Blog of Brockly

The Domincan Fisherman

2009-03-03T10:16:00.000-08:00

As the evening sun settled in, the little elderly man hopped out of the passenger side of a truck and opened the gate to the parish center. His gray hair and wrinkled face belied by his spry manner.

He and the driver approached and shared a few quiet moments with me checking email on my porch before they headed on their way once more.

The next day I ended up riding along with this elderly gentleman. To my surprise and dismay, he jumped out of the truck more quickly than I to open the gate of the facility we were visiting. I made sure to explode out of the truck the next time we came to a gate – beating him out of my seat but only by the slimmest of margins.

I hadn’t the pleasure of accompanying this small unassuming man on any more of his travels in the country side surrounding Banica and Pedro Santana. But I know he traveled far and wide; fording creeks, bouncing along rugged, raggedy roads, crawling high and deep into the mountains.

You wouldn’t know it by his quiet, humble demeanor, but I am told he is a real-life “Energizer Bunny”. He tirelessly travels all over, spending hours with townsfolk and country folk and listening to their troubles and concerns. Occasionally even, he reminds them of some concerns they have managed to forget in their excitement at his visit – for he knows them and their lives well. He makes it his job to know.

During his time here with us, I baked my 2nd ever chocolate-cake-from-scratch. While it wasn’t the disaster of my first attempt 20 years ago, it is also true that it wasn’t something you’d find in a fine restaurant either. But you’d never have known that from this simple fisherman’s compliments about it. And he was most happy to enjoy a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie of Virginia origin, compliments of my godmother!

Yearly his visit here. Yearly his visit everywhere in this diocese – this humble fisherman, Bishop Grullon of the diocese of San Juan de Maguana, DR.

A boy and his dog

2009-02-02T18:31:00.000-08:00

I have a dog. A beautiful black lab built sleek like a greyhound. He has a love affair with the tattered, weathered remains of a soccer ball. Pull it out and he transforms into a radiant tightly coiled spring; a bounding pogo stick barely disguised as a dog.

I am like my dog. I have had a love affair with anything resembling a ball since I used to bounce a tennis ball off the chimney for hours on end as a 12 year old just for the fun of it. Though I move more slowly and hardly ever without pain anymore, I still would rather miss a meal than miss a game.

I must say that this will be highly personal and as I am a very private person this will be difficult for me to speak about in public - even though I know it is about something relatively insignificant. But I am trying to learn a new trick or two these days and some of you have asked what are the crosses I have encountered here.

This unexpected turn of events has become a cross. I am sharing it, not for sympathy, but in the hope that by speaking here, I may speak and act more Christ-like among those I have come to serve and that your prayers will assist me in that regards. Please keep the sympathy sheathed and instead offer a prayer that I may bear this cross more gracefully than I have to this point.

I have been here just over five months now. I have cried three times - tonight being the third. Though many of you are likely to roll your eyes at what follows, some of you will understand perhaps. Some of you won't entirely understand but have known me long enough to know I speak the truth about myself. The rest of you will hopefully understand that even though it is in itself something trivial, it is part of who I am. I would remain more me if you changed the color of my hair or skin even than if you forcefully took "my ball" away.

My favorite sport has clearly become volleyball - I came to Banica with one football, one basketball, and a bag full of volleyballs. As I have gotten older and slower and the aches and pains have become part of every day life, it is one sport that I am able to still play mostly competitively. But until a month ago, I had only witnessed a single game of volleyball in a neighboring town.

Then, almost overnight, a new outdoor basketball/volleyball court was built in the center of Banica! It even has lights so night play is possible. Soon after, I saw a group of high school girls playing volleyball and almost ran over to join them. Then it occurred to me that a 45 year old caucasian man bolting into a group of unknown Dominicana teenage girls - with half the city looking on from the bleachers - might be a bit over board. Sighing, I went on home. The next day I saw a couple of the girls and in broken Spanish did my best to ask if I could play. They jumped up and down excitedly and made me promise I'd be there that night!

I arrived apprehensive at being the only male out there - and an "old man" at that. I was happy to see some young men out there. And happier still to see that some of the Banica youth actually were fairly skilled.

Since then, however, I have found that sadly almost everyone, is completely focused on winning - at all costs. They lie about the score. They lie about a ball being in or out. They lie about whether or not they touched the net. They steal balls from weaker players - if they don't outright tell them "tu no sabe" (you don't know how to play) and push them to the edge of the court. They argue for 2, 3, 5 minutes over a single call or the score in the middle of the game.

Additionally some talk on their cell phones while "playing" and then laugh when they miss a ball. Some have no clue what they are doing and then yell loudly at other players or perhaps the asphalt or moon when they mess a play up - as if yelling angrily changes the fact they messed the play up. Some do have a clue but when they are in the back row will send the ball over on the first pass every time, and then demand the ball when they are in the front row - heaven forbid anyone else attempt to make a play. At least half the "touches" are illegal but some of the people who are most guilty of atrocities with a volleyball will try to call a mere "lift" on someone else. The better players always stack teams so they are guaranteed to win. Etc. Etc. Etc.

