Journals from Haiti

Clark took us to the market down the road, which was open-air and less crowded. There was a lot of livestock, especially cattle, and food products. I saw one woman carrying a string of purplish crabs - probably mud crabs, Pat said later. We stopped in a little restaurant, basically a wooden shack, for cokes, and sat together on wooden benches at a little table with a red bandana tablecloth. I made room for Valerie to sit next to me.

On the way back we met Pastor DeGonzaque (sp?) and stopped to talk. He said the injured man might be taken to the D.R., which would probably be a good thing.

Back at the clinic, I looked around and didn’t see any of the kids, but they slowly began to reappear. I passed out the bandanas, tying some around the their necks or on their heads, and gave one to a woman who seemed to be Fabienne’s mother. David passed out hair accessories to some of the girls. I took out a chocolate bar, unwrapped it, and held it out so they could break off pieces, then gave it to one of the older kids and said “separe” (share). They seemed to understand.

People here are so kind. When we share the smallest gifts, even those who don’t take anything give grateful smiles. Joelle (sp?), another builder, greeting me as he passed. One small girl held on to my hand, never smiling, just gazing at me with huge, heartbreakingly beautiful brown eyes.

We said goodbye and drove away, dropping off Valerie and Camila on the way. David told me that Valerie wants to be a doctor, and that he would like to help with his education.

“Ki jan ou ye?” (How are you?) said Jovite when I came downstairs in the morning. “Byen,” I replied. Pat was impressed. She wanted to know if I could ask him back, and I did. I got some coffee and sat down across from Jovite, and Pat told him to practice his English with me. She told him in Creole to tell me in English that his “mennaj” (girlfriend), Mène might come over later. I was excited for her to see the curtains. Pat continued to speak to him in Creole and he replied with deep “mmhmm”s. He ate and left for seminary.

Then rest of us had breakfast - eggs, toast, and fresh papaya - and David read from a book called “So You Want to Be Like Christ?” that had very good insights about simplicity.

Several of us went back to the clinic. The men had to get their supplies and I wanted to see Valerie and the children again. We stopped on the way for some 2×4’s, I think 18 feet long, and I took a turn carrying them back to the truck. The Haitian men looked impressed that a twiggy female “blan” was helping carry lumber, and I admit I enjoyed that far too much. While we waited, David and I had an interesting conversation about photography, journalism, the Middle East, and infuriating liberal news media.

We picked up Camila and saw some U.N. vehicles (Ron waved to a soldier but I was on the other side of the car). Valerie wasn’t there at the usual spot, but we found him when we got there and he helped us unload wood.

Some little children gradually congregated by a nearby tree and began calling me by name. I soon went over and said “bonjou.” One of them took my sunglasses and they began playfully fighting over them, each wanting to try them on. Fabienne wanted to keep them but I figured I would need them, and I had something else to give her before we left.

Photo by David Clinard.

Back at Pat and Clark’s, we had a lunch of sandwiches and bananas with Enoch, then we thanked each other and he left.

I journalled a little and then sent a long update to my parents, who had each emailed me. Abby and I finished the bandanas, then worked on curtain’s for “La Kay Jovite.”

Soon we went downstairs and had a very nice dinner of salad with cucumbers and tomatoes, cheese melts, a thick soup with pumpkin broth, beef, and vegetables, crackers, and for dessert, cherry cheesecake. We had Hudson, who’d spoken at the fellowship, and his wife Lucy, as guests. Hudson told amazing stories about his family, and when we migrated to the deck to continue, he talked about their 40-some years in Haiti as missionaries. Allan told some of his story as well.

After our guests left, Enoch was downstairs eating so I went down to journal in the light. I was sad that I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to Alain, who’d been called to Port-au-Prince for some emergency. Eventually everyone trickled downstairs and we got talking.

Allan told us he’d seen a Haitian woman in the store, gesturing that he had a big nose, and he’d thought she was saying he smelled bad. I said I was surprised that no one had done that to me. My sister always makes fun of my nose because it’s pointy. Someone asked about my siblings and we discovered that Clark had gone to the same college as my brother. We talked about California and they asked about Abby’s siblings. Pat asked if I had connections in Florida because then I’d have all four corners covered. No, but I had two Army friends who’d trained in Georgia.

I saw a spider, a daddy long legs I think, and I caught it and put it outside. David lent me a headlamp for my “important rescue mission.” Everyone gradually left and I sat there writing, noticing the neighbor lady’s loud, malodorous generator. My eyelids were drooping and I eventually went to get ready for bed.

