Hogar Luby

Early last Friday, we had a group discussion on what has been the hardest thing to see during our first week abroad. For most all of us, the answer was the same: our visit to Hogar Luby.

Before leaving for Hogar Luby, we were told many times that what we would see would likely be very difficult for us to process, as Hogar Luby is essentially an orphanage for children with physical and mental disabilities. While nicely put, I found Hogar Luby to be something of a different nature, in truth, Hogar Luby is a place of abandonment. Families unwilling to, or unable to, take care of these handicapped children leave them in the hands of the caretakers of Hogar Luby, which is now funded by the Dominican government. Although it is considered an orphanage, the children here are highly unlikely to be adopted. With the constraints of poverty surrounding many Dominican families, care for these children is difficult to afford and most of them are hard to manage because they have no way of communicating with others. Thus, they are left at Hogar Luby, forced to live and die within the cartoon-painted walls that surround them, often with minimal human contact.

Let me describe for you my own experience at Hogar Luby:

As we approached the barred entrance, a small boy came running at the gate, grunting as the guard searched for his keys and pushed away some of the older children who were excited by our presence. This particular boy had severe deformities- he was missing an ear and the other one curled into his head as his bony arms swayed at chest level. As his eyes met mine, I could feel what these children were searching for: any form of human recognition, no matter how small. Unlike the children at Cien Fuegos, who were bartering for candy through the fence when we first arrived, these children were searching for human touch through the bars at the entrance of Hogar Luby. Once inside, their need for attention only grew. Suddenly, we were swarmed by children: small ones with misshapen heads running and begging for us to pick them up, larger ones with severe deformities who wanted to hold our hands as we walked, and older children who attempted to lead us around and kept touching our hair. That's when it hit me: If only here for today, I would be giving some of these children the most attention they had received in a long time. However, I soon found that I would be spending more than just today at Hogar Luby.

Walking upstairs may have visually been the most disturbing. At the top of the stairs, a guard opened a gate to let us onto the second floor. Behind the gate, a child crawled around on the floor with his hands fully bandaged. It was clear he used them to move, as his legs were immobile. He grunted at us and tried to pick himself up, falling onto his hand casts with a frustrated screech. There were several other children, asleep on the floor in their own piss and drool as flies swarmed their faces. It was my assumption they were immobile as well.

One little girl ran toward us, though it was first hard to tell she was female as all of their heads are shaven to prevent the spread of lice. Her legs were the thinnest I have ever seen- she looked like a skeleton with a head too large for her body. It wasn't long before she wet herself and was crying. It was then that we learned where the the largest of frustrations resides: the employees (what few Hogar Luby has) provide very little care. With a large number of children with disabilities, and a small number of employees, it is impossible for them to assist every child on an individual level. The few that we saw looked exhausted and were watching television in a room with children passed out on the floor.

As one of the girls in our group searched for a clean diaper for the little girl, I was approached by a boy with what appeared to be spinal deformities. Having scoliosis myself, I felt an instant connection to him as he hobbled toward me with his twisted spine. Unbalanced and in a green shirt, by the time he reached me his uneven hips struck my side as he had put too much weight forward trying to reach me. Looking down into his eyes, I saw him smile up at me. With his distorted neck attempting to look at me fully, he pulled at my t-shirt. Picking him up, I decided to carry him around while Mary showed us around the facility (as there was not a director and none of the employees were interested in doing so).

In effect, Hogar Luby is two floors. There are several rooms per floor with beds. A few rooms have televisions. The walls are all painted with fairies. There's also a kitchen, which I learned of through my new little friend awhile later. As we spoke with Mary about the poor care these children receive, she explained that the fact that some of them were moving and that most of them were in fresh clothes was a huge improvement from what Hogar Luby used to be. In place of beds, the children used to be kept in cages where they laid in their own waste all day. While some are still tied to their beds, Mary said their sheets and clothes are now changed more regularly. These small, but important changes, were due to the fact that the government took over funding for Hogar Luby. It was owned privately before, and instead of any money going toward health improvement, it went straight into the pockets of the owner. Now, she explained, the children were at least fed and their clothes changed on what appeared to be a daily basis.

