St Augustine

Quote of the year -

Men go abroad to wonder at the heights of mountains, at the huge waves of the sea, at the long courses of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motions of the stars, and they pass by themselves without wondering. - St Augustine

Pink fluffy dress and departure

I am back at the airport the next morning. We ride on a van and a taptap, a large open pickup truck with a covered back. I am with the group from Nebraska. One girl isn’t unable to understand why people leave their trash on the street and not in a trash can. I am unable to understand if she thought about where the trash can would dump it’s waste except in the rivers. I’m too consumed in gathering reflections to respond back. Though her comments trigger me they help me better understand what the world outside is like when they look in.

We get off, everyone starts walking towards the second terminal. I am the only one to walk towards the one behind us. I wait in a line that circles around. I am surprised they have some of the airport equipment they do. I don’t know where to sit in the waiting room.

My flight travels from Portauprince to Fort Lauderdale. After we get off the plane, the next stop is a long one at immigration. There is a Haitian lady with two children. One is a toddler wearing a-line puffy pink dress. The mother has two children, she holds one along with her luggage and her daughter with the dress walks in front of her. She is having a hard time, I hold the girls hand and guide her out. We get off the plane. She thanks me. This tiny hand that I hold for maybe ten seconds is my last physical connection with Haiti. This moment hits me.

When I finally make it through many lines of immigration, for extra exploration of my luggage and barely make it on to my flight I am relieved. I arrive in Houston. My first few images are of a girl with a name brand purse, styish fingernails and starbucks in her hand. She is dressed for fashion, walking down somewhere. I continue to walk, I wander around the airport making my way to appropriate places. I look like a stranger in a foreign place. My face is blank. Everything zooms by me. I see a girl waiting for me, holding flowers. She is waiting for me, she asks why I look lost like a nomad. “Who are the flowers for?” I ask, “you of course,” she respons. This place has become new to me.

d

American haven

America draws nearer to me as I visit the ‘Baptist Mission’ a gift shop, restaurant, hospital and zoo. I walk into their giftshop, things seem overpriced, $20 for a book of Haitian proverbs, I wonder if google will help me with finding half of them in there. I order from the combo menu and eat a sandwich and fries that don’t have prices able to be afforded by locals. I have really missed French fries, I welcome them with delight. I go to the zoo and see a peacock and alligator. I wonder if these animals have been seen here before. This is probably the only zoo in the entire country though it is just a few animals placed in cages side by side. A family that once used to live at the home in Haiti has also come to visit from England. They escort me through this microcosm community set up by an American couple who created their own haven here with paved roads and a viewing house of animals and gift store for tourists to stop by and purchase things from. The hospital and services included cost money and aren’t free services like many foreign made clinics and medical facilities. I find that quite interesting, much of what I have seen here is charity. It’s a bit different to see something comparable with an American haven resort in these mountains.

Coloring on the patio

The first day we get to Wings the day before, I don’t do much. I assume I will be teaching becaue I only have a few days here. Everyone is transitory. I just sleep and wake up to have missed my only meal. I hang out and color with the boys and the dog on the patio. One of the boys Frank E may have recognized me. He needs attachment. A few of them sit and color. I sit with them, helping them color. Coloring is one of best forms of stress relief; great form of art. I am happy to be given fresh detergent smelling sheets and a pillow. Feels as good as it did the first time we were in Fermathe.

Through mountains and memories

I wake up at 430. I start packing up the few things I have left into my backpack. Everyone is still asleep. I am late and unfed when someone comes to the gate. G comes to get me and take me to the mountains, more than three hours away. Everyone is asleep. One of the boys is awake D. He gives me a hug and the assistance director waves to me from his mattress on the countryard. This is it. I like silent goodbyes. I walk out it’s over. There’s not time to stop and reflect.

Although I have taken tap-tap to Portauprince before and this trip is just a bit further I also feel like vomiting, just as first morning when we went from Fermathe to Jacmel. After having nothing in my stomach i’m only offered what I specifically asked to not get, anything acidic. After gulping the juice with motion sickness medication time passes slow. I try to sit closest to the open air, most forward on the middle bench that moves as we turn. I feel really sick. Many many times I am tempted to ask the bus to stop and just like on the mountains that we’re winding around. I keep thinking this and feel if we just stopped and rested we’d find another bus to take us back. I see other people stop and do this. We pick up a lady from the road. She is lifted up completely onto the truck by a man. She sits right next to me with her belongings. I start feeling really sick. I question if I will even make it alive to any stop. I tell them I am sick but communication is difficult and there are no options. Eventually I vomit off the back of the truck. All the people grab onto me thinking I will fall off. They tell G to wipe my head with a towel. The truck gets even tighter. I sit very close to the lady. After leaning all over people I start to see a bag shake. I think I have lost my mind and am starting to get delirous. I move back in shock. From inside the bag the lady rearranges a live chicken. I start praying things get better. As we get closer to the city and more people get on and off and transfer I see another Haitian boy vomit. I realize the motion sickness isn’t just for foreigners. I keep thinking we’re closer as we see more development and less greenery but it’s still far. When we get to the first stop my energy is low. We then take a car to another tap tap stop and then take a last taptap. I have to sit closest to open air so I don’t get claustrophobic and sick in congested covered pick up trucks. There are no more chickens after we get to the city. We finally arrive. We have to walk a couple miles. I walk without my travel pack and just by handbag. I am still very slow and careful. I am happy to be off the bus and am well but I cannot keep pace with G who walks ahead with my travel pack. I try not to lose sight of him. Finally we make it.

