Pics of a Growing Boy

Adventure in Artibonite

Today was to be the Grand Opening of the Artibonite/Point Sonde clinic. A community center was recently built in the small village of Pointe Sonde through a partnership with Wisconsin churches and CONASPEH. The building was dedicated this February, and school is planned to commence there next fall there. The building was designed to host a variety of community activities including a small school, a medical clinic, a seminary as well as other community events. The Central Committee for Health decided that CONASPEH would sponsor a clinic in Point Sonde one day a week to begin a medical presence in that community. Today was our first day and boy was it a day.

My alarm went off at 4:30 am and by 5:30 I was driving through the streets of Port au Prince on the way to meet our medical team heading to the northern town of Point Sonde. I was surprised, driving through the city, how much activity was already underway on the streets at O’dark hundred. The markets were busier than ever, the tap-taps full, the foot traffic as thick as mid-day along the side streets. The city does sleep, but it doesn’t sleep in.

Arriving at the school, I met up with Miss Fano—the school nurse, Dr. Charcot—a young Haitian doctor who finished his primary education at CONASPEH and went to medical school on CONASPEH scholarship, Pastor Guy who was coming to represent the board, and three nursing students. There we loaded up the white truck we were to take to Point Sonde with desks, chairs, spare tires, medications and exam equipment.

The vehicle of the trip was a CONASPEH car that, like many vehicles in Haiti, has been around the block a few million times. I hate to say this, but the white truck made the Galloper look and feel like a new car. Already at 6am, it was discovered that one of the tires was flat. So, on the way out of town, we picked up water, snacks and air for the tire. All in a days shopping.
We were tightly snuggled into the extended cab pick-up with 4 nurses in the back, Pastor Guy at the wheel, and Dr. Charcot and I squeezed into the remaining space on the front seat.

Not 10 minutes outside of the Port-au-Prince city limits, Guy noticed the temperature gage heating up. We pulled the rattley white truck over, hopped out, lifted up the front seat to stare at the engine (you read this correctly… engine UNDER front seat). The radiator was spurting and steaming. So, the new water we had bought to fight dehydration was delegated instead to refilling the radiator. This stop would be one of 4 on the way to Artibonite to cool and quench the thirst of an old, tired, leaky and dirty radiator. If the decision had been mine, I likely would have aborted the operation in light of the obvious car trouble, but my colleagues reminded me to have faith and patience. Sure enough, with lots of water stops, we rattled and tumbled up the national highway, past public and private beaches, through sleepy and bustling villages, weaving through markets and past vendors, passing donkeys carrying loads and farmers tilling fields. We eventually arrived late, but in one piece at Point Sonde.

The last time I was in this little village was for the community center dedication. At that time, it was a building freshly constructed with construction supplies still decorating the corners, the concrete barely dry. Today, it looked like an active center. People streamed out of the front door. Fritay vendors (fried food) lined up outside the building serving hot food to people long waiting for our arrival. We were met by the two pastors in charge of the project. “Many have been waiting,” they announced, anxious to get us inside and start working.

Prior to coming to Point Sonde, there had been only discussion on what supplies to bring, what medications to purchase. There was no detailed meeting on each person going and their delegated role. But the minute the truck was put into park, we poured out of the cab like clowns in a slug bug and everyone went right to work doing what needed to be done to get things up and running. The nursing students set up and manned a triage station where they did patient intake and vital signs. Miss Fano quickly set up a small pharmacy station. Dr. Charcot and I set up our consultation tables, designed an exam table with the help of a large desk and a sheet, and in minutes we were in business.

Over the course of the next 6 hours, we saw a steady stream of patients. Babies, children, young and old adults, preganant women, and grandparents. We saw the chronically ill, the acutely sick, the worried, the curious and everything in between. We did minor surgey on a woman with a huge thigh abcess who stated she could not and would not go to the hospital leaving us no other choice but to intervene. We checked blood sugars, looked in ears, listened to coughs and dopplered for fetal heart beats.

The afternoon went by in a blur of happy and busy activity. I was thrilled. We were busy, overwhelmed but all dedicated to the task. And no one went unseen. As the afternoon crept later and later, Miss fano started seeing patients using Dr. Charcot and I as consults so we would leave no person left behind.

