Personal Reflections on

SJCSS Mission Trip 2008

to Demajagua, Dominican Republic

Sr. Terry Ann Wilson, CSC

When our Mission Group from St. Joe’s arrived in San Jose de Ocoa this year I was thrilled to hear that we would be working in the same village as last year’s group…a small village of 45 families called Demajagua.  Since our school has been raising money for the house project there it made it even more special to return.

One of the first things that caught my eye as we drove up to the village was the terrible destruction that cyclone Noel left in its wake last fall.  Large stretches of the road had been washed out and reduced to one lane.  But, life goes on and traffic going up and down the mountain continues since it is the only road to the villages in that area. 

The second thing that touched my heart was seeing the three completed houses that we had worked on last year….finished, colourfully painted, and proudly inhabited by people from the village.  Along with those three houses were two more that had been completed over the course of the year.  This year our task was to work on two more houses.

As we drove through the village, I heard my name “Teresa” called out several times as people waved.  What a warm feeling that gave me to know that I was remembered by name from the previous year.

Since I have written reflections several times over the years, I won’t describe our daily experience as a group but rather will highlight a few moments that touched me this year.

On the first day walking to the worksite, as I walked past one of the houses that we worked on last year, the elderly woman who lives in it came running towards me anxious to invite me in to see it.  Of course, I accepted the invitation and spent a few minutes with her in her new home.  Such simple joy radiated from her.   Many of the elderly people in the village have lived their whole lives in the same house in the village….in extremely poor conditions.  For her last few years of life, this woman and her husband, would know the security of a sturdy house free of water leaking in and rodents running through, etc. etc.

Most days while the gang was at work, we’d buy a few treats…lollipops, etc. from the little “colmados” in the village and distribute them to the workers and anyone near by.  It was a great way to support the local village stores.   On one particular day there were a couple of candies left so I stuck them in my pocket.  As I was walking back to the school, which was our residence, I passed a young boy sitting on a chair in front of his house shucking guandules.  He had also been there when I had passed on the way to the worksite earlier in the afternoon.  His mom was sitting in a chair higher up the hill beside the house and was singing joyfully as she did the same thing.  The young fellow, however, didn’t seem too pleased to have to be spending his time doing that task.   I motioned to him to come to me as I walked by and handed him a little bag with the two candies in it.  He took the bag, said “gracias”, and went back to his chair.  I continued on my way and when I glanced back saw how his face lit up when he opened the bag and realized what was inside it.  He went running up to his mother to show her.   When she noticed me looking back, she waved in gratitude.  Hopefully that little treat made the time pass by a little more quickly!

Every afternoon and evening several of the children from the village as well as some of the adults, would come by the school to play and socialize with us.   There were three sisters, the oldest being about 12, who came by each day and usually had a two year old boy with them.  The little guy, named Juan Carlos, had some fairly recent scars healing across his face.  The oldest sister explained to me that he was now their brother because the boy’s mother is “loco” and was pounding Juan Carlos in the face.  The girl’s parents took him away from his mother and brought him into their home to live where he can be safe and loved.  Each day little Juan Carlos seemed a little happier and by the end of our two weeks, I even saw him smile…the evidence of the healing touch of a family’s love!

One evening, a woman came by the school who owned a little store (colmado) to the north of us.  I remembered her from last year.  She invited me to come to her house for a visit sometime.   While out for a walk one night right after supper with a couple girls from our group, the woman was passing by on a motorbike with her husband.  She stopped and once again invited me to drop by her house.  The sun was starting to set and we hadn’t brought flashlights but we accepted the invitation for a quick visit anyway.  Her house (and store) was just at the top of the next hill.  When we arrived, all of her family came out along with nearby neighbours.  They were so happy to have us visit.  We chatted for a few minutes and took some photos and then said our good-byes so that we could get back to the school before the dark set in.

Another day, an elderly woman came by on a mule.  She asked for me and when I went up to the road to see her, she handed me a palm bag filled with guandules (beans) as a gift for the group.  Her grandson was one of the children who came by the school everyday to play with us. 

The people of Demajagua, in spite of their poverty, were so generous in sharing what they did have…guandules, tomatoes, oranges!   Every day someone came by with something to share with us.

Now comes the best memory of all from this year’s trip!  Eleven years ago we were in the village of Los Palmaritos which is the next village up from Demajagua.  That year we were helping to build a school.  Each afternoon, a young mother in the village would come by the worksite with her 6 month old baby named Antony.   Antony was a beautiful baby and the mother would hand him to me whenever I took a break so I could play with him.

On the day we left Los Palmaritos, one of the little girls in the village came to see us off and was carrying Antony.  She held him up to me and in Spanish said “take Antony with you to Canada”.  You can imagine how heartbroken I was at the time, first of all, not to be able to do just that, but also to think of how desperate the mother must have been to want to give her child up to a possible “better life” in another country.

I never forgot Antony and each year since then, I’ve enquired about him through someone from that village that often shows up for a visit when we are in the DR.  He always tells me that Antony is doing well.  This year it was the same response and then I asked this fellow, Julio, if it would be possible for Antony to come to Demajagua so I could meet him.  Lo and behold, the next afternoon, who arrives at the school but eleven year old Antony and his younger brother and sister.  I’m sure Antony doesn’t know the story of how he almost came to Canada but it did my heart good to see that he looked healthy and well!  He returned again the next afternoon and then I didn’t see him again.

One of the things that I thought might be difficult this year would be going back to the Ocoa region after Fr. Lou Quinn had died.  But, I must admit, it wasn’t difficult at all.  His memory is so alive in the people that it is as if he is still there among them!  And I’m sure he is very much involved as an intercessor on their behalf as a  member of the “communion of saints”.  Fr. Lou wanted to be buried in the Dominican Republic rather than in Canada and so he was buried in the Church.  A beautiful tomb and memorial photo is located to the right as one enters the church so his memory lives on!

These are just a few of my personal reflections on this year’s mission trip. 

So many more are still simmering in my memories and perhaps will be shared some day over a cup of coffee.