A Day in Tamarindo

With a tap on the shoulder, Anyelo woke me up. “Kurt, esta malo?” I sat up on the railing that I didn’t remember falling asleep on and noticed about five other workers and locals in front of the school giving me the “Are you okay?” look. I had dozed off during a quick water break at the work site, and was quickly embarrassed at my lack of attentiveness. I assured them that I was fine and was ready to get back to work. They would not allow that. Papo, the most protective of the workers, motioned for me to lay back down on the railing. Because of our previous exchanges, I knew it was no use to try to convince him that I didn’t need to rest anymore. If he ever catches the slightest hint that Phillip or I might possibly be tired or hurt, he insists that we take a water break. One day, I was stung by a wasp while throwing some wood into a pile at the perimeter of the work site. I laughed about it with some of the guys, using it as an opportunity to learn how to say wasp in Spanish (awispa), and got back to work. Papo quickly came to my aid with an ointment and pulled me clear away from where I had been stung. For now on, if I ever need to work near that spot, I have to make sure that Papo isn’t looking because he won’t allow it. Papo is a tender-hearted, hard-working man that Phillip and I idolize. Anyway, to ease the concerns of those around me, I figured I’d lay down for just a few minutes. I fell asleep again. Diori woke me up next. He’s six years old and makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever met. He carried a chair over his head not much smaller than him that he had brought from his house. “Kurt, Kurt, you must sit in this chair or else you will fall off the railing,” he explained to me. He translated to me a sense of urgency and worry that made me feel like my life was in danger, and he grabbed my arm to make sure that I followed his instructions. I did so while laughing. The chair was nicer than laying on the railing, I admitted, and fell asleep. The next time my eyes peeled open, I saw Javier, one of the workers, who was very happy to present a mattress that a lady had brought for me. I couldn’t believe it. I felt … loved. Haha. I’ve only been here for a few weeks and these people care for me so much. It’s like some strange cult experience except the only agenda is hospitality. I laughed and tried to convince everyone that was watching and waiting for me to lay down that I was really okay. Javier very gingerly laid down the mattress on a flat part of the lady’s porch, and covered it with a yellow blanket. I convinced myself that it was okay to lay down in order to not disappoint or offend anyone. A noble excuse for a break, I thought. I had one of the best naps ever. Of course, when I woke up, I made a big deal about how much better I felt, and everyone was delighted. Some were still not convinced that I was okay and kept asking how I was throughout the rest of the day. I have been shocked by the hospitality expressed by those that we "minister to" ever since I’ve been here, and this experience is just one of many in which my care for other people is put to shame. Women gladly invite you into their house, give you the chair they were just sitting in, and offer you something to drink if you stop by to just say hello. The workers at the site continually demonstrate God’s love to me and anyone else that comes to help, and it is truly a warm place to be … the sun helps. My desire to work hard is amplified by being around these people. Dominicans teach us a lot about loving one another.



Later in the day, Ruben wanted to take me to a store to look at tennis balls. I was at a stopping point at the work site, so we left and took a couple of younger kids with us. He kept me up to speed on how close we were roughly every minute until we got to el cienda. “This is it.” He smiled. It was about the size of a concessions stand, was in between two houses, and was made of rotting wood. Brown tattered books were on display behind the counter next to a random assortment of old board games, crayons, and a variety of paper products. Snack items hung overhead. In the glass display case were used watches, sunglasses, cologne, scissors, and tennis balls. I had never seen tennis balls in a glass case before. Looking at the kids’ faces, I understood that we had come to worship the tennis balls. Ruben wanted to take pictures of them, so I got out my camera. Of course, it was difficult for me to feel the same way they did about the tennis balls because I had enough toys at their age to entertain an entire elementary school. For them, a tennis ball was the toy to have. I asked Ruben if he wanted one. He was strong, reminding me that we only came to look, worried that surely it would cost too much. I assured him that I would be able to pay for it, and he agreed. I asked each of the younger kids, and they looked down at their feet, trying not to smile and then looked up at Ruben to make sure it was okay to say yes. They took turns picking out their favorite, and after we payed, they wanted to pose for a photo. I fought back my disbelief, not wanting them to detect how strange of a tennis ball shopping experience this had been for me. We went to the baseball field nearby, and they hesitated throwing them for a while, not wanting them to get dirty. If they did hit the floor, they were wiped off. I was almost worried for one of the boy’s mental health when I caught him talking to his. They took pics, and as we walked back to the work site, we were glowing, especially me. “The time spent here in the D.R. has been the greatest few weeks of my life,” I thought to myself, “and those were the best three dollars I have ever spent.”