Walking upstairs, I felt like I was in a house of misfits. Physically deformed and mentally unable to communicate, these children were left here to die because no one else wished to be around them. In fact, I would go so far as to say that no one else wished to even admit that this part of society existed.

It was at this point that the boy I had been carrying all day tugged at my chin. I looked into his eyes, turning my neck to match his twisted gaze.

"Agua!" he whispered.
"Agua? De donde la agua?" I offered back. As we had not been shown the kitchen, I was unaware as to where I could find him some.

He just stared at me. I was surprised that he had even made the request, as I thought he was maybe mute since he had not said anything when I had talked to him earlier. Therefore, I figured I'd need to find where it was on my own. Carrying him around as he kept gasping "Agua!" I looked for an employee, Mary, anyone. Stopping for a moment I replied, "Lo siento. De donde la agua?" Looking at me, he pushed with all of his force the phrase that I feel it had taken him this long to express: "En la cocina!" Gasping for air afterward, I could tell how hard it had been for him to get the words out. Still, it was as if he had wanted to tell me the entire time, but had just been working up the strength to.

"En la cocina!!! Gracias!!" I laughed, excited to see that he had been able to tell me something, anything.

Walking downstairs, I found the kitchen and was able to get him some water. My new little buddy drank three or four glasses, smiling at me the entire time, content that we had just enjoyed a small moment where we could communicate together. As I put him down to leave, I knew in my heart that this was where I needed to be during my time in the DR. To my relief (as we cannot choose a site alone), two others felt the same way. Hogar Luby is now our service site for the semester.

Looking back, the three of us soon realized what a challenge our time at Hogar Luby will be. Several of the people in our group left Hogar Luby with bruises, bite marks, and scratches because some of the children were so frustrated that they could not communicate. There was one particularly strong boy who crawled on the floor, much like a large ape would, and insisted on pulling everyone he could down to his level. Many of us remarked that it would be difficult because, unlike working with youth who may grow to make a difference here, these children will die within these walls and will make minimal progress in the four months we have to spend with them. Still, if I can have moments like I did with the child in green-just one child- I think my time here will be well worth it.

Leaving the site and grabbing a Coke to share with my group down the street, I was thankful to have found where I fit here. Today we're off to buy some toys to bring to Hogar Luby, which we will spend two hours at every Monday and Wednesday. Hasta luego!

Cien Fuegos

Yesterday was enthralling, but then again, I get the feeling that will be my response to life everyday here. Still, it has taken me a full 24 hours to fully process all that I saw. That being said, I have a caveat for my audience: The things and experiences I have here in the DR are incredibly hard to describe. In some ways, I feel I cannot give justice to the Dominicans, to my readers, or even to myself when it comes to defining the way of life, the poverty, and the culture I am experiencing. While I will do my best, I am nothing but a humble observer trying to understand the lifestyle here the best that I can. If what I write is confusing, disturbing, or beautiful, it is likely I have only captured a small part of it in the sentences I string together here. That being said, I will do my best to explain to you the slums of Cien Fuegos we traveled yesterday.

Hopping onto the ILAC bus with Alfe, one of the first things our Encuentro group noticed was something that had been absent from our lives for a few days now: air conditioning! At ILAC, we live without it, which has been an adjustment for all of us, especially with the sticky humidity. Laughing and enjoying the air, it was not long before our chatter turned more serious. It took only a few minutes of driving to the poor area of Cien Fuegos to realize how spoiled we are to have ever even experienced the quality of life that allows for something like air conditioning.

Likely to the disdain of my bus partner, as we approached the slums of Cien Fuegos, I became very quiet. Lucky to have a window seat, I became engrossed in what I saw. Cien Fuegos is an area that is essentially surrounded by and built upon a garbage dump. The main source of income for the people there is through scavenging the mounds of trash and then selling what they find. As a whole, the streets of Cien Fuegos are littered with trash. Walking outside, you'll see bottles in the gutters, rotting food on the sidewalks and streets, and broken or twisted objects pile the corners. However, in Cien Fuegos, the amount of waste exceeds that of any I have ever seen.

