A sliver of waning moon hung in the eastern sky.Īfter three decades, I’d returned to the Dominican Republic, pulled back by the haunting memory of a Haitian child. We rode through the tourist zone, past whitewashed Spanish colonial buildings, pointing our truck toward the Haitian border.
It was 5 a.m. and still dark as we rolled west out of Santo Domingo, on a cool morning in May 2019.
