I have a bad attitude the whole week. It’s Sunday October 24, 2010. Church at 6 AM. Showers and transportation have been sporadic. I smooth my rumpled skirt, a sad gesture and fear the odor which permeates the air may emanate from me. My longing for cleanliness is reaching desperation.
I puncture the plastic bag of water with a pen, spill it into my lap, pour quickly into the plastic glass, sprinkle Taster’s Choice into the cold water and gulp. No way to heat water where we are sleeping. A few granules stick to my teeth. My personal hygiene leaves much to be desired at this point. I turn, hoping Jim isn’t watching.
Our Second Arrival in Port Au Prince en route to Cap Haitien.
A haze of brown dust hovers over Port Au Prince, a cloud that clogs our eyes and nostrils, and coats our teeth as we drive to Tortug Air to take a flight north to Cap Haitian. Pastor Henoc transports us and our luggage to another hangar. Four of us squeeze into the back seat, jammed tightly together.
Desperation and filth stretch before us, the odor nearly overpowering, the sidewalk lined with garbage. Pigs and goats squabble over raw garbage and sewage. A woman steps into the alleyway with 4 crates of eggs balanced expertly on her head. Colorfully dressed matrons glare from rickety makeshift dwellings made with packing cases, tin and cardboard. Children fight in a puddle over a seemingly priceless treasure.
Stepping expertly over excrement, a dirty faced street urchin rubs his stomach and stretches his hand to us in one practiced motion. An old woman huddles in a doorway and scowls when I take her picture though the glass. I don’t blame her.
Our clothes stick to us as we tumble from the dirty beige Toyota Land Cruiser. Inside the hangar our luggage is checked as we hand in our passports. I glance nervously towards the door. Jim has my passport and is coming in another load. I have a fear of being separated from my luggage. The luggage handler assaults me with a disoriented verbal bombardment in Creole. I see Jim’s rugged face smiling as he appears in a sea of faces in the third car load. I relax.
Week 4 in the north of Haiti, second group.
We board a small prop plane. Porters heave part of our luggage into the tail of the plane. The pilot looks like a kid. Dirt in the aisle crunches under my feet. I lower myself heavily into a battered beige seat; the only air is warm air. Paint peels around the grimy oval windows that have no shades. We bump down the runway and wobble in the air making it look like we are waving with the wings. Circling the airport at Cap Haitien 30 minutes later, I spy a plane just like ours resting on its stomach with each blade of the propellers bent at right angles….both sides. Wheels didn’t come down. Hmmmmm. Glad I wasn’t on that flight.
Back to Sunday Morning
I pull on a slip under my wrap around skirt (last minute thought); grab my camera bag and sunhat. Jim and I walk down the dirt road to the church which is just ½ mile away past the 25 acres we will build on.
I pray out loud as we walk, thanking God for our supporters, His goodness and mercy and the many blessings we have. A peace settles on me. We greet smutty faced snotty-nosed children lining the streets with “Bonjour.” My bad attitude evaporates. I’m happy.
We sit in wood pews and I feel vibrations from the rumbling generator that powers the big speakers and mike. The sound of old hymns in Creole echoes through the rafters and out the bars of massive windows that frame palm fronds swaying in the breeze. Children are decked out in their best with bows and crisp shirts.
Pastor Henoc, a mountain of a man with sad eyes dominates the platform as he delivers the message in his granite voice. Thin bodies lean forward with eager faces to hear words of exhortation from God’s Word.
Tears cloud my vision as I feel like I’m 9 years old sitting in Kenya, listening to the Kikuyu sing, watching my Dad smile before he preaches in his quiet style In Swahili.
My blood sugar drops suddenly (no breakfast) and I have an overwhelming desire to lay down on the pew and sleep. I fight it, as I know there is a can of tuna in my camera bag. I take solace knowing it will only take 15 minutes to open it with the rusty can opener at the place we take our meals. After the service as we stroll along the road, I’m suddenly aware that my wraparound skirt is not wrapped around, a semi-National Geographic moment averted by the somewhat inappropriately aforementioned slip.
We are traveling with a design team including 13 surveyors, architects, civil engineers, electrical engineers, and structural engineers from Engineering Ministries International, EMI. Also, present during planning of the university in Cap Haitien are Greg Schuenke, president of VOHM, Michael Cooper, a professor from Trinity University and Pastor Henoc, the visionary who is preaching as I write this.
This Christian University is hoping to offer an alternative in a smaller city to replace the many universities in Port Au Prince destroyed by the earthquake.
To be continued next month………...
