Baking a Cake

Separating whites and yolks

            On Tuesday I sat in on a lesson with the girls on how to make a cake and “kone.”  Yesterday, I was able to sit in on the actual cooking lesson in the kitchen!  Fun was had by all. 

            The girls all had to wear kerchiefs on their heads (Keloke, the lone boy, had a baseball hat on), and I had to don a hat before I was allowed in.  The girls explained quite seriously that it was to keep hair from falling into the cake batter.  Makes sense to me.

Sherley jumped right in!

            As I watched and listened, I thought back to my childhood and my mom teaching me to bake, especially chocolate chip cookies.  My best friend Leslie Hanson and I would get set up in our kitchen, and Mom would walk us through making the cookies.  I remember how hard it was for me to remember what to pack down and what to just put in the measuring cup.  We sure did have fun.  Even today, making chocolate chip cookies brings back great memories. 

            If I hadn’t been such a putz as teenager, I probably would’ve learned a lot more from my mom, a master chef.  I’ve matured a lot since then, and I turn to her regularly to figure out what to cook, how to put meals together, etc.  In fact, I can call my mom or any of aunts for help on cooking and baking.  I remember once calling Aunt Louise when I was in college because I had screwed up the batter for something, and over the phone she talked me through how to fix it.  I think I was making dough for sugar cookies; anyway, they turned out great thanks to Aunt Louise!

Many hands make light work?

            The girls (and I) learned how to separate egg yolks and egg whites.  Actually, I already know how to do it; I just learned another way of doing it.  The kids weren’t allowed to practice separating the eggs, but they all took turns beating the crap out of the butter.  Seriously, that took a good 25-30 minutes.  Probably doesn’t take that long with an electric beater, but there is no electricity in the kitchen.  Once the butter was deemed ready, then went in the eggs and what they call “essence.”  I couldn’t smell it, but I’m thinking that was vanilla?  More beating.  The kids’ eyes widened when a whole cup of sugar went in.  I don’t think they’ve ever seen that much sugar at one time.

My turn!

            I thought my mom’s flour sifter was old school, but they just use a colander and their fingers to do what needs to be done to the flour.  Then some baking powder and salt.  That is all then gently mixed together before going into the batter.  It’s just how my mom taught me—butter and sugar first, then the wet ingredients, and then the dry stuff.  At this point, we were still beating the crap out of the batter, and I got to join in.  This cake really was a group effort! 

            The final step was to fold in the whisked egg whites.  Keloke was ready to starting beating them in as they did with the butter, but Doreste, the nanny, stopped him in time.  Whew, would not want to ruin the cake at this point!

Keloke really went at it!

Sifting flour

            We get to eat the cake today at the end-of-summer-camp party.  It’s sure to taste yummy.  No matter what, though, the process was the best.  I hung out with the girls who were learning the basics of cooking.  I learned some new words, and I learned how to make a cake!  I also got watch the guesthouse and orphanage cooks prepare their meals.  Cooking is hard.  But, cooking in Haiti is really hard.  Everything is ground up in a mortar and pestle.  Beans and rice are boiled in big, heavy pots over the gas burners.  The kitchen is HOT, which is why it’s in a separate building from the other rooms (just like “back in the day”).  The girls were learning life skills very much needed to survive in Haiti where nothing is pre-made or frozen or processed.  Most everything is cooked from the raw ingredients.  They would more likely be able to survive in the U.S. than I would be able to survive on my own in Haiti. 

Ready to bake!

            I had another experience today of women coming together in community that I hadn’t really thought about before.  It takes a village of women to get the hair done, from taking it out of the braids to putting back into braids.  I helped undo braids today for the first time, and it took me forever!  Kids help each other; nannies help.  And, the interns and I helped!  And then the process of braiding hair for about 25 girls begins.  And they do this every week.  It’s not the same as braiding anglo hair.  Anglo hair is too easy to braid.  Here, they often sit in a circle or a line with everyone giving and receiving.  I never thought of it as bonding time until I sat and took out braids for Maryse and Olguie.  We chatted.  We laughed.  Pretty cool.  Nothing competitive about it . . . just taking care of each other.

I am So American

           I am so not Haitian.  I went to a bookstore the other day because I wanted to see what a Haitian bookstore looked like.  Now, I wasn’t expecting Borders or Barnes and Noble, but I sure wasn’t expecting what I got.

            I asked Gertrude whether Haiti had bookstores where you could go in, browse, look at books.  She said of course.  I asked her about the Maison Henri des Champs.  She said of course; you can go in and look around at the books, pick what you want. 

            Yea, not so much.

            I walked in and was greeted by a man in a suit.  I told him I wanted to buy some books, so he took me to an office.  A lady in there gave me a catalog to look through.  Most of the books were school textbooks for the different years.  I guess when it is time to buy books for school, parents and/or teachers go to this store and buy the needed books.  It took about five minutes before I figured out that the “literature” section was at the very back.  After reading descriptions of several books, I checked to see whether I could buy just one of a book and not have to buy a class set or something.  I could buy just one.

            The next step was to give my order to the lady so that she could enter it into the computer.  I thought she asked me if I wanted to see the books I’d chosen, so I said “yes.”  She took me out into the room and brought me a stack of books to peruse.  I guess I was supposed to look through that pile and choose more.  So I did.  Instead of getting just five books, I ended up with ten because I didn't want to admit I didn't understand. Oh well.

            Back to the office to add the books to my list.  Then, she had to take the list to the cashier so that I could pay for them.  Issues with my credit card caused a snag.  I told the cashier that the credit card lady said to type in my number manually.  The cashier said that that couldn’t be done.  I said, yes, it can, because the lady on the phone just said it could be done.  Well, in Haiti, apparently, one cannot type the numbers in manually instead of swiping the card.  So, she didn't punch in the numbers.