Eventually Enoch arrived. He had offered to take us on a walking tour of the city, and also to serve as our translator so we could visit the man in the hospital. Once we were all ready, David, Abby, and I accompanied Enoch. A little way down the road, I realized I’d forgotten my camera and I’m very glad I went back for it.

As we walked, Enoch pointed out various structures and told us about them. He took us to the city square where the immense white cathedral stood with its dark-colored domes. He led us up the steps to the great wooden doors, and there he spoke to a nearby Haitian man. They were most likely speaking Creole, not English, but he told us afterward what was said. The man apparently did not appreciate our presence. He thought we were just rich Americans who didn’t care about Haiti. Enoch tried to explain that we were there to help.

When we arrived at the hospital, the injured man lay, still on the door, on the ground outside the hospital. He and his family were waiting for transport to another facility for x-rays, because this hospital was on strike. With Enoch translating, David told the family we were very concerned and would pray for him. He must have been so uncomfortable - David said he could get bed sores just from lying on that hard surface for so long.

As we went on, I heard Enoch say “hola” to a passing Hispanic-looking woman. I asked if he spoke Spanish and he said he’d had to learn it because he went to the Dominican Republic for a while. I told him about my three years of high school Spanish that I’d largely forgotten.

We passed a Catholic school, where I took a photo looking over the city. I have come to the love corrugated tin rooftops, red with rust or paint.

On the way back, Enoch challenged us to a tour of the crowded marketplace. He led us down a packed street and through a vast network of merchants, some with tables, some with their wares arrayed on the ground. They sold seemingly everything from raw food staples and produce to manufactured clothing and accessories. We were almost shoulder to shoulder with masses of people traveling both directions through narrow pathways between the merchants. He said afterward that we were brave.

We also stopped at a small bookstore on the way back to buy the Creole Bibles we’d seen there when we were heading out.

After a breakfast of French toast, the men were working on a house behind the Moores’ from Jovite and Mène. We went outside to watch and possibly help.

Soon Pat had a sewing project for Abby and me. David had brought three pieces of colorful fabric. We used two to make wall hangings for two schools, and the other we cut into triangles and made small bandanas for the children to wear.

Once when we were downstairs talking to Pat, she said, “Come here, girls. Look what God did.” I was amazed that He’d made the rusty old sewing machine work, but she had something else in mind. She took us to a storeroom in the back of the house where there was medicine and supplies covering the table and filling tubs on the floor. Another medical missions team had given the leftovers from their trip, about ten times what was stolen!

David prayed over our meal and we enjoyed good food and interesting conversation. Afterward there was time for much-needed showers, journalling, and reading. I sat a lone for a few minutes, just thinking about the day’s events, and felt completely overwhelmed with mixed emotions. I fought back tears as one thought rose from the others - I don’t want to leave here.

Eventually we all trickled downstairs and Abby led a study of Mark 11. We wondered why Jesus had withered the fig tree that wouldn’t produce figs; it wasn’t the season for figs. Everyone seemed to have different ideas. Abby thought Jesus was using it as a teaching opportunity to show that God always does what He promises, even when we doubt. Pat read from another source that the fig tree symbolizes Jerusalem. Enoch, who had come for a visit just in time to join in, said that Jesus was simply hungry. Alain, who had also arrived at an opportune time, explained that the fig tree showed that we should not have false appearances. If we appear fruitful, we should be fruitful. Jovite was present but is shy about speaking English.

Our conversation progressed to other things like Enoch’s gardening and how to stop the theif at the clinic, and we learned a Creole song. Everyone began to leave but I stayed and wrote for a long time while Alain performed surgery on Pat’s camera and Allan read.

I thanked God for his amazing blessings to us throughout the trip and asked Him to be with us as we went forward.

A few of the girls suddenly lead me to the road. A procession of Haitians was walking down the road to the clinic, and I could soon see that they were carrying an elderly man on a door. As we joined the crowd that had gathered at the clinic to watch, a few people questioned the girls about the “blans” they were with. Some smiled.

David, who is a doctor, took charge as they cleared out the back of Pat and Clark’s pickup to make room for the man. They carefully laid him, still on the door, flat across the bed of the truck. The man’s family and Pastor Dorlean rode in the back with him, so the six of us who were traveling back to Pat’s house piled into the cab. I sat on the console, and Valerie had to walk home. I waved to him sadly as we passed. It wasn’t far to his home but I didn’t think I’d see him again.

Apparently the man had fallen - from fairly high, a tree or a church roof or something - and injured his back. He couldn’t feel his legs. The people had carried him from his home in the mountains, probably at least a mile away. We had the only vehicle nearby.

It was a long, bumpy ride to Justinian Hospital in Cap Haitien, not far from the Moores’ home. David grimaced for the injured man as we jolted over a particularly large pothole. I felt the same. I could tell David and Abby understood more than I did about the man’s condition.

