The Children of Las Terrenas

The Dominican Republic ranks among the worst in the world for education.  And here in the country, Las Terrenas has the worst public school system.  Most children do not begin public school until they are 7 or 8 and though education is free, they are required to purchase uniforms and books to attend.  That in and of itself creates an insurmountable difficulty-- if parents cannot afford to purchase these things, then kids remain uneducated. For those who can attend, classes often have 45-50 kids and one teacher-- one who usually carries a big stick (literally) and spends her days yelling, hitting and generally overworked and frustrated.  Ingrid, my roommate, recently visited the public schools and what she saw-- violence from the teacher to the kids; student violence against one another; a lack of respect and discipline coupled with varying ability levels and attention spans-- left her sick and deeply, deeply concerned for all involved.  It is something she cannot stop talking about and cannot comprehend.

At la biblioteca, we see kids wearing uniforms too small and ripped, dirty.  Some kids have to wear the same uniform for 5 years, purchased too large to begin with so they can grow into it and held up haphazardly with belts, safety pins and rope.

But these are the lucky ones.  The children I have been connecting with are the street kids-- mostly orphaned boys who work the streets cleaning shoes, or stealing.  These boys are lively, intelligent and very curious.  From my first experience with one who begged me to buy him some juice (he was probably 6, with a black eye and snot running from his nose) to the boys I see regularly near the beach at the gazebo whom I speak with regularly-- they all want to learn.

On Saturday, I had two boys clean my leather sandals, giving them each 50 pesos (nearly 10 times the going rate) and they told me a little about their lives.  These kids are generally abandoned or sent out into the world by parents who cannot afford them when they are very young.  They live together wherever they can-- a sort of gang of roving boys, very Charles Dickens.  They can read, some of them, a bit.  Some have spent some time in school and all want to.  Every time I meet a few of them, I invite them to the biblioteca and this week, they have arrived, finally, in droves.  They come with their shoe cleaning kits, which they hide for fear of them being stolen, and then we sit and read, or play puzzles or draw.  Later, they will play soccer or swing on the playground.  These are hardened little beings who would just as soon steal out of your pocket as smile at you-- but at the library, they are simply children again.  Smiles and curiosity; laughter and affection; helpful natures and frustrating defiance-- all wrapped up into perfect little boy packages. Sure they get angry and they will fight with the other, "educated" kids, but they are still only children.  Nothing in my life has felt as good as seeing them shyly approach the gate each day with a bubbling, excited energy that infuses us all with a special kind of spirit.  The spirit of discovery, I guess.  Or perhaps just the resulting energy of giving pure human love to another person.  I'm so lucky to be able to experience it.