            The office lady took me back to her office and said if the bank gave approval then they could do the transaction the old fashioned way.  In the States, the store would call the bank, etc.  That’s because in the States, there are telephones with working phone lines.  Not in Haiti.  No, I had to provide the phone and the minutes before they would make the call.  It eventually worked, and I could buy my 10 books. 

            But, the receipt that proved I had paid for the books was taken to another set of ladies who then climbed up on ladders to grab the books I needed.  One lady grabbed a copy of each book while the other lady checked the books against the list.  Only then was I given the books.  Before I could leave, though, I had to check the titles against the list.  I explained that I didn’t have to, that I trusted them.  But, they insisted.  So I did.

            That whole experience took 1 ½ hours.   I could have done that in 20 minutes in the States.

            There has to be some sort of compromise between American independence and the “I do everything for myself” mentality and the Haitian approach of “everything must be broken down into as many steps as possible.”  Can we find some balance, please?

Sunday with God

          Yesterday, Sunday, I was pretty tired in the morning because I had walked so much the day before.  I decided to skip church and spend some time in Bible study up on the roof.  Manda and Meghan have raved about how much they love the book of Isaiah, so I decided to start reading it.  I like it.  Not only is it well written from a literary standpoint, but I like seeing pieces of the Lutheran liturgy right in the book.  Pretty cool.
          I decided then to take a walk to see whether I could find this one piece of property that I really love.  It was much easier to find than I thought, and I walked in it and sat down on a brick wall toward the back.  I was just sitting there, looking at and dreaming about what the space could be.  A slight breeze blew through the trees.  I just sat lost in thought.  My thinking was interrupted by a young gentleman who opted to sit next to me.  We covered the familiar topics of name, family, how long I've been in Haiti, and then we switched to what I knew was coming: he was hungry.  His mother was hungry.  His family was hungry.  I waited for the next question: can you give me some money for food.  This time, though, that question didn't come.  He followed with a question that a Haitian has never asked before:

"What is your dream for Haiti?"

So I told him: for all Haitians to have a place to live, enough food to eat, plenty of clean drinking water, access to education, and independence from foreign aid.  He said those were good dreams.  Then he asked me another question that I've never been asked before:

"What is your dream for you in Haiti?"

So I told him: to buy that piece of property and turn it into a place where neighborhood people could hang out, play games, where children could be and be safe, maybe provide food, let it become a community center of sorts.

He said that was a good dream.

We continued to talk about our respective presidents, his hopes of visiting the States some day, the work I do in Haiti.  It was pretty easy.  He said that he lived nearby and asked if I would like to meet his mother.  Now, I never, I mean never, go to people's houses here and go inside.  But, I did yesterday.  For some reason it felt okay.  Right.  I met Cherlin's brother Son, but the mother wasn't home.  The two of us talked a bit, and then I said I had to go.  The house was small and neat and clean.  The brothers shared that nine people live in the house.  Blew me away because the entire house was about the size of 1/2 my house.  Cherlin and I walked outside, and he asked for money for food.  Again, I never, I mean never, give money to people on the street who ask for it.  But I did this time.  It felt right.

I was out today at the beach, so I didn't have time to visit Cherlin and his family, but I plan to do that tomorrow.  Maybe I'll go to his house.  Maybe I'll see him on the piece of property.  I don't know, but I'm curious to see what comes from meeting him.

Long Walk Down a Mountain

If you read yesterday's post, you know that today's agenda included running errands.  You also know that I said hanging out with kids is more fun than running errands.  It's way more fun.

I originally planned to head out right away in the morning, but then I though "No, stick around and help clean the therapy room."  Well, we decided to do therapy and then just clean the mats.  By the time all that was done, it was only noon, so I thought I had plenty of time to run all my errands:

1.  Print new pictures of all the kids
2.  Buy index cards
3.  Measure the table at Delmas 2000 to see whether it would work for Phonsley
4.  Buy Diet Coke
4.  Print more stuff for the therapy room
6.  Stop at the bookstore and just check it out.

I planned to start at the top and work my way down--literally.  I would start near the top of the mountain at Delmas 86 and start with #1 on the list.  After about an hour on the tap tap up to Delmas 86, I got off at Ga Ma, the photo place.  Walked up to the door and pulled.  Nothing.  Locked.  The very nice security guard stuck his head out of the side door and motioned me over.  He explained that they closed at noon on Saturdays.  Of course they do.  I was only 1 1/2 hours late.

As a sign of my growth and maturity (I'm being serious here), I didn't get angry or frustrated.  I just thought, well I'll start walking down toward the office supply store for the index cards.  I typically walk down a few blocks anyway, so this was no big deal.  I approached the office supply store.  Walked up the front steps.  Closed.  This nice security guard explained that they closed at 1:00 on Saturdays.  Of course they do.

I still didn't get angry or frustrated.  But, I did get stubborn.  I decided I was just going to keep walking down the mountain.  Don't know why, but I did.  Along the way I noticed Le Pappitry, a paper store.  I remembered that they, too, carried office/school supplies, so I crossed the street to check it out.  Closed.  Noon.  Saturday.  Of course.

Kept walking down the mountain.  Came to the Eagle Store and decided to check for the Diet Coke.  Wonder of wonders they had it!  Finally I could cross something off my list!

I crossed back over the street because I remembered seeing a place on my way up the mountain that advertised printing a bunch of stuff.  It was on the down hill side, so I wanted to be on the right side so that I didn't miss it.  I hadn't gone very far when I saw the Bon Jean grocery store.  I thought "Why not?  Give it a try.  Maybe they would have index cards."  I crossed back over the street and went in.  The first shelf I looked at had index cards.  Seriously.  500 of 'em.  They were packaged all together, so even though I only wanted about 200, I had to buy 500.  So what.  Another thing crossed off my list!