Passing shanty after shanty, I noticed that many were built upon trash themselves. People sat on chairs outside the shacks, which were constructed within inches of each other. While I have seen such slums in movies, documentaries, and even television advertisements, seeing them in person brings on an entirely new emotion. While in some ways, I felt the area to be familiar to the places I had seen on television, it was simultaneously different and new to anything I had ever witnessed or pictured.

Outside of the shacks, people sat on chairs, talking or just watching the dirt blow on the unpaved roads. One family was cooking something over a fire in their front yard, which was littered with pieces of metal and mechanical parts. Nearby, a naked boy around the age of three ran around, playing in the trash that overwhelmed his home. People walked to their local colmados, hung their clothes to dry on string behind their shacks, and some even waved at us as we passed. Looking in the eyes of a small girl I would later be surprised to encounter again, I thought to myself: She could be anyone. She looked no different than any American child I might see, yet she lived a life so different than any child I had ever known.

Pulling up in front of the school at Cien Fuegos, we were greeted by dozens and dozens of children. As they bartered to buy sweets from vendors on the other side of the school's barbed-wire fence, they squealed with excitement at our arrival. This was their recess and chaotic does not even begin to describe the scene. Everywhere we looked, we had small children pulling us in different directions, jumping on us, and asking us questions in Spanish. Some of the girls were fascinated by my eyeliner and kept laughing as I tried to communicate with them in my broken Spanish.

Out of the crowd that surrounded us, a little boy ran up to me and grabbed my hand. Placing a folded piece of notebook paper that was to serve as an envelope for a note inside, the makeshift envelope read: "Para bien den" which I roughly translated to "For a good gift." Opening the little paper inside, I was delighted to find a hand drawn heart with a flower in its center. As I looked up to thank the little boy, I realized he was gone and with the crowds of children jumping in every direction, I realized I'd never identify the little artist.

As classes resumed and recess was over, children ran, crawled, and pushed each other into the overcrowded classrooms. There is one teacher for each grade and there are tons of children per class. I don't have an estimate for the number at this time, but will try to find that information later. As the principal of the school gave us a tour of each grade, we noticed there were still children running around. As she yelled at them to get to class, we couldn't help but laugh.

Our tour here was quite short as we didn't want to interrupt their classes. All of the children were of elementary age. In the DR, this age goes to school in the morning and the older children come in the afternoon, as mandated by the government.

Leaving the Cien Fuegos school, we saw several children still out in the yard eating unripened fruit and chasing each other. At this point, class had been back in session for awhile and at first, we wondered aloud why they were not in their classrooms. It was not long before we learned that, because of the overwhelming class sizes, teachers cannot pay attention to students on an individual level. To attain an education is then, essentially, at the hands of the child as to whether or not they participate during the day or wander around the yard.

Traveling a few streets away, we made our next stop at a place called Caritas. Caritas is a before and after school program for the children of Cien Fuegos. When they are not at school, they can come to Caritas to eat and play games. The services are run by nuns and are free to the public.


At Caritas, we introduced ourselves to a group of children, whose numbers fluctuated throughout our stay as more came and some left. When it came time for me to introduce myself, I stood up and greeted the kids with a smile:

"Hola! Me llamo Hannah!"
"Ayyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!! Hannah Montana!!!!!" one girl screeched in the back of the room.

Looking in her direction, I realized that she was the child I had seen earlier on the streets as we entered Cien Fuegos. All of the children suddenly became enamored with excitement, yelling "Si! Si! Hannah Montana!" and giggling. Of course, I started saying "Si! Si!" and chuckling along with them. For the remainder of our stay, this girl would sometimes cry out "Si! Hannah Montana!" during songs and discussions, leaving me laughing the entire morning.

There was also a little boy that caught our attention at Caritas. He walked around in little sailor shoes blowing a yellow plastic horn and sucking his thumb when he decided to be quiet. Notice I write, when he decided to be quiet. Speaking of him later, our group was surprised that he had not been disciplined, as he trumpeted solos throughout our introductions and during a song that the children sang for us.