When we finally arrived at the hospital they took him inside and the family thanked us. I saw a boy waiting outside with a cardboard splint on his arm. He was crying and his mother, holding him, was crying too. I wondered how long they’d been waiting.

David seemed reluctant to leave. I think as a doctor, he felt compelled to do something more to help. He told me, back in the truck, about the deplorable conditions inside the hospital.

I’d been practicing my Creole so I could communicate better with the little boys. Back at the clinic, I asked a few of their names. One was named Julie. They wanted me to get Abby so I did, and Pat helped us talk to them. She offered us drinks so we went and sat on the benches outside the clinic and had Limonades/sodas.

One of the little girls beckoned me across a dry creek. A few of the children wanted a picture. Soon David came over with bubbles and had me take pictures with his digital camera while he played with the kids. They loved it. He was soon surrounded by jumping, giggling children and bubbles floating overhead. They’d been disappointed with my old 35mm camera, but with David’s they could see themselves on the screen and point each other out in the photos. They wanted pictures with Abby and me, too.

Some of the girls organized us and the other children for some kind of games. We were a little slow to figure it out, but they led us in something like London Bridges and Ring Around the Rosie. They sang, in Creole of course, the appropraite songs and clapped and beat their feet on the ground to the rhythm.

Because this was the last day we planned to be at the clinic, I took a bag of trail mic I’d brought with me and went and sat down in the middle of a group of children by a tree. They looked at me with big, sad eyes like I wasn’t going to share. I opened the bag and held it out to them. Slowly, timidly they came and took handfuls until it was gone, smiling at me. Even the surrounding adults and they young people passing by on the road, who recieved nothing from me, smiled with deep gratitude for such a small act of kindness.

A bit later Pat and Abby and I went to distribute the crocs to a few elderly people living nearby. Valerie came with us and we picked up his friend Josnel so they could show us where to go.

We parked the truck and walked along dirt paths to get to a few houses out in the countryside. I remember stick fences and some kind of plants that resembled small palm trees. Josnel, who was walking in front of me, said something quietly to Valerie (probably asking how to say “koumann ou rele” in English) and then turned and asked me, “what is your name?” I told him and then asked his name (another moment of failing to think; I already knew his name).

The families we visited lived in little concrete shacks like the ones I described earlier - dirt floors, probably sheet metal rooves, and curtains for doors. The people were sitting or standing outside. They were very grateful to recieve the shoes, but told Pat they had nothing. One elderly man told her he had not eaten that day, and sadly we had no food with us.

Next Pat took us to the place where they make cassava bread so we could see how it’s done. They start with cassava - a potato-like root - press it to drain out the liquid, which is paralytic, grind it into flour, and bake it on round metal plates over fire. It comes out looking like a huge tortilla, maybe four feet wide. They sometimes add sugar, coconut, or ginger.

As Valerie and I continued to paint, some U.N. vehicles appeared on the road. Just as I noticed them, Valerie said something in his thick Creole accent that I did not understand. After he’d repeated it several times, I finally understood him - “United Nations.” I apologized, with very incorrect grammar, attempting to say that my Creole is not very good. I then realized that this made no sense because he was, in fact, speaking English.

Meanwhile, the U.N. soldiers had parked their vehicles across the road. They came over and began to photograph us and our work. Pat had told us earlier, when I was gushing about finally catching a photo of a tank, that many of the U.N. soldiers are Chiléan and that they like to photograph us too.

Valerie and I were just finishing, so I stood. Ron, I think, asked if I’d gotten a photo of their tank. I said no and ran to fetch my camera. I was a little timid but the soldier in the tank smiled, so I snapped a shot.

Right then, another soldier approached me and began to speak rapidly in what I did not realize was Spanish. Just this morning I’d been wondering if Chiléans spoke Spanish so I could say “hola” if I passed one close up, but I somehow could not comprehend a single word.

I finally figured out he was directing me to their tank for a photo. I went and stood in front of it until I realized they wanted me to get in. I stood in the hatch while people snapped a few pictures, and I talked awkwardly with the soldier, whose name, I discovered, was Gaston. I somehow forgot to use my three years of high school Spanish, except when I said “adios!” as they drove away.

I’ve since had a lot of conflicting thoughts about this experience. I’ve heard that a lot of Haitians don’t like the U.N.’s presence in their country, but there also seem to be legitimate reasons for their peacekeeping mission, such as gang violence in the slums and riots due to rising food costs. From what I understand, there is a lot of corruption in the leadership of the U.N. so that money often does not go where it’s needed, but at least some of the soldiers seem to be there to help.