Stories from communities around Bois de Laurence (northeastern Haiti)

Below are some of the stories we were told from volunteers in various villages around Bois de Laurence.  Some have had Community Health Evangelism (CHE) programs for several years, some have just started.  CHE works through three groups:  trainers, locally-selected committees, and community health evangelists (CHEs).

Anel Canis, Venbal, committee member

Before we had CHE in Venbal we really weren't healthy, either physically or spiritually. When CHE started in 2011, we got a lot of information and we shared it with our families. Change didn't happen all at once, but we have started seeing both physical and spiritual changes.

We had fewer people with diarrhea and vomiting in the time of cholera. We have Bibles so that we can evangelize. We do SODIS [solar disinfection of water] and make Tippytaps [simple hand-washing devices]. Since we've started with CHE there definitely are changes: we dig holes for our trash, people make dish racks for their dishes and they don't put them on the ground anymore. A lot of people didn't have latrines but now they do. Even if it's not 100% yet, but a lot of people have them. We have received seeds and we really like this. We have a lot more understanding now, and when someone wrongs us we have self-control, we can work things out. We might still fight some with our neighbors or families, but with CHE we've learned a lot of new ways to work things out.

We improved a road – before, the road from Venbal to the Big Crossroads was so small even small animals couldn't pass through. Now it's not so bad – people can use it and even large animals can pass. It's not all that long but it still helps us.

  (c) copyright Anel Canis. Used with author's permission.

Hercule-Louis Jean, Birèl committee president

Before CHE started in our area we didn't live very well because we didn't have training. People went to the bathroom on the ground. We gave them information so that they would dig a hole for when they needed to go to the bathroom, so that they would go in the hole.

We meet people who don't go to church. When we share information with them they change, and some of them now go to church. We love all of the training, both the spiritual and the physical.

There was a family in the area, they used to fight and yell at each other, always arguing. I went to their house to do some lessons. After perhaps four or five visits we had, where we talked with them, we see that they have changed, they don't fight like this anymore. I also taught them about treating drinking water and now they drink treated water. . .

We had everyone contribute 50 gourdes [just over $1] in case someone needed to go to the hospital. That way, if you don't have any money but need to go to the hospital, we can use what we've collected to send you. We collect funds once per year.

  (c) copyright Hercule-Louis Jean. Used with author's permission.

Joacius Celinor, trainer in Derrière Garde

Before the CHE program started in our area, it was really not healthy. There were lots of physical problems, spiritual problems, and social problems. There were a lot of women that died before going to the hospital, a lot of children who died from diarrhea.

Those of us who were trainers, we trained the CHEs. They started doing home visits and people started to discover what caused diarrhea, what caused children to be malnourished. We sat down together with the parents, we talked with them about a balanced diet: one shouldn't only buy rice but one should also gather leafy vegetables for one's children.

Despite the fact that the epidemic started – I mean cholera – no one died in the Derrière Garde area. We received soap to wash our hands before eating, we got oral rehydration salts. This was thanks to CHE. These things made the people in Derrière Garde love the program, and now everyone is with the CHE program.
 

We live better: we have Bibles now, and we sit down some afternoons to share from the Bible together. We teach people to learn verses by heart. The verse that touches my heart the most is John 3:16, “For God so loved the world that he gave his only son, that whoever receives him might not perish but have everlasting life.”

We started a program for young people in the afternoons and they named a president who would train them so that they can protect their bodies, respect their parents. If they find trash they shouldn't play with it but they should put it in a hole used for trash. This is for young people from 7- to 17-years-old. We do this once per week.

I have a very special testimony for my family: up until now (and God willing for the future) I haven't spent a lot of money going to the doctor. See, when we have a problem we bathe, we use soap, we know how to use some simple medications. Our children don't get sick often. To God be the glory for this.

(c) copyright Joacius Celinor. Used with author's permission.

A Week in Mombin Crochu (northeastern Haiti) -- Day 2

Beautiful countryside seen on our trip today.

Tuesday, July 16

In the morning Adelin asks me if I “don't have anything he can throw away for me.” He means the pee basin. Thankfully, I was able to tell him that I'd already emptied it.

I'll be riding with Adelin today, and Osse will drive Eric.  Did I say that the roads were bad between Cap Haitien and Mombin Crochu?  Well, it's true -- but the roads even further up the mountains are even worse. I've been around this area via both truck and motorcycle before. The driver has his feet down lots of the time for balance. Adelin's motorcycle doesn't have a working horn, which is unfortunate, since these are rocky, curvy, rutted, mountain roads and we drive all over the road to find the best path.

Just like in the US, when passing people in rural areas in Haiti you greet them. When we would pass by people that Osse or Adelin knew, they often say, “Woy, woy, woy” and the other driver responds, “Okay, okay, okay!” For people that are not known as well, it's a head nod and, “Gentlemen,” or “Ladies and Gentlemen.”

It's ridiculously beautiful here. I'm also getting a good workout – I posted the following on my Facebook:

I have come up with a new interval workout -- traveling by motorcycle through the mountains of northeastern Haiti. You start out with an arm workout (holding the back of the motorcycle to stay on). You switch to legs periodically: lifting them up high as you cross rivers and go through mud puddles, or jamming your feet into the footholds to keep from sliding into the driver on steep downhills, or getting off the bike and hiking up the mountain when it's too steep/rough for the moto to carry two.

It's steeper than it looks in the picture!  I've jumped off to walk up the hill.

