Morning came early today, thoughts ushering me into consciousness. The voice of a woman who works here danced in our window as she sung to herself during her early morning chores. A water truck from the street added its own ice-cream-truck-like music to her singing; today a second tune drifted through the morning air. “We Wish You A Merry Christmas” sounded out of place while I lay on the bed in the early morning heat. I thought Halmark was the only one to get Christmas going before Thanksgiving. Not so. Not only have the water trucks picked up the holiday forewarning, but a few wooden Christmas trees and plastic Santas can now be found peddled by street vendors.
Today is a Haitian holiday celebrating the Battle of Vertieres, the last major battle fought in the second war for Haitian independence. The day is celebrated as the Day of Army and Victory for Haiti. We found out it was a holiday after an announcement that no school was to be held today. Hmmm. Change of plans. Se la vi. No big fireworks, no parades. Just a vacation day for students and a few shop keepers. Other than that, it was business as usually on the busy Port-Au-Prince streets.
With a suddenly free morning before us, the group commissioned the guest house to take us on a drive outside of the city to see some different landscapes of Haiti. The guest house van, not suited for the rough riding planned, was replaced by a green four-wheel drive pick up truck as the mode of travel. The truck bed was wrapped with a tall iron cage and benches that ran along each side. Not too different from a tap-tap, the green machine inspired a little trepidation in all of us who filed into the back. Not entirely convinced that we wouldn't be bounced right out of the back of the truck, we braced ourselves for an adventure ahead.
The truck took us up the mountain towards Petionville, the open air ride offering a unique perspective of the mountainous surroundings. Although initially each bump and quick stop allowed a few screeches to escape from clenched jaws, slowly the riders began to collectively relax as the air cooled and freshened, the landscape blossomed in green. The truck took us bouncing up the hill, past Petionville and though tiny towns. We passed women carrying heavy loads atop their heads, men shouldering large loads as they pulled wheelbarrows filled with building material. Vendors lined the street selling art work, soda, furniture and food. We drove by many a car pulled over to the side of the road, steam pouring out of the hood, many Haitian heads bent over the steam working to diagnose the problem. The mountains climbed up around us, more clearly visible as we left the pollution below.
The driver turned off the main road onto a bumpy, curvy rock and dirt road that wound around the edge of the mountain, up and down steep inclines reviving shrieks from the peanut gallery. Despite fearing for our lives, the venture off the road opened up a more rural landscape. Terraced plots of lands climbed up the steep sides of the mountains, the peaks cloaked in clouds. Flowering vines crawled along walls, along the hillside ornamenting the rough ground. Our first destination was a tiny village orphanage, run by some well-meaning church members from Port-Au-Prince. The little home housed about 25 children, most with families in the near-by village who could no longer support a basic life for their child. Kids ages 2 through 12 gathered together on the concrete floor; we had interrupted a school lesson. They all were bent over sheets of paper coloring pictures of houses. Some had two stories and elaborate rooms. Others had airplanes parked inside. In the pictures families filled the rooms, smiles curved up on round faces. Stick hands waved from the stick bodies. We sat with the children for a while, letting them goggle at us, touch our skin, laugh at our reactions to their pictures.
I left wondering what kind of future was in store for those children. Where the leaders of the orphanage good people? Did they have the children's best interest at heart? Did they work hard to protect the children from people who would abuse them? Were their families still involved in their lives, allowed to visit and hug and give words of encouragement? What did our visit there mean? Was it just one more unclear picture of Haiti the driver wanted us to see? I felt conflicted. The visit there offered a brief but lovely interaction with the children there, but the reality of their situation tore at my heart. Haiti always seems to inspire more questions than answers, and the orphanage did not break such a pattern.
The rest of our morning tour took us to the Baptist Mission where we wandered through the grounds and perused the gift shop filled with Haitian art. I briefly considered a long-sought-after milkshake, but thought better of it when weighing in a bumpy ride back down the mountain. We drove to a high overlook where we leaned against a wall and peered over at Port-Au-Prince sprawling below. From the look-out, we could see the coast line curving into the city, the national palace sitting like a monopoly piece in the middle of a pile of grey bricks, the national cathedral sending two grand spires into the air high above the buildings crawling around it. The city looked like one big canvas, and I felt strangely removed from it, glad to be high above and not winding through the polluted streets.
The trip down the mountain seemed to happen to quick. Joke-telling broke out, and the comic relief was enjoyed by all. I was reminded how seriously Patrick and I can take ourselves, and it took the presence of new friends to remind us to laugh more often, to release built up tension with a good, knee-slapping guffaw.
In the afternoon, the group took up their classes once more to the seminary and nursing students. We arrived back at the guesthouse in time for Mdm Rosalina's delicious meal of chicken, potatoes, salad and rice pudding.
Patrick and Francois Villier came to the guesthouse after dinner for a meeting to discuss the projects underway and the vision of CONASPEH. We talked about the land that CONASPEH is raising money to purchase. The tree-filled lot sits next to the school. Patrick shared his vision of the use of the land: a building built around the circumference to function partly as a guest house and partly as a official building for the college. In the center, a green place for the children to play with trees for shade and space to run, a meeting place for a great assembly of people. He discussed the recent union of 5 large protestant organizations and their common goal to be recognized by the government and benefit from the relationship through aid funneled down to fund their many projects afoot. The central organization has plans for a meeting with President Preval on December 26th to discuss such issues. He discussed the National Assembly planned for February and the peace march demonstration that will take place, a march for equality and unity of the protestant churches, demonstrating a unified voice for the people. Listening to Patrick's vision of not only CONASPEH but of the future for Haiti made us all proud to be apart of these grassroots efforts, a part of the Villiers's tireless crusade to inspire big change in the lives of the people.
Listening to the business of the moment inspired ideas from the Massachusetts group: demonstrations in the states, fund drives, letters to Congress. The vision of one so quickly inspires the vision of many. The sharing of ideas, the excitement in mobilization of effort, the problem solving that was underway was refreshing to see unfold. In a place where the mountains of problems seem insurmountable, where help can't come fast enough, witnessing the energy of people inspired, people made aware of their own power to spark change fanned the flame of hope within me. We are a powerful people. And we become a force to be reckoned with when unified. A good night. A happy night. A night of action. A night of hope.
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