Jahayra’s Hidden Treasure
A visit of twenty minutes, revealing the fruits of twenty-five years of mission.
All Saints Day (Todos los Santos), November 2022: Jahayra’s Hidden Treasure
This August I was able to visit the Dominican Republic for the first time since the pandemic began. Novena-inspired, I planned the visit for nine days. By wonderful coincidence, it included the anniversary day of my first arriving there to live, in 1997. (By unfortunate coincidence, it also included the anniversary day of my marriage, in 2004; my wife and I are still negotiating the terms of my penance.)
Nine days may sound like a long time, and in some ways it was— I have no complaints or regrets— but in others, it was far too short. Given how long I’d been away, both in calendar time, and emotional time, I was determined to make the most of each minute: visiting all five partner communities my organization works with; meeting individually and in small groups with community leaders, families, students, and all those who share in and benefit from our mission; visiting with two special families outside of these communities, whose friendships were vital during my years living in the D.R., and who currently have elder members in delicate health; and carving out time for prayer and reflection, believing firmly that, at least for me, when I make that space for the Spirit, She can show up big-time.
And She did, in silence, and in the relationships that form the heart of my love for this land, and the heart of the mission I feel called to continue.
Let me tell you now about one of them, a young woman named Jahayra, and the hidden treasure, tucked inside a small, innocous-looking box, that she shared with me when I visited her home.
* * *
“We have a girl in this community who is very intelligent, but her vision is worsening all the time. It breaks your heart to see it, Juan. We have to find a way to support her. We can’t let her fall.”
This is how my dear friend and comadre, Felicia, first told me about a teenage girl who turned out to be even smarter than I’d imagined, and to have even worse vision. Meeting her in the community chapel that summer day, I watched as she handed a piece of paper to Felicia, a letter she’d written requesting help in buying new eyeglasses. Felicia quickly scanned it, and instructed the girl to sign it. The girl was already wearing glasses, and thick ones at that, so I was stunned to see her set the paper down on a bench, uncap her pen, and place her face so close to the sheet that her nose nearly touched it. Handing me the letter, she smiled sheepishly, pointing to her glasses. “These don’t do me much good.”
I happened to be in her community directing a service-learning program, and during that week saw for myself precisely how clearly and painfully correct Felicia was. Shy and unassuming, it took a while for Jahayra to feel comfortable enough with our visiting volunteer group to open up, but once she did, her intelligence emerged, as well as her fire. My heart was moved, just as Felicia predicted; I promised to advocate for her, to help her get proper glasses, and whatever else might be possible beyond that.
Others soon joined Felicia and I. With each passing year, and visits from three to five service groups each summer, I would witness and hear of Jahayra’s fire growing. The adults or students that her family hosted during the service groups’ homestays would almost invariably gush about this young woman who carried such a remarkable balance of tenderness and boldness, spoke such clear and patient Spanish (including “translating,” i.e., repeating, but more slowly and clearly, the shotgun-blast Spanish of her father), was acing her classes, could expound on Dominican history, railed against injustices like machismo that kept her and other girls from advancing, dreamed of being a lawyer, and read all the time. And almost to a person, each of them would say, with equal parts excitement and anguish, “She needs more books, John! And she must get to college! How can we help?” Because anyone who passed even a week with Jahayra and her family could experience how kind, talented, and tender-hearted she was, and feel their own heart tugged, hard, to help in whatever way they could. They could also see clear as day what she was up against: the extreme individual and systemic poverty that pressed down on every person in her community.
High in the central mountain range, hours away from the nearest hospitals, universities, and urban centers, her community was effectively abandoned by both state and church (except to collect taxes and tithes), forced to find its own water, connect its own electricity, and figure out how to access even the most basic of medicines, as well as schooling beyond 5th grade. Like their peers and elders in the community, Jahayra’s parents had no real chance to progress in school, too far away to access them, too consumed with daily survival even if they were closer. And so Jahayra, as a young campesina (country girl), would be expected to follow the path of her mother and other women: to marry by 16, have children by 18, and devote the rest of her days to her husband, her children, and her home.
Helping Jahayra get new glasses, challenging as that was, proved to be a quick-fix compared to the journey of accompanying her in the struggle to becom a lawyer, a dream which later evolved into one of becoming a teacher. The layers of prejudice she has had to encounter— as a poor, female, rural resident in a society predisposed to idolize and acquiesce to the dominant elite of mostly of lighter-skinned, urban males (driven in no small part by the image of the blond haired, blue-eyed Jesus which the Spanish colonials planted in the soil centuries ago, and which has never really been uprooted)— make for formidable (some would say impossible) odds, and have understandably beaten down and defeated many a campesina. According to UNESCO’s 2020 data, just 60% of Dominican girls even make it to 8th grade.
