For the Longest Time. . . Part 2

Part 2:

As we arrived at the immigration and customs offices, and I do use the term loosely, we began to understand the gravity of our situation.  As we looked outside our window we saw several buildings and vehicles that were taking on water.  I presumed that the buildings were in fact the customs office.  It was obvious that in order to pass through the border I was going to have to take the passports through the water to the make-shift shelters that were set up.  

The passenger behind me graciously decided to “help” me through customs.  He took our passports, waded through the water to the Haitian Immigration office (I use that term extremely lightly, it was a table under a tarp giving shade to the workers).  Oh by the way, the "leaving the country tax" went from $20 to $30 with his “help” because after all, I needed him.  By now we didn't have much cash and we refused to pay the extra $10 for "help".  He insisted that he would help and so we were off.  He then proceeded to the Dominican immigration office (similar to Haitian immigration) and translated for me.  Once again, I paid the visa fee to enter the country and then took 2 of our 4 bags to the baggage check table.  The lady opened our suitcases, said “ropa” to the lady next to her and zipped it back up.  Upon completing this process, I did end up giving my new friend a $5 bill as a thank you for his help, which he took as a complete insult. He wanted $10 to which I replied that I didn't have $10.  We were rationing big time by now and I certainly wasn't going to give this guy my last $20 with who knows how much longer to go on the journey.  He was ungrateful but took the $5.  Mimi told me when I returned to the bus that he was complaining about what a cheapskate I was.  Oh well, he's right and I'd do it again under the same circumstances.

Bob & Dominican "Helper" at Customs Baggage Check

After about 20-30 more minutes of sitting on the bus waiting for our one mile trip through the lake to the promised land of the Dominican Republic, we were once again yanked off the bus and sent back to immigration.  Mimi and I had no idea what to expect.  The “Mommi” of the bus was yelling at immigration and insisting in Dominican indignation that we had already passed through and received our entrance visas, which we had.  It took 2 officers checking our documents a second and third time in order to release us once again.  We thought, “surely we’ll now be on our way.”  

Unfortunately, we waited an additional 30-40 minutes while there was extreme haggling going on regarding a lady (Dominican and Spanish speaking, but traveling with US passport) who had brought a television on the bus.  She was seated directly in front of Mimi on the bus.  They wanted her to pay the import tax . . . which was paid by “Mommi” after much noisy argument and consternation.  “Mommi” then took it upon herself to lay into the lady on the bus in no uncertain terms.  Even though I didn’t catch half of what she was actually saying, I’m pretty sure she was not inviting her to dinner at her home. I had to chuckle to myself. . . “was this the same sweet lady who was praying for us earlier in the day?” 

Also during this time, the Dominican “Sheriff” had made his way onto the bus to assert his authority. While he was checking documents and hassling the locals at the back of the bus, he was invading my personal space in a big way.  While this is not often an issue for me, the fact that his large frame and his 9mm pistol was jammed into my leg was not all pleasant.  I joked with Mimi about having to explain to people how I lost my leg.... “Well I was on a bus from Haiti to the DR when. . .” 

The entire time we were at the border and for much of the journey, the air conditioning was not working.  Apparently it needed us to be traveling at least 10 miles per hour in order to run and we rarely reached that top speed.  Needless to say, we were sweltering in the heat and humidity and were aware of our surroundings and our neighbors in more ways than we cared to.

The bus then got in line behind approximately 5,432 other large vehicles trying to pass through the border. Did I mention there might be water?  Well there was.  The lake has no natural way to drain and the recent rains had caused its shores to overflow and put several buildings, cars, and the road all under water.  There was anywhere from 1 1/2- 3 feet of standing water on the road at the border crossing.  It was good that we were in a bus.  Some more daring souls were actually carrying there luggage and wading the mile or so across the lake.  This was insanity in my mind.

We moved slowly for approximately 10-15 minutes and then we stopped.  Mimi thinks it was for an hour to an hour and a half.  I’m certain it was longer than that.  We didn’t move. . . for what seemed like an eternity.  And then we did. . . a whole 3-4 car or bus lengths and then stopped again.  It went on like this for another hour or so.  And then as if God were parting the Red Sea for Moses, the traffic opened up and we crossed the water into the promised land, Jimani, Dominican Republic.

Some funny things that happened at the border/lake. . . The lady in front of us, who brought the TV, ordered four hard boiled eggs from a street vendor out her window.  Several people got off and on the bus for reasons that baffled me and some never returned including the man who “helped” us with customs. Several people who were not on our bus previously hopped aboard for the maiden voyage.  We were offered jewelry, sunglasses, food, watches, cigarettes, ice cream and more through our window. 

For my friends who have travelled between San Diego and Tijuana, I want you to know that I have a new found appreciation and respect for the order at the border there, even on the Mexican side.  The Hatian/Dominican border was so far removed from anything I have ever experienced before and likely will never again experience it.  We have determined that future trips will be done through the airports, so as to not to rely on the crazy border situations.  My friend Ray, who was with us for part of the journey, says it well.  “The Dominican Republic is a third-world country. . . Haiti is a sixth-world country.”   

I know you all are going to accuse me of being dramatic and exaggerating the story for effect, but hear me when I say that I am not doing so in this instance.  Keith King, our fearless leader, says that the truth about Haiti is stranger than any fiction and more unbelievable.  I would even argue that the situation was much more dramatic and humorous than I am even describing here.  But I am only giving the high/lowlights of the journey, so there you have it.

Check out this link: Flooded Jimani Crossing

Part 3: Coming soon!