A Dominican Chair

The realization sank in after an encounter with a strip of asphalt and a ragged chair: I am being affected by life here in the Dominican Republic.

In the U.S. if I (and I assume most of you reading this) had seen a chair sitting on the side of the road, I would have either felt sorry for whomever had lost a chair off the back of their pickup, or I'd have wondered who the idiot was who left a chair on edge of the road.

Here in the Dominican Republic (and Haiti for that matter), it is common practice for people to sit their chairs on the edge of the road - but make no mistake about it, on the road. And of course, they must then sit in them doing nothing except watching traffic go by. It is almost comical to see them wait until the last possible moment - as if they expect traffic to detour for them - before scurrying off the road with their chair should two vehicles approach from opposite directions at the same time.

When I first arrived, I would fuss at them. But it is so commonplace that soon enough, I came to accept it as normal. To the point that often, they don't register any more than a tree or sign post on the side of the road - even as I am moving to the wrong side of the road to avoid them.

One day, I passed an empty chair. And it occurred to me, I hadn't wondered who had lost a chair or who the idiot was who left a chair in my way. No, I had thought, "I wonder why no one is sitting in that chair."

I am hoping this is not a degenerative disease I have contracted. But I'll know the sad truth should I be passing an empty chair in the road in my beat-up blue pickup truck and find myself thinking.... "Perhaps, perhaps I could sit in that chair...." (more...)

Saga of a lawn mower

After two months patiently, ok mostly patiently, waiting I climbed into the Landrover for the 5 hour trip to Santo Domingo. Finally! Shopping for real things in the "American section!" High on the list...a lawnmower for the grounds here at the retreat center, El Centro.

In my excitement, I even managed to forget that things here always seem to arrive with a particular appetizer - an opportunity to stretch and grow and (sigh) earn graces. All was well as the lawn mower was easily attained at Ferreteria Americana (The American Hardware Store) - a poor attempt at a Lowes/Home Depot.

It didn't look to be the quality I was hoping for, and MTD was not the brand I was looking for. But it had a Briggs & Stratton motor - a 6hp B&S even! - and large back wheels even if they were plastic instead of the metal I had been dreaming of. (for the fairer gender, yes, guys do dream of things like this). But I focused on that B & S and took the plunge! WooHoo!

Success was short-lived. To my dismay after purchasing the lawn mower for the parish on my credit card, the cashier started ringing up my personal items and... my card was declined. 5 hours from home. The next trip possibly weeks or months away and my card was declined. I came to find out that even though I had more than enough money in my account, the credit card had a daily limit on it for international transactions. Eep! Make that grrrrr!

But wait, there was an ATM machine on the other side of the complex! So Lulun and I went racing over with our check-out lane shut down waiting on us. I pulled out cash in smaller increments until I hit the absolute ceiling. 10 minutes later, I was able to pay for half of my items. The cashier agreed to put the cart to the side and let us return the next day to pay for it. As much as I HATE this sort of "embarrassing" scene, I was somehow beyond caring about having my card declined in front of everyone, and having tons of items put back into a cart and pushed to the side.

The next day saw an encore performance. The cart was still there! I eeked all the cash out of my card that I could, then paid for the rest of my items. On to the PriceMart where they had American food in large quantities (think PriceClub)! I waited nervously as the cashier rang my items up. Lulun assured me I had enough cash in hand. I wasn't convinced. Boy was I happy to be outed as a worry wart! :)

The short version of the story (yes it could be much longer) is that we made it back to Banica!

The next day, I carefully explained to Manuel (realizing, of course, that he speaks less English than I do Spanish) that he was to be on sharp lookout for rocks. If he saw any protruding above ground level he was to stop, dig them up and toss them in the driveway. And if the lawn mower blade hit a rock, he better get it dug up pronto! I didn't care how much longer it took to finish the job this first time.

He said he understood perfectly and not to worry. He started mowing and I headed off for a meeting. I returned to find a good bit of the center grounds nicely mowed. Success!

How fleeting the good things often prove to be. The next morning, we started the lawn mower... the blade FELL OFF! As in, "Clang!" the blade hit the ground and slid out from under the mower!

What was I going to tell Father?!! He was in the US (his departure, the trip that got me to the capitol). He hadn't even seen the bill yet and the lawn mower was already in pieces!

Upon examination, the mounting bracket had broken, and the bolt had, in turn, snapped. I picked up the blade. After a single day of use, it was in the worst condition of any blade I have ever seen. After a mere single day of use, the blade was mangled by rocks.

Here the story splits a bit.

Part one: Samantha (a fellow missionary, who unlike me does speak fluent Spanish without having to play charades) teased Manuel a bit about breaking the lawn mower. Now realize that he is talking about a lawn mower with a 6hp Briggs & Stratton motor on it ( a typical push mower has a 2 to 3hp motore)... He told her that it is "not a good lawn mower". That it is "very weak because it does not..... pass thru the rocks easily...."

