Thanks!

This is a story based on real facts. The names of the characters have NOT been changed to protect their identity for reasons you'll soon see.

March 28th, 2009

I was "told" to say "Thanks" this morning.


You might say the story started last night. But then again, does it really have a starting point or an ending point? It's a story about a young native Dominican in a red shirt and hat and black pants, but it really doesn't start with him, nor does it end with him. He said "Thanks".

Last night, Lanelle fixed a wonderful supper of fresh blue marlin, seasoned with fresh chopped garlic and fresh squeezed lime juice. Along side was steamed rice and this wonderful cooked cabbage seasoned with the "skillet leftovers" of lunch's fried chicken. Delicious. Except in the opinion of a pair of boys aged 6 and 3. Nevertheless, they made a showing by eating enough to avoid starvation. Afterward, Lanelle began washing the dishes as I sat down to read them a book. It dawned on me that they (we) had forgotten something. That something was "Thanks for supper, Mom". A little something that can set us as a group apart into a family. A little something that can set humanity forth from the organic muck created by an seemingly endless cycle of birth and death.

Speaking of birth, this young native Dominican was born in a little wooden shack with a tin roof about 30 years ago. I don't know that to be factual, but it's the best estimate I deduce from his surroundings and appearance. He said "Thanks"; that is a fact.

A young native Dominican saying "Thanks" to John Beyer for getting up on those cold October mornings in northwest Iowa to go start the ol' Case International combine to harvest the last 40 acres of corn. Apprehensive that he'll be unable to finish before the gathering clouds bring an early snow. Corn that he won't need to feed his hogs; left over to "feed the world" as the political pundits like to say. It really fed the "Thanks".

A young native Dominican saying "Thanks" to Scott Tyler for for placing that order to the feed mill in western Arkansas. Ordering feed made from corn that had arrived by rail from northwest Iowa. You see, Scott has chickens. Lots of chickens, like maybe half a million chickens, maybe more, maybe less. But more than he can eat.

It was certainly by chance I met this young native Dominican. I had left the apartment about 7:30 AM to go fill the car up with gas then go on to campus to study as my Saturday mornings usually go. I had finished filling the car at Texaco, paid for the EC$9 per gallon gas, and was casually driving along the coast enjoying the waves splashing ashore in the early morning sunshine. I turned the corner and the car moaned as it began the climb up the hill away from the ocean. That's when I first saw him.

Thanks to Brian Henderson and Damon Birkhofer for hitching their shiny John Deere's up to the 50 foot long air seeders. There is a lot of uncertainty for farmers out in western Nebraska. Who knows if the last rain they got in May will be enough to sprout the crop sown in September. You see, these guys farm a lot of ground. Between them, they probably farm more area than the whole area of Dominica. Well probably not, but you get the point. The thing is, it's all wheat; more wheat than they can possibly eat.

He was walking away from me. From the back, he was indistinguishable from most others we commonly see walking. Quietly going about their daily routines, most not aware of a world beyond the shores of Dominica that wasn't brought to them by television. Hearing my car, he turned to face me, putting his arm out.

A few weeks ago, construction workers finished a new restaurant between main campus and annex where first semester classes are held. It sits up a small hill from one of Dominica's 365 rivers, close enough that when you're sitting on the front veranda, you can hear the water babbling over the rocks in the river. It is the second restaurant here on the island that gives us the "taste of home". It is built in true Dominican style; concrete cinder blocks then coated with a thin layer of masonry to give a smooth finish. As being true to company colors, this one was painted red and black.

"Thanks", Mom for teaching me my colors, Charlene Cantrel for teaching me the alphabet, and Julie Brookshire for passing out a little blue card in 5th grade, all of which ended up making a difference today. I bet most of my 5th grade classmates and Ms. Brookshire have forgotten the blue card. Fortunately, I haven't, but if I had, I would have missed the "Thanks".

Putting an arm out is "Dominican" for "would you give me a ride?". From the front, he was indistinguishable from many others as well. I've been taught not to give rides to strangers from early on, but things operate a little differently here. I've often been picked up by strangers, even without putting my arm out, so I felt motivated to do the same. A quick assessment of his red and black uniform, general appearance, time of day, and a million other factors that can fly through your mind led me to believe he just wanted a ride to work at the red and black restaurant with the KFC on the front. I turned on my left blinker, pulled off the road, unlocked the door and let him in. "Hi, you going to work?" I asked. He hissed. Literally. Then he put up a fist, but that is a Dominican handshake to offer to bump fists. So I bumped his fist with mine and again asked "Are you going to KFC?" Again, he hissed and this time pointed down the road. So away we drove. In silence.