At the end of the day, we all re-grouped tired, sweaty, hungry but happy with thanks for a day well spent serving the health care needs of an underserved rural community.

And while we had been working, storm clouds had been building.

The rain started falling as we turned to pack up the truck. The supplies that had road up in the truck bed now had to be balanced on laps in the cab so as not to get wet and be rendered useless. So we piled hot and sweaty back into the cab with boxes and bags stacked on our knees.

After stopping for dinner at a road-side stand, we ventured out onto the road just as darkness descended on the day. As the clouds opened up, we were quick to realize that the windshield whipers on the ol’ white beast were no longer of any use. They made a hideous screaching sound, but did nothing much for wiping away water. Instead, we used rags and batted the windshield at regular intervals to help Guy peer through the rain-battered glass in order to snake the truck around gaping pot holes and past bustling traffic. As the heat from our bodies crammed together started fogging up the glass, my job became window-wiper.

The truck also surprised us with its two functioning head lights, but like Magdalena Hagdalena, it had one pointing north and the other pointing south. I got a nicely lit view of the passing rain-drenched vegetation.

And here we were, in the dark of night, inching our way down a pot-hole pocked highway, through a torrential tropical down pour with me, wiping down the condensation inside, Guy—sporting a scrub top as a hat to protect him from the rain blowing in from a crack in the driver’s side window, Dr. Charcot hanging his head out the passanger window directing Guy around road hazards, warning him of parked cars or drop-offs in the road, the nurses in the back smooshed under the weight of medical supplies, sending up audible prayers for a miraculous safe return home while getting the giggles thanks to nerves and slap-happiness from a long, exhausting day.

The rain, at least, kept the radiator cool.

As we pulled into Port-au-Prince in the dark of night, we all cheered… An experience was certainly had, and we are all bonded together in the way that such experiences tend to do.

We plan on having a weekly clinic presence in Point Sonde in order to offer a continuous presence to the people in the village, continuity care to the patients of the clinic, a learning opportunity for the nurses at the school, and a source of adventure for all brave enough to make the voyage. We’ll likely hold out for a more reliable car or at least have whatever vehicle is assigned to us well-serviced before then next voyage.

But as Dr. Charcot told me with a smile and a shrug, “sometimes Haiti is like this.”

Under The Microscope

In anticipation of starting a small laboratory in the CONASPEH clinics, I realized that my skills as a lab technician are, well, basic at best.

Thanks to some connections made by friends in North Hampden, Massachusetts, I was able to establish a relationship with collegues at GHESKIO, Haiti's one and only research hospital which specializes in HIV and TB diagnosis and treatment, prenatal care and new-born nutrition, as well as other infections and sexually transmitted diseases. Through this connection I was given the opportunity to shadow some of the laboratory technicians, learning about procedures, observing technique, and studying the diagnostic appearance of pathogens under the microscope.

Today was my first day.

I arrived a little nervous. When I met with physician collegues, they asked again, "now what is it that you want out of this experience?" Well, essentially I need to know what it takes to diagnose Malaria, rapid screen TB and recognize the wiggly trouble makers in a stool sample.

Today I was escorted from one station to another in the GHESKIO lab, learning about the process and technique required for each diagnostic study. The lab technician students proudly stood and told me detail by detail how to effectlvely run each test including how many microns to pippette, how to record names and numbers, the use of controls and the verification of positives. In a day, I was introduced to how to do tests for Syphylis, HIV, Malaria, and GI parasites.

I was most impressed on how professionally each and every lab technician there presented their work, the process involved for doing a correct evaluation, and their patience with my own learning endeavors.

I haven't often found a medical community of willing teachers here in Haiti. Sometimes it seems that everyone is burried in their own project and not wanting to play nice in the name of networking or sharing of ideas. But today was different. As one lab supervisor put it, "Anyone who is here to help the people of Haiti, well, we will help them do what they need to do." And she did. And I"m greatful.