I am humbled, for the millionth time, at the hard work that my brothers and sisters do to transform their communities. Adelin worked part time for a USAID/PLAN project doing HIV/AIDS prevention, which is how he got this motorcycle. It needs a new chain, which he hasn't been able to find, so he greased it before we started out this morning. Somehow because he also needs new “sprockets” the motorcycle can't haul us both up every mountain. He doesn't want to push it and risk breaking something. Once even he has to get off and push his motorcycle up the last stretch – I can't imagine how hard this is with a heavy bike.

Yet another hill too steep for this bike's current condition -- as I watch while walking up from below, Adelin has to get off and push his bike the rest of the way.

Today's trip is to the village of Bois de Laurence, where they've asked volunteers from the surrounding villages of Mapou, Lagwamit, Venbal, Birèl, Derrière Garde, and Sylvestre to come and share their stories. (Stay tuned, because I'll put their stories up next!)

After I'm done typing everyone's stories, Osse, Eric, and Adelin meet with the local trainers and answer questions.  Phone signals aren't always good out here and the bad roads (and lack of finances for travel) make it difficult for our master trainers to get out here as often as they would like.   Soon, however, they decide we should get going, since it looks like rain.  Thankfully we get back "home" to Mombin without any rain -- the clouds changed direction.

When I stay at someone's house I like to figure out something that I can do to contribute – here it looks like that is washing dishes. The first two days there is water in the reservoir at the house (it dried up after that and someone's job was to go to the pump closer to the village for water for us). I fill up two tubs for washing and rinsing and set the dishes in a laundry basket to drain. Washing dishes is one of my favorite household tasks. It's only slightly complicated here by the fact that there are stinging ants all around. So every few minutes I have to pause and jump around, scratching one foot with the other, stung again.

One of the guys sees me jumping around and asks if it's the ants. I tell him it's a shame they're the stinging kind, and he says that most ants he knows sting. He says they call non-stinging ones, “crazy ants.” I ask why and he says, “Well, because they don't sting!”

Throughout the night I realize that I'm using my basin several times a night. It's probably more than normal because I deliberately dehydrate a bit during the day so as not to have trouble while traveling. Then I drink a lot of water in the evening to make up for it. But again, the walls in the house do not go all the way up to the ceiling. Although the basin I've got is pretty shallow, it still seems extremely loud to me and, well, you know how time seems to be fluid? Sometimes lasting longer and other times passing by quickly? I swear it takes me five minutes to empty my bladder each time – enough time for every man in the house to wake up and think, “Is she peeing again? What is with her?” Sigh.

T-shirts seen around the village from a campaign we were a part of -- the phrase chosen for this HIV/AIDS prevention campaign is, "Control your pleasures to protect your life."

A week in Mombin Crochu (northeastern Haiti) -- Day 1

A girl and her goat in Mombin.

If you know much about Haiti, you've probably heard the unemployment statistic -- it varies somewhat depending on who's measuring it, but it's generally agreed to be around 80%.  (Meaning only 20% of people are formally employed.)  A friend of mine, Claudin, has been unable to find work -- not surprising, with those numbers. When he was my neighbor I would sometimes share my food with him, but he got married last year and moved farther away.  I really don't have the contacts to help him find a job.  I ask our wise director, Osse, if he can think of anything.  He tells me that some years ago Claudin taught a dance class for the kids in his hometown -- Mombin Crochu -- and they keep asking when he'll come back.  Osse says everyone loved the dance class -- and also that there isn't much entertainment for the kids in Mombin. (Mombin Crochu is several hours from Cap Haitien by bad roads. I've been there three times before, and we had significant vehicle troubles on two of the trips.) 

I need to go to Mombin anyway, since a lot of our CHE programs are in the surrounding villages and one of my tasks this summer is to gather stories from people who've been involved with CHE. Osse is more than willing to plan two trips in one:  I'll personally sponsor dance classes while traveling to surrounding villages with our volunteer trainers to gather stories for work.

Monday, July 15

We set out for Mombin on two motorcycles – I'm riding with Osse and Claudin and his wife Roselande are riding with Osse's son, Nono.  We stop in La Victoire, where Osse's sister lives.  

We sit on the front porch of Osse's sister's house.  Little kids pass by with empty jugs to collect water for their households.  They stop to smile at the strangers (that's us).

Osse tells us his sister has prepared “a little coffee” for us.   I am reminded of the Minnesotan phrase “a little lunch" as we enter the house:  in this picture you can see  spaghetti (breakfast food here in Haiti), bread, bananas, and -- oh, yes -- coffee!

From left to right:  Osse, his sister, Claudin, and Roselande.

Nono then leaves with Claudin and Roselande so they can start the dance class. Osse and I stay so that I can talk with some of the people in this town. They haven't started a full Community Health Evangelism (CHE) program but use a lot of the tools and want to tell me some stories of the positive changes they've seen.

It's only about a half an hour to Mombin from here. Unfortunately, just after we start out we see the dark clouds coming. The rain hits us when we're about 10 minutes away. We stop and I put on a poncho, Osse's covers his backpack with a sack. I'm praying quite a bit because these are dirt roads in the mountains, and I'm thinking this rain is making them slippery. I found out later that it is apparently not so bad while raining (except I suspect the driver can't see well). Osse says that it's really just after it stops raining that it becomes dangerously slippery. So I should be glad that it poured until we reached his house!

In the late afternoon I head down to see how Claudin's dance class is going. We are running a generator for the music, but there are no lights at all in the room. It's made even darker because most of the shutters are closed so the many bystanders can't see in so well– the kids will include this dance in a show they have in their community in August. In the evening the kids don't want to leave, they keep saying they're not tired!

Here's Claudin giving one of the kids some extra help.  The dots on the photo are due to dust -- out in the rural areas there is still dust everywhere despite lots of sweeping!