I went back to the other side of the street (by this point, I was pretty good at getting across Haitian streets, which can be a bit like playing Frogger because pedestrians DO NOT have the right a way in Haiti).  I started thinking about getting a moto taxi to take me the rest of the way--I thought I could keep an eye out for the photo place and save my feet some discomfort.  Could've done that.  I didn't.  Stubbornness kicked in (thanks Mom and Dad!) and I kept walking.  And walking.  All the way down to Delmas 33 and the Delmas 2000 grocery store.  For those of you who haven't been here, that may not mean much.  But, to walk from Delmas 86 to Delmas 33 meant I had just walked about 2.5 miles.  In sandals.  With little water.  In the Caribbean sun.  Who knew running errands would've required preparing for a wilderness trip!

But, just before I came across Delmas 2000, I saw the photo printing place!  And, it was still open.  And, they could print my pictures and the Word documents.  Two more things crossed off my list.  Of course, the Kodak printing machine ran out of paper.  And then ink.  And then had to be rebooted.  And the guys running the place were more concerned about getting printing done for one of the Delmas political candidates.  Printing 48 pictures took 90 minutes.  But it got done!

On to Delmas 2000.  Walked right in, measured, and left.  The table will work for Phonsley, one of our boys in a wheelchair.  I'm looking for a table that he can sit at in his chair and be at the right height so that he can work on coloring and playing with objects.

I continued down the mountain with only one more item on my list: stop at the bookstore by the Rebo Cafe just to check it out.  I grabbed a tap tap (finally) and sat down.  No way was Haiti going to fool me again.  I knew better than to get off and check to see whether the bookstore was open.  It was 4:15 on a Saturday.  Of course it would be closed!

I arrived home at 4:30 satisfied with my day--even though it started with little hope, I really did get a lot accomplished.

I still stand by my observation that hanging with kids is more fun than running errands, but at least errands in Haiti prove to be adventurous!

July 24, 2015

          There's nothing significant about today's date, yet I realized today that in two weeks or less, I will be back in the States.  I've been putting off buying my return ticket because I don't want to acknowledge that I have to leave.  My heart is here.  My passion is here.  I have felt no stress or anxiety or fatigue while I've been here (except for when I was sick, but that's normal).  Some of the lack of stress is probably because it is summer, but a big part of it is that I'm doing what I love.  I don't dread going back, but I fear heading back to what I know will be stress and anxiety brought on by a new school year.  Every year I say the same thing: this'll be the year that I really will exercise and eat well and make time for myself and not let work consume me and make Haiti a priority even though I'm not here.  I fear that on the first day of school all those good intentions will go by the wayside as they have always done in the past.  Suggestions?

Nathalie coloring

          Well, instead of thinking about two weeks or two months from now, I want to focus on what a great day I had!  It again started with therapy, not horse but regular.  I sent Manda and Meghan to horse therapy with Lauren so that I could work with Shirley again and acclimate her to the therapy room.  Our first child today was Nathalie.  For those of you who have Nathalie, you know what a handful she can be!  We started with her sitting and leaning back a bit so that she could lean on her arms, but she wanted none of that.  She resisted and thought it was a game and started flailing her arms and kicking her legs as only Nathalie can do.  We quickly switched to massage with Shirley working her legs and me working on her arms.  Within minutes Nathalie was a limp noodle barely able to keep her head up.  She relaxed even more when we put her on the therapy ball to relax her back.  By the time we got her sitting in a chair at a table so that she could color, she was so relaxed she could barely sit up!  A good time was had by all.

Sweet Nahomie

          Next came Nahomie and Sarah, two little girls who spend pretty much their entire day in their wheelchairs.  I love working with this two precious little kids.  They are so delicate and tiny that I am forced to slow down, be gentle and quiet, and just be with them.  Nahomie hasn't had her meds for a couple of days, so she was pretty unresponsive to therapy, but we both enjoyed just sitting and cuddling.  By the end she was asleep, so we just let her keep sleeping while we moved on to Alain and Woodmayer.

Fort building

          I spent the late afternoon hours with Chedner's kids.  They have been hanging out here because we have a summer camp going on.  Well, once the camp part is over, they just get to play, but sometimes tempers flare between our kids and them.  I thought it would be perfect to bring them up to the roof and have them read and color the books that I had translated into Creole (don't start thinking I'm all that with the language skills--these books are like at the pre-pre school level).  The kids did enjoy the coloring.  For a bit.  The reading not so much.  Soon they were much more interested in building forts and climbing on the kitchen roof top that extends about the rest of the roof.  Oh well.   I tried to be educational.

Even the interns climbed!

          They climbing and sliding caused them to work up hunger and thirst, so I went to my room and grabbed the cheddar cheese flavored Hanover Pretzel Bits that I bought at the store yesterday.  They weren't so sure about them at first, Lourdesmilla especially.  I wish I could have got a picture of her face when she bit into the first one!  But, they adjusted and soon wolfed down the entire bag!

Another good day.  Tomorrow will be filled with running errands, so I'm glad I got hang with kids today.  They are so much more fun than errands.

General Updates

My day was filled with a variety of activities, none more important than the other, just a wide variety.  As usual, I started on the roof with my morning caffeine (Diet Coke this morning since I made it to the market yesterday) and a good book.  Then breakfast.  After I ate, I headed downstairs to watch the nannies scoop up the first morning of scrambled eggs with onions, tomatoes, and green pepper.  We have just implemented a nutrition program by switching out breakfast with something more nutritious, and this is our first week.  Yesterday's oatmeal when over better than the eggs today.  The nannies were not impressed with the amount per child.  At least two of them said to me that it would not be enough, and the nanny scooping it out had a continual look of disgust on her face while giving a running commentary about how the kids were not getting enough to eat.  I assured them all it would be enough because it was good protein that would stick with the kids.  