I, with my over developed sense of justice compounded by my desire for something resembling a challenge, have refused to play on the stacked team the few times I have been asked to. I do so knowing I will be left to play on a team made up of much of the paragraph above. Many times that also means I get to touch the ball only when I serve or when I am trying desperately to save an impossible ball. That is - when I am not standing on the sidelines waiting for folks to stop yelling and arguing.

If only they could realize this is supposed to be fun. And that it is more fun when everyone gets to play. And when an opponent is close enough in skill to make winning mean something. If you know you are going to win, why bother playing? To feel good about oneself? Anyone who used even a fraction of their intellect, would see how hollow a victory would have been acheived.

I keep harping on my age and aches, I know. But there is a point. I have played volleyball longer than most of these young adults have graced this earth. When I was younger, I could spike the ball straight down - even when double blocked setting me was an almost automatic point for my team.

I have played in tournaments with lots of teams. One day long ago, we even won a tournament with over 90 teams in our division - many of whom were from a higher division. They had "dropped down" so they could win in a less skilled division. We beat several of those teams on the way to the trophy that day. We'd see the team warming up that we were to play next. Their shortest player would be taller than our tallest. They'd set perfect floating, mouth watering sets. They'd crush the ball into the earth ferociously. I'd turn to our one spectator and whisper, "Don't worry, we'll be going home after this match." And then we'd win. Again. And Again. Winning that tournament meant something.

I have played with people who could play professionally. With players, two of whom on a team by themselves would beat a team of six of Banica's best. The best players here, even though they are better than I am now, would be mediocre players where I "come from".

If the folks here could only see how unimportant this game was and that it should be a source of fun - not an excuse to bully lesser or weaker players in order to enable elbows to more easily pat ones own back. And yet most argue about everything as if winning a sloppy volleyball game in Banica will change the history of the world.

The point I spoke of? My knees both ache something fierce. two years my right leg has been numb/hurts almost 24 hours a day - the doctors haven't a clue why. Often my lower back hurts even worse - I have been told that I have very little disc left in two of the vertebrae in my lower back. My shoulder always hurts and only rarely has even half the strength it did before I tore it up and had it operated on 15 years ago. My eyes betray me - I often have double vision that the doctors can't explain. But when a ball is whizzing at you at 60-80 miles an hour - and there are two of them instead of one, it is difficult to pass the ball accurately. That has been perhaps the most bitter pill for me to swallow as I have aged - I was always known for my ability to pass any ball well.

Oh yes, my selfish point.... Like my dog, Rebel, I love to play ball. But the writing is on the wall. The days that I will be able to play are numbered. Even with my steel will and tolerance for pain, I know time will catch me just around one of the next few corners. I can't count the times I have sprained my ankle, for example, and refused to come off the court. Ditto when an elbow broke my nose or when I blew my knee out some years ago (ok, I did come off the court that time after a few failed attempts at continuing to play). But I have pride in how I play and with the pain now comes a marked deterioration in my skill level. If the pain doesn't shoo me away, sooner or later my pride will.

Until then, as my sun wanes, I just want to be able to play and enjoy and cherish the moments I have left. And to see other people enjoy playing. Don't get me wrong! I am as competitive as any and more than most. But always within the context of a good clean game, and always with the integrity of the game and the participants intact. I'd rather lose a hotly contested game in "extra innings" than win a game where the other team was demolished. And always I play for the sheer joy of playing. I laugh in glee just as hard when an opponent makes a great or spectacular play as when I or a teammate does.

Tonight I played one game. And one game only. Two of my team members were taking swigs of alcohol from plastic bottles between points. One of the two, perhaps 14 years old, was horrbile and yelled at someone else every time he messed up a play (I'd say 10 of the 25 points the other team got in beating us). A third player knew how to play but sent the ball over the net every time he touched it - a couple of times even stealing the ball and almost knocking over a young gal who was a very good player. As usual on such a team, I got zero sets. And only one pass while I was setting. Another "only touch the ball when serving game".

But it was me muttering at the nascient alchololic 14 year old, "Tu no sabe." And me snapping angrily at the fairly skilled gent to pass the ball to the setter and to not run the young lady over that sent me to the showers early. I went to the sidelines and did 50 pushups before sitting to think. I decided that I was simply not going to play with either of the two again - even if that meant I had to sit out while folks were begging me to play. So after telling the guys I was not going to play the next game (ie, with them), I thought I'd be ok. Then the arguing broke out - again. Without a word I walked away leaving my ball there. I'd let them keep it except that it has a friend's name on it.