We walk back to Osse's house and I'm told “there's water in the shower,” meaning the bucket in the ceiling-less outdoor room is full. Thinking South Pacific– remember Mitzi Gaynor singing, “I'm gonna wash that man right outta my hair"?  Makes me smile every day I bathe here.

Osse and his family moved to Cap Haitien a few years ago and Adelin, one of our trainers, lives in their house to take care of it. But there are somehow about 10 young guys here! It turns out that only a few of them stay overnight, but during the day they come to fix motorcycles and hang out with Nono. Most are related, but a few are just friends. Osse and his son stay in one room, Adelin and Osse's wife's younger brother stay in another, and two guys sleep on the floor in the main room. I'm in the middle room. As in many houses around the world, the walls don't reach up to the ceiling. This means that you can hear the slightest movement in the room next to you – and all the rooms are next to me – as if it were in your room. I wonder what married couples do.

Here's the window and wooden shutter in my room -- I'm told to lock both it and the bedroom door at night.  Feeling very Jane Austen.

Sin City

On my way to Las Vegas for a medical course today I decided that since I almost always travel alone, it's a good thing I self-entertain.  Here are some of my traveling observations:

• I discovered today that there are women in Minnesota who wear glittery jeans! (I've been told not to there, although they have been THE THING when I've beenin Arizona, Haiti, Argentina, and the Dominican Republic.) Turns out that Minnesotan women definitely prefer jeans with bling when they're going to Las Vegas.
• I've never been on a plane with this many tipsy people! Must be the destination. It's okay, though, because this way when I laugh out loud at my book (Cold Comfort Farm) I don't feel nearly so conspicuous.
• The drunk mother-daughter duo behind me are finally quiet, having falling asleep (very sad).  Now I overhear portions of my seat companions' conversation, “She always wears the same clothes: those sweatpants, d—m windpants – Packers. Nothing about her ever changes.”  I really want to know more.
• As we land I see signs for Cirque du Soleil, reminding me of the only other time I was in Las Vegas – I went to a medical conference and our alumni association had an evening reception and discounted tickets for the show “Ka.” Turns out a picture of me from that night was the only good one I had when it came time to print my missionary prayer cards– cracked me up every time I saw it, thinking of how it sounded to say that the photo on my prayer cards was taken at a bar in Vegas!
• On the ride to the hotel I learn from a billboard that Oprah calls David Copperfield, “The greatest illusionist of our time.” Impossible to see the word “illusionist” without hearing it said by that guy in Arrested Development. Turns out there's some stiff competition for David C, since Criss Angel is actually “the greatest illusionist in the world.”  If you can believe a billboard, that is.
• I learn from the TV in the cab (yup, there's a TV in the cab) that Bon Jovi and the Pet Shop Boys are actually alive and well (and playing in Las Vegas).

It's kind of a bummer to be here on my own, especially since the last time I was with here I was with my good friend Jenny and her family. Of course, there was disappointment on that trip, too – this Ocean's 11 fan found out that the fountains at the Bellagio aren't actually timed to great music (in the movie it's Debussy) but rather to kitschy pop songs.

There are many, many more things to be sad about here -- a traveling billboard advertises that they will "deliver girls right to your door, call now!"  I am reminded of what I read this morning in Matthew 11:  Jesus tells us to come to him, all of us who are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and he will give us rest.  Even so, come, Lord Jesus, and be our shepherd.

On a much needed break during the school screening yesterday!

Hi!  I'm traveling in Petit Goave -- southern Haiti -- this week.  Our team is posting at http://haiti.rezmissions.org

Fish Bones (or, Things Are More Complicated Than You MIght Think)

During each of the years 2010, 2011, and 2012 I endured at least four weeks with very little sleep.  The heat was impossible here in the Caribbean, and what you can work with during the day is not the same as what you can sleep with at night.  I would pass the nights going from my bed – where the mattress and pillows seemed to be radiating heat – to the cooler floor, where my 40+-year-old bones couldn't take the pain.  I racked my brain, thinking of what I could do.  The fan (when the electricity worked, which thankfully was more often than not) cooled the parts of my body that were exposed.  But I couldn't sleep in my birthday suit since my bed is right next to a large window that other residents walk by.  I enlisted the help of friends, but we couldn't figure out a way to cover the windows adequately while still allowing air in.

I kept fantasizing about ice, but the refrigerator at my pension's lodgings was frequently on the fritz, and ice was, well, a hot commodity (heh-heh).  However, at the end of last year we bought a dorm-style refrigerator for our office.  It has a teeny freezer, and this summer my co-workers started freezing drinking water in bags to take home to their families.  I bought a small cooler and started taking a small block of ice to my room every night.

Passing the block of ice over me turned out to be a little wet – which is not as cooling in a humid climate as it would be in Arizona.  So I splurged on Amazon.com and ordered ice packs.  However, they wouldn't actually freeze in our dinky little freezer in just one day.  So since my pension had recently bought a new refrigerator I put them in its freezer. 

Ouch!  I wrapped the ice packs in a plastic bag (the freezer isn't so clean) and the first day I went to get them I grabbed the wrong bag – it had fish bones in it!  Bleeding only slightly, I found and retrieved the right bag.  But the cold packs were only barely cold, and definitely not frozen.  “Oh, yes,” said an employee of the pension, “The freezer doesn't really work anymore.”

So I'm back to a block of ice in a bag in my cooler.  But it actually works like a charm!  I put my burning feet on the block of ice every time I get too hot during the night.  Problem solved, with only a few hiccups (and three years) along the way.