On Foot

If life was a parade and the kids on the curb were waiting for car parts to be tossed into the crowd, the galloper would be the most popular "float" on the street. If I had a dime for every time a street kid ran up to us at a stop light with a piece of metal that fell off our car, or for every person in a car next to ours waving and pointing at something hanging off/dripping from/smoking out of our car, or for each loud CLUNK/RATTLE sound suddenly emitting from the belly of the beast we'd be finishing construction on a new CONASPEH hospital by now with all my loads of money.

Last night driving home, some large plate fell off from under the car. I stopped to investigate the curious grating noise it caused along the rocky road. A friendly passerby helped me find a piece of twine in a burning trash pile and used it to tie up the panel to the car so I could make it home.

Its moments like those that re-inspire deep love for the Haitian people. After hearing a grating sound against the gravel, watching people watch me, laughing at my "what the heck is that" face, and then having someone run up to the car to help diagnose the trouble, I had instant help in the early evening. Who needs Triple A when you have helpers at every corner?

Today, we hobbled the Galloper over to the mechanic for a tire change and a repair. I think I caught a cringe when the mechanic saw us pulling up, shaking his head at a lost cause driving up for help.

For the rest of the day we were reduced to "on foot," yet it allowed a new view of the city, a slower pace, and a recognition of the comminty that has risen up around us over the last few months.

Today we hoofed it from the mechanic to the bank, then past the guest house to see some of our old friends. Hugging the security guards and the cooks who helped mold the first 3 months of our time in Haiti reminded us of how much we miss the little community we had in the guest house, and how often we drive by without saying hello. Our path home took us through the neighborhood market where we grabbed fruits and vegetables for the week while answering the many inquirories into how Solomon is doing by the interested vendors in the street. Finaly, I stopped by a local super market and filled my backpack with other non-perishables we were in need of. The grocery baggers were a little taken aback that they couldn't pile my groceries in a box to be hauled to a car in the parking lot. When I told them instead to pack the groceries into my backpack, they looked at me wondering if I was using my Creole correctly. As I loaded the super-heavey load on my back, turned, smiled and said, "I go like a donkey!" they laughed and laughed at the crazy blan on foot

All-in-all it was a good day. Granted, I couldn't go to Carrefour clinic because of loss of wheels. But I had more exercise than I've had in a long time walking around the neighborhood. And during all the exercise, I saw up close the community that has been slowly evolving into our own over the last 6 months. A comunity where happy reunions were made at the guest house, where street vendors remember our situation and are interested in our child's wellbeing. While the neighoborhood doesn't yet feel like "home," it at least feels familiar. And that was a happy discovery to make today without wheels. Sometimes you have to slow down to realize how good you have it.

Jenn and Paul

For 5 beautiful days, we welcomed our friends from the NW coast to Haiti. Patrick and I are lucky lucky people to have such family and friends to call our own. Paul and Jenn--long supporters of our decision to come to Haiti and of our work here, flew down to visit and to add their hands and talents to the efforts.

Paul lead a seminar series in the Seminary about the parables of Jesus. He tuffed it through 3 hot days sweating in front of the class of 50+ seminarians and pastors, lecturing through an interpretter, and fielding such tangential questions such as, "is it a sin to have more than one wife?"

Jenn hung with me entertaining her new biggest fan, Solomon... reading "Mr Brown can Moo, can you?" and rocking him to sleep. She helped in the school with the feeding program, watched the chaos of a school-based clinic with adolescents hanging around hoping to find another diversion to keep themselves out of class. Our few days together flew by in a swirl of moments of shared experiences and conversation.

Patrick loved having Paul here especially. Paul has always been someone Patrick has admired for his theology, his humility, and his spirituality. It was fun for Patrick to sit at the end of the day and chat with Paul about his impression of the seminary, sharing observations and the funny questions that came up.

I especially loved having Jenn here for girl talk, sharing impressions of the sights and sounds of Haiti and watching her nurture and love on little Solomon. In a country where I'm seriously lacking girlfriends, I reveled in a little time with one of my longest friends. She rocked the infants in the orphange when we went to visit, and wresteled with the emotions that this country, the people and the struggle they endure bring on.

