Community Matters

Maybe my lack of journaling is a sign that we are getting established enough that days are filled to the brim, that we are too tired at the end of the day to do much more than fall into bed. I consider that a good thing.

We found an apartment! Although our time in the guesthouse has opened doors to friendship, to networking, and given us space to get familiar with this country, we have come to a point where we are anxious for our own space. An apartment will add more responsibility to our lives, but also allows for some ownership. We found a place in the upper level of a house, with a balcony that looks out onto the mountains catching clean breezes above the streets. Now to find something to sleep on, eat on and sit on. While the manager of the apartment cleans and paints it for us, Patrick and I are now on the furniture/house trappings hunt which proves interesting. Again, we discover that the trappings of life and comfort are made even more unaffordable for people here; even by American standards, the prices seem steep! Seems ridiculous in a place where most people can’t afford rice, much less a mattress. Only the rich can afford trappings of a house, a further division of the economic classes here. There aren’t any discount stores to speak of, no Craig’s list. The street-side-sale of used furniture hikes prices up as high as new items in a store. Can’t really blame the salesmen. They are trying to build up their own family’s home.

This week we started lessons with a new Creole teacher. We found him through a new acquaintance we’ve met here, and he is phenomenal. He is a professional, a linguist, and works with some of the leading Creole programs in the States to better their programs. He makes my brain tired, but in a good way. With our schedule, we are left with only the late afternoon/early evening time slot which is a under utilized method of torture, I do believe. Even for the teacher. We all sit around trying to stifle yawns, whipping our brain to go one mile further. But we are happy and relieved to have a teacher who has invested his own time into our efforts to learn the language.

This week, our regional director for Global Ministries, Felix, came for a visit. We are always happy to see him. His years of experience as a missionary are evident in the way he facilitates conversations, interactions and sharing. And his own vision of how our presence in this world should be shines through all of his actions and words.

And his visit gave us a chance to step back and re-evaluate the reasons we came here through conversation and reflection. Funny how in the midst of the life, in the midst of problems to solve, inefficiencies recognized, personal agendas to reckon with, to-do lists and meetings to complete, lines can get blurred. Felix helped us to again see the big picture of our presence of mission. We reflected on our philosophy of mission, and whether we are being true to it or letting the details blur the larger outreach. Although we haven’t been perfect, we’ve had frustrations and been impatient, I’d like to think that ultimately we are staying true to our beliefs, staying true to the call of being a critical presence. And I trust we'll get better with practice. Piti piti nap rive.

I continue working in the Karfou clinic on Wednesdays, which is a place I’m happy to go. Although the clinic isn’t sophisticated, it has been in the community for a while, and a Haitian doctor works there as well. The community therefore has reasonable expectations about what can be done. There are always patients waiting to be seen. Slowly my Creole is getting better, the patients understand more of what I try to say, and Miss Fano and I have a good working relationship. She's able to elicit a reasonable history when patients aren't forthcoming, and we have two different styles that seem to meld well together. She can pick up on what I'm thinking and carry on with an education point. This week Felix accompanied me to clinic to observe and to talk to patients. We then had a little meeting with Felix, Miss Fano and the Haitian physician who works there. Felix's mediation skills, which likely evolved over years of being a missionary, were amazing to observe. I recognize how blinded I can get on my projects allowing me to loose sight of the big picture of what we were asked to do. I don't kick myself too hard because until I have a really true grasp on the language, I can't do what Felix did today. I can only be a loving presence, try hard, laugh at myself, and offer my opinion on the things that I know about. But it was fun for me to be re-inspired.

Today we had the third family seminar day, this time in a rural village outside of Port-au-Prince. The road was rough and bumpy, but full of people, cows, chickens, goats and fields of corn and banana trees. The people in attendence looked bored at first, but surprised us with their insightful sharing and questions. We heard stories of from women of husbands that had left them for someone more beautiful, of infidelity, the inability to get jobs, the inability to feed their children. We heard stories from men of women who had lost faith in them because they can’t find a job, of children that don’t respect them because they don’t work. And Patrick and I were once again humbled when they turned in our direction for advice. We’ve not had to survive such trials, not in the least. We can only hope that teaching partnership, mutual respect, support and love will somehow make sense to someone, may spark new ideas in another. But mostly we humbly honor their incredible challenges and the strength that they must have to get through them so bravely. We honor and respect. Somedays that's all we can do.

As always, the family seminar clinic ended with a time of free medical consultations to the people there. My earlier nervous worries about holding a "clinic" without lab, medicine, or equipment has relaxed with time. Now I look forward to sitting in a small room seeing one patient after another, hearing their complaints, educating when I can, prescribing when I can, and making recommendations for follow-up. One little boy, probably age 9, came in to show me his rash. He was alone. His mom was at home with his brothers and sisters, and had sent him to come see me. He sat very professional in the chair, spoke like a little man about his rash. And as I prescribed ointments for him and gave him directions, the women of the community who had gathered around (there is no such thing as a private patient-doctor interaction that I've yet found) took notes for him so that they could relay the information back to his mother. I loved the community effort on taking care of each other, of the common maternalism that reached out to all the neighbors' children to ensure that information was shared.

May we all reach out together in community, taking care of each other and each other's children, stepping outside of our homes into open spaces to share our stories, to listen to each other's worries and suffering, to help when we can. Because this is the beauty of being human, this is the beauty of community.

Thank you for being our community.