First Exposure

BY DARREN COLLINS

 

We arose at 6 a.m. and were traveling via bus into the mountains by 7:30, with the

12 of us and our eight or so youthful Dominican translators. We arrived at the end of the road at about 9, and then began climbing a mountain trail. We were greeted by God's glorious workmanship, gasping at the giant green mountainsides and lush foliage around us.

 

Tropical fruit trees and makeshift fences were on both sides. A canopy of vines was suspended about 3-1/2 feet above the ground by rickety wooden posts and wires, supporting gourds that grew in the cool breeze of the steep mountainsides. Com stalks grew in each ravine we passed. Old mules stood alongside the path tied to stumps. Chickens pecked around our feet as we neared the first house.

 

The area was swept clean. A stark but inviting house stood there, built from scraps of lumber and palmwood. It looked like a scene from a National Geographic spread. From behind the comer of the hut, a naked boy sucked on his finger, and from the doorway his mother held her daughter and peered at us as we "gringos" trucked through their peaceful solitude. We walked on and passed two goats that beckoned to us for food. Toads and crickets occasionally became deafeningly loud beneath the underbrush.

 

We reached the top of the mountain 20 minutes later and saw people gathered around to receive medicine and prayer in a small cinderblock shack used as a school building. I was to juggle for families as they took turns receiving medicine.

 

As I began, children gathered around me and held completely still, their faces never changing as I juggled at the top of the world in their tiny village of 30 people. I was taken aback at the lack of reaction. I had juggled many times that week in city churches in the Dominican Republic and found audiences surprisingly similar to U.S. audiences. But these mountain villagers didn't make a sound. This was the first time they had seen such antics, and they didn't know how to act or react. The concept of applause was completely foreign to them.

 

My interpreter explained that the people were very shy, and liked what they saw but didn't know what to do. At one point I showed them my invisible ball trick. I explained that I had an invisible ball that bounced forever, and the only way to stop it was to catch it in my mouth. Then I reached into my mouth and pulled out 20 feet of multicolored streamers. I beckoned, as usual for my show, for a child to help pull it out for me, but the response was sheer terror from some of the children until they realized I was not actually pulling my own guts out. The children slowly learned to react as my antics begged them to enjoy the act. My interpreter worked well and explained my jokes. They never laughed, but they did step back a little when I told them I was going to juggle my axes!

 

After the show (and much dropped equipment, due to the faintness I felt from high altitude, heat and wind) a man from the village began talking to me. I grabbed an interpreter and listened as he asked how I did the invisible ball trick. He was clearly amazed and wanted to see it again. This was surprising to me, since it was such a simple trick, and adults usually have no trouble with the concept.

 

It was then I realized that any ordinary magic trick that used special effects, such as a floating pen or dollar bill, might be considered witchcraft in this highly superstitious area. Again, I began to understand the novelty of my experience.

 

The nurse gave shots one by one to ill women and children. (The men were mostly away in the fields for the week.) Following my show, it was time to try to teach some of the children to juggle. I got down on my knees to teach some, using only gestures and love. One small boy who watched intently had worms coming out of his nose as he awaited his turn to get medicine.

 

Another boy showed great aptitude for juggling. But as soon as I thought we were getting somewhere he gave it up as if he was embarrassed for taking up too much of my time.

 

Soon the entire contents of my juggling bag was emptied and most of my equipment was nowhere to be seen. Props were being tossed all over, including down the mountainside! As the time for us to leave neared, my equipment was nowhere in sight, but one by one each beanbag, ball, club and ring was returned and everything was accounted for.

 

I felt that the families were sincere as they expressed appreciation for the unique presentation they experienced. And I left feeling honored to have had the unique opportunity to show a secluded culture, nestled within a Third World country, such a wonderful thing as juggling. To entertain a group of people cut off from nearly everything I take for granted, and to overcome our differences with an art form that brings joy to both our cultures alike, is something that I will cherish for many years to come.

 

Darren Collins is a high school senior and ed­itor of the school paper at Port Angeles High School in Washington. He has made three mission trips abroad, and hopes to combine his interest in missionary work and juggling in his career.