In a country where we often feel like strangers in a strange land, it is an absolute gift to be in communion with friends that share culture, history, theology, and love of adventure. Saying goodbye to such friends is never an easy task, but as I pulled away from the curb after giving our Jenn and Paul big hugs goodbye, I trusted that we'll see them here again because Haiti does that to you. It shocks you, it challenges you, it endears itself to you and leaves you with more questions that need resolved. We experience the same despite the fact we wake up here every morning. Or maybe they'll just come back to see how much Solomon has grown. :)

MIL

I'm one lucky bride. I've heard so many horror stories of the dreaded Mother In Law. I didn't fall into such a curse. In fact, my mother-in-law is as good as it gets.

The house is a little quieter tonight. Grandma Jane left for Iowa this morning after a week's visit. Solomon is a little less pampered, Patrick and I find our hands a little more full, the air is a bit more quiet and as always, when family and friends leave, an ache is left behind.

Jane came last week and buckled in for the ride. She accompanied us to CONASPEH, experienced the bustle of a busy school day, watched over her new grandson while I worked in the clinic, observed Patrick teaching his classes, helped with the food program and immersed herself in the buzz of the day. We introduced her to Haitian food, took her on a walking tour of the neighborhood. Like many, she was introduced to urban Haitian life through the lens of a car window as we drove by slums and mansions, trash piles and lotto stands. She now knows the little bit of crazy that happens when the Celine Dion water truck drives by for the billionth time a day, when roosters decide to start crowing at 4am--mere minutes after the street dogs finally stop their barking, or when airflow to the back seat of the Galloper abruptly stops thanks to yet another traffic jam. We shared a day at the beach and lots of priceless moments at home. We sat on the balcony and watched life walk by caring its wears on its head. Most of all, Grandma Jane got to know her new grandson who was quick to flash her his gums in his open mouthed smile or relax into a daze in her arms.

We are often reminded how truly blessed we are with incredible family. This week was full of such reminders. Patrick and I have made life choices that aren't universally embraced by all parents everywhere: leaving the country, working in a developing nation that can't seem to get off the State Department's BEWARE list, choosing adventure over a more stable existence, simplicity over more profitable and glamorous lifestyles, adopting a child of a different skin color (just to name a few). And although we know our families would love to have us closer, would love to be assured always of our safety and well-being, they have universally showed us nothing but love and support. And to top it off with a cherry on top, our mothers have ventured down on a trip that is hard or impossible for most in our life to take in order to see where it is we live, what it is we do, who it is we work with, why this place matters to us. This week Jane met the children in the street who we nurture helpless affections for, the students in the school who keep us entertained and enthralled, the patients in my clinic who challenge and endear themselves to me, the young pastors in Patrick's class eager to learn or to ask questions, our partners with their passion and infectious laughter, the people of this country who carry the burdens of their life with little complaint and mastering their misery with grace, a sense of humor and hope. And Patrick and I couldn't be more thankful for such a family.

So another goodbye after a week well spent. And I am full of gratitude for a visit from my mother-in-law, or "Bel Manman" in creole--fitting for me at least. I'm thankful that she loved Solomon, that she swooped in and made our lives a little easier, a little lighter, and a lot more fun.

A Sunday worth celebrating

The plan for this morning was to visit the mountain community of Kenskoff and a CONASPEH member church there. But the Galloper has developed a wheezing altitude sickness, and refuses to climb much higher than Petionville without steaming and whistling madly. So a change of plans was devised.

Patrick and Francois invited us to their church this Sunday. Jane, Patrick's mom, has been with us over the last week, and this was to be her first Haitian church service. Although a bit disappointed that we couldn't take in a little mountain scenery this weekend, we were very happy to join our friends in their home-community church. Daniel Gordet--a former missionary to CONASPEH--was also in town visiting, so our group was a large and happy one this Sunday.

Walking into the pink-painted cement church tucked in a hilly neighborhood in Port-au-Prince, I was reminded that it was this very church that Patrick and I visited on our very first Sunday in Haiti. The last time I entered through that church door, I was only days into this Haitian experience, overwhelmed, sweating profusely, feeling dumb and mute amidst a foreign language and a little overwhelmed at the adventure at hand. Patrick had been battling his first GI bug that was nearly turned into overdrive when he had the surprise invitation to deliver the sermon unexpectedly.