I am hard to keep down and a day or two usually brings the sun again. But tonight, I selfishly wish that court had not been built. It was much easier to do without my beloved game altogether than to have it so close and yet not be able to enjoy it. I refuse (well most of the time, soft smile) to try to outshout the loudest of the loud. I refuse to play to win at all costs. I desire to help others enjoy this game that has given so much enjoyment to me. And I am determined, though many times fallen, not to give in to the temptations that my frustrations unleash within me.

For as much as I am like my dog, I have something he has not - a free will and an intellect. I'd appreciate your prayers that I will either find a way to balance my love for the game with the inherent frustrations of playing here or that I will give away the ball I'd not let you take from me.

Must I be "educated"?

2008-12-07T06:34:00.000-08:00

Fr. Murphy's compliment surprised me, "I could tell you were educated when you read the reading at mass today".

Fr. O'Hare had asked me to do the readings at Friday masses saying that while my pronunciation wasn't perfect, at least I would enunciate clearly - an improvement over some of our dear brothers and sisters here in Banica. I thought to myself, "Great... I enunciate well, so every fractured vowel sound and each butchered consonant pairing would be all the more clearly heard by all."

Despite my overgrown sense of pride/fear of failure, I told Father that I'd give it a try. So every week, I spend 1 to 2 hours practicing for a short 5 minute reading. After so much practice, I continue to amaze myself with my innate ability to completely mangle harmless looking letters juxtaposed so peacefully next to one another as my mouth screams out to me, "You want me to do what?!!"

I had been thinking I was doing better as the weeks went on. So as we sat about the table, Fr. Murphy, Samantha and I, I was surprised, but pleased, to be receiving a compliment from Fr. Murphy. He is pastor of the nearby parish of San Jose but was saying mass at San Francisco in Banica while Fr. O'Hare was making a visit home to Virginia.

My mind wandered a bit. "Educated". Not exactly what I would have expected as something that would come to mind when hearing someone hesitantly reading in a language they were not fluent in. Not exactly the compliment I would have most desired. But a compliment is a compliment and I was very pleased.

I faded back into the conversation to hear Fr. Murphy explaining: "Educated...like one of my professors teaching class in Rome. In Italian (silently commenting in my mind: well clearly, it would be in Italian. And clearly this professor would be highly educated. I probably puffed my chest a little bit as Father's continuing words sunk in)... In Italian.... with a very strong.... Australian accent...

I must say his rendition of someone speaking Italian with a strong Australian brogue was very convincing, most impressive, extremely hilarious, and (sigh) completely unnecessary. I surely preferred the short version of the compliment. The one that ended about the time Father first said, "educated".

A Dominican Chair

2008-11-22T17:29:00.000-08:00

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...."

Saga of a lawn mower

2008-11-17T18:54:00.000-08:00

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).

Only 25 Miles To Go

2008-11-06T20:34:00.001-08:00

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".

On My Own

2008-09-19T05:41:00.000-07:00

The Kirby's left on Friday, September 12. It rained all night
leading up to their departure at 5am before the sun had roused himself. It rained after they left. I found water soaking the bottom of the fridge and pooled in the shower. Belmont (the "good" dog) sat at the corner of the house staring after them for several minutes. It seems all Banica mourned their parting. Truth be told, the Kirby's shed a few tears themselves. Banica might be poor, but there is much love here.

I have been told the Dominicans cannot tell time but (holding my breath), I think they are starting to learn that when I say they can ride bicycles between 2 and 4pm only, that I mostly mean between 2 and 4 only. Not at 8am or 10am or even 1:45pm. Because the ground is so rough and filled with stones and thorns, they are restricted to riding around the circular "patio". And as unexciting as that may seem to us Americans, the Dominican children will come eagerly day after day to get their turn riding round and round on an overgrown patio.

As I mentioned in a previous posting, only 3 of 7 bicycles were operational. So I have a "cinco minuto" rule - ride for 5 minutes and then the next boy/girl gets to ride. Today two of the boys fixed up 3 of the remaining bikes. I paid them 100 pesos total per bike. That is 3 bikes fixed and 300 Pesos to split (approximately $9US total). Now at the next bike outing I will have 6 bikes available! A historic moment in Banica. ;) I am intending to work "religion" into this but still haven't quite figured out how best to do it. Certainly an opening and closing prayer. But I want to more than just that with it - counting on a small jolt of divine inspiration!

The first day without the Kirby's was taxing, I have to admit. The usual moving, unpacking, cleaning, discovering how things work, giving the animals extra love as they clearly missed the Kirby's etc. Trying to keep the squabbles to a minimum for 2 hours of boys on bikes. Friday night I was ready to crash. The dogs decided to start barking at that very moment and continued. Incessantly. Past 3am. I sat on the couch strangely not sleepy - I am sure the barking had nothing to do with it.