Christine wasn't so sure about the eggs

Sandra loved the eggs!

 What I wanted to say was that I ate a scrambled egg and a piece of fruit for breakfast, and look at me!  It's more than enough!  They were a bit mollified when I told them that Brunel was coming back with a banana for each child as well.

Bananas for the morning snack

The kids enjoyed it, and feeding went much faster because there was a fraction of the food to shove down the kids's throats to feed them.  A few of the kids who have issues swallowing weren't quite sure what to do with textured food that they had to chew or move around their mouths, but the figured it out.  I just recently learned that textured food actually helps kids with tongue thrusting issues learn to swallow appropriately.  So there, you doubters!  It's actually a part of the therapy!

Next came therapy.  While Meghan and Mandy continued to share with our visitor how to do therapy, I organized the shoes from yesterday.  Once that was done, I went through the gifts bags that the Soles4Souls group had left for the nannies and made some extras so that every female staff member had a gift.  Then, I got to deliver them!  Sweet.

Madame Robert and her gift

Lunch consisted of my standard crusty, slightly stale roll with Laughing Cow cheese.  It's not much, but it's tasty.  And, the stale bread means it takes longer to chew, which means that lunch lasts a bit longer than if I had fresh bread.  

Manda and Meghan and I needed to replenish our lunch stash, so we headed up to the Star 2000.  Shirley came with us.  I don't care how often I do it, I love taking moto taxis and tap taps!  Haitians think I'm crazy, but I don't care.  Love it.

Shirley and Rosaline during therapy

Upon our return I took some time to relax on the roof, but I soon headed downstairs and outback to hang out with the kids.  I even took a turn at jumping rope!  Haven't totally lost it, but the girls are way better than I.  That's okay--they're like 8 or 10.  They should be better than I.  It was fun hanging out until I had to start disciplining.  I realized today that that is the turning point for me.  I've often wondered why I can only handle hanging out with the kids for so long, and I figured it out today.  Once I have to start mediating or disciplining, it's no longer fun for me.  I love just being with the kids, playing with them, goofing with them; but after too long, the kids start misbehaving and I have to become the disciplinarian.  The key in the future is to stop the fun before I have to switch roles

Tomorrow will probably be another typical day.  I hope so.  I like 'em like that.

Working with Others

In my time working in Haiti over the past few years, I have had the privilege of working with numerous organizations.  From each of them I have learned much and gained insight into how and why they serve and how those reasons influence my own serving.  Today's privilege was working with a group from Soles4Souls.  This connection was set up by one of our Council members, and I have been e-mailing back and forth for months with one of Soles4Souls staff members about getting the kids's shoe sizes and their needs so that stateside staff members and MANY volunteers could organize shoe donations and/or purchase the shoes that our children needed.

Christina

Jacky

Well, today all that planning and e-mailing came to fruition.  A huge bus rolled into our compound this afternoon, and group of the 19 calmest, most giving people I have met descended.  We had a simple lunch upstairs before they set up, and they had distribution down to a science.  We brought kids in in small groups, they measured the feet, and then they found shoes in the kids's sizes.  Because we had sent a list of our kids, their gender, and shoe sizes to Soles4Souls back in June, many of the kids already had shoes picked out for them with their names on them.  If shoes didn't fit (some of the kids had already grown since we measured back in early June!), a group member climbed into the back of the bus, dug around in big boxes/bins of shoes, and pretty much always came up with what the child needed!  Every child who needed new school shoes, received a pair, and many of them also received a "fun" pair of shoes.  The other children all received a pair of new shoes, and I'm talking cool new shoes--the kind you would pick out for your own child or grandchild or niece or nephew.

Lovely getting her shoes

Shoes galore!

When they left, they kept thanking me for letting them come.  Thanking me?  I couldn't thank them enough for the gift they had given our children.  Please check out their website to learn more about them; they are worth knowing--soles4souls.org.

Soles4Souls is just the most recent in a long list of organizations that I have had the privilege of working with over the years.  I would love to give detailed accounts of all of them, but I will simply list their web addresses and share a bit of their connection with Notre Maison:

Haiti Mission Project--I first came to Haiti with them in 2009.  They have partnered with Notre Maison for the last decade.

Healing Haiti--They often bring groups in to play with our kids and provide other needed items such as lotion, diapers, and wipes.  They were also instrumental in keeping our water therapy program going for over a year.

Rays of Hope--They regularly bring groups to stay at the guesthouse onsite with their group members often interacting with the kids.

American World Adoption--They have provided needed food over the years and work with orphanage director Gertrude on many of our adoptions.

Reese's Rainbow--A number of our children our listed on their site that raises funds to help defray the costs of adoption.

Healing Hands for Haiti--This organization regularly sends teams of physical/occupational therapists to evaluate our children, to provide training for our staff, and to provide much-needed wheelchairs and other therapy equipment.

