I opened the doors of the airport, and the humid warm air rushed onto my face.  I had arrived in the Dominican Republic.  I couldn’t see much except a sign saying “Santo Domingo Airport,” but I looked up at it in high spirits.  My mom, the group of ministry workers, and I stepped onto a bus leading us to where we would stay for the night.  It was a large guesthouse, just outside of the town of Barahona.  The room my mom and I stayed in was as hot as the Sahara desert, even with the four fans on.  The next day we were going to go to a church to do Vacation Bible School, meet some of the people of the town, and see the other guesthouse we would be staying in for the rest of the week.  As we grew nearer to our destination, the butterflies in my stomach became more present, and I couldn’t stop looking out the window my hands shaking slightly.  I’m in a new country; I don’t know the language. How will these people react to me?  The sights are new to me: roads made of dirt and the houses not really houses at all but scrap metal roofs and walls with dirt floors.  With the difference from America, it was a culture shock.

We arrived to the area where we would meet twelve-year-old Helen, a girl the same age I was at the time, whom our ministry leader/guide had a connection with.  She had a very small house with many people living there, but all of my nerves went away when her family and she all smiled at me and hugged me. They did my hair in braids.  Although I did not know what she was saying, we smiled and nodded at each other. We became friends instantly with the help from a translator to understand each other.  All of the kids there adored me, and as I walked down the street, the children rushed to hold my hands and walk with me.  We arrived to the church, and I was bombarded with boys and girls my age asking me questions in Spanish.  There I met the translator’s daughter Shalom, 11, who helped me out and told me how to reply in Spanish.  Shalom and her family came from the United States also, and she was so nice. We hung out with each other the rest of the time.   At the church I met a new translator named Franklin, who wasn’t from the states, but wanted to visit there soon and had been trying to for a while. 

While in the Dominican, Shalom and Helen became my best friends, and Franklin became like an older brother to me.  The next few days we woke up early and went to the school building we had been working on and finishing.  I helped sweep the floors and paint the barren walls, which seemed to last a lifetime; I also helped my mom and Franklin with VBS whenever there was a break from work.  Whenever I wasn’t doing either of those things, Shalom and I would climb the tall trees around the school.  The guys from the Dominican would always run to the trains and bring us back some sugarcane.  The two boys I remember most were, Wallie and Julio, both my age, who were both very funny and energetic. They’d say random English words to try and talk to me. Shalom would always end up translating in the end, of course.

On the third night in the Dominican, I was able to stay the night at Shalom’s house.  Her house was half way up a mountain, and her family drove what seemed to be a small bus, so it was funny watching her mom drive up the side of the mountain.  When we reached her house, I saw that she had cable television, which is rare in their country, although it did go in and out.  We decided to watch Disney Channel and draw pictures; we drew fries with smiley faces on them.  Later, after everyone had gone to sleep, we snuck out and climbed onto the roof. It was beautiful up there, breathtaking.  I could see and hear the swishing salty sea as it crashed against the shore as the starry night sky twinkled and gave off a soft glow of light.

When I stayed the night at her house, the next morning we walked two houses down, that doubled as a small shop.  There we bought some of the most delicious juice I have ever had. The money we paid with was very different; it was mostly coins, not bills.  That day we went back to school to keep working, and Shalom and I continued to climb trees.  We were in a tree with Julio and Wallie and some of the other kids when Shalom started screaming.  I looked down to see the tree had caught fire.  I saw the fire and was so scared I could have run forever.  Shalom was saying, “Get out! Get out!” I had completely lost my brain and forgot how to climb out of a tree; I felt paralyzed.  No need to worry though, we ended up getting down safely after I came to my senses, and my brain decided to work again. Everyone climbed out, and a few seconds later the tree wasn’t on fire anymore.  We all laughed.

On the last day, Helen, Mom, the rest of the missionaries, and I went to a resort and slept there and ate dinner.  The next morning I had to say goodbye to Helen; it was already hard enough with me saying goodbye to Shalom the night before.  When Helen and I hugged, we both cried, and I remember the last words we said to each other.

Helen said, “You’re loco.”
I replied, “No, you’re loco.”

That was our joke for the whole trip, but that’s a whole other story.  As I walked away, I began to shake; my vision became blurred; silence surrounded me except for the unrecognizable chatter of those around me. We had to go back to the airport, and I looked at the ceiling of the bus with Franklin next to me as I willed myself not to cry.  I finally cracked, and the tears streamed down my rosy cheeks as the salty taste hit my lips.

We arrived to the airport, and that was where my mom and I had to say goodbye to Franklin, her second son and my new older brother.  I hugged him us both crying, as he promised he would try his hardest to come to the states.  If he couldn’t come to the states, I knew I was going to go back to the Dominican Republic. I couldn’t leave my second home forever.  I watched as everyone said his or her goodbyes, with tear stained faces, and laughs, as we talked about the fun times we had.  I turned and watched Franklin walk away as I was about to get on the plane. It seemed like seconds later we were going up higher and higher leaving my friends.  I looked out the window and watched the island grow smaller below me. I had to leave the most amazing place in the world, the place that changed my life, the place that made me more grateful than I had ever been, the place that was truly my home for that short amount of time, where I had new family and new friends, and I had to leave.  I will never to forget about the Dominican Republic or the way it changed my life, and I know I will return someday soon.