Fr. John’s Haiti Trip Journal
December/January, 2007-2008
Fr. John Spicer traveled to Haiti from Dec. 28, 2007, to Jan. 5, 2008 along with Senior Warden Ann Renne; Ann’s sons, Ross and Ryan Renne; Ryan’s girlfriend Tara Estabrooks; and George and Carolyn Kroh.
Dec. 28, 2007, 1:50 p.m.
The trip has been eventful already. I got to KCI to find that my flight to Chicago has been cancelled because of snow in Chicago. They put me on later flights, eventually to arrive in Miami at 12:05 a.m. tomorrow. It would have been rather a short night, given that we’ll have to be at the airport a little after 5 a.m. for the flight to Port au Prince.
In the meantime, I realized (after the TSA people had my bags) that my bags had been checked all the way from Kansas City to Port au Prince. I had intended to retrieve them in Miami and then check them the rest of the way in the morning. So, as I watched my bag moving down the conveyor belt, I realized I had no clean clothes for tomorrow. This, as well as having left my digital camera at home, was making the experience feel rather like a failure. I called my wife, Ann, to whine and let her know the schedule change, and she volunteered to bring me the camera and clothes for tomorrow. Incarnational Theology 101: God works through God’s people as they live into their own spark of divinity.
And then at other times, God simply seems to intervene to save us. As I sat at the gate, the agent called my name and informed me that my travel had been re-routed through Dallas (no snow), that I would arrive in Miami at 7:45 p.m. instead of midnight, and that I’d be flying first class from Dallas to Miami. I have no explanation for this other than “Le Bonté de Dieu,” as the Haitian tap-taps proclaim. (Tap-taps are incredibly overcrowded trucks and buses that serve as public transport in Haiti. Many of them bear signs over the windshield or the rear that make bold proclamations of deep faith in God. And then, others say things like “No Money, No Love” or simply bear the Nike swoosh. It’s a place of contradictions….)
All this comes in the context of thinking about a homily I will preach at Maniche for the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus. “Jesus,” of course, means “God saves.” Thanks be to God, who saves us at the most surprising times and in the most surprising ways.
What about the people of Maniche (or Torbeck or Les Cayes or the rural villages where we’ll be visiting people’s homes) – what do they need saving from? What do I need saving from? I pray that this will be at least part of what God will teach me this week.
Dec. 29, 6:16 a.m.
We’re in the Miami airport, waiting for the flight to Port au Prince. Getting through ticketing and security was blessedly easy, for which I’m very grateful.
Yesterday, which began as a day in travel hell, was transformed into an exercise in blessing. My flight from Dallas to Miami was indeed in first class, which provided quite an opportunity for theological reflection. The experience was lovely – free drinks, refilled at will, without even having to ask; warm cashews in a ceramic bowl; a hot towel before dinner; a real meal, with a choice of entrées; cheesecake for dessert; wide, leather seats with plenty of leg room. For those around me, this treatment was a function of their ticket price, of course. For me, it was completely a function of chance (or blessing, depending on your outlook). I got the opportunity for this treatment because my re-routing accidentally landed me there. It seems a great microcosm of my place in the world. I was fortunate enough to be born a white, middle-class, male in the U.S. of the mid-to-late 20th century – as opposed to all the Haitians with whom we’re waiting for this flight. I am no more precious in God’s eyes than they are – maybe less, actually, at least to the extent that God’s immediate preference is to take care of those who need it most. But because of the accident of my birth, I have access to resources that they can only dream about. This is no more right or reasonable than the difference between what I experienced in first class and the cattle-car experience of travel that the other people behind me had last night. But it is the situation in which I find myself – that I am the person of wealth coming to minister with the people in poverty. It could just as easily have gone the other way.
On this flight, I’m sitting behind a group of missionaries. They’re hard to miss because, like me, they are some of the few blans (whites) on this flight. They’re wearing matching T-shirts reading, “Lamere 2008” on the front and the quote from Matthew 25 on the back (about serving the “least of these”). It reminds me of T-shirts you get at concerts or family reunions. I don’t know what to make of this. It reflects a great sense of community in their congregation, and it explains precisely why they’ve come so far (from Lafayette, Ind.). And yet, the shirts seem to scream, “I’m here to help you!” Maybe my clerical collar screams the same thing – or something worse. But I think much of our role here is simply the ministry of presence, of showing up; and being present doesn’t mean drawing extra attention to your own motivations for being there. I think I’d like the T-shirts better if they were being worn in the group’s hometown – at the Wal-Mart in Lafayette rather than on this plane full of Haitians.
Dec. 29, 9:35 p.m.
We are finally settled in our rooms at the rectory in Torbeck, Haiti. I’m very tired and want to go to sleep, so this report tonight will be brief.
We made it into Port au Prince with no trouble. Zo, our guide through the gauntlet from the international airport to the smaller commuter airport, took us on a driving tour of Port au Prince during our long layover.
It was daytime, of course, which probably made a difference; but the city didn’t feel particularly more dangerous than Les Cayes felt the first time I was there – in fact, it felt very much like other Haitian cities, only bigger. We saw the Episcopal Cathedral,
drove by the President’s Palace (with its huge, surreal American-style Christmas tree on the grounds),
had lunch at the Hotel Olofson (not a gastronomic delight – ham and processed cheese on toasted white bread),
and careened around the crowded and chaotic streets of Port au Prince.