On Living in Haiti

         I often think about moving to Haiti and working here (Haiti, Notre Maison, etc.) full time.  It has always seemed like a dream that was "out there" somewhere in the future.  More and more, though, I'm thinking what if the future is really now?  What does it really mean to move to and live in Haiti?  Am I ready for it?  Can I do it financially?  What would my life be like living in Haiti?
          Where would I live?  If I wanted to work at Notre Maison/St. Joe's, would I live onsite?  I don't know that that would be feasible because groups are in and out, and I'm not sure that I want to live out of a suitcase forever.  In fact, I couldn't.  I would want/need to establish my own space--make it mine--and the orphanage just doesn't have that kind of space.  If Notre Maison is not an option, then what?  Do I live in the neighborhood?  If I did that, then I would need to really fix up a house, wire it for electricity, buy a generator, etc.  Would it be safe?  Women living alone just doesn't happen very often here.  Would I need to hire someone to be the "guard" on the property?
           Maybe living up in Petionville would be a better option in terms of a house that is livable, closer to more conveniences, maybe safer.  Then how do I get to work?  I could buy a car, but that means more money for upkeep.  Tap tap and motos are an option, but that takes a long time.  And, I would want the freedom that comes with owning a car.  Do houses in Haiti come with washers/dryers, refrigerators, freezers, etc.?  Could I do my laundry by hand every week?  Cooking here at the orphanage is a bit old school, but is that what it looks like in a typical Haitian home?  I'm not sure I even know what a typical Haitian home looks like.
         How would I handle finances?  How do I open up a bank account?  What about a driver's license?  Navigating the legal system might be beyond me.  It would be a steep learning curve to figure it all out.  How would I make friends?  I meet a ton of people who come through the guest house, and relationships develop, but only a few have developed into friendships.  Living in Haiti could be very lonely without real friends.  Making friends is hard for me, and doing it in a foreign language seems daunting.  What about entertainment?  Books in English could be hard to come by.  Go to the movies is out of the question.  Running and biking for exercise and entertainment aren't going to happen.  A gym membership would probably be out of the question simply due to cost, and even though I know Haiti does have gyms, I have no idea what they look like or what they offer.
          And there are the medical issues.  Who becomes my primary care physician?  What about a dentist?  Prescription medications?
          Do I sell everything in the States--the house, the car, the furniture?  If I do that, then I am totally committed to living in Haiti.  If I don't, how can I ever financially afford to support two households?  What about Boo?  He would never make it in this climate, and I would miss him terribly to say nothing of missing my family and friends.  To do this all alone seems too overwhelming.
          My heart wants to do it and be here.  My head wants to want to do it, but practicality rears its ugly head and smacks the heart down.  Today, for some reason, living and working in Haiti seems like nothing but wishful thinking.  Glad I don't have to make a decision now.  But soon I will.

Rejection

          Christine and I go way back, all the way to when she first arrived in November 2012.  She was just 1 ½ at the time, and she didn’t interact with anyone, didn’t smile, didn’t cry.  My niece Michaela, who was with me on that trip, simply held her during the day and loved on her.  When Michaela wasn’t holding her, I was.  I sang Christine to sleep in my arms pretty much every day.

            I then returned in January 2013 for my five-month leave of absence, and Christine and I continued to bond.  She wanted me to hold her.  She started to smile.  She played with me.  I continued to hold her and sing her to sleep.  Over the years we have become very close.  She remembers me and has always run to me when I arrive, and I look for her first so that I can swing her up into my arms. 

            The trip was no different.  At first.  We played.  We went to the beach together and had a great time.  Then I got sick and had to return unexpectedly to the States for two weeks.   I came back ten days ago, and, like always, looked for Christine first when I arrived at the orphanage. 

            She wouldn’t look at me.  I picked her up to kiss her hello, and she screamed and cried.  She only stopped when I passed her off to someone else.  That behavior has not changed since that first day back.  Every time I picked her up, she screamed and cried until I put her down.  She won’t even look at me.  I have been shocked at how much her rejection has hurt.  I miss hanging out with her.  I miss sitting and holding her.  I miss her smile and her laugh.  I have no idea what happened or why she doesn’t trust me or feel safe with me anymore, and it breaks my heart.

            I don’t know what to do to get her to trust/care for me again.  I seriously thought about winning back her affections with treats, walks, and trinkets; but that isn’t right.  I’ve given up trying to engage her, and I just watch from afar.  If she ever does make eye contact, I smile.  I don’t push anything.  The other day when I had to take some rattle balls down to the therapy room, I had more than I could carry in my hands, so I tossed her one.  Yesterday when a visiting group was handing out squishy balls to play with, I made she got one first. 

            I pray that God will heal our relationship before I leave, but I fear I will run out of time.  I fear that I will have to leave before we reconnect, and then the next time I come she will remember that she doesn’t trust me and we may never reconnect.  I am jealous of the folks that she lets hold her because I don’t get to do that anymore.  I am jealous of the folks who get to play with her and swing with her because I just get to watch. 

            This past week has given me the teeniest, tiniest glimpse into what a parent must feel when a child doesn’t want to be held or pushes away.  If I feel this amount of hurt, what must a parent feel?  What must it feel like when one’s own flesh and blood can’t or won’t allow you to connect with them?  Too hard to imagine.

A Week with Friends

          The past week has been so much fun.  My friends Susan and Donna came back with me on July 7, and it was great to share Haiti with them.  It was Donna’s first visit, and she was awesome!  She asked great questions, took it all in, made great observations, and may decide to come back!

            We spent the bulk of our time working at Chedner’s orphanage (Divine Family) with his 13 kids.  Our first day we took to drive all over creation looking for dirt to buy and seedlings to plant for a roof top garden at Divine Family.  It was a pain in the butt, and we ended up with no soil and sad looking vegetable seedlings.  The only good thing about the day was that we found some pretty flowers. 

Agricultural School).  We visited the Iron Market, mostly for the cultural experience.  After that we headed up to Delmas 75 to the Apparent Project.  This is an organization that was begun in 2009 by an American couple, and it has grown by leaps and bounds.  The whole goal of the business is to employ Haitian parents so that they have enough money to keep their kids and not have to give them up to orphanages.   We were able to take a tour and see how things are made—all by hand!  I encourage you to check out their website and learn more about what they do:

            Brunel did not find dirt that day, but he did the next.  We took kids to horse therapy Friday morning, and Brunel again headed to the Agricultural School for dirt.  He did find it.  He bought it for us.  Donna about cried when she saw it.  They were not tears of joy.  The bags that he had delivered to Chedner’s was the poorest looking “soil” that I had ever seen. 

