If You Build It, They Will Thrive
Right smack in the middle of the batey called Consuelito is
the most beautiful baseball field. Well, actually, it is a most beautiful field
that just happens to be used for baseball. Picture an expanse of shimmering silvery grass, softly moving under
an almost lavender blue sky. On three sides it is surrounded by cane fields.
As everyone except for your blog author knows, baseball is
big in the Dominican Republic. Consuelito has its own team, the Brave Indians,
who battle it out on this lush little oasis of whispering grass.
Consuelito, as it turns out, it also the place where we meet Jesus.
Jesus P. is 50 years old and has lived in this batey his
entire life. His resume runs long: health promoter, president of the school
committee and the committee to rebuild Consuelito's latrines (170 of them), distributor of food cards
(sort of like American food stamps), godfather, mentor, cheerleader, trusted
presence.
During a break in the team’s clinic activity, Jesus leads a
walking tour and proudly shows off the fruits of this community’s labors:
• The neat, well-kept school, run by a poised and soft-spoken young teacher. Her composure is the more impressive considering she presides over grades 3, 5 and 6 in the mornings and grades 1 and 4 in the afternoons. In one room. By herself.
• The media center that houses ten computers for use by anyone in the batey. By early 2010, it will have Internet access.
• The kitchen for the elderly. Consuelito is home to 18 people well into old age who have no family whatsoever to care for them. This is not unusual in the bateys: many Haitian men leave family behind when they come to the Dominican Republic to work in the cane fields, never to return. As they grow older, they feel the effects of this solitary life keenly.
But here in Consuelito, there is the kitchen, where a woman called Trudy cooks each day and welcomes the batey elders to a small communal dining room. [At this point in our tour, Jesus' narration becomes a bit difficult to hear, as it is punctuated by earsplitting squeals. Just outside the kitchen door, a pig and its owner are engaged in dispute.]
Our tour finishes at possibly the most miserable home we've yet seen, a lean-to of corrugated metal, the size of a tool shed in your back yard. It is
falling down and filthy.
Outside, a naked little boy, about two years old, is
playing in the dirt. On his upper back is an enormous lump. With Jesus translating, we urge the child’s mother to
bring him to see the doctors – our clinic for the day is just steps away from
the shack. She promises to do so.
We walk back to the small building in which the team is
working today and are immediately caught up in the rush of patients. It is not
until several hours later, on the bus headed home, that we realize none
of our physicians saw a child with a lump on his back. He never showed up.
Post Script: So imagine that you are housebound with your
child, who is exhibiting alarming symptoms of illness. Suddenly, a bus pulls up
at your door and out pop five doctors from The Children’s Hospital of
Philadelphia to examine him. It’s a parent’s pediatric dream come true.
This actually happens in Consuelito. Concerned about the boy with the mass on his back, the
entire team makes a detour back to the batey the next day to find him. After examination, consensus is that the mass is probably harmless, but the child should have some
tests. Arrangements are made to ensure this happens.
The team piles back on board its chariot of hope and prepares to drive off,
literally, into the sunset – until somebody notices that the bus is on fire.
But that’s a blog for another day.
Posted at 02:20PM Nov 13, 2009
by Linda Lightner in Health |