Felicia would remind me, however, that the Scriptures, in many places and many ways, claim boldly that what seems impossible for humans is possible for God. She was clearly filled with that kind of faith, as was Jahayra, who with her family’s backing, persisted and prayed and persevered. And the Spirit led those who could offer some kind of help to do so, small as it might be, including me and many in my organization’s community. Ignoring the odds, I followed Jahayra’s lead.
What a journey it has proved to be. Fueled by this faith, her own talent and determination, and the moral, logistical, and financial support of many in her community and supporters of our organization, Jahayra entered high school (boarding at a small girls’ dorm next to a church), put up straight A’s, then began college where she nearly did the same, becoming the first in her family and her community to earn a bachelor’s degree. Thanks to the wonders of telecommunications and the internet, I was able to follow her progress, not only as director of the organization, but as her friend, mentor, and faithful fan.
My heart swelled seeing the pictures of her graduation, and listening to her excitement as she told me of all she still hoped to accomplish as a teacher. I wrote her a letter expressing my pride and pledging my continued support, and tucked it inside a card with the image of Oscar Romero. And then, slowly over the next two years, my heart shrank, hearing from her, and then from Felicia when I could no longer get a response from Jahayra, about the string of outright rejections and silent discouragements she received month after month, unable to find a placement as a teacher despite passing the qualifying exams, and unable to find any work at all in her area. In a country with unemployment at 20% or more, she had to take what she could get, which was a waitressing job at a riverside outdoor bar along the mountain road connecting her community to Santiago. Felicia wept as she told me of the many immoral and illicit happenings Jahayra had witnessed and even experienced there, and of Jahayra’s growing despair. “It breaks your heart to see her this way, Juan. We have to do something. We can’t let her fall.”
Months later, thanks to another rising Dominican professional, a young man who had also earned his bachelor’s with my organization’s support, an opportunity presented itself. Jahayra was invited to participate in his organization’s teacher professional development program. It would last five months, and though some funding would be provided, the program required Jahayra to come up with her own food, rent, and incidentals, since it took place on the north coast, several hours away from her family home. Conferring with Felicia and the other local leaders as well as with our board, we decided to back her, trusting that somehow God would provide for this, since it was outside of our extremely tight budget.
The rest, as they say, is history. Jahayra got her groove back: interacting with other young teachers, learning from mentors, and practicing her craft day after day with students, she improved her teaching skills tremendously. And more than that, she felt alive, purposeful, chosen and valued. Once the program ended, she re-dedicated herself to the job search, and before long, found a placement in the public schools, a sweet prize indeed. The national teachers’ union is arguably the strongest in the country, and though wages are far from luxurious, they are livable (though severely tested now by pandemic and Putin inflation), and the job security is enviable. What moderates this is the sheer difficulty of the job, given the country’s overcrowded classrooms and anemic education budget, and the traumas of poverty that so many students bring into those rooms. Jahayra had lived a version of it in her rural community, and would now be immersed in it in the big city. That struggle awaited her, but she felt glad to embrace that challenge, and many others, given how far she’d come.
* * *
So, what was inside that box in Jahayra’s room? Treasures, of the heavenly kind. The fact that she shared it with me at all was itself a gift.
Though I had visited the country in the first years following her graduation, I had not seen her in person, given our incompatible schedules. So as soon as she welcomed me in, asked me to sit and offered un cafecito (she is, after all, Dominican), she made a beeline for her bookshelf, where she kept her undergraduate thesis.
Many graduates from our program have done this, and I’ve come to embrace it as if it were a ritual, almost a sacrament. The theses are bound in a thick hard cover stamped with the university’s gilded seal, and I page through them slowly, allowing the student to guide me however she would like. Often the content is specialized beyond my understanding, but for me that’s part of the pleasure. The dominant culture would have been all too happy for this young person to end up as a low-wage laborer, supporting the elite, and dying some sort of death, quick or slow, attributable to systemic injustice (even if the government would never recognize it as such). But at least in Jahayra’s case, and in those of a growing number from the communities I’ve worked with, she has broken free and opened the possibility of a more just and fulfilling future, living more like the person God has always dreamed she would be.
As I have with others, I congratulated her enthusiastically, even profusely. (My wife has let this introvert know that my version of over the top emoting comes off to most folks as just ordinary enthusiasm.) “Gracias, muchas gracias,” Jahayra said. “Y todavía tengo la carta suya.” And I still have your card.