            The next day on our way to Chedner’s to start the kids on planting, Donna had has picking up greens and browns to mix in with the soil to try to add nutrients.  We also took the coffee grounds from our kitchen.  We picked up small chunks of cement to put in the bottom of the pots.  We even asked a lady at the market if we could have her pea shells!  She thought we were nuts, but I find that I often have that affect on Haitians.  The lady whom we asked for her egg shells was very dismissive of us.  However, she did let us have them, but she waved us away with a flip of her hand. 

            I loved watching Donna in action as she taught the kids how to mix all the “stuff” together and then add it to the soil.  Both the kids and I learned a ton about soil and planting and seeds.  She truly is a master teacher.  The kids loved working with her.  I understand why because even though she doesn’t speak Creole, she was able to get her point across and help every child feel a part of the process and make each of them feel as if his/her contribution was vital to the success of the garden. 

            Sunday was church and lunch at Kokoye and another trip to the store to buy needed and not-so-needed items.  I finally listened to Chedner about where to buy actual soil and other seedlings, and Monday I went with him to do that while Donna and Susan braved working with the kids on making T-shirts (no small feat when they don’t speak Creole and the kids don’t speak English).  Chedner is the one to go to when in need.  We returned with great soil and much better looking flowers.  Then began the frantic process of re-planting what we had done on Saturday and planting all the new flowers and vegetable seeds.  The kids could actually have vegetables to eat in a month or two!  Sweet!

            Tuesday was bubbles and good byes.  I had it easy because I knew I would see them again.  Susan and Donna not so much.   Yesterday they returned to the States, and I remain in Haiti.  

Back in the Saddle!

Yes, I am back in Haiti after a 2.5 week hiatus.  I was on an emotional roller coaster those last days here in June and for the three days I spent in the Miami hospital fighting a MRSA infection.  Thanks to God and some good American medicine, I have healed well and am back in the place I love with the children I love and with good friends (whom I love, too!).

I love sharing Haiti with friends, especially with first timers because it gives me a chance to see the country with fresh eyes once again.  Not only do I see the poverty anew and am reminded of how blessed I have it, but I also see the beauty, joy, and determination of the people of Haiti.

Today was a mish mash of activity.  We first walked to Chedner's to get an idea of the space we had to work with for the roof garden we're going to put in with the kids's help, and then we came back to see the opening ceremony for VBS.  We then thought we could leave right away to go buy plants, but, of course, that didn't happen because we are in Haiti!  While we waited for two hours, we played with the kids in the kiddie pools and then had our lunch.

About 12:30 we headed out to Double Harvest past Croix-de-Bouquet.  Double Harvest was not what I was expecting.  At all.  First of all, I don't speak enough gardening Creole to do this well.  Secondly, we were in the middle of nowhere.  Thirdly, we got there by driving on muddy, rutted roads in the middle of nowhere!  Then, when we finally arrive, the vegetable plants they had for sale were tiny and Charlie Brown like.  They didn't sell potting dirt.  They didn't sell pots.  They pretty much just sold tiny plants.  We bought what we could, but then they pulled the starter plants out of the containers (the containers were not a part of the sale!).  So, we put all the plants in some old things we found lying around.  It was a very frustrating day.  And, on the way back I really had to pee, so Aniel, the driver, had to stop so that I could run into a field and pee.

We had much more success at the MSC hardware store later in the afternoon, and we found what we needed at the Giant Supermarket across from the MSC store.

Some good news?  I found my camera and my external hard drive!  Now I can take pictures of tomorrow's adventures to the Iron Market and the Apparent Project.

What to Title This Post?

            I struggled with what to title this post.  Hypocrite.  Despairing.  Despair to Hope.  Hypocrite.  No matter what idea crossed my mind, I kept coming back to hypocrite.  For those of you who are also Facebook friends, you know that I’ve not been feeling good this past week.  Last Saturday (June 13), I noticed what I thought was a small in-grown hair on my stomach.  Didn’t think much of it.  Sunday morning, the bump had grown and quite a patch of red had developed.  I thought it was a boil.  Fortunately, a person in a group that was leaving the next day had a Z-pack with here and was willing to give it to me.  I started that and thought I was on the road to recovery.  Not so much.

            The redness and hardness continued to grow.  The left side of my stomach was fairly swollen, and it hurt.  A lot.  I started sleeping a lot, but I wanted to give the Z-pack time to work.  Well, by Wednesday night it was just getting worse.  Antibiotics weren’t helping.  Hot compresses weren’t helping.  Sleeping wasn’t helping.  Thursday morning I decided to go to PID, a free health clinic not far from the orphanage.  I arrived about 7:30 and waited outside the gate with a group of others.  After waiting a few minutes I saw this sign: Avi empotan.  Jedi se pou fanm yo ansent.  Great.  Pregnant women only on Thursdays.  I decided to wait anyway.

            While I waited, Marci walked by.  Marci is Haitian and works at PID.  She noticed me and invited me in.  I showed her my stomach, and she said that the doctor would probably be willing to see me before starting with the expectant mothers.  I walked past all the Haitian women waiting, went inside, and sat in the waiting room.  And the tears started.  I had traded on my white skin to get help for myself, knowing that others would have to wait.  At that point Sondra, whom I had just met the day before when she came to the guesthouse to visit Lauren, came in and asked what was up.  I explained and showed her my stomach.  Lo and behold, an American medical team that was to leave in two hours was still there.  She would ask them to take a look at me before they left.  More tears. 

            I hated that my white skin was bringing me privileges denied to others.  I hated even more that I was taking advantage of white skin to get what I needed/wanted.  Hence, the title hypocrite. 

            The doctors did a great job and sent me home with antibiotics, materials to change my bandages, and their personal e-mails in case I had questions.  Last night, Friday, I decided to fly to Miami and go to a hospital to have the abscess checked out.  It’s draining, which is good.  The redness has receded some, which is good.  The swelling is going down, which is good.  But, I worry about having an open, infected wound on my stomach in a country such as Haiti.

            This time I traded on my American citizenship to get things that aren’t available to Haitians and many others.  Gertrude asked whether I had insurance, and I said yes kinda matter of factly, like of course I do.  But it’s not a matter of course.  Not everyone has insurance.  I cried again because it’s not fair, it’s not right that some have so many more advantages than others.  And I have them simply through place of birth and color of skin, neither of which I have control over.  When push came to shove, I put my needs ahead of others simply because I could.  Not too proud of that.

            But, what kind of fool has those options and chooses not to exercise them?  Is that person any better than the one who takes advantage of those options?  How does one determine when to wait patiently for one’s turn like everyone else or when to take advantage of white skin or nationality?  Can one only sometimes take advantage of skin color and/or nationality and not be a hypocrite? 

            I have no good answers.  What I know is that there has to be a way so that we all have access to adequate health care regardless of skin color, socio-economic status, nationality, anything.  I don’t know what that way is, but I will continue to pray that God show us how to make that part of His “kingdom come, on Earth as in Heaven.” 

            So what to title this post?  I settled on conflicted.  

Beach Day

On the way to the beach

          Oh, my gosh, was our day at the beach fun!  We took the four pre-school age kids yesterday (Tuesday), and we all had a good time.  The kids swam and played hard for over four hours and behaved well (well, pretty well).

Just chillin'

          The first half hour was a bit rough because the kids kept wanting to go out too far and then ended up panicking when a wave knocked them off their feet.  It seemed as if all Abby and I did was pluck kids up by the collars of their and drag them back to shallower water.  The kids would get turned on their backs and look like turtles with their arms and legs flailing.
          It's hard to capture in words just how much fun the kids had, so I'll share just a couple of the highlights that made Abby and me laugh:

Alisha

Alisha

          Alisha is about 5-6 years old and is one of the most uncoordinated kids I know.  She struggles to walk on flat ground without stumbling.  It's not a development issue; it's just that the gross motor skills just haven't gotten to where they need to be yet.  Well, she decided to try to run across the beach (think Baywatch opening credits).  She's running.  Four steps into it, she falls flat on her face.  I know that may not sound funny, but if you could've seen it, you would've laughed.  The beach is a bit rocky, and she was running, arms pumping trying to pump, head up looking around, but the feet can't get up over the small rocks.  So, she falls flat on stomach.  Bounces right back up and tries again.  Another four steps.  Bam.  She's back on the ground.  She finally heard us calling her name, and it registered that we wanted her attention.  She turned to us and came running into the water.  And again, four steps into the water she fell.  At least this time the water provided a softer landing.

Alvarez

Alvarez

          Abby had the first round of potty breaks and took three of the girls to to pee.  I got the next round with Christine and Alvarez and got to deal with the caca.  Christine was no issue.  Alvarez announced when he was done so that I could check it out (Is that a boy thing??).  I told him to wipe, and he looked at me and asked, "Moi meme?  Myself?"  Yes, little boy, you can wipe yourself.
          Alvarez decided that he wanted to play lifeguard, otherwise known as "Let me save your from drowning by almost drowning you in the process."  It was hysterical!  Alisha was his most saved victim (she struggled standing in the water, so she was a prime rescue victim).  Alvarez would shout "Sauve!  Sauve!  Save her!  Save her!" and then slow-motion run to her, grab the back collar of the life preserver, and drag her back to shallow ground.  Once she was safely in shallower water, he would shove her back out so that he could save her again!  This went on for a good half an hour, and right before we left, Alvarez saved me.  If it were not for him, you might not have been able to read this post!

Lunch

Christine wasn't too sure about the boat

Lunch

Friends

FYI:  I did get to drive the truck back to the orphanage.  No problems.  Guesly, our driver, even said that I was a good driver.  I think he was a bit surprised that a female could drive so well.  I think it's time to practice a bit more on the streets of PAP!

Slow Internet

I have some great stories to tell and pictures to share from today, but the internet is freakishly slow tonight.  I will try again in the morning.

New Things

           Every time I come here, I want to try new things so that I can feel more comfortable in my surroundings and become more independent.  Today's "new thing" was going to the Xerox place to print the therapy schedule and the therapy charts for the kids.  Doing these things forces me to use my language skills and teaches me how things work in Haiti.
          I was able to get the stuff printed without a problem.  It's watching how the system works that fascinates me.  Americans are all about self-service.  We have it at our gas stations, ATMs, and even in the grocery stores now.  So little in Haiti, though, is self-serve.  To get my stuff printed, I entered a small room and waited along with about 15 other people.  There was no real line, but everyone seemed to know in what order to go in.  As one person finished with a computer guy, someone would take the customer's place and then we would all shift seats.  It became apparent that the closer you moved to the front of the sitting area, the sooner it would be your turn, but even then there wasn't a distinct order like if you're in this line of chairs you go to this computer guy, and if you're sitting in this line you go to the other computer guy.  I've noticed that Haitians seem to struggle with lines.  I've seen it in the airport, on the streets, everywhere.
           Back to the self-serve concept.  In the States, if I wanted to print something at Office Max or make copies there, I could just go in and do it myself.  No need to have an employee do it for me.  But, in Haiti that's not possible.  I go in, wait my turn, sit at a computer guy's desk, and I tell him what I want to print.  He then prints it and gets it from the printer.  I then take my receipt and go back out into the hallway to pay the cashier.  She marks the receipt "paid," and I take it back to the computer guy to prove that I paid, and he gives me my papers.  He then stamps the receipt again.  Another thing I've learned is that Haitians love their stamps!  Everything gets stamped multiple times by multiple people.
          This system is incredibly inefficient, so I wonder why it still exists.  It must serve some purpose.  Over the years here, I've come to the conclusion that it exists so that more people have a job, which means that more people have an income, which means that more people have money to spend to stimulate the economy.  In the American model, this same work would be accomplished by one person instead of four.  But, then you have three more unemployed people.
          Yet, I see bits of hypocrisy in myself.  I point out the inefficiencies of the Haitian system because it "inconveniences" me, but in the States I intentionally choose a checkout line in the grocery store with a cashier because I feel that the self-checkout lines have taken away jobs from American workers.  Every time I use a cashier, I believe I'm showing the store that I value that employee and see a need for that person to be working at the store.  So why do I criticize the Haitian way when it's what I choose in an American grocery store?  I don't know.  I'm gonna have to think about that.

