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Over this past February break I took a group of McQuaid students to the Dominican Republic for a service trip. We were in a rural village outside of Santiago building latrines for families in the community. What was amazing about the experience was our level of immersion in the community. We lived with the families, and worked along side them. The people were inspiring, struggling against the hardships they faced, and celebrating the joy in their lives. The village was terribly poor, but extremely generous. One couple hosting two of our students slept in chairs in their eating area so the students could have their only bed. I stayed with a multi-generation family that had a one room house made of concrete blocks and tin. The bathing area was outside, and it was a tub of rain water that you poured over yourself using a smaller bucket. The village did not have running water or sewers, so a new outhouse was a big deal for them. The Institute for Latin American Concerns that coordinated our trip provided us with a translator and guide, who's name was Elizabeth. She was twenty-two, and had committed to volunteer for six months helping groups like ours have these incredible immersion experiences. Of course I immediately thought of Kara. Elizabeth had the same great sense of humor, joking with our boys and throwing out random 80's quotes. At one point she broke into "Ice Ice Baby" and I thought for sure she'd bust out the Running Man dance. It was a powerful week. The work was hard, it was hot and sticky, and the roosters crowed all through the night. Elizabeth was a savior for us, putting things in perspective when needed, and making us laugh when we needed that too. She gave us Merengue lessons before the community dance, and through her example showed us how to learn from the people of the Dominican by fully entering into the experience. I had a great talk with her on the bus ride back to Santiago about her hopes for her future, her love for travel, her uncertainty about her love life, and I thought of Kara the whole time. The last night we were saying good-bye, and I was trying to thank her for all she did for us, and affirm her in her work and journey. We hugged and as we were saying goodnight she said "My name is not actually Elizabeth. That's my middle name. The Dominicans can never pronounce my first name right, so I go with Elizabeth because its easier, but my name is Kara." I went to bed that night with tears in my eyes and a smile on my face.
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