Yeah... so I just got back from the Dominican Police Station...

I was on the “highway” coming back from my Spanish classes this morning at 10am and I was trying to cross over a couple of lanes (I had looked in all three mirrors and didn’t see anything) when a motorcycle smashed into the back of me. I looked in my mirror and saw the guy tumble down, then grab his bike and chase after me.

I had always heard that you should leave the site of an accident as an American because, well, who knows what could happen to you. I kept driving a ways, quickly, and when I was stopped at a light, he caught up with me with three other guys and pulled right in front of me to stop me, started yelling at me and came up to the side of my car, still yelling “abusadora” and stuff like that. It was pretty weird.

I was more freaked with them chasing after me than by the accident itself. When they were yelling so fast and passionately at me, I kind of freaked out and said “no hablo tanto espanol” and that helped them chill and have a little mercy on me, which turned out to be a blessing. I called, like, the whole world, to try to figure out what I should do ... as a group of people gathered around my car and were evaluating the motorcycle. Eventually, I got ahold of our secretary, Carmen, who had Mark and a Dominican friend named Rafael come find me about 20 minutes later.

Thankfully, the only damage to the motorcycle was a broken headlight and a ripped seat... but the guy was a little banged up from the fall and had skid marks on his arms and stomach.

We went to the police station to report the accident, which was the most interesting part of the morning. There were certificates of the "police values" hung at-a-tilt in various spots on the dirty cream wall and sour-faced individuals sitting on a wooden bench who had just been in an accident themselves. When we entered into the room to be questioned and give our testimonies, there was an air conditioning unit hung in the window, fit with Styrofoam all around and the police officer used a typewriter older than the one in the opening to "Murder, She Wrote" to document our accident.

I tried to explain what happened, and then the motorcyclist did not understand how insurance worked and started freaking out when he found out that he was not going to get the money today. We had to try to explain to him how the system works and that he would eventually get the money needed for repairs and hospital bills. He eventually got it, and we were able to leave with the police office without any more issues.

I think that's enough drama for today... please keep us in your prayers as we've been up against more challenges lately living here. Thanks so much for supporting and loving us.