A week in review

Saturday, December 13, 2008

Saturday night, on the roof. There is barely a breeze stirring. The leaves hang motionless from the trees. Above us the moon hangs in the sky like a solitary Christmas ornament, glowing orange through the dust in the air. Patrick read that the moon is as close to us as it will be all year. Sure enough, it looks as if I could reach out and pinch it from the heavens. After a week that felt rather bookish, its nice to waste away a little time on the rooftop watching night drape itself over the city.

The week was largely carless as the automotive shop kept finding must-fixes that took a lot of manpower and extra parts, apparently. Not that I doubted them. We were just about ready lead the Galloper to the barn and put it out of its misery. After our first go-with-the-flow tap-tap ride that almost took us to a new city, we have since mastered the art of pick-up travel. It isn’t highly time-efficient, or the best way to preserve that early morning crisp and fresh look, but it is a wonderful way to immerse yourself into the community. We have become quite assertive, pounding on the side of the truck when we see our stop coming, verifying we are indeed heading to the desired road, and conversing easily with our fellow travelers. Funny how the more comfortable you feel with something, the less gawky stares you attract. Uncertainty must radiate off us at times. I came to truly enjoy the adventure of tap-tap riding despite the edeu-de-exhaust-fumes-and-dust we wore on entering the school or the fact we ended up getting to work late morning no matter how direct we chose the path. But it gave us insight into “Haitian time.”

Days of the week were spent largely with our heads buried in books, or surfing the net. Patrick emerged to teach some English classes, and attempted to teach his Old Testament class, but was a little less effective since the translator was a no-show. But ever the student, he had outlined his notes in Creole, so at least he could write a few things down to guide the student’s studies for the week. Aside from memorizing Creole vocab, reading several books on the history and culture of Haiti, and reviewing texts on nursing and tropical medicine, I was able to make a few appointments for next week in efforts to learn more about the community of health care in Port-au-Prince.

Friday, we joined Patrick and Francois at the first meeting of the central organization of protestant churches: Haut Conseil National Protestant D'Haiti (HACNAPH). The night before, Patrick was asked to give the sermon at the meeting. I guess we’ve acclimated because the last minute bomb barely caused an eyebrow twitch from my husband.

The meeting was filled with heads of churches and church organizations in Haiti that are now coming together in a united organization in order to gain recognition from the Haitian government. The air of the meeting was jovial—not the power play we were worried might emerge given the diverse mix of people. I think the fact that the group symbolizes the first state recognition of the protestant church, and that now a place in the national budget will go to protestant church social outreach unified all there in celebration. Patrick—who continues to amaze me with his foresight—gave a beautiful sermon from Ephesians on Paul’s call for unity through patience, humility and gentleness. He kept the message simple, and it was all the more powerful for it. I have to admire my husband. He looked so pale and skinny compared to the large black men all around him. He spoke with a quiet confidence, humbled by the fact that he spoke to an audience of seasoned preachers. But essentially his very presence represented his message. He earned endless handshakes and shoulder pats. People quoted his message during their own turn at the mic. (can I just say here that it is a little painful to be at a meeting full of pastors who, of course, all want their turn at the mic? The hours stretched into eternity). I would have loved a little translator at our side to let us know exactly what was being shared. We got a general overview from Patrick and Francois, but knew a lot of subtleties were left out since their summary was in once sentence and the meeting lasted well over 4 hours. ☺

We are to the point when our word recognition gives us little glimpses into a story told. But we have a LONG way to go before f word recognition couples with the cultural peculiarities of language. For instance, I heard something to the effect of big pastors eating little pastors. What? I can only assume the context would have defined the phrase better. Perhaps it was a commentary on the need for lifting all pastors up and not being the kind of leader that crushes the “little people” on the road to the to,p. Then again, it might have been a commentary on the voodoo belief that when you ‘hex’ someone you “eat” the soul? Ah, the danger of peep-holes from completely oblivious unknown to partial understanding.

After the meeting, our patience was rewarded with an all-you-can-eat buffet. And we gave it a valiant effort. Oh heavenly fullness. Thanksgiving finally arrived. We road the sugar high for the rest of the day. To make matters even better, we picked up the new and improved Galloper, whose stride is oh-so much more smooth, and who now sports a newly polished interior (big fan of our new found mechanics!!!! Because the galloper had trod many a dusty road!!!). We galloped on over to the supermarket which just got a new shipment of SNICKERS bars (they never have snickers), so we stocked up on our favorite luxury item. They day just kept getting better! Then we commenced with date night on the roof, splitting a bar of heavenly goodness and talking into the deep darkness as we watched the moon crawl from the horizon up to the top of the dome.

