Hello all,
I will be home in 4 days!!  Ahhh!!  Sorry I can't write much, things are crazy here trying to do all the last minute stuff - could write a long email about all the end of the school year fun and craziness and total sadness too, lots and lots of tears, hugs, and kisses... and it's not even good-bye yet! I will spare you the long email, but I was asked to write a story of my year here to put on the NPH website, not an easy thing to do, but I am attaching it for those interested in a sneak preview, it will be a month or so probably be it gets up on the website with photos and all.  Okay, so can't wait to see you all soon!!!  Let me know when we can get together!!!

Love and prayers,

Kristin

Volunteer Testimonial – Kristin DeYoung
The story of how I came to NPH, what I found, and what’s happened in this past year since could probably fill a whole book and then some, but I will try my best to condense it to this testimonial.
Since I was 18, it has been my dream to join the Peace Corps. When I got married, my husband knew that the Peace Corps was “part of the deal”, and we were both excited to do this together. After anxiously waiting for 2 years as nominees, the economic downturn in the states took place and we were cut from our nominated program. We were nominated a second time, but not for a program I was particularly excited about, and then we were cut from that one too. I was devastated to realize this door was closing on me, but had no idea that something so much better was in store. After studying special education 5 years in college and teaching special ed. 4 years in Michigan and abroad, special education has become a passion of mine. While spending the summer of 2007 giving special education trainings and workshops here in the DR and working with children with special needs in “bateys” (the slums), I saw the very limited access (or most often zero access) children with special needs had to receiving an education here, and the very challenging conditions they had to live in. Children with special needs almost always stay at home, with little to no support, never learning to walk, talk, read, play, or become a contributing member to their society. The children I worked with lived in extreme poverty, and usually were considered a “lifelong burden” to their families because they were never able to learn or acquire skills, as an individual with a disability is able to do in the United States. This broke my heart into pieces, and I promised myself at that time that someday I would come back and try to contribute to helping these kids receive an education and a future. I pushed and pushed to get accepted into the Peace Corps to be able to do this, but little did I know that God already had things all worked out for me – the opportunity to start a special education program in a place where special education virtually doesn’t exist with kids who had never been to school. So summer 2009, I flew down to the DR ready for a challenge, and the experience of a lifetime, and that is exactly what I got.
I didn’t set my expectations too high and knew I wouldn’t have the information or resources I had in the states, but I never expected what I would find. I left earlier than my husband so I could have time to set up my classroom and he could work longer to save up money for our year ahead. I came down with 3 suitcases full of just teaching supplies and arrived at my classroom door only to find it was already full – literally, wall to wall, floor to ceiling with boxes. Turns out a Detroit piston (I’m from Detroit) flew down the day before me with thousands of Croc shoes to donate and they decided to put them all in my classroom of all places. “Mañana” they assured me they would have them out so I could get started. So each day was the same ritual, get up bright and early, walk down to the school to ask about starting my classroom and hearing the same lovely phrase - “Mañana”. This went on for 16 days, then I had to sit through a week of orientation about anything and everything except my kids and teaching (I was about having panic attacks by the end). I was left with 3 days to get in and set up my classroom – good thing I came down a month early. And what I found after they “cleaned out the shoes” was dozens of empty boxes, plastic wrappers, full desks from the year before, and mountains of other random garbage – including a garbage can full of food overflowing with all kinds of creepy crawlers (not to mention both toilets were full to the rims too). My husband and I worked around the clock to turn the classroom around (using lots of bleach!) and I was anxious to start on my first day. I didn’t have any information on the kids – absolutely zero – no files, no work samples, no tests, no diagnoses (they all have mental retardation is what I was told), and definitely no IEP’s. There was also a long list of kids with behavior problems that they asked me to help with. Close to 30 kids in all. It would be a challenge to say the least. I was asked by a lady who works in the office if I would need an assistant to help in my classroom, but I assured her I would be just fine on my own. My first day was nothing short of unbearable – after 3 hours every single thing from my shelves and tables were now on the floor, I brought home lots of new bruises, and my oldest student had marched down to the director’s office after an hour to inform everyone about the stupid lady in her classroom who couldn’t possibly be a real teacher and doesn’t even speak Spanish. All in all, things were going great. Just kidding, but this story does have a happy ending, I promise, just keep reading. “Could I still get that assistant?” I asked that afternoon.