Tomorrow's New Thing 
          Abby and I are taking the pre-school kids to the beach tomorrow, and I get to drive the white truck there!  Gertrude gave me permission to drive--yea--but she does want to send a driver with us in case of . . . something.  While I know that I am capable of driving the truck to the beach, I am glad that we will have a driver with us in case the police question me at the check points, or I have to buy gas or something.  Wish me luck!

From Calm to Crazy

This morning was so calm.  I attended the first Haitian worship service in which I understood most of what was going on.  That so rarely happens here that for the most part I just don’t go to church while I’m here.  Well, I had heard about a small church near the orphanage, and I wanted to attend.  Turns out, a friend of Gertrude’s that I know, Pedro, attends there.  It was so much easier to walk in knowing that I would see a familiar face.  I arrived at 7:30 because Pedro said the service ran from 7:30-10:30. 

Well, the 7:30 start was for Bible study.  Pedro directed me to the women’s group.  Bible study in Haiti is very different from Bible study in the U.S.  The leader lectures the group on a topic, and the group memorizes the subject, the 2-3 key points, and Bible verse.  Just like in school.  Everything is lecture and memorization.  Bible study lasted until about 8:40, and then something really interesting happened.  The pastor went up to the altar and began quizzing the different groups on what they had learned!  Each of the classes had to answer questions, and then the pastor had prizes (a pen or a notepad)to give out to people who could answer harder questions correctly.   Each group also did a collection, and the pastor announced which group brought in the most money.  After that, recognition was handed out to the groups for singing, guests, and two other things that I can’t remember right now. 

About 9:00 the worship leader stepped up and we began praying and singing.  The lady next to me had a Bible and song book, and I sorta peeked over so that I could read the verses and sing the songs.  It was pretty much the first time that I could actually participate in a worship service here.  I liked it.  About 10:00, the pastor went back up to the altar and introduced the guest speaker.  My guess is that typically the pastor would preach at that time. 

Pedro had asked me to stay after so that I could meet some people (the pastor being one of them).  While I waited, a number of people came up to me to say how happy they were to see me there and asked me whether I would be back.  Absolutely.  When Pedro introduced me to the pastor, I realized that I had already met him.  At the airport.  In August 2013.  He recognized me there because he had seen me driving my red motorcycle!  He had invited me to visit his church, but didn’t know where it had moved to.  Now I know!  The only “icky” part of the morning was the request for money.  I should’ve seen it coming.  Pedro and the pastor explained that they needed money to finish the building, buy a bit more land, etc.  They asked whether I could help them, maybe ask my church, get money from my friends. I made it clear, but that I made no promises!

Driving the tap tap!

The calm continued into lunch.  I chatted with Rachel for a while, spent time up on the roof working on my grad classes, came back down to chat with Rachel.  And then it was time for Rachel to head to the airport to meet her group and head off to Les Cayes with them.  And the crazy began!  Gertrude only had one driver, and she needed two.  I stepped up and offered to drive the tap tap.  At first she resisted, but I wore her down.  I headed out with Abby, Rachel, Esther (Rachel’s toddler), and Rosie in the back of the tap tap.  It was awesome!  Maybe I could move her and be a tap tap driver?  I discovered, though, that the front seat didn’t move back, and most Haitians are pretty short.  Shifting was an issue because my knees were in my armpits.  And Rachel’s bag only fell out once (not my fault . . . she put it near the back of the tap tap and wasn’t holding onto it).

Safe arrival at the airport

We got that run done and came back to the orphanage.  And, it was time to turn around and pick up a group of 24 that was staying here just for the night.  Gertrude wasn’t comfortable with me driving the tap tap with “real” people and their luggage in the back, so she found a driver from a friend to take us back to pick up the group.  After waiting for the group for over an hour, we finally saw them coming up with their piles of luggage (35 bags total).  The way the airport works is this: if any of the airport porters even touches your bad, he believes that he should be paid for his effort.  The group leader had hired one “boss man” to help his group, and the rest of the workers had to go to the “boss man” to get any money.  Oh, my gosh, the loud talking that ensued!  At least eight men were shouting and getting in each other’s faces about who should get money.  The “boss man” kept waving around a blue piece of paper proving that he had been hired as the “boss man,” which he had been.  The poor group members were standing with stupefied looks on their faces during all this.  We finally got all the people on Leonard’s green bus so that they could head back to the orphanage.  We stuffed only about half the bags in the tap tap.  I finally shouted that Abby would go back on the tap tap and that I would stay with the remaining bags until the tap tap could return (and, I actually said all this in Creole and was understood!).  Silence.  The men looked at me like “Hey, that’s a pretty good idea.” 

Luggage to be guarded

The tap tap drove off with Abby standing at the back making sure that no bags fell out.  I remained with the “boss man” and talked about how great he had handled the situation.  We are now friends; I even have his phone number so that if I need anything at the airport I can call him.  When the tap tap returned, we barely fit all the bags in!  I had to squish in the back with one leg straddling a bag, my butt on the bench, and my other leg sorta hanging out the back of the truck.  And I had to lean across the back of the truck to keep bags from falling out.  Craziness!