That flight to Les Cayes was uneventful – even the boarding process with no announcements in English and no signage at all.
We got to Cayes at about dusk, and the scenery was what I remembered: so many people lining the streets; fires burning just off the road; people bathing in the stream; people doing all kinds of little bits of business, selling anything they can find to sell; cars zipping by at high speeds, literally inches from pedestrians and cyclists.
It looks like the scenes from TV specials about life in sub-Saharan Africa. Everything was just as I remembered it, other than the new modern-looking gas station just outside of Cayes on the way to Torbeck.
At dinner at the rectory, we met two women on vacation from missionary work in Port au Prince: Jenny and Leslie. Jenny has been in Haiti for five years and speaks Creyole like a Haitian. They are Christian Reformed and work with many organizations, including the Episcopal Church, doing evangelization, Christian education, and health-related work. It’s an incredible commitment – five years here, both in rural villages and in Port au Prince. I know I don’t have that kind of a missionary calling … especially as I sit here with sweat pouring off my face at 10 p.m., remembering that Père Sadoni (the priest here) probably won’t be back from his four weddings today until the wee hours and then will do several liturgies in different towns tomorrow, beginning with a 7:30 a.m. Eucharist here in Torbeck.
I have no right to be grumpy about the heat and a bad shower.
December 30, 7:10 a.m.
About that shower: It was the most satisfying cold shower I’ve ever had. It almost got me cooled down.
The morning begins with a shave, bug repellent, sunscreen, clean clothes, and a thanksgiving for the insight to have cut my hair short before coming here. And, of course, a mug of really strong Haitian coffee. For the moment, life is very good – which is a proper mind-set to cultivate here.
I’m sharing a room with Ross and Ryan Renne, the grown sons of Ann Renne, who is helping me lead this trip. Last night, in our first group session, they both said they had come here to gain deeper appreciation for the opportunities that come along with their lives – to regain the eyes they brought back from their first trip here six years ago and to stop taking everything for granted. It’s a good start in a process of transformation. And honestly, I need to do the same thing. Even being home only 10 months since the last trip, I’ve come to take what I have increasingly for granted. This is especially a risk in a context like St. Andrew’s, where abundance and economic advantage are so prevalent that they appear not only to be the norm but a birthright. And it’s especially a risk for ordained people, to whom others are so willing to ascribe special status. When it’s offered, that respect must be accepted as the gift that it is – but then given right back.
2:45 p.m.
We enjoyed worshipping with the people of St. Paul’s, Torbeck this morning. The worship in Haiti is so alive – especially the singing. They sing as if their lives depended on it. Maybe, in a sense, they do.
We’ve been waiting since late morning for our driver and interpreters to arrive. At this point, I just don’t see it happening. But we’ve accepted the free time today as the gift that it is. We had lunch with Jenny and Leslie again and learned more about life here and their work in it. Jenny, the veteran, affirmed the kind of ministry-of-presence approach that our visit is taking. She gave words to something I had thought – that people here dearly want to be able to offer something of value to visitors and friends. Our visits, and our missionary presence, run the risk of being the wealthy blans’ gift that can never be matched. There has to be a reciprocity in the relationship; the Haitians need to know that they give us things of great value: a window into the life of the Two-Thirds World, an example of finding the blessings God offers no matter your circumstances, an opportunity to serve Christ in the flesh, as he commands. So my sermon at Maniche will certainly include thanksgivings for these gifts they offer us.
Something else Jenny mentioned is that, as we do home visits, we need to be careful of people who might offer their children to us. Incredibly (or not, given the context), parents sometimes try to get visiting blans to take their infants and raise them in the States. It’s certainly an act of desperation, but hardly one of irrationality.
4:45 p.m.
So much for the home visits today. The driver and interpreter never showed, so we’ve spent the afternoon in other pursuits. We went over the procedures for home visits and got the materials organized for tomorrow. It’s a fantastic system that Stan Shaffer and the others at MN have devised. We have lists of kids we’re supposed to find, Google Earth images showing the homes where these kids live, all generated through electronic records of the kids’ treatments at MN. I think we’ll be in good shape for visits tomorrow.
We also rested this afternoon – some napping, some walking to the graveyard across the road from the rectory,
some going to the beach for wading and swimming (the Rennes and me). Earlier, George and Carolyn and I walked to the beach and met a few kids. We learned each others’ ages and the ages of our children, took pictures, etc.
The 12-year-old boy I met reminded me a lot of my son, Daniel – there was a lot of life and charm in those eyes.
Our engagement with the local economy today has been dealing with three souvenir sellers. They had artwork, crafts, and machetes, mostly. They asked my yesterday when our group would be here, and I guessed that 4 p.m. would probably be a good time, thinking we would be back from home visits by then. So they’ve been at the rectory’s gate since 1 p.m., and they’ve been trying to guilt us into buying something from each of them, every time one of us passes by. One is trying to pay school tuition; one is supporting his wife and kids; one is trying to pay for his motorbike. It’s marketing, of course; but it’s probably also the truth. It’s also the truth that I only have a certain amount of money to spend on Haitian trinkets and that I can’t help everyone who needs help here.