Stories of change in Miniere

My last post was about some of the fun we had while traveling to Miniere.   Below you'll see just four of the amazing stories of transformation that we heard -- definitely worth a little mud on my shoes! 

Jaudner Altidor, community health evangelist since 2009

What I would like to say about CHE, about myself – well, I didn't start right away. The CHEs used to come to my house to talk with me about cleanliness and about spiritual things. They talked about cleanliness, and we saw that some of the things we were doing weren't right. We changed those things. We realized that if they came to give us advice about cleanliness – well, we could see that it was because they wanted to help us. It wasn't really that difficult to change.

The biggest change we made was with regard to latrines. Where we were living it wasn't all that easy to dig a hole because we have a lot of rock. And when it rained the hole got messed up. But we knew we had to dig a hole anyway, and so we did.

CHE has brought a lot of change to the community. When I was a child I used to see pigs running all over the street [Translator's note:  pigs excrete parasites which children then pick up through their bare feet.  CHE encourages people to keep their pigs penned away from where children are playing.] People didn't drink clean water. (I'm 20-years-old right now.)

The most important change for us was spiritually. You see, we weren't used to praying, we weren't used to going to church often. Prayer heals people. Prayer is communication with God. If you have a problem, God can help you. You communicate with God. When people pray they aren't worried.  When I go to church I find a lot of principles that are in the Bible and I learn a lot. This allows me to feel that I am growing closer to God so that when Jesus comes back I will be ready for his kingdom.

(c) copyright Jaudner Altidor. Used with author's permission.

 

Madame Onorise Deravine, community health evangelist

I went to the bank and a woman asked me to write my name. I didn't know how to and I was really embarrassed. But thanks to CHE I started going to school, even if I'm already an old woman. Now I can write my name. I'm 73-years-old.
 

I accepted Christ one year and one month ago, and I was baptized. I used to go to the vodou priest's house. I have six children that died. I went to the feet of the saints [paintings of saints in some Catholic churches] but my children were still sick. Then they invited a man to preach to us. He confessed what he used to do to people when he was a vodou priest – he confessed that he took their money and sometimes didn't do anything for them. I stopped following the vodou priests and accepted Christ.

Now when I have money I buy farm animals or I buy food. . . I've become younger, too – I used to be stressed, and any little bit of money I had I would save it to then take it to the vodou priest. I didn't have enough to eat. Now I have security.

There are also a lot of people who are clean – it's CHE that has made them clean.  Thank you.

(c) copyright Madame Onorise Deravine. Used with author's permission.

Philisma Joseph, secretary, CHE committee

What CHE has done is opened our eyes. There are so many things we now do. When other NGOs come they can tell. Our community, the environment – everywhere you look it is clean. This is due to the efforts of the groups that work in the community. We go to people's houses. When you have knowledge you don't get sick so easily.

When you boil water, if you look away for a little bit, dirt or trash can get in the water. SODIS [solar disinfection, a method of making water safe to drink] is the best water. It's the reason why we aren't sick anymore.

We have seen that the CHE movement has taught us so many things that we didn't know, but now we know.

We talk with people who don't yet know God. With the brochure, “Steps to Peace With God,” you see that that there is a separation between us and God. Sin makes it so that we cannot get close to God. We are rebellious, but God keeps telling us to come to him.

When things are clean, it's better for everyone. You don't have problems when you live in a clean environment.

(c) copyright Philisma Joseph. Used with author's permission.

Tertilia Alexis,community health evangelist

CHE has done a lot for me. Everyone used to be involved with CHE but I wasn't. And I had fevers now and then. My husband got fevers sometimes, too. Sometimes we went to the hospital. Once they gave my husband a medication that he had to take for six months. We had taken him to the hospital because his fever was so high that he cried out. Everyone thought he'd died. But right before you get saved is when there is the most darkness. At the hospital they told me to boil water and put it in clean containers.

I am Catholic, and I thought that CHE wasn't for Catholics. [Then I found out it was for everyone, and] I started with CHE in 2010.

When I started with CHE, they taught me what to do to prevent different diseases. Since I've been with CHE I haven't had a fever. My husband hasn't had a fever, and neither have I. Now we do SODIS [solar disinfection, a free process to make water safe to drink by using the sun's UV rays], we don't boil water anymore – for that you always needed [to buy] charcoal or wood.

(c) copyright Tertilia Alexis. Used with author's permission.

A special thanks to the organization World Challenge for sponsoring our travels to get these stories!

Traveling Mercies -- Trip to Miniere

One of my tasks this summer has been to collect stories from people.  Here's one of my own stories about our adventures in accomplishing this goal:

I really loved the colors of this rooster next to the grass -- keep reading to find out why I had a lot of time to look around me on this trip!

Saturday, June 30:
It rained two days ago and there are still several muddy patches on our drive to Miniere. A few times I have to get off the motorcycle and pick my way through as best I can. At one part, a girl walking by helps me put a small log down to cross a particularly tricky patch.  There are cactus hedges lining the road so it is impossible to try to sidestep a mud puddle by going through an adjacent field. At one point we arrive at a really large muddy section – a half-finished, poorly planned project by a big NGO has made the road situation far worse there by inhibiting water drainage. I get off the motorcycle. As Osse is preparing to try to cross the mud, he realizes that his back tire is flat. He tells me he used to have a kit with him to fix tires, but since he never ended up using it and it took up space, he's quit traveling with it.

A man comes by on his horse and tells us that we should leave our motorcycle at a certain house down the road. “That's what everyone does,” he says.  Another man in typical farmer attire -- rubber boots on his feet and a machete in his hand -- stops to agree. A motorcycle with three passengers also pauses to assess the situation. Osse calls Madame Philisma, our contact in Miniere. He asks her to find a mechanic to come out and fix the tire. He pushes the motorcycle back to the nearby house and we leave it there.