Finally sleep announced its arrival and I stumbled down the hall toward bed. As I was lifting the mosquito netting, I heard heavy, and I mean heavy, breathing outside my window... What the heck?!!!! Cows! And it all became clear in a lightning flash. I had left the gate open and 4 cows had wandered (been herded?) in. The dogs were barking at the cows that were big enough not to be concerned by them. I was as happily surprised as you can be at 3:30 in the morning that a single angry yell from me thru the window sent them hurrying to another part of the El Centro grounds.

I crawled into bed. Finally! Sleep! Did I mention it rained most of the day? And when night came, it turned torrential. I personally know of two songs singing longingly of time spent under a tin roof with rain coming down. I bought it, until my time in Banica. A gentle rain, maybe. A heavy rain, much less a downpour? Forget about it, nothing pleasant in that. And it's very conducive to sleeping - at a later time when you are even more tired.

I was finally getting used to the rain (or tired enough for it not to matter) when "Kerthunk!" I was jerked rudely back to full attention! "What was that on my roof?!!" A few moments later... another "Kerthunk!". I was surely under attack! Someone was tossing grenades onto my roof! Then it hit me (the thought not the thing that went Kerthunk in the night), there is a tree just outside the bedroom window with lots and lots and lots of its fruit. Lots of its fruit ready to adorn the earth, but only after bouncing and clattering off the roof.

Of course this morning of all mornings, Danni arrived at 8am on his throaty motorcycle and hollered into the house to be sure I was alive after my first day alone in Banica. "No Danni, I wasn't violently jolted from sleep by your motorcycle, so it's a good thing you yelled into the house or I'd have never known you were here." (good thing he doesn't speak English or he might have missed the joke. ) "Thank you Danni, but no, I don't have any work for you today. And thank you again for making sure I didn't get enough sleep.". I crawled back to bed. A few minutes later the phone rang. Down the hall. I got to it too late.

Since it seemed I was destined to not get any more sleep, I made myself a pbj. A bite and a half into it, Omero showed up wanting diesel for the pickup truck from the 55 gallon drums Father has stored here. I felt wrong not helping him. Before I could get back to my pbj... "Knock, knock" there was Fr. O'Hare.

Finally! Back to my sandwich...only to discover that I had unknowingly extended an invite for a picnic to the local ants that were happily enjoying the pbj sandwich. One of my sayings is "When all else fails... eat". I didn't know what to say in this case. I'm thinking, "If eating fails, get a stiff drink". This Saturday morning, I had a stiff mug of... coffee.

The coffee might have kept my eyelids propped open, but it did not energize me one bit. So Saturday was a low key day. I moved most of my things from the dormitory to the house. I used the electric sander on the front door so that it closes easily now. I drilled a hole in the backing of a bookshelf so I can power cords thru the back instead of around the front. Those who know me and my need to do things/have things "just so", will either smile knowingly or roll your eyes. Those who don't know me so well may also be inclined to roll their eyes. Luckily for you eye rollers, it was a low energy day and I called it a day after those two arduous tasks. :)

I ride the bicycle to town when I can. For the most part I drive about 2 miles a day - to mass and back. I would ride the bicycle for that also except that I hope getting a ride will encourage more of the residents to go to daily mass. And yet one thing seems to be becoming clear. I will do very little personal driving but one of my major expenses here will be fuel - diesel.

Diesel for the generator to be specific. The running joke is that Banica has power half the time. The rest of the time, you either have no electricity or if you are fortunate, you run a generator to provide for the down times. I am fortunate, so I run a generator. Dave (Kirby) said a gallon of diesel will run it for an hour. And typically the generator runs for 1 to 2 hours a day to charge the battery bank here. So I'll estimate 50 gallons a month and $5US/gallong for diesel. That's a guessitmated $250/month which will hopefully be my largest expense each month. It had better be! And I am really, really hoping that I have over estimated! :)

This past Sunday, I helped make tacos and homemade salsa for dinner with the priests and Michelle (a recent Christendom grad and current volunteer in Banica). Ok. Ok. Michelle did all the seasoning and the vast majority of the cooking, but I chopped up an onion, stirred the hamburger meat, and mashed the "refried" beans. So let me feel good about my culinary abilities for the briefest of moments. :)

Monday in preparation for an all-day trip to see the new "soup run" for this years "soup program", we took the truck to get the gas filled with diesel. And thanks be to God, the only gas station in Banica has diesel and gasoline again after being out of both for the last couple of... weeks... Ouch. Then Monday at lunch I found out that our Tuesday trip would most likely have to be cancelled anyway. It seems there is a large boulder blocking the road (too large for a couple of men to move) and no one knows when it will be moved. All I can tell you is that whenever that boulder gets moved and we are finally able to make the trip, I will not be driving! I'll most likely be grabbing something tightly with my eyes closed for parts of the ride - not a good thing for the driver to be doing.

I forgot to mention, Monday on the way to mass, the horn in the truck decided to blare of its own accord and without ceasing. The army trucks have a built in compressor. Whenever the engine runs, it builds up air pressure. There is a nozzle for an air hose for filling tires, etc. There are the brakes... until enough air pressure builds up, this huge truck does not have any brakes. And then there is the horn which it powers. It seems the valve for the horn had gotten dirty enough that it stuck open. As soon as enough pressure built up, air escaped thru the horn and well, it got louder and louder. So there I am at 6:45am with many people no doubt still sleeping, driving thru town with horn blaring, waving to the police officer at the check point as if all was normal. On the way home, I hooked the air hose up, and in one hand held the nozzle while pressing the valve with a screw driver - letting air escape to keep the pressure from building up enough to sound the horn while trying to watch the gauge so that I didn't completely kill the brakes. It worked! But let me tell you, driving a huge truck thru city streets without power steering, with people and a few cars and motor bikes on the other side of the road - or on your side - with one hand is a daunting task. There were a few interesting moments on the mile ride back to El Centro!

Wednesday night after holy hour it was dark. Quite dark. Just dark enough to make driving a huge army truck, without power steering thru town particularly interesting. Naturally, I needed something even more interesting in my life - surely an hour with our Lord in adoration wasn't enough. So there we were, the truck and I sitting at the curb with 3 expectant boys waiting for a ride home. "Hello truck. I've never driven you in the dark before. Do you have lights? Let's try this switch. That switch. Ruh Roh..." Father arrived with a flashlight, still no luck getting lights turned on. So I told Fr. that I'll drive real slow and with that he hammers the final nail in our coffin saying, "Well at least Banica has power and the street lights are on". He waved as we pulled away and was still standing there as not 50 feet down the road... Banica power went out... Gulp. I kept driving and feverishly flipping the same few switches again and again. And lo and behold, just before we got to the police check point, the lights came on!!

One a more serious note, there is another outbreak of Denge fever to contend with. The cook who works the afternoon shift in the rectory has come down with Denge. The government says that the best way to fight this is to eliminate free standing water.

As you can see from the photo, I have nothing to worry about here at El Centro.... And I'm sure the mosquitoes I have seen in my bathroom... right above the water that doesn't drain from the shower because the floor is not sloped correctly are... friendly... Right....

I have "my crew" of Atile, Manuel, and Danni spending the next few days driving the truck to get fill dirt to fill in the puddles you see in the photo as well as several others around the house. Mosquitoes be warned! :)

More photos!

2008-09-21T20:37:00.000-07:00

Eep! I had incorrect links on all these. They are fixed now to show the entire album instead of a single photo.

My apologies for not having captions on any of these yet. What I need is "Time! Time! Give me more time!" Now there's a riddle that should be easily solved. ;)

August 17, 2008
Last bingo

August 24, 2008
Last day of volleyball

August 25,2008
Last night at home

There would be more photos in this album if (ahem) my beloved family who made me endure posing for countless photos had sent even a single one of those photos to their isolated son/brother/uncle..... (ahem!)

August 31, 2008
Dinner with Danni's family

September 6, 2008
Kirby's farewell party

September 11, 2008
Dave's last market day

September 12, 2008
Kirby's depart

September 18, 2008
Community leaders

Banica friends
(A roster of)

Me and my George Foreman

2008-10-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

"Yes", I thought as I slid the grill into a huge ziplock bag and stuffed it in a suitcase, "me and my George Foreman will get along just fine on that little island!"

I don't cook much. Well I don't really cook at all - I leave the cooking to my beloved George Foreman grill. But even when I pull George out of the garage, my culinary talents are pretty limited. Though at my little house back in Virginia, I thought I cooked up a snazzy grilled chicken breast. I had visions of that as I packed for the Caribbean. Cooling breeze tickling across the lawn under serene blue skies as I sliced into a huge, juicy chicken breast.

Fast forward a little... a rooster crow... another rooster crow... perhaps the 30th rooster crowing... rudely awakens me... as I try to get to sleep... at night. At that's just the beginning of the problems of chickens here in this place! They cannot tell time. They crow continually. Those who went to school: err-err-err-err! Those who dropped out, a pathetic sounding: err-err-err! Day: err-err-err-err! Night: err-err-err-err! And even in between day and night: err-err-err-err! I didn't think there was such a time, but I am certain there must be now. Heck, they're crowing as I write this!

As much as they crow, you'd think they laid all the eggs. But of course they don't. Worse still, they do not come in clean, neat packages of plump, juicy Perdue chicken breasts - ready to marinate and throw to George. No. That same crowing mud-caked rooster that is strutting around, pawing the ground, leaving feathers and other gifts all over is the same rooster that might show up on my threshold a few hours later. This time making an appearance in a big messy package that I am supposed to slice and hack at only to salvage a puny little breast from that slab of bones and fat.

