Many things are different when a person decides to move from a small town in Idaho to teach school in a large city in the Dominican Republic. People everywhere speak in an unintelligible language making it virtually impossible to do even the simplest tasks without a translator with you. A wiry, lanky black man with a basket of green fruit on his head walks down the street in the morning crying out “aguacate”(ah-gwah-cah-tay) in a tone that carries into the deepest part of every apartment within a two block radius. (By the way, Carol says this man sings out the “A” note on the first three syllables and “A-sharp” on the last one.) One cannot put toilet paper in the toilet. You never have to use Chap Stick. Carol’s hair has turned wavy. The storm drains run above ground in cement ditches along the side of the road. Water cannot be drunk out of the faucet so we have to order a five gallon jug of drinking water every few days from a local “Colmado” which are located every few blocks all around the city.
But the greatest difference that I encounter every day is the traffic. At first I just figured the differences I see are attributed to “city” traffic verses “Idaho” traffic, but then I talk with people who have lived and drive in cities like New York and they claim that there is a fundamental philosophical difference between the way the people drive here and the way we drive in the United States.
On Friday I asked for a personal day off from my teaching so that Carol and I could take a bus from here in Santiago to the capital in Santa Domingo. The trip is only an hour and a half but it takes an additional half hour to negotiate the traffic once we hit the city which has almost three million people in it. Our daughter is near the capital right now and we are trying to make arrangements for her to come up to Santiago to live in a few months, so we went down to see her.
Sitting in the relative security of the top level of the Greyhound-style bus I could purvey the tangled array of cars, trucks, motor cycles, and pedestrians to the side and ahead of me. The highway resembles a four lane freeway like we would see entering into any larger city, but as soon as it gets near the city the two lanes going our way suddenly becomes four … maybe five … lanes, if you want to call it “lanes”. There are no markings so cars navigate into any space that is wide enough to fit a vehicle into.
At every stop light several people wind their way between the cars like ants searching for food with an array of merchandize to tempt the drivers … newspapers, cell phone chargers, steering wheel covers, cell phone calling cards, fruit, bottled water, fruit … anything that can be exchanged for money in less than 60 seconds. Motorcycles thread their way through the fabric of traffic between the cars to save a few seconds of time. And cars from side roads push their way into traffic with the unwritten rule that whoever has his nose in first wins. So cars are at all angles to each other in this mass of traffic.
We notice that the same “feel” of traffic is here in Santiago as I have described in our trip to the capital. Since it is dangerous to be out on the streets after dark we called a taxi in order to go back home a few nights ago after having supper with some new friends that we met at the school. The taxi we called couldn’t find the apartment where we were (another difference in this country is an entire city with no discernable pattern in addresses) so we had to walk down to the main street and hail a passing taxi. After squealing to a stop a young man in a tired looking car with a taxi light on the top motioned us over. After giving him our broken-Spanish directions he roared off as if someone had dropped a checkered flag. The man appeared to be late for something and the next few minutes we were seriously wondering if we would survive the less-than-a-mile home without some kind of accident. We had already tried to find the seat belts without any luck. In the headlights I saw roosters, dogs, and people scurry out of the way as they heard the roar of his approaching engine and the splash of the puddles as he hit the numerous potholes on this rainy night.
Up to this point, when the conversation turns to the traffic with some of my fellow sojourners, I have often detected the attitude that the way people drive here is not good or bad, just simply different, and you have to learn to drive just like them. There is even a sense of humor as you point out the ludicrous as it passes by … a pickup truck whizzing by with 7 or 8 people sitting in the back, motorcycles with two, sometimes four, people on it wearing no helmets and having only flip flops on for shoes, small children ... even babies ... squeezed between two or three adults on a motor cycle as if it were simply a very small car, a motorcyclist pushing with one foot a man on a bicycle as he moved along a busy street at 25 miles per hour during rush hour………
But I am losing my sense of humor lately when I see this kind of driving. If it makes no difference how you drive except what country you are in, then why have laws at all. Let the law of the jungle prevail! But are the driving habits of some countries better? I believe they are, and when one ignores that fact and justifies it on the basis of “it is just the culture”, there can be serious ramifications.