Walking in the graveyard earlier was spooky – which would be trite except that I’ve never felt spooked in a graveyard before. I’m reading a book about voodoo, The Serpent and the Rainbow; and Ann Renne says there are weekly voodoo ceremonies in this cemetery. The rational side of me wants to understand voodoo as an indigenous religious tradition now syncretized with Christianity, especially Roman Catholicism. But the spiritual side of me fears the worship of spirits (loa), especially malevolent ones, rather than Spirit. Jenny, the Christian Reformed missionary, said she sees the presence and power of evil in the voodoo tradition, and she sees it as a significant cause of Haiti’s sad and broken history. I have to wonder if she might be right – although you can also see the presence and power of evil that haunts the Christian/Western tradition here as a huge cause of Haiti’s awful situation today. But I do see a sharp contrast between a tradition deeply involved with death and magic (seeking to appease and counteract external powers) versus a tradition focusing on life constantly being made new and the incarnation of divine love in humanity. If your focus is the former, you’re constantly reacting to the powers imposing themselves, and being imposed, on you. If your focus is the latter, you’re called to look for divine power within you, embrace it, and join with it to recreate your life and your world. The choice to embrace that which is not God – whatever your idolatry may be, outside the Christian tradition or within it – by definition carries with it the consequence of separation from the source of life.
But, of course, I certainly don’t do all that I should do, either.
Tomorrow night, at 11 p.m., there will be a liturgy to welcome the new year, lasting until 1 or 2 a.m. Père Sadoni asked if I would preach, and I turned him down. If I can sleep through the New Year’s celebrations (which apparently are quite something here), I think I should take advantage of the chance to get some rest. Plus, I’m preaching Jan. 2 at Maniche. I’m trying to live into the ethos of the “Holy No.” Not every good thing is the right thing to do.
I got to send Ann and the kids an e-mail, and I hope to call them from MN later in the week. (It’s a local call to Kansas City, a satellite phone or something with an 816 area code.) I miss them very much, and I feel like the time I’m missing with them is time I can’t make up – which is always true, strictly speaking. The kids will be gone soon – to college before too many more years, detached from me well before that. I mourn the time away from them, even as I give thanks for being here.
8:05 p.m.
We’ve just finished our second group meeting, where we went over the newly discovered plan for tomorrow and got the answer to today’s mystery. Père Sadoni called Vaina (the MN administrator) and asked about the missing driver and interpreters, as well as the whereabouts of the supplies that she was supposed to have left for us as the rectory. Vaina apparently didn’t get Stan’s e-mail about our plan to do Sunday visits, so she hadn’t set anything up for us. No great surprise, and no big deal. The group is doing an excellent job of getting into the Haitian way of taking things as they come.
About tomorrow – Sadoni asked me when we wanted to go to MN in the morning, and I asked him when breakfast is usually served. The answer: 6 a.m. The look on my face must have given me away because he then said, “But we can make it later if you like.” So, breakfast will be at 7 a.m. instead, and we’ll head to MN at 8 – assuming the driver shows up.
Over dinner, we had a fascinating conversation about voodoo with Sadoni. He reflected much the same ethos as the book I’m reading – that voodoo is deeply enmeshed in what it means to be Haitian; that Catholicism here is highly syncretistic with it (and it with Catholicism); and that, as the Haitian saying goes, “When the drums beat, all Haitians must dance.” It goes back to the slavery days and the fight for independence, when the slaves and the fugitive Maroons would sound the drums to call the forces together. But Sadoni also said there is a balance of good and evil in voodoo; you can’t just throw it out without throwing out much of what it is to be Haitian. For example, voodoo houngan (priests) do much of the work of healing here, and that good outcome can’t be denied. As Sadoni said, there is much that is good and much that is bad in the practice of Christianity, too. So you must embrace what is good in both religions and reject that which is evil – even if your own people have been perpetrators. As with all of Haiti, and all creation, good and evil are commingled and often difficult to tease out.
Dec. 31, 7:15 a.m.
This morning’s challenge: water. The rectory apparently is out of purified water, and the local water isn’t running either (not that we would drink it if it were, but it is helpful for flushing the toilet and washing your hands…). Thankfully, MN has a purified water cooler and a functional bathroom. Or, at least, it had those things in February.
Tara, Ryan’s girlfriend, hasn’t slept for two nights, and I’m concerned about her. We’ve talked about her staying behind today because she’s also nauseated. I pray she’ll be able to sleep tonight and will feel better.
3:30 p.m.
We’ve just returned from working since 9 a.m., first going to Maison de Naissance and then making home visits.
I’m so tired that it’s hard to hold my pencil at the moment, but we had a very good and productive day. We divided into two teams – Ann and the Krohs as one; Ross, Ryan, Tara, and I as the other. It worked well. Both teams had encounters with about 14 kids each. Finding the particular houses on the maps was a challenge. A few had MN house numbers painted on them, so they we’re relatively easy to identify. But in most cases, it was a matter of finding the house most likely to match the point on the map and having the interpreters ask for specific people whose names were on the target list. That ended up working pretty well, all things considered.
