As we arrived at the gate, they were boarding the plane. I spotted our New Orleans group and waved to them at the front of the line. I was panting and sweating and grateful. I had not seen our North Carolina group; in fact I didn’t even know what all of them looked like since we had not met prior to our trip. I hoped they had made the flight and figured we would find each other at the airport in Port au Prince. Most of all, I was grateful to my friend, John Mutin, for preventing me from being carried out of the airport on assault charges.
PS I later wrote a letter of thanks to American Airlines on behalf of Mr. Hazell. They thanked me for my comments.
THE GREAT BUS ADVENTURE
Our mission team in December 2009 was larger than ever, with 15 members. I wondered how Pere Sadoni, the priest director of St. Vincent’s School, was going to transport all of us and our bags from the airport to the school, since previously he had picked us up in a couple of SUV type vehicles driven by school staff members. Not to worry, after collecting our bags at the airport and being ushered through customs by the usual envoy from the Bishop’s office, we went outside to wait for a few moments only. Soon a school bus marked Ecole St. Vincent pulled up, and off we went.
We were driving merrily along through Port au Prince when the bus had to drive up a rather steep hill. About 2/3 of the way up, the bus slipped out of gear and began ROLLING BACKWARDS DOWN THE HILL. We came to a sudden jerking halt as the driver tried in vain to get the bus back in to gear. No go. My daughter told me later she was frightened that we were going to roll backwards all the way down the hill and crash at the bottom. She has a flair for the dramatic. I was more worried about how we were going to get us and all our bags the rest of the way to St. Vincent’s, as night was falling and after all, we were in Port au Prince. Speaking of bags, we had each brought two suitcases, one loaded with our precious medical supplies as well as toys and school supplies for the children. The airlines have a weight limit of 50 pounds on each bag, so we had stuffed each one to weigh about 49.5 pounds. Multiply 15 travelers by 2 bags each, and you can imagine the weight being carried up the hill by that poor old school bus. Amy Chanin, who had lived in Haiti for three years some time ago, suggested we get out and walk the rest of the way. I knew THAT was a bad idea. Our Haitian escort, Jackson, promptly closed all the windows in the bus and moved our bags from the back of the bus, away from the rear doors to the middle of the bus. Welcome to Haiti, I thought with a smile, hoping our new team members wouldn’t be too unnerved by this experience.
Amy tried to talk with Jackson in Creole, and learned that Pere Sadoni had been notified of our predicament and was on his way to assist us. Of course, this information was only obtained after about 20 minutes of confused conversation and efforts by the Haitians to reassure us that they had the situation under control. There was lots of shouting and activity outside the bus as well, which sounded like offers of advice on what we should do as well as comments about what a bus full of white people was doing in the streets of Port au Prince, at night. Most likely there were threatening comments, too, but such is the blissful ignorance of one who doesn’t speak the language. After what seemed like an hour but was actually only about 30 minutes, Pere Sadoni pulled up in his vehicle and took three of our passengers with him. Another man who introduced himself as Police, took 5 or 6 of us, including myself, Adam and Sienna, in his car. The New Orleans crowd hopped in the back of a pickup, and Amy stayed with Ollie Rencher, priest from Holy Communion church in Memphis, ostensibly to guard the bags. She was the most fearless of all of us and I knew she was not going to leave those bags behind, or let anyone mess with them.
We all arrived at the school less than ten minutes later, and the bus pulled up right behind us. Apparently it started back up the hill easily after unloading all that weight (and having time for the clutch to cool down). We were all grateful to be at St. Vincent’s with all our bags, a minor miracle given the fact we had nearly missed our connection in Miami.
5AM PIANO PRACTICE
While we work at St. Vincent’s School, we stay in their guest quarters. These are on the second and third floor of the quadrangle school building, on the opposite corner from the children’s dorms. The girls live here, as well as boys under age 11. The older boys live in a separate dorm down the street.
Living at the school rather than at a separate hotel in Port au Prince brings us into the children’s lives in many important ways. We see their smiling faces pressing at the window of our dining room during breakfast. In the evenings when clinic is finished, we can play with them (and work on our Creole and sign language). One especially memorable experience for anyone who has stayed at St Vincent’s, is waking up with the children. I lie in bed with my eyes closed and hear children calling out to each other, some of them yelling as they’re being bathed. There are the sounds of car horns and vehicles clanking and chugging down the street outside the school, with that distinctive whine of air brakes now and then. I could be dropped into this scene blindfolded and would know instantly I was at St. Vincent’s. I would also know the time, because all this racket starts at about 5 AM, every morning.
One particular morning I hear a new sound amid the usual din. Wait….is that….a piano playing? Of course. It’s the day of the big party, when St. Vincent’s holds its annual Christmas celebration to honor the International Day for the Handicapped. So naturally there will be music, and some young child has decided to try his hand at the piano. At 5 AM. Also there is a harmonica playing, evidently being passed from child to child, by the sound of the various squeaks and chirps emanating forth. As I said, I know I am at St. Vincent’s, the only place in the world I can hear a piano playing – at 5 o’clock in the morning.
