Three days and Two nights, part 1

After we stopped to buy the candy and mangoes (which strangely enough, although they were in season, we hadn't been served any for meals - is that gauche in Haiti?), we trekked up the dirt road the two or three miles to Val Children's. My son, Jon would have been proud - we off-roaded with the best of 'em. Of course those few miles took 45 minutes, because Pastor Val had to stop, chattin' it up with the locals. He said after a few of these visits, "I have to stop and talk to them because, you know, they are not like the city people; they would be offended if I didn't take some time." Yep. We got it. Just like North Carolina, y'all.

We got almost there, and Pastor Val stopped the truck outside a cluster of homes. Some were nicer than others, but one was completely concrete, and totally in tact. He called out to the woman of the house, explaining to us that one of his pastors lived there, and they had a toilet we could use. Thank the Lord. We entered the concrete house, and she led us to the back. There it was. Oh, heaven. And I thought we'd be without this all week! Granted it was a 200 yard walk down the road, and you had to dump water into the bowl to flush it, but it was clean, and we were welcome to use it. This visit just got a thousand times more tolerable. The funny thing about the house, though was it was totally empty. Not a door, not a stick of furniture, nothing on the walls, no people...just a shell (and a potty). We wondered why the family that showed us in didn't live in it; maybe they did before the quake and didn't feel safe anymore.

There was another odd thing: there was a baby boy, about a year old sitting on a chair in the yard when we got there. He was there when we went in, and there when we left. He was in that chair everytime we visited the potty-house. Just sitting. No toys. He wasn't fussing to get down. He just was sitting there or standing in it. While waiting for Abby, I put 5 little rocks on the chair next to him. I counted them out in Kreyol, passing them from one side of his bare legs to the other. Then back again. He watched me and seemed entertained. Then it was my turn to use the bathroom. When I came out again, he was throwing the rocks on the ground. A new game.

No one-year old I've ever seen is content to sit in a chair all day. I wondered why he was happy to do that. I wondered if he couldn't walk yet, and it was just too painful to crawl, so his mamma put him in that chair when she couldn't hold him. I'd never thought about that before.


When we finally arrived at the gates of the orphanage grounds, the kids surrounded us and yelled, "Abby! Abby!" The next words out of their mouths were, "Jon? Jon? Kote Jon?" Where's Jon? The last time they had seen Abby was in Jan. 2008 when she was here with Jon for a week. Then he returned in July 2008 and spent another week with them. So they wondered why they didn't always travel together. They asked about Jon for at least an hour. Instead, they got me. :)

Pastor Val showed us where we could put up our tent. He had arranged a "bath" for us: some tarps spread over a metal pole structure that provided some privacy and certainly more space than a tent. So thoughtful. We were really touched. He told us to set our tent up with the door facing the bath. We promptly did, and then some of the bigger boys set about digging a trench around our tent, "in case it rained hard, the water will not go in your tent." Each night, one of the boys brought us a 5-gallon bucket of water for bathing. We also had a tub about 18 inches in diameter. I won't go into the details, but Abby and I had a lot of laughs getting clean every night.

We looked around, children clinging to our hands, and saw where the church and orphanage buildings had once stood. Our friend Jeff, had been to visit the previous week, and had removed the rubble, spreading it on the road. Great idea. They had erected a temporary church, of some 4x4s and a tin roof. Pastor Val had been given a roll of heavy duty yellow vinyl that they wrapped around to make three "walls." There was a podium, and the benches, and the well pump was right there by the open side. The well head is a social gathering place, so the church serves double-duty as a place to sit and rest and visit with the neighbors. Love it.

We were able to very quickly arrange for a 20'x40' tent, like the kind we use for wedding receptions, to be purchased and put up on the grounds. The American couple that owns the tent company, The Rymers from Cleveland, TN, got directions and met us out there, erecting the tent in less than 30 minutes, then went back to PAP and got on a plane for home. Random contact. Random opportunity. But a huge blessing...Pastor Val started three classes of school in there the next week.

We settled into visiting in the chicken house which had now been converted into a dining/living room, that I don't think the children were allowed into very often. Pastor Val's sister and a few other ladies were finishing the meal preparations. The children took up every square inch of table space outside, where they had several long tables spread with the ubiquitous yellow vinyl. There are about 50 - 60 children eating there each day, and about 35 who sleep there. The women had this operation down to a science. The kids were so well-behaved and patient. We prayed together and ate heartily.

After the meal, we had Tuesday night church. The kids were already there, and Stanley, 12, was pounding out the worship songs on a drum set. He was pretty good. We worshiped together then Pastor Val's assistant pastor gave some announcements. Pastor Val began speaking then, and introduced us as his guests. He wanted us to speak, so we quickly planned to share how their church had become so meaningful to us. He translated, and after a while we got into a groove. We told the people about how our family came to know Pastor Val 25 years ago, and how we visited Bongnotte in 2007. Then how our son had an encounter with God literally minutes before he preached his first sermon right there in that church! Then I went on to tell about my earthquake experience with their Pastor. And I shared with them what a fine testimony the Haitian Christians were giving the world of their faith in the midst of difficulty.