The mechanics of the visits were a little challenging, too – getting the hang of the different roles involved in making the visit (spokesperson, data recorder, medication preparer). But by the end of the day, we began to do fairly well. All this was complicated by the fact that MN had no replacement healthcare cards of the model we had been trained to use but instead had new, small cards that don’t have enough space to record the interventions we’re providing. And we got more than a little confused as to how to record new children in the system. So I don’t envy the folks back in Kansas City who will have to make sense of our contact sheets.
Tonight, we’re going to Les Cayes to have dinner with Père Colbert at the rectory at St. Saveur. Then, I’m sure he’ll have a midnight service as Sadoni does. Just for the experience, I probably should go; but if I can sleep, I certainly need the sleep.
Again, like last time, I’m struck by the incredible combination of realism and hope of the Haitian people. Our translator is a guy I worked with last time, Rozambert. He is grateful for the work, and he keeps his mornings and early afternoons free for it. But he also complained to me about how poorly paid he is, earning $10 a day as a translator. It certainly does seem a pittance, especially for someone with some education. But if I recall correctly, the average income here is $1 per day. Of course, that average probably includes all the unemployed you see standing around on the streets in the cities. So who knows? But still, along with his frustration, Rozambert has completed Bible school and works, at least sometimes, with a Lutheran congregation, preaching I’m sure. He also is enrolled in a school where he’s learning masonry and window-fitting because he doesn’t earn much of anything working with the church. But in all this, in his frustration and his hopefulness, he exudes a confidence in himself and in “le Bonté de Dieu.” He sees his situation with his eyes wide open, but he also fiercely hangs onto the hope of new life.
10:10 p.m.
Very similar to Rozambert is a young man named Rochelin, whom I met at Pére Colbert’s New Year’s Eve feast.
Rochelin is studying agriculture and forestry. He wants to help coordinate the work of nongovernmental organizations to teach Haitians about soil science, land management, crop management, and reforestation. His goal is to give Haitians the tools for feeding themselves adequately and preserve what’s left of Haiti’s topsoil (which runs into the sea every time it rains significantly) by reintroducing vegetation to prevent erosion. In his spare time, Rochelin volunteers as a computer instructor, translates for visiting groups like ours, translates sermons when there are visitors in church, and coaches a kids’ soccer team. When I look at people like Rochelin – as well as Sadoni and Colbert, with six congregations each – I sometimes feel like I’m just playing at ministry.
Jan. 1, 2008, 8:25 p.m.
Bon Anneé! Happy New Year in Haiti. The festivities began with fireworks in the streets of Cayes last night (in the States, we’d call these explosives rather than “fireworks”), but we made it out of the celebrations in the dark streets without incident. All the churches had midnight masses to welcome the new year and celebrate Haitian independence – church until 2 a.m., parties afterward. This particular heathen went to bed with his earplugs in at 10 p.m. and never looked back. Praise God for unexpected blessings – the “Jesus Surprise,” as the signs on the tap-taps say.
This morning, after a somewhat late start, we got to MN about 9:45 and then struggled a bit to determine where on the maps we had left off yesterday. Finally we located where both teams had been and where we needed to go – frustrating for the group and for me (I had trouble connecting the pages of the less-than-intuitive Google Earth images and then sorting out where to go next). But once we got going, both teams covered a lot of ground, having encounters with about 20 kids each.
Myself, I felt badly about my role as medication-giver. I got to be the torturer who forced nasty-tasting medicine (like Robitussin cough syrup) down the throats of unsuspecting Haitian children, making them scream and wretch – once, all over his mother’s floor right in front of us. There’s nothing like traveling to distant lands, surprising small children in their homes, and being the bearer of abject terror. A couple of kids were particularly “impressed” when I brought out the scissors with which to snip off the tops of the Vitamin A capsules. Apparently, they imagined that I was planning to snip off something more personal. It was like being back in CPE during seminary, when I won the “Chaplain Kevorkian” award for being involved in the most deaths in my group.
But apart from my ministry of scaring small children, the visits went very well – lots of good interactions with other kids and a lot of gratitude from the parents for our presence, the medication, our prayers, and our blessing of their homes. (Like last time, I found a corncob on the ground, which made an excellent aspergillium.) One old woman with a tumor on her leg was especially grateful for prayers for healing and laying on of hands.
But the best moment of the day came for the other group – Ann and the Krohs. They were sitting on the ground by the side of the road having lunch when a man passed by in a truck, saying “hello” (in English) as he passed by. Then he stopped the truck and came back to the group, carrying a box. George said he thought the man was going to try to sell them souvenirs. But the man opened the box and unwrapped a stone carving – of a mother holding a baby. He said, “I think you need this,” and he just gave it to them. He had no way of knowing what work we were here to do, no way of knowing how perfectly appropriate a Madonna and Child would be for us. The man was bearing God to us in that moment. It was a moment of Incarnation, pure and simple. Ann, George, and Carolyn gave the statue to me tonight, and I will treasure it – as a reminder of this trip but especially as a reminder of the present, immediate reality of God With Us. I think this event will have to find its way into my sermon tomorrow at Maniche. Thank you, God, for giving us such clear evidence of your love that you can be certain we can’t miss it.