The next day I met my new teaching assistant Maria, and I think I loved her from that first minute I met her. We quickly became friends, and from friends we soon became family – “Hermanas Dominicanas” we call ourselves. It wasn’t easy at first, but it was a million times better pushing through this challenge in front of us with someone by my side to laugh with and cry with, and to do it together as a team. Little by little, I began to love teaching here at NPH and my students became my little family that I loved coming to see each day. Since there was no teaching curriculum so to speak, I spent my free time searching the internet and coming up with fun and crazy ideas to engage our kids – this usually included me dressing up in costumes, rapping, acting, playing with puppets, making up dances, and lots of hands-on projects. It was far beyond a full-time job, but it was exciting to find things that the kids would love, and seeing them light up with smiles and giggles when we brought learning to life in the classroom. Each 2-3 week unit would always end with a party or field trip to celebrate what we had learned and that was the best part (besides when the kids showed me what they had learned). I could go on forever listing our themes, lessons, and all my favorite things about teaching in the special education program here (they are now all in a 67 page program guide), but I will list just a few favorite themes and memories.
First and foremost, what kept me going everyday and getting out of bed each morning – the LOVE that poured in from the kids – it came in all forms, from the million daily hugs and kisses, to handfuls of crushed up wildflowers, to the love notes and drawings I got everyday without exception – slid through my windows or stuffed into my pockets – that always made me smile and kept me busy writing back, kids running and screaming your name from a distance “Kristina Kristina”, to the sacrifice of their morning snack or a most treasured toy…. even the ones that came as classroom interruptions, like Erika who frequently screams out “Kristin, I love you!” during the middle of lessons I am teaching up at the chalkboard… or in the rare form from my hormonal teenager Paola who says “Don’t come, I’ll behave bad and will hate you” when I’m making a video for the new summer volunteer who’ll replace me – it’s love, in her own sweet way.
Another favorite – Friday’s Peace Circle. We each take a turn thanking, congratulating, or saying something kind to one another, and it’s a ritual that I know will wash away any negative from the week and guarantees to warm the heart. Even my non-verbal student Rosali knows now to sign thank you, and gives lots of hugs and kisses. The kids talk about their thanks for being able to come to school, learn, and be a part of NPH – my sweet little Moises with cerebral palsy has even expressed his gratitude to God for the ability he has acquired at NPH to now be able to walk. These moments are the sweet rewards that make you forget all the frustrations (though sometimes their gratefulness jerks you back to the inconceivable reality of their sad lives before NPH). Also, just celebrating accomplishments in general are awesome moments – having the child repeat his accomplishment in front of the room, while we slap on stickers, give rounds of high fives, do happy dances, shout and clap cheers, all the while the child’s grin getting bigger and bigger. I can’t say enough how proud I am of each of them for what they’ve learned and accomplished this year, and their self-esteem has increased bucketloads.
The generosity of the people here is another thing I love – whenever I’ve had the opportunity to give to someone deserving here, it always came back tenfold. I could give tons of examples, but one includes Maria’s birthday party we had in our classroom. From an American perspective, it was nothing too special – streamers, decorations, cake, a few presents, and cards from the kids. She cried and told me this was the first time in 29 years anyone had ever celebrated her birthday and her first birthday cake too. When my birthday came around and she invited me and our friends over for lunch, I had no idea what was in store. Her concrete block house and surrounding area of tin roof shacks were decorated with lace, messages, signs, glitter, artificial flowers, balloons, streamers, with a huge beautiful cake, tons of food, gifts, and a very precious card she must have spent hours on – it was breathtaking. I think there honestly may have been more thought and work put into it than I put into my own wedding. Unforgettable to say the least. Maria is one of those unique and special people, or angels should I say, who comes along in life, changing it immensely for the better. She has been there for me through thick and thin, including taking over my class during days my husband was sick with malaria and spending nights cooking for us and visiting us in the hospital. I could never say enough how blessed I am to know her and be her friend.