Now to cross the mud. This section is perhaps 30 feet long. Osse has boots on, but I am wearing dress flats (don't judge me:  this is typical shoe attire for a woman here, even in the rural areas). There's nothing for it but to plunge in. The flats stick to the mud, making it really hard to lift my feet up. I try to take large steps to avoid the worst of the mud but can't balance to unstick my feet that way. Osse comes back and gives me a hand, but I still have to take small steps and “un-suction” my feet each step.  I ask if I shouldn't just take my shoes off but he reminds me that there are cacti and pricker bushes all around and it would't be wise, since I would likely step on a thorn.  We make it across and then I try to walk in my super-muddy shoes. I had rinsed off a bit in the last puddle, but there was too much mud and not enough water in it.  My shoes keep wanting to fall off, widened by the moisture. We soon pass a stream and I wash off a bit better.

Madame Philisma and another trainer meet us on the road. She says she hasn't been able to get ahold of a mechanic yet, but she'll keep trying. We get to the school where we'll be meeting and she pumps water for me to wash off my shoes and feet and then insists that I put her sandals on, leaving my shoes to dry in the sun. She sends someone back to her house to get another pair of shoes for her.

The Community Health Evangelism (CHE) committee in this area is really active, and I hear some great stories of people's lives that have changed through the CHE work in this community. Several hours later we are done meeting, but no one has been found to fix our tire. One of the two mechanics isn't in town and the other doesn't have any tools. We go to Madame Philisma's house and she gives us some grilled corn, mmm. We then walk up to the road – she has planned for us to see the site where, until last year, the CHE group made “akasan” (a corn flour drink) and sold it to people on Sunday mornings before church.

Off to the right is where they made the akasan.  I thought the shadow of this palm tree was prettier.  ;-)

On our way back to her house, Madame Philisma made sure to show us the inside of the local church.  Osse sat on top of this percussion instrument and started to play.

We get back to Madame Philisma's house where her daughters are dressed for a funeral the whole family is planning to go to. No one has been found to work on our bike yet, though, so we all sit down for a bit. Madame Philisma brings out a sack of oranges and starts to peel them for us. The cicadas are buzzing and I'm mentally transported back to summers in the American Midwest – then three women pass by, riding their donkeys sidesaddle.  They greet us with a "Mesyèdam" (literally "gentleman and ladies," a common salutation for mixed company) and I'm back in the present. 

Madame Philisma was using the only small knife to peel oranges, so one of her daughters started using this ginormous thing so that she could help, too.  Haitian-style orange eating involves peeling off the very outer layer, leaving the white part.  The orange is then cut nearly in half and ready for the consumer to split the halves fully in two and suck out the juice.  These oranges were incredibly flavorful and the family gave Osse a bag of them to take home.

Osse asked the couple if they have been making any soap lately.  Turns out they are out of lye -- which is required to make soap.  They asked Osse if he can get some from the Dominican Republic.  Our team has never been able to find lye in Haiti -- but as of this writing, I'm sitting in the DR with four dozen bottles of lye next to me, ready to take back! Here Mr. Philisma is showing me the maskreti plant, from which they extract an oil for the soap.

Here are the seeds from the maskreti plant.  You cook them and then mash them to extract the oil. 

Madame Philisma's daughters head off to the funeral and she and her husband accompany us back to the motorcycle, even though we don't know anything yet about the mechanic. We stop at someone's house on the way to pick up a pump. Once this is in hand we call the tool-less mechanic and ask him to meet us at the bike.

It's a beautiful walk back to where we left the bike, perhaps only 30 minutes on foot now that some of the mud has dried. Yellow and orange butterflies flit by.

Here is Madame Philisma, with Osse, and Mr. Philisma in front.  You can see the flowering flamboyant tree ahead with its petals scattered on the ground. She's carrying my helmet for me and her husband is carrying Osse's.

  We get back to the bike. No tools, remember? So he fixes the hole by tying the innertube around it with string. I'm not kidding, here's the picture:

I ask Osse if the string will hold for our entire trip back. He says, “Oh, sure, if you are on good roads a repair like that can even last two or three days.” The tire is re-mounted, the innertube filled with air and checked for leaks. It is still leaking – the string is holding well but it turns out the mechanic perforated the innertube with the screwdriver he used to pry it off. Unfortunately, this second hole is near the valve, meaning that we cannot fix it in the same way. The mechanic stops a passing motorcyclist to send him to Miniere to pick up some wrenches, while he starts walking off in the other direction to try to find a patch.

It's been over an hour and the mechanic is still not back. We call our friend and fellow trainer Anias, who is originally from Miniere and has a motorcycle. He is a nearby city, Fort Liberte, so we ask him to buy an innertube for us and come out to meet us. It's a good thing we called him, because although the mechanic eventually returned he wasn't able to find a patch. Osse says, for perhaps the fifth time, “You know, I used to travel with a repair kit. . . “

As we're sitting around waiting, Madame Philisma spies a cashew tree.  She said that Osse had told her I loved cashews and she had meant to prepare some for me but she'd forgotten.  She asks a little boy to scale the tree so that she can show me the fruit.

It might be a sign that a repair isn't going well when baby chicks feel safe enough to start exploring your motorcycle.

Anias arrives with a new innertube as well as sodapop, water, and “pate,” a meat-filled pastry. Turns out that Madame Philisma, sorry that she hadn't given us lunch, had asked Anias to pick up some goodies for us! I had used up my water awhile earlier and was really grateful for the drinks.