She set the box on the table where I was drinking the cafecito, opened it up, and showed me the contents, piece by piece. Pictures of her parents, her extended blood family, and members of her spiritual family, which included Dominican friends as well as several U.S. students and teachers who have stayed in her home as part of our service program. Small gifts and keepsakes, some from those same visitors. Letters and cards, again from the admirers in her spiritual family, like myself.
Her face brightened more and more as she showed me each piece, and explained or reminded me of its origin or sender. Raised in a culture that treasures family— where the extended, not the nuclear, family is the basic unit; where sending an ailing elder to a nursing home is almost unheard of, and taking in the child of parents who have emigrated or died or been lost to drugs or prison is ordinary; where the culture of compadrazgo, networks of godparents christened at every sacrament, broadens your family and strengthens your safety net— Jahayra felt proud to have a family so wide, diverse, and strong. I was happy for her, deeply, and proud myself, knowing that in her mind and heart, this family now included me, and others who had accompanied me in my work. As I witnessed from afar, given the odds and obstacles she faced in a system designed to practically destroy young women like her, or at least smother every last vestige of their hope, she (and so many others in her company) needs all the good, actively-loving family she can embrace.
In its way, this short and sacred visit was an affirmation of our work and mission, to connect unlikely peoples through genuine human relationship, for mutual grace, liberation, and transformation. That, above all, is the heart of a good service program, and a thriving, mission-centered organization: real relationships, genuine human connection, a deep feeling that, for all our differences, we are one holy human family. We belong to each other, and our shared fate depends on how well we take care of each other, individually and systemically.
Don’t just take my word for it, especially if you don’t agree with this spiritual lens. Social science now has the evidence, that relationships across socio-economic status levels fosters upward social mobility for those from less priviledged backgrounds. What’s not covered in the study, are the benefits for those on the other end of that equation, which can also be transformative and profound, even if less quantifiable. https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/08/07/harvard-chetty-research-facebook-friends-income
Like anything that makes a difference, Jahayra’s journey has required prayer, funding, and sweat, with a large measure of grace as well. I feel proud, but even more so humbled, by how much of our program’s success is attributable to the time spent building relationships. The work began simply, and grew organically, and only several years down the road did the question of formalizing it, institutionalizing it, emerge. Many years into that process now, I’ve no doubt that the relationships formed right from the beginning, and all along the way, are the deep strong roots that have held our tree in the soil, as the storms of recession, natural disaster, pandemic and more have blown through and toppled many other programs.
Those who have experienced the service program know that it is special: authentic, powerful, and uniquely transformative for all who are part of it, volunteers and community members alike. I can say, without worry of overstatement, that our team is masterful in this regard, even if we still have miles to go in forming administrative and funding models to support such brilliant programming. When I think of how we arrived here, the roots that support the trunk of our small organization and feed the fruits of transformations like Jahayra’s, I’m reminded of Malcolm Gladwell’s contention that, to become a master in one’s vocation, one must put in at least 10,000 hours of practice. (Others have taught this in slightly different ways, but Gladwell’s New Yorker piece got the big exposure and put it broadly out into the world.) https://www.newyorker.com/sports/sporting-scene/complexity-and-the-ten-thousand-hour-rule. Sure, it’s arbitrary, and meant to be catchy, but it makes a point: digging in, faithfully and for the long-term, is the way to really grow. When I run rough calculations on our hours building relationships, beginning in the 1990s when I was hanging out in the communities without a clue about how to lend a hand, then add the dozens of groups, each with about a dozen participants, for nearly twenty-five years since, then add the intra-community exchanges which have happened over the same time period, I get a good stretch beyond ten thousand hours. And, as we teach the groups, relationships are part of the work, a form of service, not a distraction from the “real” service of construction or the like. It all belongs, it’s all part of our success.
The path has been unorthodox, and the organization has been created and formed much more like a church, or a church mission, than an NGO or 501c3 charity. There is a price for that, yes, and we pay it, as we try to strengthen the trunk—the structure and funding to support such abundant fruits which (with more funding) could easily be more. But we pay it rejoicing, as the Beatitudes counsel, knowing that, like the prophets before us, the world exacts a pound of flesh and then some from those who are faithfully committed to the works of mercy and justice.