We worshiped some more and watched as Pastor Val danced with some of the children. We greeted everyone as they went home. We began our "bath-time" which was thoroughly entertaining, and went to bed feeling satisfied and full of joy.

The Next Days...

The sounds of a Haitian morning: roosters, barking, pots and pans banging, children talking, singing, water splashing. The sun is not quite awake, but the sky has lightened, and it's still cool - better not miss it! So up we are at 5:30 or 6 am. That's the best time of the day in a hot and humid place, especially if it rained a little the night before. Fresh.

At 6:15 am, we were late for church, and that's a little embarrassing when you are seated up front as special guests. But we weren't the only ones, and although worship had been going on for at least 45 minutes already, there was lots more to come and people kept trickling in. Pastor Bataille's church is an open structure with the sky as a ceiling. There were some "seats" - concrete blocks turned on end, and a few benches. Abby even tested out a "pew" of sorts: four folding chairs that were missing their seats, but a board had been spanned across them to make room for 5 or 6. It's a dedicated parishioner who sits on the end of a concrete block for hours! But most people who came in after us, brought their own chairs. And the shaded spots went first. During a 3 or 4 hour meeting, the sun makes its way across the floor, and it's hot by 7:30! I'm amazed that the women are wearing panty-hose and the men, suits and ties. We were dying in our sundresses, which, by the way, seemed entirely inappropriate. Next time, sleeves.

The mayor of Delmas, an area of Port au Prince was the guest speaker and although I couldn't understand what he was saying, it was passionate. Junior translated and we realized he was preaching a very practical post-earthquake message: work hard, take responsibility for your own family, help others, and don't wait for the aid workers to come and take care of you. It's the message the Bataille's have been preaching. It's what Haiti desperately needs, way more than foreign aid.

Junior was telling us, and Pastor Val told us the same thing later in the week, that some of the tent cities are empty. The people leave them up (and I think they've constructed them of the worst sheets in their households to gain more sympathy!) and only get back in them when the aid workers come around with handouts. The larger tent cities are filled with really nice tents, and the people are given food and water regularly, medical care is available for free, and there is an NGO that provides port-a-potty services. That is way more than most of the poor have normally, so why would they leave? It's like all the bad things about the US welfare system, but 100 times worse.

The rest of Sunday morning was spent preparing for the opening of the clinic. Our other Durham ladies arrived, and they jumped right in. Abby and I hung around and helped a little and took lots of photos and video. There was a funeral at the church later in the day, and while we were listening/watching from a distance, we felt the shaking. Abby was lying on a bench, and thought someone was shaking it. When she turned to see who it was, the look on my face said it all. Wide-eyed, I told her we needed to get out of the building. We ran downstairs to find the whole funeral party had already calmly exited (I guess they're used to this by now), but none of our American friends had felt it. We found out later it was for real: a 4.4 magnitude aftershock.

Later, my Dutch friend Coby, met us at Quisqueya for a visit. By this time, Abby and I were thoroughly wrung out by culture shock. We'd only been in the country for about 27 hours, but with the combination of the heat, dirt, smells, chaotic traffic, and some idleness, we wondered what we were doing here and could we handle it for a week? Going to Quisqueya and visiting with Coby was the grace of God for us at that moment. She asked if we wanted to go to her home and with no shame we readily took her up on her offer. She lived up the mountain, where it was calmer and cooler. While we were there enjoying a delightful visit, it started to rain, hard. After a few hours of refreshment, she and her husband took us back down the mountain, back to our tent on the Bataille's roof, in the dark, in the rain...it was crazy ride. That visit got us over the hump, and Coby and Ad, if you are reading this - thank you so much for ministering to us! I got a lot of answers, too about micro-finance, since Ad does a lot of development work for the Dutch mission.

Monday was a day with plans. Of course, they never quite go like you think. We had an appointment with the headmaster at Quisqueya to introduce Junior to the school and Steve Hersey. Junior's fiance is hoping to teach there. The appointment was at 9, fairly late in the day in Haiti, and it seemed to take forever to figure out a ride. When we finally arrived at 10:30, Steve wasn't at all ruffled - he said, "I knew you'd show up eventually." I guess being punctual for a job interview (of sorts) isn't highly valued! No one has a watch in Haiti... We talked to Steve, recounted those first days after the quake, talked about Junior and Joycelyne's plans and then toured the school. At lunchtime, we headed over to Epi D'or, a popular restaurant that is also a bakery. They serve pizza and sandwiches, and even have a section called "Mc Epi" where burgers and fries are on the menu. :) It was great.