The innertube gets changed and we follow Anias back out the dirt roads to the national highway.  He heads to the right, back to Fort Liberte, and we head left to Cap Haitien.  On the return trip I decide my job is to look out for the “donkey backs/sleeping policeman” (French/Kreyol). The many speed bumps can be difficult to see, especially as the sun is setting. We are able to go quite fast on this well-paved road, and it would be dangerous to hit one unaware at those speeds. What speed, you ask? Well, I have often wondered, but since I have yet to ride a motorcycle with a working speedometer, I don't yet know!

As we arrive at the last turnoff before getting into Cap Haitien, I sigh softly, “Mèsi, Bondye. nou rive Kalfou Lanmò.” Then I laugh to myself since this translates literally as, “Thank you, Lord, we got to the Crossroads of Death.” (There are various stories as to why this intersection has that name, but no one seems to know for sure.) A moment later Osse stops to adjust something on his motorcycle and says essentially the same thing. Traveling here is fraught with difficulty, and the nearly universal response is to be relieved at the end of a journey and to give thanks to God.

Conversations

A couple of days ago several of us were waiting in the hospital as the owner of my lodgings had surgery. I was struck by the way so many of our conversations went different ways than they would have in the US, with our “first-world problems”:

M: I really don't feel comfortable in hospitals.
Me: Why not? Oh, right, from the time you had a C-section?
M: Yes – it's just so horrible, having all these other women in labor next to you and people dying all around.

. . . . . . . . .


Y: I love to stop at different churches and pray after work. I pray all the time.
Me: I read a book by a monk from centuries ago, called Practicing the Presence of God. He would try to pray without ceasing especially while doing manual labor – he often baked bread or broke rock. [Okay, I think I melded Brother Lawrence's bread-baking with Henri Nouwen's carrying rocks at a monastery.  So I also think it might be time to re-read those books.]
M: Wow, breaking rock is really hard!
Me: Have you done it?
M: No, but a friend of mine, after her husband died, she couldn't take care of their six children. She started breaking rock. It's really hard on your hands, they get terribly cut up.
Y: Yes, that's true. You use a tool that really hurts your hands.


. . . . . . . . . . . .


Y: I was always scared to take care of babies, so my sister helped me out with mine. But then her husband died, and then she died, so I took care of her children.


. . . . . . . . . .


But maybe I was really in some alternate universe, because one of our other conversations started out like this:


M: I really wish that I had a flat stomach like you, Elizabeth.
Y: Yes, me, too.


Bwahahahaha! ;-)

Thursday

My friend Evelyne's elderly mother died on Sunday morning.  It has been a long, hard road for both Evelyne and her mother, and the last two years her mother was confined to bed and non-verbal.  The funeral was scheduled for Thursday at 3 pm in the cathedral.

I've traveled so much the past few years that I've actually been out of town every time a friend's loved one has died, so I hadn't yet been to a memorial service in Haiti.  I asked a co-worker about appropriate attire and she suggested white, or, barring that, black. I should wear heels if I had them, although after the funeral I would need to walk several blocks to the cemetery. I asked if I could wear my hat (I have a skin condition on my face which is aggravated by the sun). She said, “The big one?” Apparently my floppy Target hat is not fancy enough to wear to a funeral. A pillbox type, or even a big Easter-type hat would be fine, though.

I change and head out and see my friend Solencia just up the street. She's just left the office and is on her way to her home in Limbe. Instead of taking a taxi-moto to her bus stop she walks with me to the cathedral. We get to the cathedral and she waits there with me a bit since there's a delicious breeze coming through the large, open central doors. We don't see a casket, but Solencia says that funerals often start late. Eventually she leaves to catch her bus and I take a seat. Mass starts, but there is still no sign of a casket. After several minutes I think that perhaps the funeral was to be in the smaller chapel next door. I walk outside but the chapel is closed. Two young people standing by tell me that there are no funerals there today, but there is a funeral at the Sacre Coeur Church, “Lots of doctors and nurses were there.” I say I didn't know that that was the correct funeral (my friend's mother was a laundress). But then I remember that her daughter volunteered for the Red Cross. “Oh, yes, there were lots of Red Cross people there.” The Sacre Coeur is 17 blocks away and it's already nearly 3:30, so I go to hail a taxi-moto. I have to wait to cross the street since a marching band is passing by – Flag Day is this Saturday and the marching bands practice for weeks beforehand.

Flag Day 2011

I get to the Sacre Coeur and slip in the back. I listen attentively to the priest to see if he will say Evelyne's mother's name so that I will know that I am indeed in the right place. Nope, he just said, “Madame G--.” Oh, but then he adds, “And Madame T--, and Madame P--.” So, apparently this funeral is for three women, including my friend's mother.

At the end of the funeral I give my condolences to Evelyne's niece and also greet Michel, who works where I live and has helped with some of the arrangements. We follow the caskets out the door and stand at the entrance to the cemetery. He says he wants to wait to greet Evelyne. While waiting I see another friend – it turns out that Madame T- is his wife's great-aunt. Eventually Evelyne comes out of the cemetery and we express our condolences.

Michel hops on a moto and I start to walk back. The Sacre Coeur is near several street markets and I have a few things I want to see if I can find. Two blocks in I see someone selling nail polish. I ask if he has polish remover – check. I have no idea how much it should cost, so when he tells me 30 gourdes I say, “Isn't it always 20?” He says, “No, it was 25 but it's gone up.” He asks if I want to buy a lovely face powder. No, thanks, just the nail polish remover.