On the way home from school one afternoon this past week I was looking out the window of the school bus at nothing particular trying to wind down after a hectic day on the 15 minutes ride home. Right in front of me as if I were watching some violent cop show on wide screen HD television I watched a car crash into a man on a motorcycle as he tried to cut in front of him at an intersection. The motorcyclist was hurled into the air as he was thrown over the car onto the pavement and against the curb as his motorcycle went careening into traffic. He had no shoes, no helmet. On the return trip of my bus a few minutes later we passed by the same intersection and I saw him leaning against his mangled bike on his feet, so by God’s grace this man was still alive. In another event recently a man with only one leg was begging at a stop light while one of my friends was waiting. He had time to ask how he lost his leg. It was a recent motor cycle accident.
On the way to the capital on Friday a man named Rene picked us up at 5:30 in the morning. He is a school bus driver for our school and a very dependable Christian man that we wanted to help us to make sure we found the right bus on time. Rene is now dead. We received a phone call from our school telephone tree that he was killed in an auto accident a day after he dropped us off. He was buried on the same day with a memorial scheduled each day at his house for nine days afterwards in the Dominican custom. In a poor tropical country very few are embalmed and they have to be buried within 24 hours.
In just the few weeks that I’ve lived here my life has been tragically touched on several levels because of the way people drive and the disregard for safety. This is one reason that we will probably not be getting a car anytime soon. The crazy way that people drive in this country is a reality that I have to cope with, and I am not going to change an entire country’s driving habits because I complain about it, but I don’t have to excuse it.
Before coming here in August the Lord gave me a verse of Scripture that I decided to commit to memory because I had a hunch that it had some truth that I would be needing to rely on many times:
The eternal God is thy refuge,
And underneath are the everlasting arms. Deut 33:27a
Traffic has become simply one more area that I've added to the list of things I have to trust the Lord for on a more urgent and daily basis than I did in the States.
Showing posts with label traffic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label traffic. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Monday, September 1, 2008
Keep Your Head Down
My father served in World War II and the experience salted his homespun wisdom which he shared with his sons at various times in our lives. When my brother followed his example and joined the military, my father had some advice for him as he was ready to cross the big water on one of his assignments: “Son, keep your head down.” Dad was a man of few words so David had to fill in the blanks, but the message seemed plain enough: I love you and I want you to be careful. Now that I am in a foreign country and engaged in a war of my own, those words are a warning to me also.
Teaching in a Christian school here in Santiago in the Dominican Republic I am finding that my wife and I have to be careful. For example, we need to watch out for people who think that all Americanos are rich and can be robbed. My wife met with many of the ladies from the school a few nights ago and the topic was how to be safe in the DR. By the time Carol heard of all the stories and warnings during the evening she was convinced that she would not make it home without some motorcycle purse snatcher accosting her. But she made it just fine and we discussed some ways to “keep our heads down” while we are living here for the next two years.
Living in an apartment on the ground floor doesn’t help our anxiety level much even though it takes four keys to enter the front door and there are bars on all the windows. In fact, an iron door swings shut on the front door so we don’t know if we are keeping the robbers out or living in a self imposed prison. Our living room is surrounded with tall glass windows on two of the walls so it gives the distinct feeling that we are in a “fishbowl”. When we moved in, the school graciously loaned us a wicker couch and two chairs and a glass-topped metal kitchen table and four chairs, but in a three-bedroom tile-and-cement apartment it doesn’t go very far. So we decided that it is a priority to buy some curtains. Since the entrance to the apartment building is next to our front door, every Tom(Carlos), Dick(Ricardo), and Harry (Jose)in the neighborhood who walks by our windows and can see right into our fishbowl. Forget about privacy! Although we have met some interesting people this way we really do need to get some curtains so we can provide a bit of security and privacy.
Another area we need to keep our heads down is the traffic. Only a person who has experienced the traffic here in the DR could truly understand how chaotic and dangerous it is. We knew from our experience in Venezuela ten years ago that we did not want to own a car while we are here. The probability of getting into an accident here is very high. And then how do you deal with corrupt police, the insurance, and the language barrier? I asked several people who have been here awhile what they are going to do when they get into the inevitable accident. Instead of a clear answer I received a blank stare. Not one of them had an answer. I believe they are simply driving with the hope that it doesn’t happen to them, and just deal with it when it comes.