I didn't know. I still don't know. Someone please tell me, do I laugh or cry at that? Perhaps I laugh tears? Or Cry laughter? Perhaps you can cry and I can laugh? Wait! I want to cry!

Part two: Danni hopped on his motorcycle and took the broken part to Las Matas (the nearest "real" town). We followed a bit later with the snapped bolt. Amazingly Danni found us in Las Matas. He had been successful in getting the piece welded back together! One half of the problem was solved!

Why 2 trips for a 45 minute trip? Because I had to go to Las Matas anyway, but couldn't leave immediately. I had a large (100 pound) inverter to drop off for repair. And I was afraid that if the broken piece didn't get to Las Matas as soon as possible that it would not be able to be repaired the same day.

Why didn't I give the bolt to Danni? Because it was a "hardened" bolt and I was sure Danni didn't know the difference no matter what he would tell me. And I'd end up with a low grade bolt that would quickly snap in two again.

For our part, we visited 4 hardware stores and 3 auto parts store. The bolt we needed to secure the blade to the lawnmower is not to be found in Las Matas. That was Friday. Hopefully Wednesday when Lulun makes his "hospital run" to San Juan (about 40 minutes beyond Las Matas and a bit larger) on Wednesday, he will be able to find the bolt we need. If not, it will require a trip to the capitol (4-5 hours) to get the lawn mower repaired.

And so the saga of the lawn mower continues. Perhaps in a daze? Perhaps a bit like a mad man? I was heard walking around that day muttering "Una dia. Una dia". That is, "One day. One day" (all that was needed to break the lawn more I had been eagerly awaiting for months). (more...)

Only 25 Miles To Go

As evening started to roll in, we pulled into Thomassique ending our six and a half hour journey. "How I wished we had a better transport vehicle," I thought to myself earlier that day as we had loaded up the huge old and long-retired army truck before embarking from Banica on what on what we expected to be a 2 or 2 and a half hour trip.

Banica resides in the Dominican Republic just across the border from Thomassique, Haiti. The actual distance is less than 25 miles. And yet the terrain and the extreme harshness of the road make the normal 150 minute trip seem like a life time. Two and a half hours in pelting summer heat as the truck bounces across the rocky road, slugs it way thru mud holes, crawls up hillsides that might make a mountain goat think twice. Part of the journey we travel the "International Highway". I can think of many names for that stretch of "road". "Highway" is not one of them.

This particular day the roads were extremely muddy after heavy rains. Since the roads are not properly engineered to provide drainage. Since they are dirt. Since they have no equipment to keep them level or to push mud off after a rain storm, bad things happen whenever it rains. We found out this day.

After going "off-road" several times to get around particularly treacherous stretches of quagmire the locals called a road, we met our match. We paid two locals to have them take down a section of their fence and let us drive across their property. And then we went back onto the road. And we sank. And sank some more. A good 3 feet of mud - enough that even our lion-hearted truck could not make its way thru.

The locals tried to dig us out. We tried to winch ourselves out, but the cable snapped. Finally hours later, someone managed to get a tractor to come our way. After several failed attempts and several nervous moments as the tractor itself seemed on the verge of getting trapped in the muck, the truck was pulled free to a rousing cheer from the hundred or so locals who were watching.

"We are home free!! What more could go wrong after that?!!" I thought to myself. As we hurried along, fighting our way thru new mud holes, struggling up steep hills, and finally bouncing over brutally rocky ground we heard a loud clank and the bed of the truck sagged sharply to one side. We pulled to a stop to discover that one of the rear truck springs had "busted" and the rear axle was coming detached from the truck!

Fortunately, our driver is an resourceful fellow. He managed to wrap a heavy iron chain around the dislodged axle and secure it well enough that we were able to limp the final half hour into Thomassique! We were leaking brake fluid. Possibly transmission fluid. The right side of the truck was resting on the wheels. But our magnificent beast had refused to die until it had us safely to our destination.

The next day we took an alternate route home. We got dropped at a river crossing. Waded that river, walked a mile to a second and larger river. Once there, we paid local men to take us across the river on make shift rafts. Safely on the other side, we hired 4 motorcyclists to take us the rest of the way back to Banica.

I was so bruised from all the bouncing that I couldn't sit normally for days. But despite its lack of beauty, its extremely bouncy ride, it's belching engine, I came to love that ugly old truck that day. No normal vehicle could have made that journey across that particular 25 mile stretch of road. Not the finest luxury sedan. Not a 4-wheel drive pickup. Not the dump truck that we passed which was buried to its bed in mud.

But as much as I now love that old green beast, I dream! How life changing it would be for the people who live here to have reasonably passable roads. To have culverts in sections with poor drainage. To have fill dirt, gravel, stone to fill in low trouble spots. To have equipment to maintain and repair their road. What a lovely dream it is to think of a 25 mile trip taking less than an hour!

Note: I have photos from the trip in my album: Haiti Adventure. The photos of the muddy road do not even come close to showing just how bad they were in "real life".
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