We headed back down to the Bataille's and did more photography and helping out at the clinic, which was in full swing. Then home for dinner and resting. It was a reward at the end of the day to sit with friends and talk about all that the Lord had done. A good detox time, we downloaded all that we had experienced, and we worshiped together.

Tuesday morning, Pastor Val came and picked us up to take us to the orphanage. We packed up our tent and air mattresses, and then went by the church to gather up the rest of the stuff we had brought for the kids. I don't think we actually left PAP until close to noon, so we got on the road at the hottest and most crowded part of the day.

The orphanage is in Leogane Province, in a small village called Bongnotte. It is twenty miles from PAP; it took us three long, hot, dusty hours to get there.

I'll spare the details of the drive but it included stopping for 15 minutes at a time in traffic that wasn't moving, the hot sun pounding us through necessarily open windows, leaning in to avoid being splashed by nasty, nasty puddles, and passing the most hideous of "homes" made of rusty corrugated tin placed in the center of the road. Appalling.

When we were finally able to get beyond the chaos of the city, a whole new country opened up to us. Few signs of the earthquake presented themselves; life seemed relatively normal out here. The road had a few serious separations from the quake - asphalt ripped in half, that requred the driver to go slowly through. It was green and lush, and though still hot as the blazes, it was refreshing.

We pulled off onto a small dirt road, stopped to buy some mangoes and candy and headed up into the hills. Such a lovely place. Are we still in Haiti?

A Second Visit to Haiti in 2010!

Sak pase? (That's what you say to people on the street as an informal greeting, meaning, "What's up?") Abby and I had a lot of fun asking this of people, and then watching their reaction as they started prattling on in Kreyol, with a blank stare washing over OUR faces. We don't speak Kreyol! We just know a few words, enough to greet children.

I arrived on a hot, sunny afternoon in early May. As I exited the plane, the reality of what I was going to live in for a week hit me full in the face - hot and humid. The airport was the calm before the storm...soon I was leaving the sauna of a temporary customs building with my baggage cart piled high with heavy trunks, hands 'resting' on them as many porters laid claim to my belongings. How would I pay all these guys? I had to put on my tough girl and tell them all "no," as I desperately searched the sea of dark faces for a familiar one. Finally Pastor Val's toothless grin peeped out from between some elbows, and I saw that familiar cap he was wearing the last time I saw him. A wash of relief that now, he would take care of everything (everything meaning all the superfluous porters I was fending off!).

He raised an umbrella over my head to shield the brutal noon sun, as he guided me through the maze of people to the street. I was expecting Abby and Junior to be there to pick me up, but oh well, Pastor Val could call them and we would connect. Sure enough, they were there, but I couldn't see them. We just met up at Junior's church a mile or so away. (Of course, it took about an hour to get loaded up, and get to the church!) Driving through the streets was a strange feeling: the last time I was here, the whole country was in shock of what had just happened a few days before. Everyone was just started to dig out, to locate the dead, and rescue the trapped and wounded. I remember thinking it was hard to leave them behind and go back to a normal and abundant life. Being back in Haiti now provided some closure personally. Life has gone on here, I thought. Four months later, and life is back to normal to some degree.

The part of Port au Prince between the airport and the church seemed very normal. Street vendors, dust, nasty puddles, dogs, goats, traffic - all the sights and sounds of an average afternoon on a city street. There hadn't been much damage, and if there was, it was cleared away to some degree. The only indication that something was amiss was the ubiquitous blue tarp. Tent cities, large and small were erected on every available empty lot. Some of the ones with larger tents, were occupied by a community in its own right. But many small 'makeshift' tents, constructed of sheets and branches and concrete blocks spotted the city, and were empty. Junior told me later, and Pastor Val confirmed the same thing, that many leave these eyesores standing so that when the aid workers come around, they can get back inside and receive all kinds of things.

We arrived at the church, and I greeted my daughter, Abby with hugs and kisses. She is living in Seattle now, I in NC. I miss her terribly, and it's funny to have to meet up in Haiti! We sat down with Pastor Val in the sanctuary and talked for an hour or so. We agreed to meet again on Tuesday, when he would take us to the orphanage for a few days there with the kids.

The rest of the day was spent meeting the others that had come to help run a medical clinic. One thing that struck me on this trip: an American must leave their values of orderliness and productivity at home and be willing to spend time talking and waiting with people. Theirs is a highly relational culture, and the fact that you are standing around doing nothing is not a negative; it's an opportunity to get to know someone better!

The heat was unrelenting and although Junior had provided us a bedroom with its own bath, we rushed back to the church as dusk was approaching and rounded up our tent and air mattresses. The rooftop was flat and the other members of the team were camped up there because of the heat of the indoors. I am so glad I set the tent up at home once before I came - we were rushing to get it up before dark, but by the time we were pumping the air mattresses, our flashlights were in full use!

So much better...the night was tolerable, although those confused roosters were at it all night again. (I really don't believe that there will be roosters in Heaven.)