(sigh)

Somehow I have not yet made the trek to the local chicken lady's house. Just not quite ready for that conversation, "Yes... that one... he looks like he'll be delicious, don't you think? Thank you, but no. I'll come back. Seeing a chicken running around minus its head was a treat the first time. I don't think I could endure such pleasure twice... Oh thank you! But no, really... you keep the claws - my special gift to you. I really didn't feel like eating claw of chicken today."

So poor George has had to settle for some lesser cuts of beef (though I am not certain that some of that was beef), pork chops and ham. I am a bit worried about ol' George, I think he was addicted to those plump, juicy Perdues!

Speaking of food, I don't know if I am losing weight or not. But Caribbean Tom is definitely eating a lot less Strasburg Tom did. The big meal here is lunch. Everyone eats a large lunch - when it is typically hot outside. A large meal in the middle of a hot day? Are you kidding me?!! No wonder everyone takes 1 to 2 hour lunches. I bet they aren't even able to crawl away from the table sometimes before they begin their siestas. But no worries, I am sure that smashed yucca makes a very soft pillow! At least back in the day in East Texas, on the farm in Lufkin, the men of the family managed to get over to the couch before they dozed off! :)

Heat and eating just don't mix. Heat and cooking? As my Dominican friend Lulun likes to say, "Claro". But heat and eating? Ummm..... No. Many days, I just can't quite eat as much as I know I really WANT to. So I hardly ever feel quite full even though I don't often don't feel quite hungry either. I walk around feeling like I am hungry and thinking I am ready to eat. But once I sit down intent on tackling that hunger, I find I can't quite get the job done. And even as I am sitting there, I know that within an hour I am going to be wishing I could have taken a few more bites... of rice... and beans...

Life is so aMAZing here. Every day I wake up wishing for rice and beans for lunch. And so far my wish has been granted every day. Well every day except for maybe 4 or 5 - out of 60. Not that I am counting or anything. I am one of those boring people who can eat some things over and over and over without minding. Luckily for me, rice and beans are on the list of those foods. Sadly not as high on that list as Perdue chicken breasts.

Well at least I can still dream of eating scrumptious Perdue chicken breasts in the cool of my house... until the next rooster crows. :)

The first few days

2008-09-07T07:25:00.000-07:00

I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore! Where is Toto when he is needed? ;) Things are the same here as they were there.

And yet so much of life's small details are so very different. From day one the most difficult thing has been the showers. I have quickly decided that showers without hot water are not my favorite thing. Showers without hot water with lips pressed tightly closed to prevent any water "leaking" in are also not my favorite thing. And these showers at 6am in the morning are definitely not among my favorite things. No disrespect to "Sound of Music," but I don't think "Cream-colored ponies and crisp apple strudels" will change that. ;)

But perhaps the worst part of the showers is that I just don't feel clean after taking one. And my feet seem like they are dirty before I even get back to my room. Perhaps that is the secret to the Dominican "tan"? Defintitely near the top of my list when I get back to civilization will be to take a nice, l-o-n-g hot shower!

A little from my first few days here:

The arrival. It turns out the vast throng at the airport waving flags was not there to welcome me to Banica. I was most disappointed... They were there to greet their returning Olympic hero. Unlike the US which would be devastated if their Olympic team returned with a mere single gold medal, a single gold medal (in boxing) was cause for a celebratory parade here in the Dominican Republic.

Day 1: Morning mass is at 7am Monday thru Friday. For being such a notorious night owl, I have adjusted pretty easily. At my very first mass, Fr. O'Hare introduced me to the congregation and informed them that I did not speak Spanish. Then in his wonderful way, he told them that my presence here was a good opportunity for them to practice their English. :)

The afternoon activities will surely surprise many of you. I played catch with a baseball with the local youth, whom I have dubbed the "El Centro Gang". They have no idea what I have in store for them! Baseball and bike riding and other fun things will come at a price. I am sure they will be spending more time at church and in prayer than they could have imagined in their worst nightmares!

Day 4: After a few days of following Dave Kirby around trying to assimilate everything he knows (forget Toto, where are the borg when you need them?!!), Saturday arrived and with it, the Kirby's "Thank you" party for all those they've worked with these last 2 years. I took photos and will be posting them once I have both the time and energy for the task at the same time. ;)

Of course I had to spend most of the afternoon tossing the baseball around while completely ignoring the adults. Then again, speaking Spanish is not a prerequisite for throwing a baseball!

