In many third world countries, culture and attitude are everything. You can be the poorest person in the world, yet still the happiest because of your values and perspective. When I was fifteen, I traveled to the Dominican Republic on a service trip for three weeks. Working side by side with native children much younger than I, along with adults much older, taught me countless lessons I will never forget. Witnessing the extreme poverty and experiencing the vibrant culture of the nation is an experience I have yet to surpass in meaning. Living in the Dominican Republic and working with the locals taught me that the happiest people are those that are able to make the most out of any situation.

The village of Caño Dulce was filled with some of the sweetest, most sincere people I have ever met. Just a brief and bumpy five minute bus ride from Las Cañas, the village that I stayed in during my trip, Caño Dulce is a relatively large and impoverished village with many inhabitants, both human and four-legged. As we entered the village, shovels and pickaxes in hand, we were greeted by a few daring men, women, and children, while most stared vacantly at our group. They knew we were here to help, but what could they expect from a group of 14-18 year olds wielding farming tools? With dozens of eyes burning holes in our backs, we were divided into three groups, one group touring the village, one re-routing a river, and the third, my group, digging trenches to install an aquaponics system. An hour into this grueling work we took our first break of the day. Sweaty shirts clinging to our backs, we eagerly walked down the dirt road to the village’s colmado, a road-side shack filled with snacks, drinks, and necessary items for sale.

“You guys have to try this cornbread, it’s delicious” Patrick, one of the returnees of the program said while distributing pieces of the golden delicacy. The honey flavored bread melted on our tongues, as I suddenly became aware of a little boy watching us eating.

“Do you want some?” I asked, handing over some of my share. The boy grinned from ear to ear and accepted my offering.

After our brief break we resumed our work. Our bodies became accustomed to the numbing routine of piercing the soil with our shovels, scooping up and throwing loose mud and dirt chunks. To my right, a strong Dominican man was pickaxing the earth, delivering crushing blow after blow into the soil. What he could accomplish in two minutes surpassed what I could in ten, and his strength and endurance astonished me. After a few seconds he chuckled, registering the blind amazement in my face.

After making significant progress on the trenches, the groups switched jobs and I was taken to the local river. The main problem with this river is that when it rained, the surrounding houses were easily flooded. As a result, we set out to reroute the river. We carefully trudged down a steep and muddy pathway and stepped into the murky water. Mud squished under our feet and a few squeamish girls squealed. The previous group of river dwellers informed us of what to do, and we formed an assembly line in the icky muck, lead by strong Dominicans digging out a new route, followed by me Spencer and Morgan scooping out mud, tailed by Daniel dredging in the mud with a bucket in hand, filling and dumping mud. The work, which may not have been the most enjoyable, was dramatically enhanced by the local children running and laughing around us. We decided to make things interesting and wiped mud on our faces to resemble war paint. One chubby little boy found this extremely amusing, and mimicked us. As we passed the time, we made mud jokes and discussed our lives back home, along with how they had already changed in the few days that we had spent in this wonderful country. Despite disturbing encounters with exotic insects in the mud, we enjoyed our work and could not help but laugh at the youngsters trying to impress us with histrionic impressions and gestures. The witty kids, who had been listening to our conversations despite the language barrier, had picked up on my name and began singing a popular latin song, “Gasolina”, but replaced the lyric with “Carolina”, my name in spanish. While I pretended to be annoyed,  being able to communicate with the children was actually one of the most rewarding aspects of my trip, and it warmed my heart. The kids really enjoyed interacting with us, and it amazed me that they were able to come up with so many forms of entertainment despite the prevailing poverty in the village.

At the end of the day, my friends and I were exhausted. However, we knew we could not leave this village without making the day more memorable. I scooped up a handful of mud and threw it at Spencer, another high schooler on the trip with me. Everyone gasped, and I was immediately grazed by a giant ball of slime thrown by Morgan. At that, an entire mud fight was sparked. Participation was relentless, and eventually the local kids joined in. This event was the highlight of my trip. With the children, we may have been separated by a language barrier, but our actions conveyed exactly what we meant to say. Their sheer happiness at the interaction not only touched me, but also taught me a variety of lessons that I have been able to apply in everyday life for the past two years.

The various interactions I experienced with the Dominicans during my stay greatly impacted my outlook on life. To this day I am appreciative of what I have and I strive to make others as happy as the children and adults on the island made me. Regardless of what you have, happiness and a positive attitude is the only way to obtain success.