About a half a mile down the road, we arrived at KFC. Now what? I pulled off on the assumption I'd judged his character and appearance correctly. Again he hissed and pointed. This is where the little blue card comes in. You see, this time he pointed at his right ear. Born into conditions some 30 years ago that certainly put him at a disadvantage in his world: Poor people, lack of education and health care for his condition, playground taunts, missed job opportunities and any number of other things that could have left him bitter. But slowly he made a fist, putting his thumb between his first and middle fingers: "T", next, thumb parallel to fisted ring and little finger with index and middle finger extended: "H", and onward: "A", "N", "K", "S". The little blue card that had rudimentary pictures of the American Sign Language, not a class assignment, but interesting to a curious 5th grader. Our paths may never cross for more than that short, silent, half mile ride, but he said "Thanks". Another bump of fists, and he slipped into the morning sunshine and another day of work cooking a corn fed, flour coated chicken, leaving me with a "Thanks" heard round the world.

I don't have the email addresses of any of the real characters in this true story. If you do, please forward it to them.

Thanks, Lyndle

Missed view

I realized that I showed only the view from the back of our apartment in my earlier post. We do have a nice view from two other sides of our place too. This first picture is what we see from the kitchen window.






Standing on the front porch, looking inland. It seems to be impossible to get photos that aren't full of electric lines and poles.








This one is looking across the street from the front of our apartment. We get to look either at mountains or at the sea here.

Broken arm

As many of you already know, we got to experience the Dominican medical system a little bit lately. Logan fell down while running at school. He got a green stick fracture to his right arm. This quickly turned into quite the experience! He PE teacher, Mr. Theo, took him to the Ross University Health Clinic and called us. One of the doctors there wrapped his arm up and sent us to Roseau where we could get x-rays taken. It's an hour drive from Portsmouth to Roseau and then there was some waiting time at the radiology clinic. (Photo to the left was taken while we were waiting for xrays.) There was some misunderstanding about what was to happen from there. The radiologist was supposed to let us know that the arm was broken & needed a cast which would have sent us to a specialist in Roseau for a cast. Instead they left us with the impression that there was no fracture & no cast was needed. So we drove back to the Health Clinic at Ross in Portsmouth to find out we should have gotten a cast in Roseau. Since the clinic is not set up to do casts, they sent us to the Portsmouth Hospital. Let's just say it's NOT like a hospital in the US! We did have to wait again for our turn. Finally a doctor there put a cast on Logan's arm. His little accident happened in the morning by 8:30 or 8:45 am and it was 5 pm or later before we had the cast on his arm. (Photo below taken on the steps of the hospital as we were leaving from getting the cast on his arm.)

The doctors originally thought that the cast could come off after 3 weeks. We were referred to the specialist back in Roseau for removal of the cast. We took most of another whole day to make the trip to Roseau for this. Apparently appointments are not used here so we showed up at the clinic shortly after the doctor had told me the day before that he would be there. It turned out that there was some emergency that morning that he had to attend so it was after noon before he ever made it to his clinic. That was a long wait with 2 little boys who had more interesting things on their minds than waiting at a doctor's office! The doctor removed the cast (it was so loose that he just slipped it over Logan's hand to remove it) and examined the arm. It wasn't quite healed so on went a new cast for 2 more weeks. The doctor gave orders to just remove the cast here in Portsmouth on March 12 - 5 weeks after the break happened. (Photo below taken after the new cast was put on his arm.)











On the day we were to have the cast taken off, we took Logan to the Health Clinic at Ross University who referred us back to the Portsmouth Hospital to take the cast off. So back we went for a trip all over the hospital - with waits in between each place that we were sent. Finally, after about an hour and a half there we were told that the machine for taking the cast off was broken. They offered no other solution, just that they couldn't remove the cast. So we went back to the Ross Health Clinic looking for someone to remove the cast. There we were told that the only other machine for removing a cast on this island is at the hospital in Roseau! By this time we'd spent almost 2 hours trying to find someone to take the cast off. Now it was going to be another 2 hours of driving plus however long we had to wait in the Roseau hospital for someone to remove the cast & probably 30 seconds to actually cut the cast off. I wasn't really looking forward to making a trip there - possibly only to be told that their machine was broken too. Since the doctor had already written orders to remove the cast & no doctor was supposed to be looking at it nor were more xrays needed, we did the American thing....we found another way to take the cast off. :-) Lyndle and a friend found some trauma shears and cut the cast off themselves. By the way, these are the old plaster casts that they use here. It was pretty easy to cut in the palm of the hand and up by the elbow, but it was pretty hard in between. Good thing those men with the shears were tough. :-)

Logan's arm is doing well. He was a little nervous to have the cast off at first but he quickly started acting like he's never broken a bone in his body. By the next day he was showing me a new trick on the playground where he could swing from a rope by the monkey bars. That right arm doesn't seem to be too weak.