Day 5: Sunday began with the 7am mass. Lunch was at the home of Dany (pronounced more "Donny" than "Danny"). None of the houses are large enough to enable eating a family meal inside. So if it rains, lunch/dinner invites are cancelled. Luckily it did not rain this day. Dany and his family did not eat - all the food was for the guests. I don't know if they ate before we arrived or if they only got the remains. I am not sure I want to know the answer to that - especially after I forced myself to eat a couple large slices of beet. It seems beets are well loved by the natives. I sure hope I didn't force some down while Dany and family went without one of their beloved dishes.

Later Sunday afternoon, Dany and his extended family joined us at the river. We brought along several inner tubes. The men and boys all went first with the tubes. When they had made several floats, I tried to give a tube to one of the young ladies. Dany corrected me wagging his finger, "No! Los hombres primero". (sigh)

Day 6/7: Rain. No internet connection. And a little more rain for good measure. I also practiced with the "Sunday Choir". It is amazing, the Lord has again put me somewhere that is in dire enough need of a voice, any voice, that they actually consider me helpful for their choir - even without me yet speaking Spanish.

Day 8: Wednesday I drove the military truck for the first time. On a practice "soup run". Down a dirt road. Down a pot-hole filled dirt road. Down a dirt road with a thick layer of chocolate frosting that you might know as mud. And around hair-pin turns with steep hillside waiting to munch the truck on one side and a deep ravine waiting to swallow it whole on the other. And meanwhile me making my maiden voyage behind the wheel of a truck with a turning radius that might be a wee bit smaller than that of the Titanic. Dave did not volunteer to drive on the way home....I assure you, I did not wait long enough to give him the chance before informing him it was his turn to drive. ;)

After the Wednesday evening Holy Hour (6pm), I had dinner with Frs. O'Hare and Murphy. I can be a bit dense at times, but I am about to figure out that rice and beans are the only thing worth eating every day... It was good to sit down and relax for a few moments while also managing to tackle a few things on the radar screen for new employer and employee.

Day 9: The Kirby's made the 4-5 hour trip to Santo Domingo for a few days of well-earned vacation before they return to the U.S. this week. They toured the colonial part of the city and came away very impressed and pleased at all they saw and learned.

Meanwhile, I was on my own for the first time. Well except for the animals. The animals who were mopey and seemed to demand extra attention now that there was only one person to care for them instead of five. Alone except for the El Centro Gang who love to stand at the gate and yell, incessantly "Weeellliam", "Weeellliam", "Senor Toma(s)".

("Weeellliam" is the 8 year old William Kirby whom the local boys had been told many times was in Santo Domingo. "Senor Toma" - Dominicans speak their own version of Spanish. "S's" at the ends of words are usually silent).

Wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't start before 10am and continue all day. Though I must say it blends in nicely with the raucous chorus from the guineas that have adopted El Centro as their sacred tribal home. Oh and the roosters who unlike many Dominicans are quite industrious... they crow all day and all night. And the dogs didn't want to be left out of the fun, they bark just to let me know they are still there. And it simply would not be complete without the occasional might trumpet blast of an offended donkey that dominates all other sounds. Yes I was truly alone for those few days...

Day 10: I drove "the beast" (military truck) into Las Matas, the closest "city" to Banica. I need practice driving the truck and I needed bicycle tubes to fix the bicycle fleet here at El Centro for the boys. Seemed like driving the truck to Las Matas was the perfect answer. Wrong! It was just this side of miraculous that I made it thru Las Matas and safely home without hitting anyone or anything. It was very nerve wracking!

Day 11: There are 7 bicycles here. I had tubes to fix all of them. It turns out that the El Centro Gang had continued to ride them all even when the tires were flat. So after the harrowing experience driving thru Las Matas for tubes, I have 3 bikes back on the road and 4 that are out of commisssion. The other 4 have a bicycle rim that is basically destroyed from having been ridden while flat.

Day 11: Sunday. Today. Sang at mass this morning. We sang "Dona Nobis Pacem". What an absolutely beautiful song! Naturally, Juan and I (the bass section and only male voices) did our part to make sure it was not perfectly angelic. It seems Juan has my disease - he likes to follow the melody on occasion instead of sticking to the bass part. (sigh)

Last night we had some torrential rain. You really have not experienced a downpour until you have expereienced it under a thin tin roof. I had thought rain was good "sleeping noise". I am learning so much! ;) Today the rain has stopped (for now?) and the wind has picked up. I am guessing 20-30mph gusts. Hopefully that is the worst we get from our DLF (for all you Chronicles fans!) - Ike.

That will do it for now. Hope everyone who reads this is doing well and having a wonderful day. May our dearest Lord bless each and every one of you! :)

Tom

Banica - For Real

2008-08-29T15:19:00.000-07:00

And so begins a new chapter of my life. I arrived in Banica "for real" on Tuesday, August 26. Despite a total of 9 hours sleep during my last 4 days in my old home and the tropical storm/hurricane between there and here, it was as easy a transition as I could have prayed for.