BIENVENUE A AYITI
Every morning before school starts, the children gather in the courtyard at St. Vincent’s for the opening ceremony. They sing a hymn, they recite the “Our Father”, and Jimmy, one of the blind students, plays the Haitian National Anthem on the accordion while the flag is raised. The first morning after we arrived on our December 2009 trip, the children sang a song to us. Bienvenue a Ayiti. It was a charming welcome to our mission team. Later that evening, during supper, my daughter Sienna burst into the dining room carrying one of her friends. His face was covered with blood. He had fallen and cut his forehead. John Mutin and I have grown used to this sort of thing (see earlier story “BOO BOO BAG”) so John instantly grabbed the keys to the pharmacy and rushed out the door to gather supplies. Amy Chanin, our physician’s assistant, ran to her room to get steri- strips (small surgical bandages) and some other team members went to the kitchen to get some ice. Drew sat down next to the little boy and held his hand to comfort him while we washed the blood off his face and examined the wound. It turned out to be a small cut, not too deep, easily repaired with the steri-strips rather than requiring sutures (thank goodness).
As we cleaned the wound and applied antiseptic, and then the steri-strips, we learned the child’s name was Frenel. He was about 5 years old and blind. He had calmed down quickly, despite all the adults running around. He began to sing to us as we worked. “Bienvenue a Ayiti” came out in his clear child’s voice. He sat quite still as he sang, so it was easy to apply the bandages. I wondered how many blind children would sit without struggling while strangers speaking a foreign language cleaned their wound with antiseptic.
The next morning, as the children sang the National Anthem during the school’s opening ceremony, I heard a clear strong voice singing louder than the others. I looked across the courtyard and there was our friend Frenel, with the bandages on his forehead, singing heartily. I wonder if he will grow up to be a singer someday.
PHARMACY BY FLASHLIGHT
Our pharmacy this trip was managed and operated by three courageous souls. Two were students from Tulane Medical School, Kellar McCloy and Jiselle Bock, and their able bodied assistant Lauren Craig acted as pharmacy tech, interpreter, messenger, and overall Girl Friday.
We brought 12 suitcases loaded with medical supplies to St. Vincent’s, and all these were unloaded into the beautiful new cabinets installed for us by the school’s staff. The pharmacy is across the courtyard from the medical clinic, and soon after the clinic operations are underway, there is a line of patients at the pharmacy waiting for their prescriptions to be filled. All three of our pharmacy staff spoke French to varying degrees, which was a true gift from God. Of course, some of the Haitians speak more Creole than French, so there were still many challenges in instructing patients how to take their medicine, which pill was for stomachache and which one headache. Not to mention explanations to the deaf patients.
The pharmacy itself is a 12x8 room which has an overhead light (something the clinic is lacking) and a fan. Unfortunately, it is located next door to the public toilets, which by the end of the day are quite fragrant. Electricity in Haiti, like clean water, is not always available, and sometimes runs out just when you need it. Usually between 3 and 4 in the afternoon, when clinic is in full swing. Fortunately, the clinic is well lit (and well ventilated) by windows and the only noticeable change when the power goes out, is that the fans stop running. Being the determined souls that we are, the medical staff (and our wonderful helpers, the non-medical members of our team) soldier on; honestly we’re having too much fun to stop, despite the heat. One day we ran rather late, until about 6 PM. After finally closing up the clinic, I walked over to the pharmacy to check on things. When I arrived I found the 3 young mission team members counting pills IN THE DARK, by flashlight! It was only then I realized that when the power had gone out TWO HOURS BEFOREHAND they had no light and no windows to let in sunlight. Yet they had valiantly kept working. Jiselle had a headlamp (how, I wondered, had she known to brink that along for the trip?) and Lauren was holding a flashlight IN HER TEETH while labeling Ziploc bags full of medicines. Kellar had his perpetual grin on his face as he wiped sweat from his brow with his arm. The three of them seemed to be having fun. I am always eternally grateful to the folks who run the pharmacy, especially since each patient seen in the clinic often gets between 2 and 5 prescriptions, and we saw over 200 patients the week we were there.
UNTO US A CHILD IS GIVEN
One morning as we were sitting at breakfast, someone said, “I think there’s a baby left by its mother in front of the clinic”. Someone else confirmed, “Yes, I thought I saw a baby lying on a bench, but I wasn’t sure with the crowd of people whether she was with anybody”. Usually there were about 50 people waiting each morning for clinic to open. They gathered on the chairs and benches set out for that purpose, mothers (and sometimes fathers) with their children. The crowd was a common sight in the early mornings, so one small baby would not attract much notice. Something told Jill, one of our deacons, to investigate. I suddenly lost my appetite and followed her downstairs.