Our director of the school, for example, comes from California and was involved in an accident a few days ago. Although it was not his fault, the young man on the motorcycle was taken to the hospital and it shook up our director quite sufficiently. Think about this … even a California driver finds this traffic hard to cope with. Wow! In fact, our school has made it plain that it will cancel all medical insurance for any person who owns or drives a motorcycle in this country. And, before we came, I bought some life insurance for my wife. Although they accepted her application, the company raised her premiums when they found out that she was coming to the DR. So, the bottom line is that it is just plain more dangerous to live here and we should not be naïve.
Without a car we have to rely on the generosity of others who own a car, or upon the public transportation, or upon our own two feet … and we do all three in order to survive. We wanted to see our daughter who lives near the capital about two hours away so we spent the bigger part of two days trying to put together a plan to get us there safely. First, we hired a Christian man who drives a van/bus for our school to pick us up at 5:30 in the morning and drive us down to the bus station which is downtown. He stayed long enough to make sure we could buy a ticket and stand in the right line.
After the two hour trip on a very fancy Greyhound-type air-conditioned bus we arrived at Sano Domingo where we were met by two ladies with a car who drove us another half hour to where our daughter lives. Then after our visit they drove us back and made sure we had another ticket and was on the right bus back to Santiago. Then by God’s grace we found a taxi driver who was an out-spoken Christian who delivered us to our door. Although we couldn’t understand the words on the radio program he was listening to as we drove, we could tell it was a sermon. When I noticed the fish symbols on his key chain lanyard I asked if he was “Christiano” he bellowed, “Amen! Amen!”
The other kinds of public transportation here besides the large busses and the taxis are something called “Los Conchos.” These are small cars like a Nissan who have a route number taped on the door. Although they should only fit four people, they are allowed by law to cram up to 6 people in these cars with the 7th being the driver and deposit them anywhere along the specified route for a flat rate of 15 pesos (around 50 cents). A taxi does the same job for more comfort but the cost would be 120 pesos for the same trip (Close to $3.50). So Los Conchos is transportation that is inexpensive and plenteous, but we aren’t quite ready for this kind of up-close-and-personal transportation experience yet.
Then, of course, there is the walking, which we are trying to do regularly. Lately I have been catching the early school bus which gets me home around 4:30. Then Carol and I start out on a walking adventure. One time we decided to try to find the local panaderia, which is a good bakery in the neighborhood. Walking in this country during broad daylight is not necessarily a dangerous activity, any more than in a big city in the States, but it certainly demands our full attention.
For example, I have been trying to get back into the routine of reviewing my Bible verses which I have not been consistent in since coming to this country. When I announced a new plan of getting off the bus early and then reviewing each evening as I walked home, Carol scolded me… and she was right. What was I thinking?! If I wasn’t paying attention I could easily fall into a manhole on the sidewalk because the cover is missing, for example. So we have to be as alert walking as if we were crossing a mine field.
We found the panaderia, by the way, and several other places as we have walked around the neighborhood. This is dangerous on another level because now we know where to get a Dominican style doughnut any time we want. The grocery store is less than a mile away so we can walk to the store and even carry our goods home with us if we do frequent shopping trips.
The other mode of transportation that is available occasionally is friends that have their own car. These precious and generous people have taken pity on us several times in the time since we have been here to take us to church and to help us pick up items that we are still buying in order to set up our apartment.
On Friday night Steve took us to a Costco-type store so we could buy a study table for me. I am finding out that I can’t do any work at school. Since there is a bus that takes me home and picks me up, the only time I have to prepare for eight classes (and six of them are different subjects) is my preparation period … which is one hour on one day and 85 minutes on the other day. This time is usually taken up with chasing down people I need to see. Since we don’t have an intercom system in the school, or even email that is working, or phones, everything has to be done by walking around asking if you’ve seen so-and-so.
