or
Is There Anything Else That Could Possibly Go
Wrong?
Note: I intend to conclude the water chronicles
with a piece on cultural re-entry and a final summary of the trip which will be
posted at ChristianCentury.org
But for now, the events of the last day
---------------
Unfortunately for me, there seems to be no end
to the things I can and do forget. I’m the one who still gets lost in his own
city. I’m the one who forgets what day it is; indeed, sometimes I forget what
month it is. Occasionally I’ll be so lost in whatever it is I’m doing that I
forget what SEASON it is.
Okay wait, is it like Fall and we’re moving
toward Christmas, or is it sort of in the Spring and we’re moving toward Summer?
You think I’m exaggerating for effect with that
last bit about the seasons, right? Think again. That happens to me at least
twice a year.
So of course I’m going to leave a couple of
things behind in Santo Domingo. Of course I am. That’s a given. The only
question is, will the things I leave be important things?
In this case, they were.
For some reason I was the only one on our team
flying out Monday. My flight was at 4 pm. The women from Murray State left on
Sunday. The others were to leave on Tuesday.
I took a taxi to the airport, stopping along
the way at a bank to get some money to pay for the ride. It was about an hour
drive in traffic, and the driver told me it would be 1000 pesos - roughly $30. I
went to the ATM machine and withdrew 1500 pesos. Foreign money is always
interesting to look at, and Dominican money is very colorful, so I was pretty
intrigued by it. A 1000 pesos bill and a 500 pesos bill, both with strange faces
and markings on them. I was fascinated and walked away staring at the money.
Dominican Republic Pesos
I was so happy. I was happy to be going home
and back to a culture that is familiar to me. Back to a place where I actually
understand what is being said around me. The taxi driver spoke no English, but
we managed to communicate a little bit. He bought us both a popsicle from a
street vender, which was nice of him.
When we got to the airport, I tipped the driver
500 pesos. I mean, what was I going to do with 500 pesos? And he bought me that
popsicle. There was that. He seemed pretty pleased with the tip and shook my
hand vigorously.
This is the point where everything started
going wrong.
The first person at the Delta line said,
“Passaporta por favor.”
That’s when it hit me. I didn’t have my
passport. We put our passports in a safe at YWAM when we first arrived, and I
never gave it another thought.
If this was a movie, there would be a
fast-motion camera replay of the taxi drive going backwards, ending with some
sort of swooshing noise and a close-up of the door of the safe at YWAM.
Here is something you should know to fully
comprehend my predicament. While in Santo Domingo, I never paid attention to the
location of the YWAM house. While we were driving around, I was too busy looking
at traffic and houses and people to worry about where we were. I was like a
child in Santo Domingo. Other people were driving, so I felt free to just look
at things. What can I say? I like looking at things and then writing about them
later.
I didn’t know the address of the YWAM house. A
lot of the streets didn’t even have names, so it never seemed important to me. I
didn’t even know what part of town it was in. And I didn’t know their phone
number either. I never had to call them.
I had nothing. I had no idea where I had been
staying for the last 5 days. And I didn’t know enough Spanish even to explain to
anyone that I didn’t know where I was.
Strangely enough I didn’t panic. I think this
new reality was too shocking to accept. I just couldn’t emotionally comprehend
the fact that I was in a foreign country, in an airport without my passport, and
with no way of explaining to anyone where my passport was.
The only thing I could think of was that I
needed to find a way to call YWAM and get them to send my passport with another
taxi. There was no time for me to ride there and back again, and I wouldn’t know
what to tell a taxi driver anyway, even if I could find one that spoke English.
I opened my wallet to get out my ATM card,
knowing that I was going to have to pay for another taxi. No ATM card.
If this were a movie there would be another
camera shot in fast motion, going back to the bank and wooshing up to the ATM
machine. The camera would show a delighted Gordon, so amused by the pretty money
that he walked away staring at the money and left his ATM card in the machine.
Now I panicked.
In my wallet were 100 pesos - about $3 - and a
$20 bill. Not even enough for a one-way taxi drive, even if I knew where I was
going. I have to tell you, I’m not sure I remember a time in my adult life when
I felt more helpless and vulnerable.
I don’t know about you, but I think it’s time
for a little good news. There was one bit of saving grace in this story. When I
got out of the taxi, I noticed one of the YWAM staff, a man named Ony
(pronounced like only but without the L), who was there with a group of medical
missionaries who were also flying out on Monday.
All I could think of was, “Find Ony!”
I ran through the terminal, praying that I
would find him before he said goodbye to the team and headed back to YWAM. If
this were a movie, the camera would circle around my panicked face, surrounded
by a blur of
airport people going every direction.
I went back to where I had seen Ony, but he
wasn’t there. I looked all around and had just given up when Ony saw ME. He ran
up to me and said my name in his rough, Dominican way. “Gorrrrdown.”
I could have hugged him. He doesn’t speak much
English, but he understood “No have passport. Passport at YWAM.” His response
was one I heard many times in Santo Domingo. It is a colorful phrase with many
meanings.
“Ay yi yi!”
The crazy thing is, everything worked out very
quickly once I found Ony. It’s amazing how easily things work if you speak the
language and know your address and phone number. He called YWAM and they
immediately dispatched a taxi with my passport. A quick international call to
Jeanene from the airport cost 12 pesos. She cancelled the debit card. Ony stayed
with me until the taxi arrived. I bought a Diet Coke and a cup of coffee for Ony
with my last 100 pesos, gave him a huge hug, and got to my flight with about 5
minutes to spare.
Ay yi yi!
The last thing I said to Ony was. "SO glad I
found you." He pointed to the sky and said, "Es El Señor," which is the
delightful Spanish way of saying, "It was the Lord."
I did not argue with his theology.
It’s amazing how an experience like this can
change your perspective. When I got to San Antonio, Delta had lost my luggage. I
went to the luggage counter to report it, but who can worry about lost luggage
when you’ve been a lost man in a foreign land?
The woman behind the counter was speaking a
language I understood, and I was home. I had to have been the nicest person she
had ever dealt with. She told me the luggage was probably somewhere between
Santo Domingo and Atlanta.
“So what happens next,” I asked. “You’ll call
me when you find it?”
“Yes sir. We’ll find it and deliver it to your
home.”
“Really? Thanks, you guys are great!”
I walked off whistling, with no luggage and not
a care in the world.
Taxi driver and popsickle.
Ony (right), his two friends, and me waiting in
the airport.
Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic
