Uno!

A few days ago we went upstairs for the first time with Dean one of the team members from South Carolina.  I had never met Dean before he arrived with his team last week but it was one of those times you feel like you have known somebody for years after just meeting them. I like that sort of experience. I don’t really like to have to work to get to know people. I’m sort of lazy in that area of life. I hate the formalities of getting to know a person.  Most people don’t like people who skip the formalities. I’d rather just hop right in and get to having a relationship.  But I am kind of shy so I usually avoid that part too.

Dean had brought us upstairs to Roger’s room. He wanted to show us the solar power wiring and batteries. I guess he thinks since we are gonna be here for a year we might want to know about the system. I’m really not sure I could trouble shoot it if anything goes wrong but I figure I should listen to his spiel anyway. Mainly, I am curious about Roger’s room. He is quickly becoming my favorite person and I am interested in learning more about him. And snooping through his room is just my style. So while Dean is throwing out technical terms like converter and co-axial, I start to read the titles of Roger’s books and take a mental inventory of everything in the room. The book titles are in French so I still don’t know what he is reading. Roger is a tall skinny man. He has very long fingers and pronounced cheek bones. He has a gentleness I think Jesus would have. He has been so hospitable to Ronnie and myself. He moves about the house quietly and always waits until last to eat. I really love his spirit. His strength of character is magnetic.

I notice that his navy blue blanket is tucked neatly around the bed. His mosquito net is gathered above the bed. The desk is strewn with books and receipts. On either side of the room is a nail with button up long sleeved collard shirts hung up on wire coat hangers. He wears a collared shirt every day and a handsome grey suit to church last Saturday. The room is small, about the size of a dorm room and he apparently sleeps in one of the three cots in the room. I think he is about 55-60 and I met his wife and daughters last week. They live down the road. I’m not sure why Haitiens think it is a good idea to live separate like this but it is a very common situation. I’m not a fan of it. I know I should respect the culture, but I secretly think it is a really bad idea.

As Dean finishes his quick and dirty on the solar system we squeeze back down the tiny stairwell. Roger is at the bottom of the stairs as we start to make our way down and Ronnie notices the deck of cards sitting on the shelf. “Uno?” He points to the deck. “You know uno?” Roger is surprised that we recognize the game. Ronnie nods and Roger smiles. “We will play sometime.”

And so tonight we did. It was Fedrina’s suggestion after lunch that we should play. I assume Roger informed her of our knowledge of the game. We sat down at the table with the rooster patterned table cloth after dinner and Fedrina dealt the first hand. The game went along fabulously until I got caught without any “rouge.” I ended up drawing a quarter of a deck in one turn. Roger laughed gently at me. I have no luck with card games. I do love them though. Ronnie and I play casino rummy with his brother and grandparents as often as we can. It was very interesting though playing with two other people who don’t speak a lot of English and we speak minimal creole. I do know my creole colors and numbers up to five however. After my large draw and the game made its way back around to me Ronnie had thrown a draw four card. He looked at me and in creole said “Mwen renmen ou.” (which is I love you.) Roger burst out into a deep belly laugh. He progressed to hysteria and nearly fell out of his chair laughing. I didn’t think the situation was very funny but I couldn’t help but laugh at his amusement. So by the end we were all laughing and it became a vicious cycle. One person would collect themselves but then the hysteria of the next person would rub right back off. By the end Roger had nearly worked the rooster patterned tablecloth off the table because he clutched handfuls everytime another wave of laughter hit. Fedrina helped settle us all down by motioning to us to fix the tablecloth.

Later another explosive episode of laughter ensued when I laid a draw 4 card and Roger asked me in creole “You love me?”  Roger, in between deep inhalations because he would laugh until every molecule of oxygen was exhaled, told a story in creole. I didn’t understand the creole but his gestures were very clear. He pulled out a chair and motioned that an imaginary person was sitting in it. He proceeded to smack our imaginary friend in the head and then very affectionately tell imaginary friend “Mwen renmen ou.” We all died laughing.

1/30/12 – Wyatt Earp , Ft. Sedgewick and the S.S. Minnow

It has been some days now since we returned from Pignon to drop off Dr. Greg and Leslie. George, our town mayor has always been a little intimidating to me and I am secretly nervous about our 1 ½ hour truck ride back to Ranquitte. After the little plane flew away with our American counterparts we returned to the truck to be taken to the hospital in Pignon. George had agreed to take us there. We have always wanted to see this hospital. It would be beneficial to know if it is worth sending our patients from Ranquitte, after all the grueling trip broke a spring off the truck. I couldn’t imaging the 4 hour walk if I was sick enough to go to the hospital. While we explored the hospital George took the truck to get fixed, the hospital was interesting and we gathered the info we needed. As the sun set and we waited for our mayor to return for us I began to fear the evening. Night time in Haiti is fearfully beautiful. The bigger towns like Pignon can be scary, like American towns there isn’t the innate respect for the end of the day that small towns have, and the sounds that fill the air are less nature and more….. well, depravity. As the sun sank lower we continued to wait, the more horizontal rays of the sun reveal the impressive quantity of dust and dirt and smoke. As I am about to reach in my pocket to call our mayor friend I hear the squeaking of the truck and the urgent honking from him to call us to come. And like children looking for a temporarily misplaced parent, we run to him.

