It had been raining. And raining. Our spirits were a little damp as well. No clinic that day so…we packed up in the faithful little Toyota land cruiser ambulance with a backpack full of meds and snacks and headed out, under grey skies, albeit. We had decided we wanted to explore a remote impoverished area, Boi Negres, where some of our patients sometimes journeyed all the way in from. Finally found the right road and soon started climbing sharply up and dropping back down in and out between green vegetation and rocks in little hills with bigger ones around back-dropped by still more grandeurous mountains behind. In the midst of it all were mamas and papas with bare-legged children-in their arms, on their knees, at their feet or just running around. But they were there. Clothes or not, all mostly the same color, no differentiating between the dirt on their brown skin on that on their clothes. There they were by their little banana thatched roofs and stone huts nestled in among the elephant ears, banana trees and mossy paths, in the middle of all that green earth, living. Suddenly we realized the clouds were lifting and the sky was clearing up too, turning blue. The world was beautiful. And we were in the middle of it, a 4-D effect. We hadn’t gone far and the first place we stopped and got out was in the middle of two houses, full of children on both sides. I got out first with my backpack and explained our cause while eyeing the little kiddos for stick out bellies and orange hair for signs of malnutrition or runny noses. They were fixing a little corn for their evening meal that looked scarce, so we gave them a bit of rice and some de-wormer and vitamins, which was more than graciously received. Just across on the other side and soon there were lots of little people around that were sick and wormy as well. I was trying to get a closer look at one of the little boy’s belly when the two year old caught on quickly and happily unzipped his dirty top and puffed his tummy out for me to see. One had to love them. Just couldn’t help it. They were adorable. And they needed meds for real. Soon there were grandmas pushing grandchildren up closer so they wouldn’t be missed, one after another all looking more or less the same. But no, I hadn’t seen this one yet they’d say. Finally I got up and told them we were leaving, as we hadn’t even got close to our destination yet. We journeyed on, always amazed at the ever-changing wonder of the mountains and gardens. The people… their lives… almost every house had a lady sitting outside wrapped up in many layers of clothes with her head warmly covered-a sign she had just had a baby in the last month or so and couldn’t risk letting the cold get to her bones. Some children ran and hid as we rumbled by, maybe the only vehicle they had ever seen, or more horrifying yet the only people with white skin, while others came running out to wave wildly and holler at us. Where there seemed to be more communities of children we stopped and handed out a few meds, mostly de-wormer and vitamins, or antibiotics for the really sick ones. One place we stopped where a lady was sitting out by her thatched hut with 3 children. She was holding an about 2-month old baby in her arms and another maybe 13-month girl sitting by herself on the ground crying her heart out. I went to pick her up and expected her crying would immediately take on another level of terror at this strange white person holding her but instead it instantly stopped. She only needed some love and someone to hold her. Her mom didn’t have enough arms or time right then. The third little person was someone who looked to be about 5 but was actually several years older. Just her and the children, she said. The father of the children was nowhere around. But she was doing what she could. A peek inside the huts revealed meager furnishings, basically a tiny single bed and a few dishes and containers. But somehow it looked cozy. Not sure if it was dry or warm. Seemed rather doubtful. We gave meds, and tucked a bit of rice in one of the huts and were soon on our way again. Her situation touched my heart enough I would definitely remember to pray for her. She needed it. On and on we traveled, and the road grew more and more precarious. Finally the road rose up to nowhere, us rising with it, the kind you dream about-precarious tracks that drop off on both sides then rise steeply up till you can’t see over the edge where it suddenly drops you back down and over. Thankfully we stayed on the “tracks”. The land cruiser was just small enough it fit in all the tiny spaces necessary without letting us down. More smiling faces of children and women, even men along the road, and we had finally arrived down at the bottom in the midst of palms and banana trees and a whole community of thatched roofed houses-Boi Negres. So happy we had arrived. But what now. Where to start, what to do. The people were poor. And we were strange to them. The road turned into pretty much just a footpath in the heart of the village where a sullen faced man was standing with a machete at his side. Decided to just act like he was a friend and approached him confidently. He relaxed his stance a little though still refused to smile. Told him then what we were up to that we had come with a few meds to treat some of the children, and would there be anyone that could help show us around. He pointed up the path then just a few feet where a smiling man was already hurriedly coming to meet us. The connection was perfect, as he seemed to be a sort of village advocate for the people, and was quite delighted to show us around. He jumped on the back of the land cruiser and told us to keep going, keep going. So we kept going in faith, following where he directed us on down the footpath across a dry rock river bed and down another foot path where he turned us around to park in front of a type of community center. There he had us get out and sit down on some benches and wanted to talk. He couldn’t say enough about how it wasn’t us who had come but God that had sent us. It was the first time anyone had showed up for medical purposes he said. Then he went on to explain how there was so many many children in the area and so many worms. The worms are literally eating them up, he said. When a child gets a common cold it often takes the child to the cemetery because there is no help. To get a little sick, is to die. Or a 4-5 hour strenuous walk across the border to the DR or to the clinic in Foret or Oriani back up the mountain. The final option is moto, but at $3.70 U.S., or 2 days manual labor, the moto ride up would be hard to come by. Walking remains the primary option, and for a sick child or adult, that is rather difficult, yet they do it at times. Wow oh wow. Our guide then took us on a small local tour while exposing us to multiple areas of surrounding villages right close that all were in the same predicament. We didn’t have a lot of time any more before dark and we would have to take the mountain road back up, but the man seemed overwhelmed with the possibilities of medical help for his people and the fact that we had even just showed up. Of course he wouldn’t have been happier if we had told him right away that we would be able to set up a clinic in his area. But rather we had to make it very clear that we weren’t there to do that. We ourselves were so overwhelmed at the need that we didn’t even really bother to pull out the now already nearly empty backpack of meds. Rather we told him we’d go home and talk about it and try to come back for one day primarily with lots of worm meds and maybe a couple of other meds if possible. We sat together again on the crude benches under the trees before we left. Little children who weren’t afraid of us came and sat on our laps, while we gave them vitamins at least and exchanged contacts with the man to plan for another day in the future. No cell phone service even in the area, but every Monday morning at 8 A.M. he would walk back up to service area and call us, he said. The man was truly passionate about helping his people, and seemed nearly ready to give his life, in order open a way of relief for them. We left, our hearts full. We had taken meds to help people who couldn’t get out very easy to find help for themselves, but it was we who had benefited. The sun had shone on our heads and into our hearts. We came home, and started making plans for the day we could go back.