"Geoffrey!"the man in charge would boom in his strong accent.


Quickly looking up, Geoffrey would pull the trumpet away from his lips and insert his thumb. But only seconds later, he would again be blasting away on his tiny horn. This forced me into giggling at awkward times when it would become quiet, but I couldn't help it. The spirit of the children here is incredibly captivating.

Leaving Cien Fuegos, I had only one thought: I am fortunate enough beyond words to be in this country, to be exploring areas like the slums of Cien Fuegos, and to be interacting with the culture at its most basic levels. These experiences are ones I have always dreamed of having.

As we drove back toward Licey and therefore ILAC, I noticed something about the ILAC bus. Above Elfi hung a baseball in netting from his sunvisor. Looking to the right, a rosary was wrapped around the rearview mirror. Seeing these symbols, I thought of all of the baseball jerseys I had seen on the children wandering Cien Fuegos, not to mention the spirituality that can be felt walking in such an area of extreme poverty. To me, those two symbols displayed the commonalities shared by all of the Dominican people: Rich or poor, the people of the Dominican Republic share a strong faith in Catholicism and Baseball, a faith which unites them as a country and which is contagious to those of us beginning to explore the DR for ourselves, no matter one's preferences regarding religion or sports.

After our lunch, we traveled to a museum in Santiago which explained the history of the Dominican Republic. We learned of the natives, the Tainos, of the Spanish conquistadors who exploited the people of the country upon their arrival, and of the shipment of Africans who were brought here to work enslaved. As such, the Dominican people identify with their roots as Spanish and African. However, they in some ways shun and hide this African heritage because of the hardships their relatives faced, and instead are more open about their Spanish side when it comes to celebrating cultural heritage.

At the museum, we also saw different artwork by Dominicans and toured a cigar factory, where we watched workers hand-roll the tobacco and press the cigars. Some of us purchased cigars to try, and then we were headed back to ILAC for our Spanish Immersion classes.

During our Spanish classes, we have learned vocabulary surrounding Dominican culture. For example, the first day we learned how to play Dominoes in Spanish, which is an extremely significant part of Dominican life. Throughout the DR, Dominicans can be seen playing dominoes at local colmados long into the night.

Yesterday we learned different greetings and responses. We also learned how to Bachata, which is a music and dance that originated in the Dominican Republic. Later, Karie gave us dance lessons in Bachata and Merengue. She also explained the popular Reggaeton, but due to the sexual expression behind the dance, we were left to observe that in the discotecas at a later date ourselves.

Later that night, we traveled into the city for some helado at Helado Bon. I was extremely lucky in that I had to ride next to the open door of the guagua, so I had an incredible view of streetlife and the activity that defines Santiago city life. It felt strange to be so close to the outside as I am used to being in a closed vehicle back in the States. Yet, it seemed as if the openness of the guagua corresponds to the openness of the people. As life in America is more isolated, I could see that the guagua would be one of many differences that helped explain the unrestrained friendliness of many Dominicans I have met over the past few days.

Today, we have been in meetings to learn more about the mission of ILAC and its national role in the Dominican Republic. We have also been instructed on how to deal with culture shock and the different phases of adapting to life here that we may experience.

The most exciting part of our day has been the rain! Since we arrived, we have been curious as to what a Dominican storm would look like. Because all of the buildings are open, we wondered if the rooms would become wet. As the wind picked up and the clouds blew in, our anticipation grew. As the first drops hit the ground, we yipped with enthusiasm. Who knew rain could be so fun?! However, I think our fervor stemmed more from the relaxed life we are adapting to. Dominicans operate at a slower, more relaxed level than Americans. As such, we had the time to stop what we were doing and enjoy the storm, which is something I may not have done back at Creighton where I am always working on twenty things at once to keep up with the American pace of life. Check out my weather report below :)

  


I promise I wasn't the only one excited, although with Cody passed out in the background, it appears that I am! Hahaha :)


We found that the rain does not really come into the open rooms as we originally envisioned. The roof is built to protect the rain from entering the frame of the structures at ILAC. I hope to have pictures of ILAC up soon! Hasta la vista amigos!