* * *
Part of this price, paid like a toll you’re stuck with to take the highway to someone to see a loved one, is about language itself. Our service immersion program is rich, deep, and holistic; we dig deep into the real work which needs to be done, with hands, head, and heart, including forming genuine relationships with Jahayra and others. It it can be truly transformative, short and long term, for all those involved in it, and we’ve seen it prove to be so for many. So though I maintain a calm exterior, I growl inside every time I hear someone refer to it as a “trip.”
Within the first minutes of preparing a new group of volunteers to go to the D.R., I will tell them plainly, “This ain’t a trip.” Sadly, “trip” seems to have elbowed its way into becoming the current prevailing term in this field (often preceded by “service,” or “mission,” but just as often not). But neither I nor my organization uses it, since it connotes an entirely different experience than the kind I believe in, have been deeply shaped by, and have put years of my life into creating, leading, and perpetuating for the benefit of thousands of others, visiting volunteers and host-country community members alike. I realize that I’m swimming upstream linguistically, and even philosophically, in this insistence, but I’m prepared to hold out as long as it takes. (I’ve even told my wife she may need to etch on my gravestone, “It ain’t a trip.”)
Why so stubborn? For starters, I’m not a tour guide, and my organization is not an educational tour company. Those outfits can offer wonderful experiences, as long as they’re honest: I have seen some over the years that masquerade as service organizations, imposing themselves on vulnerable communities, either parading visitors through the barrios to gawk at the “poor wretches,” or throwing together a worthless, patronizing experience that reinforces the power imbalance, without ever consulting those who would receive the group’s “service,” as to what might actually be of value to them.
Over the years, I’ve seen a depressing number of these kindly-intentioned but ultimately detrimental make-service, fake-service encounters: toy-give aways, which, if not carefully planned, can create rivalries and even fights among the children receiving them; “we’ll teach them English!” workshops, which sound great for about the first three seconds you consider them, but since they’re often run by volunteers who’ve never had a minute’s training in ESL, are the picture of absurdity; church-painting projects, which are a cheap and easy way to delude yourself you’ve made a “big difference,” (or “impact,” also problematic language, connoting a collision rather than growth and love) while precluding the community members (who need it much more) from experiencing the joy of putting the finishing touch on the spiritual home that they, not the members of the “trip,” will inhabit long-term. And many more, all guided by and fulfilling a shallow notion of service defined as something the more-empowered do concretely for or upon (not with) the less-empowered, to feel a quick thrill, see a quick result, and walk away satisfied that having done his good deed, he can now, with an immaculate conscience, move on.
Instead, the language that is more accurate, respectful, and life-giving runs along the lines of “program,” “experience,” “journey,” and “pilgrimage,” since all of them connote a more expansive sense of time and inclusion: this experience began and includes more than just you, and God willing, it will endure long and include many beyond you as well, possessing the potential to plant the seeds of transformation within all in its circle. “Mission” can even be employed, as long as it’s accompanied by very careful planning and direction of the program, both aware of how that term was historically appropriated for economic plunder, political exploitation, and religious oppression, and how any mission worth engaging in must be mutually life-giving, allowing for the possibilities of mutual generosity and transformation. (For real growth to happen, something uncomfortable has to be experienced, especially by those accustomed to being comfortable.) This language is more humble— truthful— because it leaves room for Holy Mystery to enter, move around, and lead the way.
“Trip” (even when modified by service, immersion, or mission), slips far too easily over the edge of a rather slippery slope. Especially in recent years, as the prominence of social media has made it possible to turn just about anything into a photo-op, “trip” lends itself to the dominant capitalist mindset of consumable experiences which can be curated, prettied up, blasted out, and shelved (or vaporized into cyberspace), and “moved on” from. I refuse to participate in that, in practice or even in language, so I’m holding the line. If it’s worth doing, and has mutual and lasting value, then folks it ain’t a trip.
But this is not just pride, for myself or my organization. It comes from a fundamental respect for those in the D.R. who are also full participants in the experience. Really, a love for them, that causes me to stand alongside them, down to the last word in this case. It’s just plain dishonest, and even disrespectful (though I recognize it’s often unintentional), to define this only from the perspective of the more empowered. For Jahayra, Felicia, Papito, Ronaldo, and hundreds of others, who don’t get on an airplane but wait to receive those who do, this is most definitely not a “trip.” Rather, from the first, we’ve called it a proyecto de grupos, a group program or project. (“¿Cuándo vuelven los grupos?” When are the groups coming back, has been a frequent question through this pandemic.) The vision is not one of tourism— and the community members take pride that it’s not, given the exploitative nature of too much tourism in the D.R.— but more akin to Christian base communities, small, humble, and humane groups of pilgrims, like the first disciples of Jesus, simply trying to imitate Jesus’ way of practicing mercy and creating justice. To the Dominicans, the travel is ancilliary, a mere means to get to the table where the real meal is shared. In this Banquet, which requires mutual generosity and mutual vulnerability, all are welcome, regardless of passport status, and all can be nourished and transformed.
