Personal Narrative: A Day At The Dominican Republic

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My eyes shining with childlike simplicity scanned the barren streets. Despite the fact that it was almost noon they were somber and dark. As the car started rolling to a stop, my focus gravitates to a group of men fighting, aimlessly swinging at each other. Swiftly I reach my hand over to the door lock to find it was already locked. Relief overwhelms me prompting me to sigh. The car window fogs with reassurance making me register how cold it was outside. Scattered groups of people shivering in the alleyways huddling together like sardines trying to contain any flicker of warmth that tries to escape. The whole street was severely lacking in color, there were no holiday decorations, it felt like I was seeing the world in black and white. Hesitantly, I opened the car door and stepped outside. The cold was starting to seep through my winter coat, I had only been outside for about twenty seconds. I could not even imagine how cold those unfortunate people sitting on the asphalt were. …show more content…
It was an organization that helped homeless and impoverished families get the bare necessities. I have personally seen this problem up close and person several times. The Dominican Republic is a beautiful place where resorts and palm trees overshadow the wooden huts and begging children on the streets. As soon as I got off of the boat to one of its neighboring islands a group of kids, not much older than me, were offering conch shells for quarters. A handful of people smirked as they turned their heads. Others pretended not to notice, but I turned to my parents and asked if I could have a quarter. My mother told me that if I gave money to only one person, the result would most likely be violent and cause fighting. My simple solution was to give money to all of them, but I didn’t want to cause an argument. That was all I could think about that day, and I still think about it
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