As a result I’ve decided to set up my work station at home where I do my lesson planning and grading. The work table I purchased is perfect but I had to rely on Steve with his very used-but-reliable Jeep to get me there and back. Then yesterday Pam, my math colleague, gave Carol and me a ride to another Walmart-type store to pick up some letter trays so I can get my school papers organized at school. This seemingly simple errand took over four hours.
Everything takes a long time to do the smallest errand in this country, which is another story.
By the time we arrived home in her 20-year-old car which has enough character to deserve the name “Sammy”, it had stalled several times, been in probably four close collisions (at least appeared that way to me), had been accosted by beggars who washed windows and Haitians selling avocadoes at every stop light. Since gas is almost $7 per gallon I gave her some money for this favor but I felt like it was a miracle that we were alive and safe … and this was a simple trip to the Walmart want-to-be! Carol told me later that as she was in the back seat watching helplessly at the oncoming dangers, she learned a new meaning to Dad’s advice. In order to survive without a panic attack she simply and literally puts her head down and prays.
We need God’s grace to live in this country. True, we need to be careful as we learn the ropes, but even I can realize that most of this is going to depend on God. So much is out of our control. So, Dad, I will do my best to keep my head down, but I am realizing more and more on a very practical level that my safety comes from God more than what I can do.
“O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man
that walketh to direct his steps.” Jer 10:23
Teaching in a Christian school here in Santiago in the Dominican Republic I am finding that my wife and I have to be careful. For example, we need to watch out for people who think that all Americanos are rich and can be robbed. My wife met with many of the ladies from the school a few nights ago and the topic was how to be safe in the DR. By the time Carol heard of all the stories and warnings during the evening she was convinced that she would not make it home without some motorcycle purse snatcher accosting her. But she made it just fine and we discussed some ways to “keep our heads down” while we are living here for the next two years.
Living in an apartment on the ground floor doesn’t help our anxiety level much even though it takes four keys to enter the front door and there are bars on all the windows. In fact, an iron door swings shut on the front door so we don’t know if we are keeping the robbers out or living in a self imposed prison. Our living room is surrounded with tall glass windows on two of the walls so it gives the distinct feeling that we are in a “fishbowl”. When we moved in, the school graciously loaned us a wicker couch and two chairs and a glass-topped metal kitchen table and four chairs, but in a three-bedroom tile-and-cement apartment it doesn’t go very far. So we decided that it is a priority to buy some curtains. Since the entrance to the apartment building is next to our front door, every Tom(Carlos), Dick(Ricardo), and Harry (Jose)in the neighborhood who walks by our windows and can see right into our fishbowl. Forget about privacy! Although we have met some interesting people this way we really do need to get some curtains so we can provide a bit of security and privacy.
Another area we need to keep our heads down is the traffic. Only a person who has experienced the traffic here in the DR could truly understand how chaotic and dangerous it is. We knew from our experience in Venezuela ten years ago that we did not want to own a car while we are here. The probability of getting into an accident here is very high. And then how do you deal with corrupt police, the insurance, and the language barrier? I asked several people who have been here awhile what they are going to do when they get into the inevitable accident. Instead of a clear answer I received a blank stare. Not one of them had an answer. I believe they are simply driving with the hope that it doesn’t happen to them, and just deal with it when it comes.
Our director of the school, for example, comes from California and was involved in an accident a few days ago. Although it was not his fault, the young man on the motorcycle was taken to the hospital and it shook up our director quite sufficiently. Think about this … even a California driver finds this traffic hard to cope with. Wow! In fact, our school has made it plain that it will cancel all medical insurance for any person who owns or drives a motorcycle in this country. And, before we came, I bought some life insurance for my wife. Although they accepted her application, the company raised her premiums when they found out that she was coming to the DR. So, the bottom line is that it is just plain more dangerous to live here and we should not be naïve.
Without a car we have to rely on the generosity of others who own a car, or upon the public transportation, or upon our own two feet … and we do all three in order to survive. We wanted to see our daughter who lives near the capital about two hours away so we spent the bigger part of two days trying to put together a plan to get us there safely. First, we hired a Christian man who drives a van/bus for our school to pick us up at 5:30 in the morning and drive us down to the bus station which is downtown. He stayed long enough to make sure we could buy a ticket and stand in the right line.