I go in further, looking for deodorant. After half a block a pre-teen boy sitting on a stoop with a woman who looks to be his mother calls out, “Foreigner!” I say, “Good afternoon.” He smiles, and his mother asks what I'm looking for. “Deodorant, but I don't see any here.” “The guy next to me has some.” The guy at the next stall looks to have only electronics, but apparently he has some deodorant in a box in the back. I see lots of no-name brands. The last one he pulls out is a tiny Avon, which I've at least heard of, so I buy it.

I go back to the main street, since I know that in a few blocks there will be a lot of peanut vendors. I meet one at 8 L and ask to try her peanuts. Bleh. I don't know what to say, so I say, “Another time,” and move on to 9 L where I'd gotten some good ones last week. Ah, there's the merchant I bought from last time. I try her peanuts, since I've not bought from her consistently and I don't yet trust the quality. (I'm looking for a new peanut seller since my last one – who never had a bad batch -- stopped selling months ago to take care of her sick husband.) The peanuts are okay today, so I buy some. She asks if I want the skin removed, which I did last week, since I was buying for some friends who were going to make peanut butter. I say no, since I've heard they stay fresh-tasting longer with the skins on and these are just for me.

Next to her is woman selling mangos, which is the last item on my list. She says they are Rosali mangos, 10 gourdes per pile. She wants to put them in the plastic bag that I already have, so I move the breakables aside and she loads them in. Her next customer helps hold the bag for me.

It's been a hot day, and I'm pretty thirsty, so I decide to stop by a juice shop. My favorite juice there is guava, but today they only have papaya and pineapple. I choose pineapple and ask them to hold the sugar – they usually add sugar even to that super-sweet fruit! The guy manning the counter says he hasn't seen me for awhile. I sit down in the air-conditioned loveliness and look up at the television, which is showing a documentary on meer cats dubbed into French. A little girl walks closer to the tv and stares. I love seeing behavior that crosses cultures like this – she's got her eyes wide and mouth open in typical childlike wonder.

I finish my pineapple juice, say good-bye to the guy at the counter, and leave for home. I tend to enjoy walking through the city – as long as I've already gotten it straight in my head that it is a public event. Moto- and car-taxis slow down and ask if I want a ride, and I now nearly-automatically give the correct head-and-hand-shake which means no. Street kids ask me for money or tell me they're hungry and I chat a little with them, giving them some crackers or peanuts if I've got some (today I do) or telling them “another time” to which they smile and say “okay.” Random people say hi, kids call out “foreigner” and smile when I greet them in response. If their parents are with them I get a smile and a greeting from them, too. If I ignore them because all of the attention is embarrassing, I miss the smiles. And if I ignore the young men – well, if I respond with a “thank you” when they tell me I'm beautiful, or say hello when they greet me, then they smile and say something funny, to which my best response is to laugh, and then everybody laughs, and all the time I've never once stopped walking. But if I forget and ignore them they can start yelling or get icky – this happened earlier today.

I get home and Madame Elias, the evening cook where I live, says she saw me at the cathedral. She had gone there for the funeral, too. She said she looked down for just a moment and then I was gone. She asked some people where I went (I was the only obviously-looking foreigner in the church) and they said out the side door. But she couldn't find me. I explained about the funeral having changed locations, and I was sorry I hadn't seen her, we could have gone there together.

I go up to my room to paint my toenails for the first time in years. I have worn toe rings ever since going to India in 1998, which, along with a monthly self-pedicure (sans polish) has always seemed to make my feet pretty enough. But now I take my toe rings off when traveling to rural villages or to trainings in other provinces, since in many places in Haiti it is not considered appropriate for Christian women to wear any rings except on the third or fourth finger of the hand or as an earring. I told this to my friend Chrissy last month, and said that my feet always look so bare to me without the toe rings. Well, on Tuesday I received a box of goodies from some friends in Arizona and Chrissy had slipped in four different nail polishes!

As I'm painting my toe nails “Pretty Petunia” I hear another marching band. Now, I've lived in several countries where the normal response to hearing any kind of commotion is to stop what you're doing and go look at whatever is happening. My North American self has tended to resist this – I'm either occupied with something else, or I don't want to gawk, or I think it won't be all that interesting anyway. But years on this has finally changed – I'm curious, I'm more relaxed, and I'm also more easily entertained. So instead of finishing my toes I go outside to watch the band. Here they come, marching proudly down the boulevard, everyone matching in white t-shirts and jeans. As they reach the curve of the street they pause and march in place while continuing to play. A girl about 6-years-old comes running up along the beach to see the band and starts dancing as soon as she gets up to them. Her bright pink shirt makes her easy to spot as a few seconds later she moves to stand in the midst of the band, imitating their movements as they continue to step in place. They start moving forward and she marches with them as they turn the corner out of sight.

Flag Day 2011

Count your blessings

Today I read a beautifully-written article about the recent bombings in Boston.  It provided me with insight into something I've been wondering about lately -- as the author writes,"Death is always unexpected in America." This week I've been reading a study on the book of Luke by N.T. Wright, and he mentions the healthiness of the "old spiritual discipline of listing one's blessings . . . especially in a world where we too often assume we have an absolute right to health, happiness and every possible creature comfort." Haiti, the country I currently live in, thankfully does not experience bombings. But death is not unexpected here, and no one seems to think they have a right to health.

One of the first things Jackson, a Haitian friend, said to me as he was picking me up from the airport last week was how sorry he was about the tragedy in Boston. (I didn't respond to him quite as graciously as Ms. Zakaria -- my response was more in this vein.)  As I re-connected with other Haitian friends and acquaintances this situation was repeated over and over, even with those whose family members had recently died due to something easily preventable in the US, or those who were frequently without food in the past weeks.  Yet they cared about what had happened in my country and wanted to express their concern.

