Last month, I found myself outside a little ice cream shop by the ocean, ordering some strawberry frozen yogurt. Suddenly, I heard someone call out, “You must be Dominican!” Startled by a language I understood, I looked to see where the English-speaking voice came from to discover a worker looking at me. Obviously he was joking. Even with my hat, sunglasses, face mask, and pants, the pale skin on my arms made it clear I wasn’t from the Dominican Republic. I replied, “Of course I’m Dominican,” but the grin on his face displayed his disbelief.
I stand out because I’m not from this country. The daily stares remind me I don’t “belong.” Yet this place is my home. I’m just very easy to spot.
Two weeks ago, Mariano and I visited the village he grew up in. We traveled by bus for almost an hour to get there. There was exactly one paved street going in and out, and a wide open field for as far as we could see. There was no bus stop or anything, so we waited by the side of the highway for one to drive by. We sat in pink plastic chairs brought to us by two little girls who saw us sitting on a rock in the shade, waiting for the bus.
That was when a pickup truck drove past us, stopped, and backed up to where we were sitting. When the driver rolled down his window, every Spanish word I had ever learned disappeared from my vocabulary. The only words that came out were, "Hey? Hey?! Hey! Hi!" Of all the people to run into, it was the original bus driver from the big yellow school bus! The "free" bus I had taken one time, which got me home long after curfew. He was bringing his family somewhere nearby and couldn’t stay long, but he recognized us and just wanted to say, "Hello." I suppose we are just recognizable people because this happens quite frequently.
On July 29, 2020, I packed two large duffel bags, two carry-on suitcases, a backpack and a pillow and moved to San Pedro de Macoris. I gave my Jeep back to the dealership, as well as sold my furniture and most of my belongings on Craigslist. When I moved here, I came for good, and I came to stay.
But I didn’t come solely because it was what I wanted. Part of me preferred to live comfortably in my hometown forever because when moving became a serious possibility, I began listing every reason I couldn’t do it. I didn’t have enough money in my savings account. I wouldn’t be able to go to my spinal surgeon for checkups anymore. I had a dog who was more important to me than he should have been. Excuse after excuse after excuse. But I couldn’t ignore what God told me to do, no matter how irrational it appeared. So I followed the gentle pull on my soul to the Dominican Republic.
Some of us move to another city for a different job opportunity, and others move out of the country in search of a new life. I relocated to a “third-world country” to teach. There are pros and cons to every country, state, and city. There are good and bad aspects to every neighborhood, no matter where we live.
So what does it feel like to live here? It feels like I used to live somewhere else, and now I live here. I wake up each weekday morning and walk to school as if I have done so my entire life. I walk to the store every Saturday to buy groceries, paper towels, and lots of bug spray before taking a motorcycle home. Riding a motorcycle is almost natural, and my leg doesn’t get stuck on the other side when I’m getting off anymore.
My new home finally has a bed, fan, fridge, stove, and Dominican washing machine in it. God faithfully provided everything I needed, especially in the moments when I wasn’t sure how it was going to happen. My apartment building is across the street from the police station, so I live in a safe neighborhood. It is also across the street from my school and I love having a 30 second commute to work instead of a 3 hour drive each day.
It seems like I have always lived here. This is my home. This is where I’m supposed to be. One day I lived in New York where 6 feet of snow falls from the sky in a single night. The next day I lived on an island in the middle of the ocean where the sun can and will burn my face through a mask. When I lived in Buffalo, it was my home, and now living in the Dominican Republic feels like home too.
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