Jan. 2, 3:53 p.m.
We have come back from a day at Maniche. Before recounting that, I want to write about an incident just a few minutes ago, while it’s fresh.
Today is Wednesday, the night of the voodoo ceremony in the cemetery across the road from the rectory. I have been wrestling with understanding voodoo throughout this trip. The Christian Reformed missionaries think it’s satanic; Sadoni says it’s part of every Haitian’s blood (or at least his or her cultural makeup); Colbert’s translator Antoine (a.k.a., “Importante,” because he is) says voodoo is OK – “just a part of the culture here, nothing to worry about.” The drummers and dancers and the crowd are at the cemetery now, so several of us wandered over toward the driveway leading to the cemetery. Ann apparently walked in with no problem. I walked to the drive and was immediately confronted by a large, muscular Haitian man who began speaking very forcefully, first in Creyole and then in French. He clearly did not want to let me pass. (I realize now I was wearing my clergy shirt from the visit to Maniche, though without the collar.) Once I extracted myself from his tirade, I saw George and Carolyn nearby, and I went to them to warn them to steer clear of this man. The man followed me and gave George and Carolyn the same tongue-lashing. George and Carolyn soon exited and made their way down the road toward the beach; and I started walking back to the rectory. The man followed me, still angry; and I was very grateful that the rectory gate was nearby and unlocked. If I understood correctly, the man was demanding to know what the hell I thought I was doing in Haiti, and especially at the cemetery at that moment, if I couldn’t even speak the language. It is a fair point; and before I lead another trip, I have to learn some Creyole. But my more immediate concern was whether he was going to pound me into the ground. It was the first time I have felt personally threatened here, and I don’t care to repeat it.
And yet, he was right. Here was a blan priest wandering toward a voodoo ceremony without even being able to understand the language. I had no right.
OK, back to Maniche.
Our morning and afternoon there was a much more holy experience of Spirit than what I just experienced on the street outside the rectory, but also another great example of cultural differences getting in people’s way.
I actually felt very much at home at the church in Maniche, preaching (with the translating help of Importante) and assisting at the altar. It was a joy to listen to Importante’s translation despite being unsure of exactly what he was saying. The sermon went fine, and the celebration of the Eucharist was a great blessing for me as a foretaste of the banquet of the kingdom of heaven. Throughout the liturgy, I knew where we were and what we were praying (because they were following the Episcopal Book of Common Prayer) and I could offer the same prayers, simply in a different tongue. The joyfulness of the people’s singing, the multiplicity of voices, and the presence of Christ in the celebration made the worship feel a bit like how I imagine heaven to be – the opposite of my experience with the man near the cemetery. “Sorrow and crying and pain will be no more” once we can stand as one before God, with our differences of language and culture no longer barriers blocking relationship but transformed into opportunities for conversation and reconciliation. Maybe someday, in heaven, I’ll get to meet the man from the cemetery, and we can laugh about whatever it was that made him so angry.
But cultural differences are also complicating things at the school we support at Maniche.
Here’s the short version. When I was there in February, we noticed that the tin roof on one of the school buildings needed to be replaced because it leaked. So, at St. Andrew’s, we raised money enough to replace the roof and put doors on the school for security. Well, Colbert decided that it would make more sense to replace the roof with a concrete roof instead (tin roofs last about 10 years in Haiti, he said), which also would allow for more classrooms to be added as a second story.
He thought he had a commitment from the people of Maniche to contribute labor as well as much of the needed materials, such as sand, rock, and wooden poles. (Thousands of poles alone are needed.)
So he combined the money we had sent with other funding in his capital budget for his six congregations, and he thought the rest would come from in-kind giving from children’s parents and other parishioners. So far, it hasn’t worked out that way, so the progress is slow. But the new concrete roof should be done by the end of February, Colbert says. Then we’ll have to see if more money can be raised for the new classrooms on top … and whether the “godly admonition” he gave the congregation today will spur more local investment in the project.
Another ah-ha moment today at Maniche concerned the school’s sources of support. Apparently, the Episcopal Diocese of Haiti pays Colbert’s salary. But the school is funded solely by the Haitian Episcopal Learning Partnership – in other words, by St. Andrew’s as Maniche’s partner. So as we fund it, it thrives – or not. I’m not sure the people of St. Andrew’s really know that.
9:10 p.m.
After dinner, the group met to discuss assignments for tomorrow, particularly for the benefit of Tommy and Chris, two students who are joining us on visits Thursday and maybe Friday. Tommy is an undergraduate pre-med student at the University of Virginia but is probably 24 years old. He reminds me of Nick Mann from the trip in February – frighteningly intelligent, fiercely devoted to people, and a Paul Farmer devotee; he spent the last five years traveling in poor countries, especially India and Nepal, where he ran an orphanage for children involved in the sex trade. Tommy is leading a trip here a month from now and is learning the mechanics now. Chris is a medical student, also fiercely intelligent and deeply committed to working with people in countries like Haiti.
We talked about what the group had experienced that day – Maniche, the school, the liturgy there, the drive, the mountains, the day ahead making visits, seeing the hospital in Cayes, and meeting with the regional governmental superintendent of schools.