A Small Look at Santiago

Yesterday, we were fortunate enough to travel into Santiago after my last post. Essentially, we were just getting a taste of what the city is like. Santiago is about 15 minutes or less from the ILAC campus. We visited the Capitol building, which is mammothly beautiful and I will detail our experience there later in the post.

After walking down the street out of ILAC and past Juan's Colmado, which is the nearest convenience store I mentioned earlier, I was able to experience what is known as the guagua. The guagua are the public transportation vehicles of this area. The guagua is a passenger van, or mini van, in which there are usually two men. One sits as the driver and one stands where the sliding door would be on the side. This man hangs out of the van and calls or whistles to passengers to see if they want to ride into the city. If they do, he communicates to the driver by yelling or knocking on the roof of the van. The goal of the guagua is to pack in as many people as possible and drive them to the city. The cost is about 20 pesos one way, which amounts to less than 1 US dollar. At one point, I was riding in a guagua with 19 people in a van that is meant to seat about 8. However, this is the norm here! As guaguas will be our primary transportation, it was important for us to see and begin to learn how to use them.

Wrapping my mind around pesos has been very interesting. If you know anything about me, you know math is not my forte, so you can imagine my immediate confusion when paying, not to mention the language barrier. On my second guagua, I somehow managed to pay for two people instead of just myself and couldn't help but begin laughing when I got off and realized what had happened. The man who took my money seemed very confused as to why I was handing him the pesos I did, but I am sure he was glad of my mistake later... :)


Arriving in Santiago was amazing. I will admit I have insane culture shock, as this is my first time leaving the country so everything hits me at once. It's very exciting, but I sometimes have to remind myself to stay focused and pretend like I know what I'm doing in the city to avoid theft. Think A.D.D times a thousand. We were instructed how to protect ourselves from pickpocketers, motorcycle thieves, and other robbers before we left. After that lecture, I was paranoid about getting out my camera to take pictures so I secretly tried to FLIP a few videos (posted above) as the device is smaller than my camera. I know the quality is not the greatest, but I'll work on it!

In the city, it is clear we are identified as outsiders. The Dominican men love yelling phrases at us such as, "Que linda!" Speeding by on their motorcycles, their whistles and hisses call further attention to us. This is simply a part of their culture and is common for them to do to any passing women.

However, the response to our presence was a little different when we went to the Capitol building. 

After walking downtown and managing to climb all of the stairs to the entrance, we were met by only a few Dominicans who were simply walking the property just as we were. As we inquired how much it would cost to travel to the very top, slowly more and more Dominicans began arriving at the monument. After deciding to just sit on the steps and look out over the city for awhile, Karie and Mary began pointing out different places in the city, like our service site options (which we will tour this week) and the store La Sirena, which will serve as our Target this semester.

For awhile, we just enjoyed the breeze and the view. Santiago is situated in a valley, with lush mountains on all sides. In these mountains are the campos, which we will first experience in Immersion in late September. Taking in the stillness and beauty, we suddenly realized just how quiet it had become.

Quite instantly, I was reminded of the film Inception, which I recently saw. The best way I can describe what I felt like at that moment paralleled the film in that,  I felt as if I were the invader in someone's dream and their subconscious was mobilizing to attack me. If you have seen the movie, you know exactly what I mean.

Turning around, I realized there were now dozens of Dominicans, quiet and staring at us. Karie quickly stood up and mentioned that we should take notice of the response and that we needed to leave. As we headed down the monument, stares on the streets continued and I was expecting to turn a corner and bump into Mal's character from Inception. It was an eerie existence.

Traveling back to ILAC on the guagua, a few people in our group met a Haitian named Wilson. He asked to practice his English with us on the guagua and we tried communicating back and forth with him. At first, I was interested in hearing his story and we were all trying to ask him questions in English. However, I became suspicious when he began asking if we could tutor him and if we could give him our phone number. He repeatedly asked one of the men of our group, Andres, if he could be tutored, how long we were staying, and why we were here. At this point I started thinking, "Hmmm. He sure knows a lot of questions to ask in English." I became skeptical and ended my role in the conversation, while a few others near him continued.

