A letter from Jo Ella Holman, regional liaison for the Caribbean region
December 24, 2011
Dear Friends and Family,
It is Christmas Eve Day and here in the small town of Guayacanes, Dominican Republic, where I live, the sun is shining, the sky is blue and it is a balmy 70 degrees. Early this morning, before daylight, I was awakened to the sound of an aguinaldo. This is the Dominican version of Christmas caroling—early morning singers with drums go through the streets to proclaim the coming of the Christ-child. One group or another has done this every morning for the past two weeks. In the past, I am told, they would stop before doors to sing, waiting for the occupants to get up and serve something to eat or drink, repeating the pattern throughout the neighborhood. But houses remain dark, especially at this time of the morning when the electricity is turned off in the neighborhood, so only the flashlights carried by the singers give light.
I have been baking pumpkin bread for some of my friends in the neighborhood—have already delivered four loaves earlier this week and am baking another couple this morning, if the electricity stays on! They have beautiful pumpkins here—just green on the outside, so I didn't recognize it at first, but orange inside and very tasty. The little children across the street from me run to hug me when I come out. So sweet. There are two little boys, 7 and 4, and a little girl who is a little over 1 year old. They live in two rooms with their parents, a very young couple, as most are here. No inside bathroom, but a latrine out back and a bathing area behind the house. Despite these conditions, the children are always clean and the husband leaves each morning on the bus for the capital, in a freshly pressed shirt and slacks, for work in tourism in the Colonial district. In my first weeks here I asked him how to take the bus and where to get off to get to the church office. He looked at me a moment and said, "You'd better go with me." The next morning we left together and he not only helped me get off where I needed to but also introduced me to the system of carritos ("little cars") that constitute much of the public transportation in the capital. He then walked me right to the office door, so I would not get lost. Such is the kindness of strangers.
The wife's aunt and uncle live in the two rooms in front of theirs, in the same house. Sort of a sideways shotgun-type of house where all four rooms give onto an open area that's shaded, but all dirt. Makes for a lot of dust, beginning now and until June when the rains come. The uncle must be 70 and drives a route in a minivan in Boca Chica, the next tourist town near us. He's constantly having to work on the van to keep it running. Gas prices are so high now (almost $6 a gallon) that he's stopped bringing his van back at night, but parks it somewhere and rides the bus to and from the town where he drives.
Another neighbor friend in this street, Marta, is 61. Her husband died this year of a heart attack and she herself has high cholesterol, which she is trying to lower with diet and exercise, medication being out of the question. She has 8 grown children and 12 grandchildren! About half of her children have jobs. The others pick up work as they can. Sonia, who's about 45 and a dear, used to work in a tourist hotel in Juan Dolio (next town to the east), cleaning rooms, but was let go over a year ago when the tourism industry began to take the hit of the economic downturn. Sonia cleans my house for me and gives the money to her mother. She said she doesn't have any money to help her, but at least can work. The electricity bill has almost tripled in the year I have lived here, a topic of a lot of discussion in the neighborhood. Sonia is selling used clothing this week from a table on the highway street of our little town, "taking advantage of people buying for Christmas," she told me.
Guayacanes is a lot like many small towns in the DR, essentially a large group of extended families. It took me a while to figure that out. It became apparent one morning after a particularly loud, late night of music and general rowdiness at the corner bar. My neighbors were out in the street (as is usual), but huddled in small groups talking about it. I joined a group and listened. Then I asked why the police are not called. After looking around the circle at each other, someone finally said, "Well, they are the children and grandchildren of neighbors." That explained it all. So things were handled otherwise—who knows what talks took place in kitchens around the neighborhood? And someone or ones talked with the bar manager about a reasonable hour to turn off the music. Since then the loud music has continued but ceases at a more reasonable hour, especially on weeknights. And no repetition, so far, of the rowdiness of that night. So it would seem the families handled the problem among themselves. These extended families make up a larger family that is this community. There are kids who "go wrong," who get into drugs or go into prostitution (both prominent in the tourist towns to either side of ours where fast money is to be made). But there is also a family and social network and at least eight churches in a very small area, all working to preserve a safe and sane place for their families and children.
So on this Christmas Eve Day I am thinking about these families in Guayacanes and of my own family in the U.S., whom I love and miss, and am wondering just why I am here. But it occurs to me that perhaps part of my reason for being here is to bear witness to the lives of these new friends and their lives and community—not for pity nor for guilt nor any other reaction that we of more affluent communities tend to feel when confronted with poverty and its repercussions. Nor to idealize the poor: it is not a perfect place nor a perfect community, by any means. But there is a dignity to the bearing and lives of many here in this small town where I am making my home. There is an openness to friendship. There is hospitality and welcome and solidarity with each other. There is laughter and a willingness to help others. I think if the Christ-child had been born here in this place, the people would have found room in their homes, in their lives. Many still do. And I feel very humbled and privileged to witness their lives and, in some small ways, to be part of them.
In these days of celebrating Christmas and God's gift to us, I hope you will pray for this community and the many communities like it in the DR, in Cuba, and around the world—for their health and work opportunities, for their families and communities—as you also remember those nearest you. Emmanuel, God with us, here in Guayacanes and where you are. May we remember and rejoice!
Feliz Navidad!
Jo Ella
The 2012 Presbyterian Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 2
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