Ah, the difference a good night of sleep can do for one’s outlook. That, and a good meal. Madam Rosalina cooked a superb dinner last night of chicken, capers and rice—soul food that improved my outlook immediately and sent me to bed full and happy. I am very self aware how grumpy I get when I haven’t had much to eat; I’m more easily frustrated and moody. The very fact that the Haitian people are even able to smile, to show kindness and generosity, to maintain a positive outlook and carry a vision for their country on empty stomachs is no less than a miracle.
Today we spent the entirety of the day at the school. Madam Fano and I picked up where we left off yesterday, cleaning shelves, organizing supplies, taking stock. Patrick was busy teaching 3 English classes. The venture has certainly improved his Creole; he’s found that he can effectively teach only to the extent of his Creole, so he is pushing ahead with his studies in order to be a better teacher.
The school is a happy place to spend a day. Voices of children singing, chanting or talking amongst themselves reverberate around the concrete walls bringing the whole dreary place vibrantly to life. No matter where I sit, where I attempt to stow a way, at least 5 sets of eyes peer in at me from windows or doorways. Some offer shy smiles, others are braver and ask me a few questions. Most ask if I am Madam Patrick. This is a title that takes a little getting used to for my independent self. Patrick, of course, is thrilled, and dares to call me that when we are alone earning him a punch on the arm. I immediately liked the head teacher of the seminary since he started calling Patrick “Mr. Kim.” Good man. He practically earned himself a kiss on the cheek.
Today I was asked to help with the school lunch. CONASPEH provides one meal for the children during the day; for some it is the only meal they’ll have. When I walked into the room set aside for lunch, over 50 children were sitting in their chairs at child-sized tables waiting patiently. I passed out multivitamins to the children; each selected their favorite color without complaint. Then trays with a bowl of corn flakes and a glass of thick, warm milk were passed out. Patrick said a prayer. The children dove in. Meals were finished in a blink of an eye. Certainly not the school lunches I grew up with. I know that CONASPEH is doing the best it can with its limited resources; trying to reach out in a million different avenues. But the simplicity of the children’s meal left me saddened.
I waited at the back of the classroom as the children filed back to hand in their trays and hurry off to their next class. I had a perfect vantage point to catch big smiles and some giggly hellos. I watched a husky child who looked as if he had at least 3 meals a day leave well over half of his cornflakes in his bowl. He gave his plentiful leftovers to a thin boy walking past. The boy finished off the bowl in a flash. My heart swelled and my breath caught watching one child take care of another. The beauty of the moment lingers with me still.
We arrived back to the guesthouse early today. Since we had a few hours to kill before dinner, we ventured out on the streets for a walk around the neighborhood. We stumbled upon a small street market, women sitting over blankets selling fruit, peas, rice, and spices. My stomach turned a bit at the tables of raw meat—slabs of goat, legs of chicken, whole small fish with sightless eyes. The meat lay in the afternoon sun raw and stinking, flies buzzing about the tables.
We stepped over ruts in the road with dirty water running through. We explored little alleyways branching off the main road. Many eyes stared at us as we walked past, likely wondering what two blans were doing in their neighborhood. But all smiled and greeted us if we offered them a “Bonswa.” Our walk wove us through winding streets to the top of a small hill; from there, we enjoyed a broad view of the city below and the mountains in the distance rising into the clouds. A shoeless child accompanied us for a few blocks, his clothes many sizes too large, his feet calloused from walking the streets. We engaged him in a simple conversation, delighting in his feisty attitude. As we passed two men sitting on the curb, one said in English, “he wants something to eat.” Of course he did. And despite the fact we were told not to encourage begging by giving street children money, we gave in. We’ll be tough another day.
By the time our feet were starting to get tired and sweat was sticking to our skin, we realized that getting back to the guesthouse was going to be a bit of a challenge. Just about the time when I was ready to utter the phrase, “we’re lost,” a cheerful teen-age youth bustled out to the street to meet us. His smile was broad, demeanor inviting, but he had only one eye. The second eye-socket was gaping and hollow, speaking of a traumatic injury many years back. He greeted us in bright Creole. We asked which way to the market, and happy to have a way to help, he escorted us all the way through, warning of oncoming cars, ensuring I didn’t step in something icky, and greeting everyone he passed. We thanked him graciously for his guidance. He waved good-bye once we got to the familiar market road, his smile taking over his face. I was struck with the irony that a one-eyed child helped us find our way.
We’ve had many unlikely guides thus far on our journey, and detours that have lead us to places and situations that have challenged us, inspired us, and shaken our foundation in very important ways. I’m thankful for the cheerful angels that remind us that despite the devastation we navigate around everyday, people are just people. And we all need to be greeted, to be loved, to be listened to, to be accepted, to be touched, to be lead out of disorientation onto the right path. Through these interactions, the Spirit comes alive in us, illuminating our humanity and gracing us with a glimpse of God.
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