My wonderful family pitched in to get everything done that had to be done. So my last Thursday I was eating out at my favorite Manassas restaurant - Casa Chimayo - and then playing volleyball in Manassas as my sister made neatly packed boxes of the chaos in my living room. And that last Saturday, I was able to drive 3 hours for a last hike with a dear friend. And then that last Sunday, again found me with dear friends playing volleyball in the afternoon sun.

Even with all the help, as usual, I managed to run out of time. After one last evening with family, I spend the night moving data to cds to load on my new "missionary laptop". In the past I have always managed to finish even if at the last moment. Seems I turned over a new leaf there as well... my newphew was promised my desktop computer. It now comes at a cost... he has to finish burning hours and hours of my music to cd for me. Then the computer is his! :)

More to follow!

Destination Banica!

2008-07-16T12:28:00.000-07:00

Banica!

How quickly our dear Lord can completely rearrange a life.

Humanity's concrete is mere sand sifting thru the Lord's fingers.

A few short months ago my world was set in concrete. Same job for over 20 years. Same monthly bingo at a retirement home for 23 years. Third Sunday ushering at the Basical of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception for 13 years. Same weekly volleyball for close to 20 years. And after moving more than I care to remember, at the age of 45, I had finally embraced the idea that I was here to stay in my home of the last five years. With determination I set out this spring and summer of 2008 to complete all the changes and additions to my house that I had been hesitant to do and to fully make it mine.

And yet.... for the last several months, amidst this settling in, there was this quiet tugging at my heart, "You are needed.... elsewhere". With a sense of relief, I was able to hush that gentle inner voice... "I am already working for a worthy cause - the pro-life movement". I was needed by my employer as we were looking at a significant change to our donor database.... my database. But the voice persisted, grew louder. Never more so than during and after the homily by my pastor this Pentecost Sunday.

And then.... Scarlett came knocking on my door on May 9th. "Tom, I have bad news for you. We are letting you go....." I was surprised but not stunned because there was a new employee who had quickly been given the reigns of the organization and I was not a good mix with him or with the new staff he quickly hired. Working under his watch was not going to be without much sacrifice I could tell. But for the good of the cause, I had determined as I always had in the past that it was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

And so here we were, Scarlett and I, friends and co-workers for 20 plus years, and now face to face for that most painful moment in an employee's career. Scarlett with tears in her eyes whispering over and over, "Tom, I am so sorry". And I.... I with a sudden realization... my heart leapt!! I can go!!!!!

My job, certainly a most worthy cause and yet... an obstacle to the Lord's calling for something more, something better, something more worthy. I can hear Him chuckling softly at me His stubborn and sometimes dense little one, "So Tom.... any other obstacles?" "Lord, what will I do with my house...." And quickly looking into his twinkling, loving eyes, peace settled in, "No obstacles, Lord."

And as Scarlett daubed her eyes, my heart smiled in a way it has not for years, "Here I am Lord, I come to do your will".

Between vacation time and an extremely generous severance package, I had 12 weeks of pay coming my way. On the drive home that day, I made a deal with the Lord, "I have 12 weeks of pay. I'll give you 6 of them. If you cannot find a place for me to go in that time, I will start to send out resumes."

I knew full well He could not refuse such an deal. It took him less than 72 hours to find me a new home. And I must confess that of those 72 hours, all but about 6 hours He was waiting on me to send the two emails I did send. First to Maire Egger (a member of my parish's teengroup from the days when I was in charge of it) who was serving her 2nd year as a missionary in Banica. She in turn referred me to Fr. Gee who had served as pastor in Banica for the last 5 years.

All the while, I was determined that I was not going to Banica - everyone went to Banica! I wasn't going to follow the beaten path. I simply wanted information about what to expect as an American missionary in a foreign country and I'd be on my way... elsewhere....

And then... Fr. Gee responded, "I was just asking who was going to take the Kirbys' place. I had a family lined up and that just fell thru". Knowing our Lord's seeming pleasure at arranging things with the utmost of precision, I think to myself that Fr. Gee surely must have gotten his "bad" news at the very moment on May 9th, that I got my own "bad" news. But in any event, his words struck a chord and I inquired what he was looking for... but inside I already knew the answer.... me. And already I knew I was, in fact, going to Banica. An hour or so later his reply made me laugh out loud.... "you'll get to train altar boys, work with the teen group, coach basketball and volleyball".... all things I have done previously.

And with that, I began preparing for Banica. And yet I know the truer answer is that all these years, a Master Sculptor has been chiseling and smoothing and preparing a stubborn piece of granite to be His vessel on a island in the middle of the Caribbean.

More photos of Banica

2008-07-16T18:26:00.000-07:00

	Banica - Arrival
	Haiti
	The Waterfall
	Banica - Vaya Con Dios