to read it, but if you are my mom or dad or anyone who really wants to know what it's like for me here, please do. Mom and Dad- this is required reading for you...

Yesterday was one of the hardest days of my life. I’m emotionally exhausted and drained of tears. When I woke up, I already could feel something strange in the air. I think I need to preface this by saying that after a week of spending 8 hours or more per day with the same 23 kids- the same 23 struggling, illiterate, mistreated kids- I already could write pages about the each of them… I know their strengths and weakness and their hopes and all that. For some of them, my fellow counselor and I are the only people they can trust. I care more than I thought I ever would already, but that has turned out to be a blessing and a curse.

The day was super eerie; it was like the air was heavy with foreshadowing for the afternoon’s event. It started when Donaldo, 14, had to be taken to the hospital because he had a huge, infected, pussy, swollen cut across his foot that his parents refused to do anything about. Then one of my favorite little girls, Soribel, was crying because she had an ear infection and a headache, but we are not allowed to give her any medicine to help her, so I had to just sit there and watch her be in so much pain. Then one of our best students, Michael, was not participating, and when I asked him what was wrong he said all he could see was white. I was like, is it a headache? And he said it wasn’t like a normal headache, he just couldn’t see anything but white splotches. I was so confused and just told him that he still needed to participate. Then one of my 13-year-old girls was crying and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong all morning until I finally got it out of her and found out that she was crying because her boyfriend broke up with her the night before. Her 22-year-old boyfriend. As in for, the boyfriend who tells her lies and essentially sexually abuses her. Then I picked up a notebook of another 13-year-old, Myrlanda, and saw that throughout the past week she’d been writing stuff like, “Mi mundo se acabo,” which means, “my world is ending,” and “No hay destino,” which means, “There is no destiny.” Her entry for the day: “My mom doesn’t want me, she doesn’t love me, and if even my mom doesn’t love me then why should I live?” She is Haitian, and racism is very real here. I am pretty sure her mom is a prostitute and that she tells Myrlanda that she should just keep her mouth shut. Also, child prostitution is a huge part of the tourism here, and I would not be surprised because of some things I’ve noticed if Myrlanda’s mom forced her to be part of that. Then at lunch Norkellys, a 16-year-old girl who is definitely the brightest kid in our class, was sobbing because she failed the state testing. That meant that she would not be able to progress to the next grade. She is 16 and failed the 7th grade test. That is completely normal here, most kids only make it to 8th grade, but many never make it there at all.

Then, what I thought would be the saddest news of the day came. The kid who was only seeing white, Michael, whose dad I’ve met and is totally creepy, and who is one of the most well behaved, thoughtful boys ever, refused to play a game with us. After talking to him for a little while, he pulled me in to tell me a secret. He said, “por lo que me hicieron,” which means, “because of what they did to me.” He wouldn’t say anything else, so I walked him to the office to talk to the director, and when I came back, I saw Michael crying in a chair in the corner and was told that he confessed that his dad had beaten him with a stick. Meaning all he could see was white because he probably got a pretty good blow to the head. So at this point I was just feeling overwhelmed and had to walk out of class a couple times because I was having such a hard time not crying. I felt like there was this heavy weight on my shoulders that I couldn’t do anything about. There aren’t any child protective services or laws or anything that we can do, except for be their friends during the 8 hours we see them each day. But unfortunately that wasn’t the end.

After dinner Lauren and I went to run some errands and when we came back, everyone was sitting in the lobby in a circle and there was a really strange feeling. I sat down and found out they were discussing why Jess and my other friend, Caroline, who is one of my best friends here, were gonna be in shock for a little while: while they were at the beach there was this little girl screaming for someone to help because there were some kids about to drown (Dominican kids often times don’t know how to swim but say that they do) out in the water. I’m not exactly positive about the details because I don’t really want to ask, but Adeline, another one of my friends, swam out to get him. By the time she got to him he was still okay, but she had a windsurfer help with the other who was not breathing when they dragged him in. Caroline ran over and performed CPR on him for 15 minutes, but it was too late. The stupid ambulance came 25 minutes later and left when they saw he was already dead, leaving his body there on the sand. All the people were crowding around reaching at him while jess held them all back. They put a towel over his body and there was nothing else they could do. When I sat down in the circle and heard the story, I turned to my friend Lauren to say, “This is all just too much for me to handle in one day,” but before I could finish the sentence I started sobbing, and didn’t stop. I basically had to run out of the room and go sit on the roof for a couple hours trying to calm myself down and stop thinking about Michael being beaten and my friend performing CPR on a dead little boy for 15 minutes and Maribi having a 22-year-old make her think he loves her, but I ached all over. It was hard to breathe and I actually felt like I was going to throw up. Everyday is so hard and I witness the saddest things, whether it is the Dominican teachers being racist against my kids, or finding out about their home lives, each day is hard in its own way. This is much more than I bargained for, but at least I know I will not leave here the same person I was when I came. I have a lot to learn about life outside my little selfish bubble.