Then came time for Compline, which we’ve been praying after each night’s meeting. We found ourselves in a great, natural moment of evangelism. I gave Tommy and Chris space to leave before Compline, but I invited them to stay. Both did. They took part, and Tommy started out by asking me, “What is this Book of Common Prayer I keep hearing about? My listserv is run by a guy who’s gathering prayers from the Book of Common Prayer to create a collection of prayers in Haitian Creyole.” So I got to talk about the Prayer Book as an instrument of liberation, since it put the Church’s prayer into the words of the people – and continues to do so. During Compline, Chris chimed in with his own intercessory prayers.
Afterward, he said he grew up as an Episcopalian and was now, in his 20s, discovering the theological weight of common prayer; and he asked me for a copy of the service. He wanted to pray some of it on his own. I gave him that, as well as my BCP. It was a good night.
I am very glad I’m here, but I’m also longing for home. And I’m discouraged at the prospect of not getting home until midnight Saturday – assuming everything goes well. I’ll see about going standby once I get to Miami, hoping to get earlier flights to KC. But even if it’s at midnight, I’ll be grateful to be home again.
Jan. 3, 10:30 p.m.
I am completely exhausted and more than a little annoyed at the loss of power that just ate a long e-mail I was writing to Ann. Now, it’s cyber dust in the wind, and I’m stuck with only my journaling companion, the Haitian ugly dog that has adopted the rectory and me. At least Prestige beer is as good as I remember it.
Our home visits were very good today. Helped out by Tommy and Chris, we had three teams. In all, we’ve completed contact sheets for something like 150 kids.
The educational highlight for today was a visit to the general hospital in Cayes.
The hospital itself was about the same dismal environment I remembered from last time.
The new insights were about the healthcare system. One of the nurses asked us if we could help a female patient who was being discharged but couldn’t afford medications or a tap-tap home. In Haiti, hospital patients have to pay for all aspects of their care a la carte. You aren’t admitted unless you pay up front. You pay again to see the doctor. All your comfort care, like food, is provided by family or not at all. You are told what drugs you need, and then you or your family goes to the pharmacy to get them. Nothing comes from the hospital as part of a bundled hospital bill.
So, this emaciated woman was prescribed five meds at discharge, but she had no money. So we provided the money, and Tommy, Colbert, and I went to the hospital pharmacy to get the drugs. It only carried two of the five she needed. So we began going to the pharmacies on the streets around the hospital.
It took us going to seven different pharmacies before we finally found the last drug she needed, spironolactone – a diuretic used to treat, in this case, ascites (fluid causing abdominal distension) secondary to liver failure. That one drug cost $23, which is 23 days’ income for the average Haitian. In all, her meds cost $33, which she never could have paid had we not been there. Just to make it even more pathetic and troubling, the woman looked like she hadn’t had a real meal in weeks. The “wrong” in this picture is so vast it defies comprehension. The pharmaceutical company, the hospital, the consumption of resources by Americans, the indifference of the system and our society to such ubiquitous suffering – it is simply appalling once you let yourself start thinking about it. Yet, when Ann (my wife) is sick because her lupus is flaring, I will take her to the hospital and give thanks to God for the wonderful care and for the insurance that allows us to afford it. I get frustrated by the red tape and angry about the amount of money we have to pay just to keep Ann alive. And yet, we have never gone without a single drug she needed. As far as the global birth lottery is concerned, that woman in the hospital in Cayes could just as easily have been the person I loved.
And on the door of one patient ward was this bumper sticker: “Justis pou tout moun.” Justice for all people (in Creyole).
That is the hope, the cry, of the people in this hospital.
And, before I forget, there is the saying I found painted above the door of one of the homes we saw today: “Dit tout à Jesus.” Speak everything to Christ, or speak everything in Christ. It works well either way.
Jan. 4, 7:15 a.m.
Among the things I’m looking forward to about going home: clean hands. Between the dirt, the sticky medicine, the kids’ spit, the bug repellent, the sunscreen, and the occasional absence of running water, I feel like my hands haven’t been clean for a week. The differences in personal-cleanliness standards between the States and Haiti are huge. We are obsessive about even being the least bit dirty or smelly; they live with the earth and are indeed people in touch with it. You can see the difference especially in parents’ reactions to messy kids. When we (or at least I) administer the Piperazine, a good third of the dose runs down the screaming child’s face, down the neck, into the ears and hair. This medication is like cherry-flavored cough syrup, just as sticky and sweet. I felt terrible coming in, making the kids scream, pouring medicine down their faces, and leaving the parents to clean up the mess. But to a great extent, they don’t make much of mopping up. They’ll wipe at the mess with a dirty cloth, but most of the goo just becomes part of the dirt that the kid will wear that day until bath time. This does not mean that the people here don’t care about being clean. They spend a great deal of time and effort washing clothes and bleaching them in the sunshine; and on Sundays the church is filled with people in clean and seemingly pressed outfits.
They care deeply about being clean – just not the same way we do. Still, I’m looking forward to washing my hands whenever I want to.
Last night, in our group meeting, we had a great discussion of “What is God up to in Haiti?” It began with theodicy (how can a loving and powerful God allow such suffering?), went around to blessing (the way the people here can find joy in the midst of such poverty), and came back to suffering and evil.