After the two hour trip on a very fancy Greyhound-type air-conditioned bus we arrived at Sano Domingo where we were met by two ladies with a car who drove us another half hour to where our daughter lives. Then after our visit they drove us back and made sure we had another ticket and was on the right bus back to Santiago. Then by God’s grace we found a taxi driver who was an out-spoken Christian who delivered us to our door. Although we couldn’t understand the words on the radio program he was listening to as we drove, we could tell it was a sermon. When I noticed the fish symbols on his key chain lanyard I asked if he was “Christiano” he bellowed, “Amen! Amen!”
The other kinds of public transportation here besides the large busses and the taxis are something called “Los Conchos.” These are small cars like a Nissan who have a route number taped on the door. Although they should only fit four people, they are allowed by law to cram up to 6 people in these cars with the 7th being the driver and deposit them anywhere along the specified route for a flat rate of 15 pesos (around 50 cents). A taxi does the same job for more comfort but the cost would be 120 pesos for the same trip (Close to $3.50). So Los Conchos is transportation that is inexpensive and plenteous, but we aren’t quite ready for this kind of up-close-and-personal transportation experience yet.
Then, of course, there is the walking, which we are trying to do regularly. Lately I have been catching the early school bus which gets me home around 4:30. Then Carol and I start out on a walking adventure. One time we decided to try to find the local panaderia, which is a good bakery in the neighborhood. Walking in this country during broad daylight is not necessarily a dangerous activity, any more than in a big city in the States, but it certainly demands our full attention.
For example, I have been trying to get back into the routine of reviewing my Bible verses which I have not been consistent in since coming to this country. When I announced a new plan of getting off the bus early and then reviewing each evening as I walked home, Carol scolded me… and she was right. What was I thinking?! If I wasn’t paying attention I could easily fall into a manhole on the sidewalk because the cover is missing, for example. So we have to be as alert walking as if we were crossing a mine field.
We found the panaderia, by the way, and several other places as we have walked around the neighborhood. This is dangerous on another level because now we know where to get a Dominican style doughnut any time we want. The grocery store is less than a mile away so we can walk to the store and even carry our goods home with us if we do frequent shopping trips.
The other mode of transportation that is available occasionally is friends that have their own car. These precious and generous people have taken pity on us several times in the time since we have been here to take us to church and to help us pick up items that we are still buying in order to set up our apartment.
On Friday night Steve took us to a Costco-type store so we could buy a study table for me. I am finding out that I can’t do any work at school. Since there is a bus that takes me home and picks me up, the only time I have to prepare for eight classes (and six of them are different subjects) is my preparation period … which is one hour on one day and 85 minutes on the other day. This time is usually taken up with chasing down people I need to see. Since we don’t have an intercom system in the school, or even email that is working, or phones, everything has to be done by walking around asking if you’ve seen so-and-so.
As a result I’ve decided to set up my work station at home where I do my lesson planning and grading. The work table I purchased is perfect but I had to rely on Steve with his very used-but-reliable Jeep to get me there and back. Then yesterday Pam, my math colleague, gave Carol and me a ride to another Walmart-type store to pick up some letter trays so I can get my school papers organized at school. This seemingly simple errand took over four hours.
Everything takes a long time to do the smallest errand in this country, which is another story.
By the time we arrived home in her 20-year-old car which has enough character to deserve the name “Sammy”, it had stalled several times, been in probably four close collisions (at least appeared that way to me), had been accosted by beggars who washed windows and Haitians selling avocadoes at every stop light. Since gas is almost $7 per gallon I gave her some money for this favor but I felt like it was a miracle that we were alive and safe … and this was a simple trip to the Walmart want-to-be! Carol told me later that as she was in the back seat watching helplessly at the oncoming dangers, she learned a new meaning to Dad’s advice. In order to survive without a panic attack she simply and literally puts her head down and prays.
We need God’s grace to live in this country. True, we need to be careful as we learn the ropes, but even I can realize that most of this is going to depend on God. So much is out of our control. So, Dad, I will do my best to keep my head down, but I am realizing more and more on a very practical level that my safety comes from God more than what I can do.
“O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man
that walketh to direct his steps.” Jer 10:23
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