a Sunday in Leogane

In Haiti, Sunday is truly a day of rest for everyone. We found this out over time as things calmed down medically and people just weren't showing up in droves to clinics on Sundays after a while. So now , there are no sunday clinics, while the people of town go to church and spend time with their families and friends.

We three here in leogane spent the morning after breakfast doing laundry the Mennonite way--using some circa 1950 partly electic wringer, dipping, wringer, system, and then hanging 'em out to dry! It was actually quite fun.

Then we began re-organizing the church clinic supplies and meds--a seemingly endless task and one that must be repeated over and over no matter how well you think you did it the first time. By noon, we were done and satisfiedwith the result, so we hired a tap tap and took our translator, George, with us to do some scouting and recon of the current situation around town. Saw some good changes to some of the facilities that were known, and met some new people and points of contact for other facilities. Spent a long while talking with Pastor Marie Jessie Pierre, a middle-aged woman who is Haitian and who went to Boston for her education and then worked in the US for a number of years before returning to Haiti one year ago to help the impoverished people of her home. Since the earthquake, she has been holding her little community (called Valou Beach in the town of Gressier) together, tending to their every need, and taking care of so many orphans who are without shelter or loving care. She ran a school, and it of course, was destroyed in the earthquake. Right now she can't even think of starting school up again until there is adequate shelter,food and clothing for the kids, and supplies with which to conduct it. Like so many remarkable people here in Haiti, this woman has no existence other than to serve others and to lift up those around her.

She knows everyone. She called the mayor over and he came to meet us. We were just there at the beach to have a little break with the locals, and we got all this attention! It was fun, though. And we met some local characters who made the day even more enjoyable with their antics. We picked rocks (you know I loves my rocks!) from the beach, waded in the water, and watched Matt play soccer with the guys. Never saw him actually in control of the ball, though...

After this we took the long way home and our guide/translator, George, aka "Mr. Oui", took us out in a rural area through townships called Matthieu and Darbonne to walk through a sugar mill that was closed down after the earthquake. It had employed about 2,000 people, he said. It looked not too bad from the outside, other than being abandoned except by goats, chickens and the occasional cow. But when you got a peek inside you could see subtle signs that it probably wasn't in ship shape as factories go. Cracks in crucial tanks and so on.

Then we passed through to his neighborhood, which is now mostly a tent city out where we worked on Friday off the Darbonne road. We let the driver go from here and walked to his house, where we met his grandmother Jeannette and his grandfather also. The house is simply not habitable due to much structural damage and no walls remaining on at least 2 sides, so they live under tarps and sheets out in the front of the house. Looking at George every day when he comes to clinic to translate, you'd never know how he is living and that he walks about 2 miles to get to us. He is always looking sharp and smelling good and full of smiles. He's a big joker as well. "Un Blague"~ Maybe he's doing that for Trish, our nurse, who he clearly has a crush on. But think he is just that way. The way all the Haitians I've had the pleasure to meet are: survivors. Optimists, pragmatists; the live and they do rather than sitting around lamenting the 'why'.

From George's home, we continued our back way home through the tent city that stretched for the entire route almost. Little kids would reach out and touch you as you pass by,and some would grab your hand and walk with you a while. Everyone was friendly and polite and waved or smiled or greeted you: "Bon Soir! Salut! Good Morning! (some little girls yelled over and over--though it was at least 430pm--so cute).

About halfway back, we were caught in a burst of traffic that included numerous water tank trucks ["Yele DLO"} and some dark tinted windowed SUVs and a few white moving type trucks. Then we saw police escorting them down the lumpy bumpy dirt road; then we saw the people lining up and running in the same direction as these vehicles. Apparently, the company sponsored or owned by Wyclef Jean was distributing something (food? clothes?) and some water to the tent city today. I am not sure if the people thought he was there in person (or if he was?), but they were all eager to get down to the trucks and were heard saying the singers name as they ran along in anticipation. This is where my little hand holder girl dropped me like a hot potato and headed for the crowd. ;) Interestingly, there were separate lines for women and children vs. men. Children first, then women, then men last. I understand, but not completely.

We left before it got too busy and headed home on foot, through the pastures and past more crumbled houses and scattered copses of tents and blue tarps. It was actually a really lovely walk. Not too hot anymore, sun starting to come down the sky, animals grazing, people milling around socializing, kids flying their homemade kites over the tents and the empty fields. Calm. Life going on.

And we made it back in time for dinner at the compound! Now, as I write it has been raining for about an hour. Generator cutting on and off, so I have no idea when this post will actually be post-able, but it's fine here for us. We worry about everyone we passed on the road today out there. George, camped in his front yard, and all of them.

Tomorrow, another clinic here at the church!

More then.

Jen