Was I wrong to think he could be trying to take advantage of us? Here was a man with great hardship trying to make a life for himself here in the DR to escape the life he knew in Haiti. He claimed to be studying medicine here and he spoke of his yearning to pursue opportunities to further his English in many ways. But I couldn't help thinking of the monument experience earlier. Could he have been trying to learn more about us for the wrong reasons? Was he really just a poor Haitian wanting to learn English? I'll never know for sure, but from the first trip to Santiago, I knew one thing: While we are here to serve others, some are more than willing to serve themselves through our naivety.

After returning to ILAC, we had a few meetings and some of us sat out and played "Go Fish" in Spanish under the dim sky as a breeze carrying the music of the discotecas started up to play until the wee hours of the morning. Drifting off to sleep, I hoped to avoid any dreams, as I felt I'd been in one all day.

Today has been an introduction to the academic and service aspects of the program. In about 30 minutes, we start Spanish immersion classes, which are meant to help us adjust to the language quickly. Buenas tardes!

The Beginning of My Travels

Well! I'm excited to say I have arrived in the Dominican Republic and am already fascinated by it. I feel as if it's a place I've never lived in, yet could have lived in all my life at the same time. Still, I'd like to record my journey here and the happenings of my first day exploring:                                                           

Waking up around 2 a.m. yesterday morning, I was sleepily excited. As I strapped on my watch, slipped into my plain gray T-shirt, and rolled up my cargo pants, I found myself glancing at the mirror: I finally looked the part. For the past year, many a conversation has started or ended with, "...when I'm in the DR...". Today was it: I was off to that adventure that had been spoken of for so long.           

After a nap on the way up, I was awoken by my parents with, "Hannah! We're at the airport." After saying our goodbyes, I headed to my gate with my Mitch. Enjoying our last moments together for awhile, I'll admit part of me was sad to leave behind my life in the US. It's strange to think of all of my friends wandering down the mall talking to one another while I am in a whole different country. All the same, I was excited to get to Miami to meet my fellow 12 Encuentro participants.

Arriving in Miami, I could almost taste the humidity. Coming from the dry oven that envelopes Southern Colorado, I knew the heat and moisture would take some getting used to. Walking off the plane, I was greeted by the loud salsa music of a local band playing in the airport followed by Aerosmith's "I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing." Musically, it was as if my two worlds were already colliding- the deep, intonations of the Spanish salsa music mixing with a classic American band playing over the airport speakers.

Traveling to my gate, I quickly was greeted by a few of the others in my Encuentro group. Sharing lunch and laughs, we all slowly trickled in, anxious for the flight that would take us to our final destination: Santiago. Delayed by lightening and then mechanical problems, it took awhile before we were off to that which we had spoken of all day. Nonetheless, it was clear we were all anticipating what it would be like when we got off the plane.

On the plane, there was a small Dominican boy in front of me on his mother's lap. He was around the age of four. As we sat on the runway, he quickly became curious as to who I was and an intense game of Peek-a-Boo ensued, to both his and my own delight. Looking into his eyes, I knew I was off to something great, and something I have felt a calling toward for my entire life.

For part of the flight, I drifted in and out of a restless sleep, occasionally peering out of the window at the expanse of ocean beneath me. As the flight attendant spoke in Spanish quickly over the speaker, I rushed to fill out papers for immigrations and customs. With my eyes racing back and forth from the papers to the lights of the island, I scribbled my name as we began to glide down to Santiago. Various bursts of neon and flashing lights attracted my gaze until before I knew it, we were on the ground.

After purchasing my $10 tourist card and passing through immigration and customs, I was relieved to find my baggage and meet the women who essentially run the Encuentro program here: Karie and Mary. Piling onto the ILAC bus after loading our luggage with the help of Alfe, who is our transportation director, I began to notice the minimal traffic rules of the streets. The roads were narrow, two-laned, and paved. Pedestrians do not have the right of way and I was startled a bit to see Elfi speed past them, as they crowded the curbs.