We make small talk about the hospital and the truck while we bounce around like bobble heads through the crowded streets in Pignon. George is a very tall, well, but awkwardly built man. He is so dark, that even in the remaining evening light I can’t make out the finer details of his countenance until he smiles! But.. it is a priceless smile, large, separated teeth that seem to stretch from ear to ear.  George has been mayor for a long time… 7 years I think, maybe more. Before that he worked with CFI in various capacities, but he has been involved with the blancs since the beginning. He moves in upper circles of Haitian government yet he feeds his own people by giving away bananas and other fruits/vegetables that he raises and farms himself. He has learned to not give his thoughts away by his body language… something Rachel and I have come to depend on greatly as we have tried to decipher a foreign language. This is why I never know what to think of him….so when the awkward moment of silence comes and all that is left is three bobbling heads I am feeling incredibly insecure.

So I do what any good novice missionary would do… I use my best creole to tell him how thankful we are to be with him and ask a series of rather meaningless questions. And to my utter relief… he answers them in his best English (lightyears ahead of my creole) and begins to tell us about His Haiti. I begin to realize that everything people I trust have told me about George is true… that he is a great man, generous, caring, devout, fair, honest, christlike, wise and brave. Ironically, this is what I feared. True Masculinity is almost as mythical as some great white buffalo or sasquwatch. His character is revealed in the stories he shares, experiences he has had….all of which he tells us not necessarily to know him better of prove anything to us about him. But for our peace of mind, to steady our hearts that we are safe, we are on the same team, Christ is our Lord…. And the people of Ranquitte are our shared mission.

At one point in the conversation Rachel asks the obvious direct question…” If there are 26,000 people in Ranquitte, are there any police or jails?”  The response further indicates why real masculinity… Holy Masculinity is mighty thing. George smiles his large smile, and talks about how Ranquitte is a quiet, peaceful town even though there are only 6 policemen. George describes a time when some ‘thugs” were stealing peoples chickens and goats. He found out about it, told people to put it out un the community that George was looking for them. Then he said they left. I thought…. Wow, that is either convenient or you must be feared. The next example answered the question. Another time before a man was going into peoples homes and stealing money and possessions. George discovered the mans identity, managed to covertly obtain a photo of him and give it to the towns nearby. He involved his 6 man police force to be on the lookout. However.. when word came that the man had been identified the police men were to afraid to go and get him. They said he had killed men before. So George asked a friend in the town where the man was identified to go there and call George when the man leaves town and is coming to Ranquitte. George had a man in the next town closest to Ranquitte call him when that bad man passed through. So… with 2 other friends, on a dark, stone riddled road on the side of the mountain, George took his gun fired at the man…. When the man fired back… George walked up in the dark amongst the thugs’ misplaced shooting and ended the fight. The man was not mortally wounded….. and when the town people heard the shots, they didn’t run and mob George…. They finished off the thug. And George and his buddies rode back to Ranquitte and in his word’s “No mo pwoblem”