Ryan asked me what position the Episcopal Church takes on theodicy, and I laughed. If we could nail that one with a clear answer, it would surely be a sign of the end of the age. Myself, I think the answer begins, at least, in an awareness of the incredible extent to which God gives humans the gift of freedom. We’re made in God’s image and given even an inherent awareness of right and wrong, especially in terms of our relationships with others. But God is gracious enough to let love take its course fully: We can always turn in the other direction, away from God and away from neighbor. In a nutshell, I think, that is the continuing story of Haiti. Whether it was French people enslaving Africans; or African people capturing and selling other Africans; or French, English, Spanish, or American people profiting from the economy being imposed here; or Haitian leaders working for their own benefit at the expense of their own people; or Americans occupying the country (more than once) to protect American interests; or the Duvaliers oppressing their own people; or Americans ignoring the fact that people 200 miles away from Miami live on $1 a day – in all these situations, people have consistently abused the freedom God gives them when it comes to Haiti. And this is the conversion God seeks in us: the acceptance of God’s offer of love and God’s command to love in return.
9:20 p.m.
So much to write tonight and so little time! But it has been a full and wonderful day. It began with a study in the Haitian consumer economy. Our driver, Tommy, Rozambert, and I went to MN early to get medications and drop off some materials for Vaina. But first, we had to get gas. Simple enough, right? – especially with the new gas station between Cayes and Torbeck. However, getting gas was rather like getting drugs for the woman at the hospital yesterday. First, we had to drive to downtown Cayes to exchange U.S. dollars for Haitian dollars. This entailed driving near a bank (though not going in) and having a man approach the truck with a wad of bills in his hand, both U.S. and Haitian. Rozambert (bless him) negotiated a fair exchange with the walking banker. Then we began looking for a gas station that actually had fuel. By the time we got to the fourth station, we finally found gasoline. (Armed guards at such stations are not uncommon.)
Gas, by the way, is three times more expensive than diesel fuel here, at least at the moment. When I asked why, the answer I got was that the American market consumes so much gas that it’s hard to maintain the supply in a poor market like this one. By the time we actually got gas, the whole process made us an hour and 15 minutes late to meet the rest of our group. Rozambert called the other translator so he could tell the rest of the group, but apparently the message never was delivered.
Despite this, we had a very successful morning – one group in terms of quantity, seeing lots of kids; the other in terms of quality, doing detective work through the interpreter to find kids we had missed before. We finished by 1 p.m. and went back to the rectory to change clothes.
By 2:30, we were on our way to Port Salut and the beach.
Astoundingly, with the cool front that came in last night and the high winds, it was too cool to swim! But we talked, and waded in the surf, and bought trinkets.
And, we found the corner of Haiti – an amazing place on the beach at the extreme southwestern point of the island where the surf comes together from both directions of a 90-degree angle, making white caps at the 45-degree mark. We then dined on fresh grilled lobster and fried plantain, with rum punch and beer. This, too, was a foretaste of the banquet of the kingdom of heaven.
Reveling in lobster and rum punch, we shared the last “official” prayer of our trip together: “Thanks be to God for these and all God’s blessings.”
Once we came back to the rectory, we were slightly dismayed to find that the water was off, again. But after a half hour of pumping by the generators, we were back in business. In a few minutes, I’ll “enjoy” my last Haitian cold shower for several months (actually cold tonight because of the change in the weather). I can’t say that I’ll miss experiencing cleanliness in the Haitian context.
A couple of random observations. Here are two signs atop tap-taps that I saw today: “Volunté de Dieu” (the will of God) and “Magnificat.” I meant to ask Sadoni what he thinks God’s will is for the people of Haiti. However any of us might answer that question, I wonder whether the final answer might not be precisely what the other tap-tap proclaimed: that people would “magnify the Lord and rejoice in God’s salvation” – incredibly complicated though it may be.
Jan. 5, 9:30 a.m.
We’re now waiting in the Port au Prince international airport for our flights to Ft. Lauderdale (at noon, including everyone but me) and Miami (at 1:30, just me). We had some brief anxiety around departure time at the rectory. The driver was on time, as he always has been, and everyone was ready but me. My guts decided to act up on cue, just before time to leave. Then we had to hunt for Sadoni so we could give him a gift – a digital camera (we also gave one to Colbert). So we drove away about 15 minutes late, causing some fear about being late for the flight. But we still beat the airline staff to the airport. By Haitian time, we were plenty early.
The short flight from Cayes to Port au Prince was on time and simply beautiful – the clouds on the mountains had cleared, and we could see even shacks on the mountainsides.
Zo met us at the small airport, as promised (although I didn’t recognize him because he shaved his beard during the week). We gathered our luggage and made our way to absolutely the best ride we’ve had here – an air conditioned tour bus supplied by one of Zo’s friends. For that five-minute trip, we rode in style.
Now I’m part of the cattle call waiting for the flight to Miami. The rest of the group is still in the duty-free area. I came to the gate early to try to fly stand-by on the earlier flight. Here, at the gate, I ran into Chris, our visitor from a couple of days ago. I asked him when his flight left, and he said, “Yesterday.” That flight had been cancelled, and he spent the night at a hotel in Port au Prince. Lovely, I’m sure. Now he was trying to get on any flight to the States. As we were talking, he was called to go stand-by on the flight on which I was hoping to go stand-by. Praise God he got on. (And please let my flight not be cancelled.)
