January 24, 2012 Mine fields and Tight ropes

           Today has been interesting. We hadn’t set an alarm so we woke to the sound of Fredrina banging pots and pans in the kitchen where she prepares breakfast. Fredrina is a plump sweet faced Haitian. She doesn’t speak very much English at all; only nods and smiles when spoken to. We could hear the pots and pans well enough over the chickens clucking right outside our window which we leave open since it got pretty toasty in here last night… it has a nice screen. We are living in the home of Ivy Solomon. She is something like 91 and isn’t here right now. She is in the states for healthcare for worsening heart failure. We are disappointed about that… Ivy is the Mother Theresa of Ranquitte and I had my hopes set on long conversations about Haitian culture with her. She may return briefly though so I plan on making the most of that opportunity.

            Her home was built by Roger (pronounced Wo-jay) and he stays here upstairs. Ivy’s home is one of those little old lady houses where you are afraid to touch anything. Not because it might break but you feel a deep respect when you enter the door. And frankly you don’t see many doilies elsewhere in Ranquitte. Roger is limping today and asks us to take a look at a wound he has later today.

            Breakfast consists of pancakes and bananas. Fluffy sweet pancakes with maple syrup from New York. SMH. I plan to have a talk with Fredrina later. I hope to convince her that there is no need to cook American food when it is just Ronnie and I. Leslie and Greg meander in after Mary Lou’s second ring of the dinner bell.  They both look sleepy and have a full day planned out for themselves.

            We do not on the other hand. Not a single plan in the world. In America I might have a panic attack if I didn’t have the day planned out by the day before, but not here. We met Frantz on the porch and walked with him to the Eco Café, where he is starting some coffee plants in a “greenhouse.” Some screen stapled to four wooden steaks provides the proper amount of shade; which according to Frantz is crucial when growing coffee plants. We walk with him and listen to him outline the basic principles of growing coffee in a thick accent. Frantz is the type of Haitian that likes to help Americans understand. Understanding is complicated in Haiti by many things. It’s like walking through a mine field of misunderstandings. I start to think about all the probable misunderstandings we will have. Then I said to God “Why have you brought me here?” I didn’t really expect Him to answer… well not today at least.

            Frantz is a mystery. I want to ask him how can you live in a mud hut and still look so clean. But I don’t. He peels back the hay and scoops out a coffee bean to show us the sprout. “It takes five months to make one like that.” He gestures to a group of coffee plants about a foot tall. I bit my American tongue and didn’t ask how we could speed up the process. As he’s watering the seedlings I notice the water hose has three pieces of plastic wrapped around it with water spewing out of each. I have a fixer heart. I LOVE to fix things. My dad is like that. I must have picked it up from him. After running back to Ivy’s house to retrieve the Gorilla tape Eric, Ronnie’s best friend, gave us as a parting gift I removed the ineffective plastic, carefully dried and wrapped the broken areas of the hose. “Try it!” I beamed very proud of my idea. He turned on the hose and voila… now only a small drip. Better than a spew. Then my heart sank.

            I had already done it. I broke a golden rule Ronnie and I had set for ourselves. That’s the problem with rules. I never can keep them. I use to think as I get older I will get better at keeping rules. But I haven’t.

            We had discussed how there is a problem with Haitian mentality about problem solving. We have very little knowledge about Haitian mentality but we think very highly of our ability to judge things without having much knowledge about them as is American custom. The problem with Haitian problem solving is that when there is a problem they don’t solve it. They wait. They know that at some point the Americans will return. Then the Americans will solve it. Therefore there is no reason to attempt to solve the problem. I could stretch this and justify myself by saying that the scraps of plastic loosely wrapped around the hose was an attempt to solve the problem. This is an example of how helping can cause more harm than good. Ronnie is reading a book right now called “When Helping Hurts.” I think I should ask him to borrow it.

            Lunch is spread out over a rooster patterned tablecloth. Cooked cabbage, rice and black beans, green beans, tomatoes bread and butter (what else) are neatly arranged. “Meow!” I forgot to mention Ivy has a cat. I know! I love the cat. He is actually a kitten and tabby similar to my Laya. I have been loving on him since I discovered him yesterday. He has a scary meow. He always sounds angry but I have figured out that he is really not. That’s just how he sounds.  I think maybe he is really just hungry. I want to feed him. I haven’t though. I figure that’s probably taboo given the situation.  He smells lunch and is giving his best affectionate effort at our feet.

            Later we walk up to the clinic. We are supposed to be here to “help with the clinic.” That’s what we have been telling people although I’m really not sure what that means. I picture myself walking a tight rope very high in the air, no wait, riding a bike on a tight rope very high in the air. On one side the ground has “HELPING” painted in big green letters. On the other side “HURTING” painted in big red letters. I snap out of the daydream to realize we are having an official meeting with Dr. Greg and Ramide. Ramide is the head nurse at the clinic. She and Fredrina are the only two plump haitians I know. She has a little girl face and kisses my cheek each time she sees me. She always wears snow white dresses. I wonder how she gets them so white without a washing machine. We are having an official meeting about the clinic. She is advised by Dr. Greg with his white hair and glasses that we are here to help. He goes on to talk about Typhoid antigen tests and some other things I’ve never heard of.  I picture mine fields and the tight rope together this time.

            Ronnie is asleep next to me. Our mosquito net is tucked in and my eyes are heavy. Bon nwi.