The architecture here is much different. At first, my American mind was somewhat reminded of the Tiki-room at Disneyland, which my father would laugh to hear. But with thatched roofs on many of the buildings, tall pillars supporting brightly colored walls, and open windows all around, I could feel myself noticing how different my life will be here.


Much to our delight, upon our arrival at ILAC, we were served dinner. I tried papayas for the first time! Yum! Afterwords, we unpacked into the dorm-like rooms we will stay in at our time at ILAC this semester. The rooms are furnished simply, but hold a beauty all their own. With open ceilings and windows overlooking the lush greenery that covers this country, I felt our room paralleled the challenge ahead of me: to open myself to a vulnerability with the Dominican people, to learn their way of life, to give thanks for their hospitality, and to grow as a person just like the tall palm trees that dot our landscape.


Crawling into my bed and carefully tucking in my bright blue bednet around my mattress, I felt a sense of peace. I was finally here: This was the beginning of a change in me. As I fell asleep to the race of motorcycles, the beating of drums from a local discoteca, and the hum of insects, I couldn't help but feel this is exactly where I belonged.

Then came the roosters.

Awakening before light touched the sky, I heard several roosters in the distance. So far, I feel the Dominican streets are constantly bustling. There is always movement, traffic, some kind of ebb and flow of noise and people and life. From the time I laid down to sleep, to the time I awoke to the crow of the cocks, there were different noises. Yet, I almost feel noise can't rightly describe the rustlings, because they weren't tiresome or annoying. They are simply a part of the culture, a beat to which I feel I'll come to define in my heart as a part of the life here.

With no electricity (because the government here turns it off whenever they please), I found that in getting ready, my flashlight was bound to be my new best friend. Taking a quick shower, and changing into another set of plain clothes, I headed downstairs for breakfast, which is served by the ILAC staff everyday at 8 a.m.  They ring a bell, which alerts us that the food is ready. The women who work in the kitchen are lovely. With smiles signaling us to eat, one introduced herself to us remarking in Spanish, "I'm here to make sure you leave a little fatter."

The food here is great! I have made it a goal to try everything, so I've left nothing untouched (although I hope this does not lead me to give truth to the remark of the woman above). Our meals have consisted of fresh fruits, chicken, other meats, rice, beans, and breads.

After breakfast, we toured ILAC. Behind the facility lies a beautiful garden, a track, and a compost shack. This has led me to believe the Dominicans here pursue a very sustainable lifestyle, which is awesome. It's hard to describe the charm of the ILAC center- honestly it is likely something that just has to be experienced. With surrounding casitas, banana trees everywhere, and sangre de christo flowers among the greenery, there is beauty all around.

Down the street, we learned how to navigate a bit around the neighborhood. We traveled to the local store where we'll be able to buy various cleaning items or food. We also traded our dollars for pesos at an exchange place and saw the pharmacy. What interested me most on our trip out was the traffic on the streets. Motorcycles and scooters are very popular. A lot of people drive with van doors open with passengers hanging out, who are dropped off at various stops. These are the guagua, which is the bus transport that will take us to Santiago later today. There was even a man with a truck full of pigs, toppling over each other, likely on their way to be marketed. 

When our tour ended, we headed to a Spanish mass. The ILAC staff as well as members of the community participate in the mass, which is held in an open church. Everything is open, which I believe brings even more beauty to the country. A sort of understanding that nature is part of life seems to be present in everyday life. Mass was shared with large moths the size of my hand, some bees, and little lizards that live all over the property. As I noticed these creatures, I found myself thinking that these would cause a distraction in somewhere like St. John's back home. But here, they go unnoticed, disappearing and reappearing to the psalms and songs of the Spanish choir in the corner.

Following mass, we took a few group pictures and enjoyed lunch, which brings me to present time. We have had a siesta for the past couple of hours, and leave soon to people-watch in Santiago and visit the Capitol. Later tonight we have meetings on expectations of the program and that type of thing. Adios for now!