I have a good friend in the US whose son was born with a heart defect..  She has told me that of course it is really hard to know that one day he would have to have surgery to replace one of his heart valves.  Nevertheless, she is continually thankful that she has a secure job with health insurance and the access to cardiologists and regular tests.  She says she is mindful of the situation of mothers and fathers in Haiti and elsewhere who are unable to find health care for their children.

I really appreciate her perspective.   Illness is always hard, with the terrible uncertainty, medical costs, physical pain, and often loss.  And yet, one of the blessings we have in the United States that often goes unrecognized is the security of knowing that at least we are receiving the best medical care available.  Not perfect care, since physicians and other health care providers are human, and not readily accessible to all Americans, but by the world's perspective among the best available care for 2013.  It doesn't make up for the hurt, pain, and loss, but nonetheless that assurance should be recognized for the blessing that it is, and that it is a blessing unavailable to the vast majority of human beings.

In Haiti, as in much of the world, many people do not have a hospital or even a clinic accessible to them (plug for our ministry here:  this is why our house-to-house workers, or CHEs, are so important, as they teach prevention of illness and treatment of simple maladies!).  When there is a health care center nearby, it may not be properly staffed and will have very few labs and other tests available. 

Jean, a co-worker's brother, had to take his four-year-old son to the hospital in town this week after he was hit by a motorcycle (traffic accidents are very common here, please remember to pray for our safety!).  He described the bloody exam tables, not cleaned from patient to patient.  He said, "One of the things I've always been grateful for is that I've never had to go to a hospital myself."  He reflected a little more and then added, "Or prison."  We all laughed at that, and joked that we were glad he'd never committed a crime!  :-)

As my mother knows, I ALWAYS wear a helmet now while riding.  This picture was taken by Rhonda Hamilton before I'd purchased one.

Passion

The first time I traveled to Germany was in 1998 to visit my good friend Eva, my roommate from 1993 to 1996.  I was in my second year of medical school and I took a few extra days on either side of the Thanksgiving holiday.  I brought my notes to study since I would get back just before an exam - we were doing gastroenterology, I believe.  Eva's community orchestra was doing Tchaikovsky's violin concerto at the time, and many days I studied while she was at rehearsals -- Tchaikovsky's gorgeous music accompanying my work.  I have often recalled this time, remembering it as one of the great blessings that I have received -- in the middle of med school craziness I was able to visit a dear friend and hear one of the loveliest pieces of all time, live.  I was even there for the concert which was held in a lovely modern hall (next to a castle).

This year Eva's orchestra is doing a staged presentation of portions of Bach's various Passions.  Tonight I sat in on a rehearsal at the same beautiful concert hall I was at nearly fifteen years ago.

As the choir started their warm-up exercises I was reading Walter Wink's Naming the Powers:  The Language of Power in the New Testament.  I was immersed in this complex text about personal and structural and institutional evil and how Jesus' death changed everything -- not just for me personally but for the whole world.  Then the house lights dimmed and rehearsal started:  beautiful choral music with painful pictures beamed onto the white panels in the back:  bombed-out buildings, crying children.

Since this is Bach's Passion, I knew we were about to hear about the event I'd just been reading about, the event that somehow "disarmed the rulers and authorities and put them to open shame, by triumphing over them." (Colossians 2:15) The "already accomplished" peace and reconciliation of all things (see Colossians 1:20), even with the visible "not yet" of war and famine.

 

The Last Supper.  I think the breakdancing disciple in front of the table is Judas.

Jesus picks up the table at the end of supper and it looks remarkably like him carrying his cross.  It was a powerful image, and I wish I'd understood the words to know what the chorus was singing about at this time.

By this point in the rehearsal I'd started practicing memory verses, using flash cards I'd written out years ago.  When the stage lighting was too dim to see I held the cards close to the floor lights that were lighting up the stairs.  As this scene began I was reciting Lamentations 3:21 - 23, "But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:  the steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."  The dancer portraying Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane moved with passion -- at one point he looked like he was flying like a bird.  

I'd never before thought of this verse as referring to Jesus, but since I was reciting it at the same time as this scene started I reflected on its fuller meaning.  Last year I read Peter Enns' The Evolution of Adam, and one incredibly helpful thing he wrote was that the early New Testament writers re-evaluated everything in the Hebrew Scriptures in the light of Jesus.  This helped me to understand the (at first glance sort of wacky) way they seemed to quote the Old Testament.

So tonight, I was watching this incredibly talented dancer portraying Jesus begin to tremble, to reach up for help.  At one point his entire body was convulsing in agony as he prayed.  I continued to meditate on the fact that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases -- and manifests itself in God pouring out himself for us.

Jesus' hip-hop dancing disciples (center) start to physically engage the soldiers (right) who have come to arrest Jesus.

Jesus leads his disciples in a dance.  I love the way this shows Jesus teaching them the "third way" of creative, loving, non-violent resistance.

Here Jesus puts himself between his disciples and the soldiers and then gives himself up to the soldiers.  A disciple breaks through and cuts off a soldier's ear.  Jesus heals the man's ear.

The soldiers interrogate and torture Jesus as the soprano (left) sings a haunting aria.  At this point I was going over Philippians 2:5 - 11, which begins:  Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.  And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death -- even death on a cross.  

The chorus sings part of "O Sacred Head, Now Wounded."  Later just a few instruments start the same theme and the crowd begins to shout, "Crucify him!" nearly drowning out the instruments.

"May the Lord direct [our] hearts to the love of God and to the steadfastness of Christ."  (2 Thessalonians 3:5)