Creole lessons have been an interesting experience as well. The first 2/3rds of the lesson are quite productive. Our teacher usually has prepared a written conversation in Creole that he asks us to read and translate. It proves to be a great way to learn about not only new vocabulary, but sentence construction and transitions. We also have him clarify weird things we’ve picked up from conversations (i.e. fattie pastors munching puny pastors), and let him help us see the light. But more times than not, our sessions end in the bizarre.

Need I remind you that our dear teacher—quite competent as a language instructor as he has a strong grasp on both the intricacies and slang of both English and Creole—was also DEPORTED due to some, shall we say, delinquent behavior. Gently speaking, the guy has street cred. And he has survived the streets of Port-au-Prince due to the thuggish attitude he can pull out when it is apparent he needs it. Patrick and I haven’t asked, “so tell me about XYZ.” But unsolicited weirdness has punctuated many a lesson. We really shouldn’t be surprised since our first introduction to him left us with the entire sordid story of how he left the states. But for a guy who lectures us the importance of “keeping to oneself,” we are amazed at the amount of TMI that rolls off his tongue. One day it was about how he survived the gangs during the military coup, including the code language, the way you walked and dressed, the friends that were picked off that he thinks he may have unintentionally put in the line of fire. Another was the way the evil voodoo priests can get you, no matter whether you did any wrong or not. One day you might get a phone call and seconds later you’re dead. Sure enough. It happened to his friend. Would you believe he was dead before he ran his car into the wall? (no).

And unfortunately Patrick and I are still working on the perfect mask for stunned horror. Our faces are like a sieve for our thoughts. Patrick has a “what tha” on his face, and mine wears more of a “you’ve gotta be kiddin’ me… really? Now? Can’t we talk about verbs??” We re-center ourselves with the reminder that our teacher is giving us an important glimpse into the Haitian culture not readily found praisin’ Jesus in the pews, but which no Haitian is completely removed from. There is a survival mentality here that has evolved out of complete necessity. There is a culture of Voodoo that helps structure part of the Haitian mentality, regardless of faith practice. It’s important to know. And our teacher honors us to open a window into these private parts of the culture.

We are soothed because we are convinced he really likes us, and is connecting with us because he on some level identifies himself as an American, and we are his kin. I don’t feel threatened by the sordid tales, just a little distracted. Its one of those reminders that you are living in a society with harshness that lies much deeper than potholes and trash, pollution and homelessness. The volatility and violence that has colored much of the Haitian political situation over centuries leaves in its wake a people who are survivors, and some with a lingering mentality that tries to make sense of senseless cruelty and disregard for humanity. In this ear, we listen to stories told in an unemotional voice of friends being hexed to death, colleagues succumbing to death squads.

Today was a good day. Did some reading, picked up our first care-package from my mom full of all sorts of goodies and mementos. There is something really special about a hand-written note… it brings not only the voice, but the familiar script that only a loved-one’s hand can create. A treasure. A closeness. We also entered the bank as real-live customers, made our first deposit and withdrawal without a snag. I told the cashier that it was my first time, and she laughed at me, at my pride in my small victory. But it makes a community feel more your own when you can go to the bank, go to the store, navigate along now-familiar streets, even recognize people along the way. Little by little, a bit of the foreignness is replaced by subtly familiar. And a peace enters to replace angst.

Because errands were going to have us miss the regular dinnertime at the guesthouse, we went to the restaurant Patrick discovered last weekend. Although the only two diners in the vast place with white tablecloths and Christmas decorations hung from every wall, we enjoyed a quiet and delicious meal of good ol’ hard-to-beat Haitian cuisine (and ever so affordable despite the fancy trappings). Tonight we met the landlord of our future rental unit. She is a lovely woman who welcomed us into her home, discussed a likely move-in date and the things she needed to do to our future home before we arrived. Driving through the neighborhood that will sooner than later be OUR neighborhood made us both happy. Especially when Patrick recognized one of his students walking in a street. Already, we had a community, and we haven’t even moved in. ☺

Now the moon has climbed a little higher in the sky. The traffic is thinning a bit, and a good Caribbean beat thumps from some hidden nightspot down the road. Time to say good-bye to the cool night air in favor of a restful sleep.