As we pulled back into the safety of our compound for the night, I looked at the clinic’s silhouette as it passed to my right. I see the roof that is in need of repair, which leaks anytime it rains. It has the potential to function well, serve it’s community. But it seems so beaten up and worn down in the darkness. This is going to be my post for the next year, it is in dire need of proper supplies and medications, and the workers who remain seem to have lost their purpose. From previous experiences and the counsel of trusted haitien friends, I know that many years have gone by without the attention it deserves. It is full of random boxes with medicines that were one time acceptable to be given to the community, but in these same boxes are also trash, mold, used needles, roaches and rat feces. I have seen it try to weather the storms of a community of 26,000 people with no doctor and no means to afford a hospital, or even transportation along the same route we just traveled. In my life I have learned that just because something is begun in the name of Jesus that doesn’t necessarily mean Jesus is still there…. But sometimes, sometimes…. Jesus will still show up. And it is in this knowledge I resolve my hopelessness when I think about all that is broken here. It has 2 Haitian nurses, 2 pharmacy workers, a triage aide, and a lab tech. Over the years they have tried to be the hands and feet of Jesus…but given their situation I can’t really be upset with them when I know they are a very poor example of him. A good friend told me once a long time ago…”Exemplify what you want more of” And now more than ever, it will take everything I have to do this. How can I learn what has happened here so that I can undo it’s past. There has been thievery, there has been favoritism, there has been jealousy, there have been “demons” and there has been death. There has been abandonment, sickness, laziness, greed, hatred, fear, loneliness, confusion, frustration. I know that these are all symptoms of some inner brokenness, of a vision and purpose that once was good that now has been lost. But here we are, I know that Monday will be a test and I feel extremely overwhelmed. Rachel is very excited….she is task oriented and can compartmentalize our so called “goals” more easily than I can. I tend to be more relational and ambiguous in my worries. Funny thing is that while Rachel and I discuss some things we learned in the hospital I realize even she is overwhelmed by the weight of trying to intervene in a broken system that is this clinic. Oh yeah we don’t speak creole. I am thinking that neither of us are good at charades either so Jesus…. You have your work cut out for ya!

1/29/12

This morning we woke up to the smell of pancakes. The team that is here right now, a team of 7 or 8 men, brought a ton of pancake mix. After breakfast Cardon a beautiful and sweet tempered girl that is suspect is about 15 or 16 tapped on my shoulder and said something in creole I didn’t understand. Eventually I deciphered that she is planning to do laundry later. I had asked her to teach me and I suppose this was her offering an opportunity to learn. I went to my room to gather our dirty clothes and took the bag out back where I had been instructed to sit dirty laundry by the team leaders on past trips. She had already sat out two huge shiny aluminum bowls on the concrete near the outdoor shower. She went into the shower and filled a large bucket with water from the reservoir on the roof of the building. The shower is enclosed by a cinderblock wall with a drainage ravine jutting out in the ground to usher the water away from the house. Once I walked by while a couple of the little girls were showering. There were almost as many giggles coming from the shower as bubbles flowing down the ravine. She used the water from the shower to fill one of the silver bowls then separated the clothes into two piles: lights and darks. So far, I am with her. She piled the lights in the bowl of water.  Ronnie and I studied as she broke the foot long piece of almond colored soap into four smaller pieces. She picked up a white tee shirt and quickly brushed the soap back and forth on the fabric several times then. Her hands and fingers are both graceful and forceful with the fabric. She grabbed fists full of the garment and brushed them back and forth together. In a matter of seconds she had worked her way across the entire shirt scrubbing it clean. She wadded the shirt into an orderly handful with ease and wrung the soapy water out with one quick twist. Ronnie and I grabbed shirts and attempted to mimic her. I kind of got the hang of it by the time we had finished the pan but I could not master her grace and speed. We scrubbed the garments an additional time in Fab. I’m not sure why they needed a second washing but we followed her instructions per gesturing. The whites then went into a pan of bleach water. Then Cardon left us sitting in our little wooden chairs and went in to get something. We wondered if we should follow her but we know the word “vini” and she hadn’t said that. She came back with a small wadded up blue cloth. She opened it gently and there inside was a small blue square. I she spoke in creole about it. I reached out my hand and she gently gave it to me. I smelled it. It smelled nice. “I guess it is fabric softener” I told Ronnie.  But I have never seen a fabric softener tablet before. It was blue like the tablet you put in the back of a toilet bole to make the water blue. She took the small cloth and tablet back and tied the cloth in a knot. Then she filled one of the silver pans with fresh water and waved the cloth around in the water which turned blue. She wrung the bleach water out of the whites and placed them in the blue water. I had always wondered why my whites turned blue when we came to Haiti. Ronnie and I both looked at each other. “That’s why!” Ronnie nodded his head with a smile. We continued to assist with the scrubbing and wringing. Fedrina and some of the other ladies came out to see us washing our clothes. They all giggled and spoke about the ordeal in creole. I’m sure it was amusing. I deciphered that Fedrina was telling everyone we had used a machine to wash our clothes before. We finished and by this time some of the girls from Fedrina’s house had started washing their clothes next to us. Ronnie and I took our bucket of clean clothes to the line. We both looked around. “Where are the clothes pins?” I asked. Nobody understood my question. “I don’t think they use any.” Ronnie guessed. We just draped everything over the line and hoped for the best. Marilous came behind us and moved each item closer together and giggled. I really enjoyed the whole experience. I always wonder what it would have been like to live back then in the US. When everything was done by hand and everything was appreciated. The situation is not exactly like that here. They have a radio playing off of solar power in the background. But I enjoyed this. I hope Fedrina will teach me how to cook on open fire next!