When I wasn’t teaching or lesson planning, I was hanging out with my pre-teen queens in my assigned house Casa Santa Ana. After working with this age group of girls as a tia in Mexico in 2005, I have found if there is one thing that transcends culture – besides love, sorrow, hope, dreams, laughter, tears and all that good stuff – it is adolescence. It brings you back to that awkward age when bodies are changing, and kids are trying to figure out who they are and just fit in. I have found that many of my girls here know how to swing their necks and pout their lips as well as any American girl this age. But like all the kids here, their wants and needs are the same – love and attention – sometimes they’re just a little bit tougher to reach. They are feminine to the max, and notice everything from your hair to your shoes and everything in between, and will always give you their advice straight up with one of their two phrases – “Que linda Kristin!” (How pretty!) or “Que fea Kristin!” (How ugly!). Once, I was a bit afraid of their reactions coming over a disastrous experience at a beauty salon here where I left looking like Carrot Top (it’s blonde they had insisted), but my girls instead crowded around me with big eyes asking in full delight, “You got to go under the blow dryer…ooooooooh, what was it like?”, gleeful to hear any and every detail. Our favorite activities in Santa Ana included playing beauty shop on me - ratting my hair every which way and giving me buns, braids, and ponytails in all directions, making jewelry, watching their favorite show “Who dances best?” where the whole house will sit in silent suspense and will break into tears or shrills and squeals at the outcome, playing Dominican version of the game MASH to find out who my next husband will be and what color wedding dress I’ll wear, popcorn and movie nights in the house or cuddling under the stars during movies in the park, dance parties with lots of MJ (they love trying to learn the running man too), and my favorite, hanging out by their bedsides at night and chatting about life where they always ask all kinds of crazy, curious questions like “Do you have clocks in your country? Do the people wear shoes?” The by far most frequent though is always - as most any female over the age of 15 here is a mother – when are you going to have a baby Kristin?? (while they inquiringly lift my shirt to check on my belly) They even have sat me down many times and sincerely and in all seriousness asked – Kristin, there’s something 2 people in love are supposed to do so you can get pregnant – have you and your husband tried it? Do you need someone to tell you how? A 28 year old married woman without child is something the people here are baffled by – I even have received my first baby present from a friend here who “just knows it will happen soon”.
One last thing I just have to include before coming to an end is the phenomenal amount of support that poured in from every place imaginable when tragedy hit. Three child deaths in a year here and the natural disaster that hit in Haiti brought mourning and sorrow to a degree I had never seen before in my life. But the beautiful outpour of love, money, donations, volunteers, and just the general desire of anyone and everyone near and far to want to help the people was unfathomable and restored my faith in the human kind. In my friendships I’ve made with Haitian people here, I have found them to be some of the strongest, kindest, and most beautiful people in the world and in retrospect, I feel lucky to have been here to be a part of the NPH team working together to bring light during this heartrending disaster.
So the next question is what next? My husband and I accepted jobs to work in a school in the mountains about 3 hours from here, thinking we would have the best of both worlds – a life apart where we can live together (just us!), share our meals, but still see the kids on weekends as much as possible. But everyday as our time here gets shorter I think I regret my decision a little more. Our last Peace Circle was more like the Circle of Sorrow and each day I have kids who bury their little heads into my chest sobbing uncontrollably saying “Please don’t go Kristin, please don’t go”. The thought of being one more person to abandon them and break their precious little hearts is agonizing (I can’t imagine if I was actually moving back to my country). So maybe this isn’t completely a happy ending – but in some ways it is as well. The kids now have a special education classroom and can go to school (they all have IEP’s too!), Maria is going to university on scholarship to study special education, I have tons of special new family members who love and support me unconditionally, and I am a left a better person with thousands of tiny footprints left on my heart. And my time with NPH is far from finished – I will be back again soon, and maybe someday with that baby too. 