This is the part of the mission-trip process that is most difficult for me – the anxiety about getting out of Haiti. If you’re stuck overnight in Miami, that’s one thing. If you’re stuck in Port au Prince, that’s something else. I’m very grateful for the prayers that have been surrounding us for our safety on this trip. (As I wrote that sentence, the power went out in the airport. Now it’s back on, and the people are continuing their work and movement without missing a beat. Such is life here.) Gracious God, please get us home safely and soon.
11:30 a.m.
It’s now time for the other six of us to go to Ft. Lauderdale. The flight to Miami is scheduled to leave in another two hours.
The Gospel from today’s Daily Office Lectionary readings seems to be the answer to our group’s earlier discussion about what God has in mind for Haiti. The story is Jesus’ raising of Lazarus (John 11:17-44). Haiti is Lazarus; our group is Mary and Martha. We look at what’s around us here – the excruciating poverty and near-death of this country – and we look Christ in the eye and rail at him, “Lord, if you had been here, our brother would not have died!” It’s the cry of theodicy: “How could you let this happen, God?!” And Jesus’ response to us is the same as to Mary and Martha: “I am resurrection and I am life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, they will live; and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die.” But, as James Cone once said about the African American experience in the U.S., so Jesus says as we stand with him, staring at the apparently dead man struggling to rise from the tomb: “Unbind him, and let him go!” Do something. Haiti’s hope is not simply new life for believers in the sweet by and by. Haiti’s more immediate hope is that the world of the affluent and powerful might turn their heads and see the apparently dead man struggling to rise from the tomb. Jesus is calling our world to step forward and help Haiti rise into new life. What might that look like? Trade policies that encourage investment in Haiti for companies that pay Haitians a living wage. Educational opportunities for Haitians like Rochelin who commit to return to their homeland and create new opportunities there. Aid that supports infrastructure like roads and irrigation (the Taiwanese do it; so can we). Educational programs to teach Haitians how to maximize their agricultural production and stop deforestation. Etc., etc., etc. And, of course, lots of prayers. Jesus is looking at us, the wealthy next-door neighbor, when he says, “Unbind him, and let him go.”
6:30 p.m.
I’m on the plane from Miami to Chicago, sitting on the runway now 35 minutes late in departing. We will probably be at least 45 minutes late once the plane actually takes off. In Haiti, 45 minutes late is par for the course. Here, it may well mean that I spend the night in Chicago.
The flight from Port au Prince to Miami came with its own interest and excitement. First of all, I found myself seated with an elderly Haitian woman who spoke as much English as I do Creyole. The flight attendant passed out customs and immigration paperwork. Once I finished mine, my seatmate handed me her paperwork, her passport, and her resident-alien card; and she spoke several sentences in Creyole, clearly in imperative mood. As it turned out, she was illiterate, and I was happy to fill out her paperwork; but there are questions on the immigration card that my meager French couldn’t handle (What is your address in the U.S.? What is the value of the items you’re bringing into the U.S.?) With the help of a Haitian man across the aisle, we got it figured out. It takes a village….
Then the real excitement began. The woman seated directly in front of me stopped breathing. Her lips turned blue, and she slumped over. When this happens, I discovered, no one really knows what to do except to yell at the patient, which seems of dubious value, although maybe it helped to keep her conscious. Several of us told the flight attendant to page a doctor. Then I put my hand on her head and prayed. Whether it was spurred by the yelling or the praying or both, God did something. The woman came to, and she began breathing again, back from her brief journey somewhere else. As the Haitian tap-tap would proclaim, “Magnificat!”
It’s now 45 minutes past departure time, and my time between flights was scheduled at 45 minutes. I hope they have rooms in Chicago.
9:35 p.m.
One final thought about the voodoo gathering at the cemetery across from the rectory: From The Serpent and the Rainbow, I find that what we stumbled into may well have been a meeting of one of the Bizango, the secret societies of voodooists that offer worship but also functionally provide local government, dispute resolution, and social services in rural Haiti. The Bizango are a parallel, and much more immediately significant, government along with the official, neo-colonial government in Port au Prince. According to this book, at least, the issue of the apparent absence of government at the local level is explained by the secret societies – how it is that a place of apparent anarchy actually is (on its own terms) functional and remarkably peaceful. Anyway, the people at a Bizango gathering take on many different roles, including that of a sentinel whose purpose is to let in those they want and get rid of outsiders. Why Ann was allowed in is a mystery to me; she, Ryan, and Tara were allowed to walk through the cemetery to the beach. Maybe the sentinel was too drunk to notice everyone, or maybe he was particularly offended by a blan in a clergy shirt near the ceremony. In any event, given how the book describes the secret societies (“as sweet as honey and as bitter as bile”), I’m grateful my confrontation was as contained as it was.
My worry about the time has been for naught. We will land in Chicago just before the KC departure, and the gates are relatively close. So I’ll be home tonight and at St. Andrew’s tomorrow, praising God for all the incredible things that we have seen and known on this journey.
|
