Journals from Haiti

At last an island slowly comes into view, with turquoise waters around its edges and great mountains covered with greenery. Below them, as we get closer, I begin to make out palm trees and small, dilapidated shacks.

The airport comprises a few small buildings with ceiling fans and not much else. I watch the many dark men who mill around us speaking Creole that I do not understand. Pat, the missionary we’ll be staying with, meets us at the airport.

Once our things are loaded into Pat’s pickup, we all climb in for the drive to her home and inn on the coast. She skillfully navigates through potholes, honking tap-taps (local taxi trucks) packed to overflowing, speeding mopeds, clusters of schoolchildren in clean, brightly-colored uniforms, and women balancing seemingly impossible loads on their heads. We sit in silence, just trying to take it all in.

As we come alongside the ocean, I see a pig standing in the shallows. Just seconds later, a white UN vehicle passes on our other side full of armed, uniformed soldiers with blue helmets. I suddenly feel like I’m in a combat zone. I cannot tell if the broken concrete buildings are bombed-out or merely old and weathered. I know nothing yet of the corrupt government’s perpetual efforts to keep people believing that Haiti is such a very dangerous place so that they will get more money “for security.”

I woke up at 3:45 to enjoy my last hot shower for about a week. Yesterday my mom and sister had driven me from our home in Manchester, Maine to the Portland airport where I met my mission team and we continued to Orlando, Florida. My roommate, Abby, and I got ready and met Ron, David, and Allan downstairs.

We stopped at a Waffle House on the way – apparently they’re a big thing in the South – and drove on to the Missionary Flights International airport where we would board our plane to Haiti.

I had heard about the little, rickety, retired military plane we’d be flying in. It pretty much fit the description, but that didn’t bother me – I thought it was cool. Besides, I think we all felt safer flying in a little old plane with a pilot who prayed before we left than a major airline where he’d probably get fired for that.

Soon we rose above the clouds and the sun shone over them with a glowing beauty that I had only read about but never seen, at least not while I was old enough to remember. I marveled at the glory of a God so much greater than even the most stunning of His creations, and I prayed for strength to be a better witness as I thought of all the people who still don’t know Him.