Cake without words

I thought I if I wrote a speech I might cry. I know if I say anything I will start crying. And not just a tear. I sit around not knowing when the party will start. The main director is gone and soon after class the assistant director calls me as we are just sitting. Awkwardly we all come into the main dining room. The boys all slowly show up. Only one or two are missing. One of them has gone to a rap competition. The heavy rain will prevent him from coming home tonight. I won’t see him in the morning. He is one of my favorite. His English is phenonmenal. There’s a cake with pink frosting ordered for me. There is popcorn and soft drinks. I didn’t have amny words to say, so I say ‘I have nothing to say’. I take pictures of all the boys in two by twos. Some are sweaty from playing soccer some don’t want to take pictures with each other. I get almost everyone.

We don’t do proper hugs or goodbyes, I assume I will see them in the morning in morning meetings before I leave. Soon all the food is gone. Everyone goes back to their own things. I sit around with the boys for a few hours after. I haven’t properly backed but I give away many things like shaving blades and towels and other odd items. I leave my clothes for the laundry ladies in the morning. I hope now after I am gone they may like me more. They were the only Haitian females inside the actual home. But yet I only saw them to drop off my laundry when they came and they were never happy about it. I was never happy about it being placed all over the roof on top of pebbles later to be thrown into the courtyard and claimed. To me at first this was amusing, until I realized my clothes were slowly being shared and worn and sometimes never returned . I had already started to give things away. In my last night and day I distribute other items like blades and towels. One of the twelve year old boys, M, gives me his ring and another asks if we will be wed. Such jokes continue into the night with just a few of us. They make fun of each other and we share laughs. I don’t remember about what.

I didn’t know if they expected words. I wrote a letter many days later. I don’t know if my letter was ever read during meetings or service. I don’t know if there was ever a proper goodbye.

Goodbyes are my weakness

Good bye’s have started. Good bye’s have always been my weakness. In middle of rubble I say goodbye to one of the boys I have become closer to. I make my way back through the rubble, meandering around broken stone and concrete in front of me. Once it was a house, not it is remains knocked down on the street in front of me. My feet crawl through the structure in new ways.

I come back I sit in the court yard. Alone. Staring up at the sky. I try not to let tears roll down. The boys walk past me and stop and glance. They know I am hurting. I see concern in their faces. I smile. Throughout all my clarity in Haiti, I have had sporadic moments of further clarity and vision. I cry. I smile. I have become what to someone is a miracle. To me being there in that moment has also become a miracle.

Dancing in Marigo

We go back to Marigo on a tap-tap to see the girls’ dancing class again. I’m shown around the beach. It’s a developing area. There are some sellers and small canoe sized boats. My feet are burning in the sun. We walk over rocky beaches. I snap a few shots. We drink a grape soda. We go to the dance class. They bring heels and decide to strut like models. They all change shoes and learn how to walk with sass. I sit back and watch, thinking this is just a intermission. It ends up lasting the whole hour. There is no dance practice.

Last time we went to Marigo for dance practice it rained. We stood under a tree with the djeme drum and my camera. The rain got worse and we say no tap-taps coming going back to our town. The girls from the class had changed and arrived back on the street. We all hid in small store. We didn’t get tap-tap back for an hour. It continued to rain. People hopped on the back of the taptap and hopped off without proper stopping. We sat on each other’s laps. We hopped off and took a motorcycle back through the rain to the home. No jackets or umbrellas. I don’ t remember seeing many umbrellas ever. And it rained almost every one to two nights during hurricane season. Sometimes puddles would collect. The drum still lasted and was used again at dance practice.

Die with dignity

In Jacmel there is a Mother Teresa camp. While visiting the PortauPrince Mother Teresa I was told of a sisters home. I finally am able to visit them during visitation hours the following day. We have passed by here before, it is right across from the doctors without borders hospital. We walk up and through to the back. A Indian sister Nun comes up to us. She is happy to see us, I tell her I’m from Texas and originally from Pakistan. She introduces me to the other ladies. They all are nurses and caretakers. They have a room for mentally challenged adults. Another for babies sick or malnourished, where they care for them temporarily. The last is a home for mentally challenged and sick elders who have mainly been abandoned and have nowhere to go. The mood doesn’t ring bells of hospice environment to me.
I continue to talk to her after. She tells me she’s always wanted to go to Pakistan, they have homes there too. She has been serving for fifteen years and has travelled all over to South America, a few other places and now the Caribbean. She speaks many languages.

She speaks about the earthquake. One of their buildings in the front has been destroyed. And so has the home where the sisters live. They want to build something sustainable and study she tells me. They have been there for 20 something years. They are living in a huge tent. She talks about the earthquake. She says how many people died on the street. She says how they dug graves and buried so many. She says at least here they die with dignity, the elders. I am enchanted. She says everyone should at least die with dignity.

I’m not the typical foreign volunteer. I have a feeling she will remember me.