The program was co-created on the ground, in the D.R., with the Dominican leaders involved in every step, after we witnessed and studied many other programs (often cooked up in a remote office in the U.S., without any thought of including the voices of those in the host country). We knew we could create something that included the gifts and needs of both the US team and the Dominican communities, in a way that fostered genuine and meaningful project work and spiritual formation.
Jahayra’s hidden treasures are proof that we have.
* * *
“Where your treasure is, there also will your heart be.” (Lk 12:34)
Jahayra’s heart is in that box. I will not pretend to know all the many and complex reasons why, I only know that it is. Had you been at the table with me, I know you’d have felt it too.
And her heart is in all the places and people those treasures are connected to; that too is clear. A fair number of Dominican students who graduate from our program cannot stay involved with it as volunteers or mentors, for practical reasons, or choose not to, for emotional ones; they feel the need to move on, which they have every right to do, and they go with my blessing. But Jahayra is one of those who has stayed, and like the wise servants given talents and treasures (Mt 25, and Luke 19) she has sown that treasure, to multiply it, particularly for the benefit of others.
This summer, for example, she dedicated large parts of her school break to her home community and our programs there. She helped plan and lead the camps for early learners, as well as the service program for older Dominican students (modeled on our program for U.S. volunteers, and adapted for the high school and college students in our partner communities, since what they bring to and need from such an experience is different). She helped mentor the current crew of scholarship students, all transitioning out of virtual learning (thank God), and trying to start the new academic year strongly. And to my surprise and delight, she planted herself not only in the community, but in the home of the Doña Felicia (the leader who hosted me) during my visit, taking on all the cooking, to relieve Felicia from that duty, and to show her enduring gratitude to both of us. As well as her new and impressive cooking talent.
The feast Jahayra prepared was one I won’t soon forget. Yes, the platos were many, varied, and scrumptuous: chicken, lentils, vegetables, rice, prepared with tenderness and flair, and finished with melt in your mouth slices of papaya and mango. It was my first real meal back in the country after too long away. But more than the foods, what moved me was the conversation— the nature of it, and who was, before too long, clearly leading it.
Felicia is a powerful woman. No one who meets her for more than a minute would think anything else. She is also quite tender, and has a heart for the vulnerable— the sick and suffering, the poor (though she is far from rich herself), and all children. Even in a strongly machista culture, she asserts her strength, verbally and even physically if the occasion calls for it, especially if you’ve stepped on one of the vulnerable. In her home, and even in her community— heck, in almost any space she inhabits— she’s the boss, and you’d better recognize that quickly. At her dinner table, she not only directs the food (including prodding you to force more down your belly), she directs the conversation.
Yet I watched her that evening, as she gently held back, allowing Jahayra and her co-worker (another graduate of our program, now also a professional teacher) to slowly take charge. Before long, she and I communicated with silent facial gestures across the table, as the two young teachers swapped story after story of teaching into, through, and now out of the depths of the pandemic. Story after story of student who came to them so underprepared—lagging far behind not only in academics, but in emotional health, having been neglected and in some cases oppressed by the educational system, pushed through grade after grade simply to keep the bodies flushing out of the system, as if these children of God were mere waste moving through the country’s colon. Disciples of Felicia, these two women have hearts for the vulnerable and exploited as well, and their stories revealed them, in all their pain and anguish and occasional triumph.
At some point, Jahayra asked if any of her students could be included in our program. They were just like her, she implored, just like she had been many years ago, and in some cases were even worse off, having been born with more difficult health problems, or a less stable (even dangerous) family. And just like her, they only needed a chance, a real chance, a real accompaniment of prayer, funding, and sweat, to create a new future, as she is doing now herself. Hidden treasures, waiting to be uncovered, to show their deeper riches. Caged birds, waiting to be set free, to sing and fly as God has always intended.
You can imagine how heavy my heart was to give her the honest answer, rather than sow false hope.
My consolation, and I hope hers too, was in the dinner itself. That banquet, that sacred Eucharistic table which Jahayra had prepared, and at which I was so blessed to eat. Holding these hopes together, praying and nourishing ourselves in communion, working to continue this mission which offers no security beyond the kind God can give, we were, all four of us that night, but especially Jahayra, living through, in, and with our hearts… where the true treasures abide.