Losing Weight in the Dominican Republic
Written by: John O'Keefe
I have just returned from ten days in the Dominican Republic. I was there with several colleagues and nine students working on a documentary portraying the work of Pedro Alamonte, a Catholic deacon who works with the poor in the city of Santiago. More specifically, he serves in a slum of that city known as Cien Fuegos. The slum is built right next to the main dump of the city, and the people who live there suffer from all of the aliments, both social and physical, that are typical of urban poverty around the world. For more about the project, please visit the course website at http://backpack.creighton.edu.
The trip offered little down time, but in the free time I did have I reflected a lot on what it is that continues to draw me to places like this. (This was my fourth trip to the DR.) Much of the time I was physically uncomfortable. Daytime temperatures in the DR reach the upper 90s. The humid air at times feels almost liquid. Few buildings are air-conditioned. Mosquitos and other biting insects enjoy feasting on my northern blood. We spent two nights in a rural community — a “campo” in local parlance – and my bed was in a rough-hewn building sandwiched between the grazing cows and a flock of chickens: neither of these worry too much about waking sleeping gringos.
But I knew it would be like this before I went, so the appeal of being there was stronger than the certainty of hardship. I could cite the remarkable beauty of this lush and mountainous country or the allure of the Atlantic ocean and the Caribbean sea that surround the island like a blue blanket. I could also cite the deep generosity of the people, especially those who live in the “campos” and share so willingly what little they have. These things do indeed appeal and attract. Yet, going to this place also does something for my perspective on the world that I need, and, I think, that God wants me to have.
I don’t know why it is so difficult for those of us who live in the midst of plenty to be satisfied with our lives and with what we have. At home, when I am busy and working hard, I slip so easily into a space of ingratitude and worse, rapacious craving. I don’t have this. I don’t have that. I need more money. I need more time. I need more recognition. Whatever. There is something about life among affluence that, paradoxically, produces desolation. Coming face to face with the poor in their need is like being slapped awake from a stupor of forgetfulness. Each time I encounter it I feel challenged anew not to forget.
As I sit writing this in my American palace (my 2200 sq. foot house on 10 acres north of Omaha) I am thinking of the family that took care of me in the campo and welcomed me to their 500 sq. foot house — one of the big ones. I am also thinking that after each trip I seem to weigh a little less than when I left. I did lose five pounds, but that’s not the kind of weight loss I mean.
Photo: “The Campo” by “jjoiv” from Flickr (Used under Creative Commons license)
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