The memories came flooding back as I walked up the isle, a little more confident and a lot more comfortable than the time before. I remembered being asked to help with communion and serving all the children of the church a gram cracker. I remembered the music and a sermon I couldn't understand. I remembered the little girl who wanted to touch my skin and watch the pink blanch white. Now here we were, a little wizer, a bit more settled, and with so many experiences that have defined the time passed.

It quickly became a very special Sunday for me. First of all, Patrick and Francois entirely lead the worship service. Patrick lead the opening prayers and music, and did so in such a way to completely elevate my spirit. The hymns started slow and melodical. Unlike my first worship there, today I was able to pick out some of the words. The prayers spoke of the misery, the pain, the poverty, the hunger in the lives of the people... the songs echoed the sorry and cried out to God, "Lord, remember me, hear my cry, I'm looking for you, I am searching." Women and men, young and old stood eyes closed, hands raised rocking back and forth, wearing the meaning of the words painted over their faces furrowed in concentration. Together they cried out; the pain of the song nearly brought me to tears.

Little by little, the words of the prayers Patrick sent out carried less pain and more hope. "We are the lucky ones. There are people who want to be here, but they cannot because they are too weak, too sick, too far away. We are blessed to sit with each other and lift up our spirit." The music reflected the hope, the celebration of the opportunity of the moment. Little by little the beat quickened. Thanks was given in song. Alleluliahs followed and were sung with mounting fervor. Before I knew it as the music was building, we all had risen to our feet and were dancing, clapping, and celebrating the sudden joy that replaced the sorrow. I was overcome with emotion. And we danced and sang until smiles covered each face, those wrinkled and hollow with age as well as those smooth and chubby with youth. Nearly half the service was dedicated to this progression of song, this worship through singing and music. Patrick Villier, with his sincerity, through his passion spoke the truth of the harshness of the realities of the lives of his congregants and yet lead them to a place of hope. You could feel the change of energy in the air.

Francois--much to Patrick Bentrott's delight--had been asked to give the sermon. And what a sermon it was. I've often been inspired by Francois's ability to rally the troops, both in the church, in the school and in CONASPEH meetings. Her sermon was smart, it told a story. She spoke of God's commission for us to enter and honor our relationships, and the importance of lifting each other up, of respect. In fact she demanded that we all take a look at how we have treated our relationships, whether we are honoring God's request or sinning against each other with lack of respect. She was firery, yet approachable, challenging and inspiriting. She failed to disappoint.

At the end of the service, the Villiers, true to their endless well of hospitality, honored Jane for her visit, introducing her to the congregation as Patrick's mother, and thanking her for her voyage, for her gift of presence to us and the people of Haiti.

Patrick and I were also able to greet the congregation. Patrick not only thanked them for their spirit, their music, their worship, but commended the church for lifting up its women into positions of leadership and valuing the gifts we all can give. I couldn't help but smile as we greeted the congregation in our new, but ever-developing Creole. The last time i had stood on that pulpit, I was mortified with the surprise of the sudden demand of public speaking. I stumbled to find some semblence of an articulate greeting, but nerves and feeling completely self-conscious got the best of me.

Ah how time teaches, heals and humbles. It also makes us stronger, a little more confident, and if we allow it, opens up new worlds and experiences to us day by day, a little bit at a time.

I left church happy and inspired. Its good to have moments where your progress can be measured.

We finished the day with the Villiers, Daniel Gordet, and our little group of four at a restaurant sharing a meal together, laughing heartily, telling stories, celebrating a day with friends and family. After an amazing Creole meal where we all laughed a little too hard and ate a little too much, we ventured down town to take part in the last day of a 3 day Labor and Agrigulcture Day festival, Blocks of vendors from all over Haiti showed off their art, their craft, their crops and their harvest. We sampled homemade pikliz (a spicey cabbage relish), orange wine and cremas, cracked cashews, and saw every shape, flavor and size of native fruit. The relentless sun overhead kept our time in the huge outdoor festival short, but nonetheless fun.

So now we are home, hot, sweaty, exhausted but happy. Today the spirit was renewed, our progress highlighted, friendships and family celebrated, and the culture explored. I think we all deserve a nap.