There were dozens of people sitting and standing in a crowd waiting in front of the clinic, but one baby girl was lying on a bench, crying. It was clear no mother was around to comfort her. I picked her up and held her in my arms, and her crying stopped. She was about 5 months old and was just getting her first baby teeth. She had on a clean dress and was wrapped in a soft yellow blanket, and her hair was carefully braided. Someone obviously loved this child. Her forehead was larger than normal and her eyes focused in different directions. She could see me, but only by looking at me out of one eye at a time, and she had trouble looking straight at me. It was clear she had some type of birth defect, perhaps hydrocephalus (a condition where the brain’s fluid can’t drain properly so the skull bones swell). She also had a rash covering her arms and legs and the soles of her feet. Other than that she looked healthy and well fed. We later diagnosed the rash as scabies and gave the staff an ointment to treat her.
By this time most of our other team members had gathered around me and the baby, and we were the focus of attention of the rest of the crowd as well. We were convinced by now that the baby’s mother had left her behind. Handicapped children can be a challenge to raise even in the best of circumstances. Perhaps the mother felt she could no longer provide the best care for her baby. She brought her to the school where she knew her baby would be protected from hunger and perhaps given a chance to grow up at the only place in Haiti where handicapped children can receive an education.
After a few minutes, Ollie Rencher, a priest on our team, led us all in prayers of Thanksgiving for the child out of the Book of Common Prayer (****) We were standing under the big tree in the courtyard, the one Sister Joan Margaret stood under when she founded St Vincent’s school 50 years ago. We took turns holding her as tears streamed down our faces. Soon one of the staff, Madame Merita, jointed our group and took the baby girl upstairs to join the other children. Just like that, she was now part of St. Vincent’s. She quickly received the name Margaret Vincent. Jean Robert, our translator, named her after the school’s founder.
The school is not equipped to care for infants, and consequently had no diapers her size or baby bottles to feed her with. Of course our team promptly sent one of the staff with some money to a local store to obtain the necessary supplies. This operation is not as easy as you might think, but eventually a few diapers and baby bottles appeared. Someone even produced a box of baby wipes, which I don’t think Madame Merita had ever seen before and which she found extremely useful! Madame Merita is the same woman who has cared for Diane Vincent, the girl who was so sick when we first met her in November 2008, she couldn’t raise her head off the pillow. Now she is growing strong and learning to take a few steps. We knew baby Margaret would receive the same loving attention. In fact, there were times when our team would have baby Margaret with us and Madame Merita would come looking for her, worried about where her baby had gone.
Allie, one of our team, became particularly attached to Margaret and spent much time holding her and loving her. Ollie came up with the idea of having a baptismal ceremony for the baby, and Pere Sadoni asked Allie to be the baby’s Godmother. That Sunday afternoon we all gathered in Pere Sadoni’s office. Ollie and Pere Sadoni had beautiful white stoles around their necks. Someone found a white towel to wrap the bay in, while Madame Merita held her. My son, Adam, played “Seek Ye First” on his guitar as the ceremony began. Allie was the child’s godmother and Jean Robert her godfather. We all renewed our baptismal covenant, first in French and then in English. A champagne bucket that had served as our ice bucket during meals was used as the ewer, and Jill poured the water into a plastic basin as Ollie prayed Thanksgiving over the Water. As Ollie baptized Margaret Vincent in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, I thought my heart would break. God is with us. Emmanuel.
The staff had baked a tiny cake for the occasion, white icing with pink roses. Such care given to a little one whose handicap had been too much for her mom to handle. I wondered about the mother and cried for her too. I pray that she will be comforted by God, but I can only imagine what she must be feeling or thinking.
As we return to St Vincent’s we will have the privilege of watching baby Margaret grow up alongside her sister Diana. Thanks be to God for providing St. Vincent’s school, a place for these children to grow and learn and be loved.
THE CHRISTMAS GOAT
While we stay at St. Vincent’s guest quarters, our meals are provided by four women who work in the kitchen. The food is delicious and plentiful. Many times we would remark to one another our inner pangs of conscience at eating so well in a country where many people go days without a decent meal. However I have come to accept that our Haitian hosts enjoy taking care of us, much as we would show them generous hospitality were they to visit our homes. Of course, their resources are much more limited, but such is the way of hospitality in Haiti.
I had asked our team members to bring small gifts for our hostesses, perhaps things they can’t always get easily for themselves, like lipstick or scented soap. On our last night, after supper, we brought out our small offerings. Included in the array of cosmetics and hand lotion were a set of purple t-shirts from the Maccabi games at the Memphis Jewish Community Center, as well as a set of decorative Christmas towel with reindeer stitched onto them in gold thread. Our Haitian friends wanted to know why there was a shoe on the purple t-shirts. A lively discussion ensued when Dixie, who is deaf, wanted to know what kind of animal that was on the towels. The other three cooks are Marie Carmelle, Madame Marc and Elvie. Marie Carmelle speaks about 20 words of English. Madame Marc is the mother of Pere Sadoni who is the priest in charge of St. Vincent’s, and she and Elvie speak only Creole and French. My son, Adam, by this time had learned about 50 words in sign language. His vocabulary was limited however, since he had been studying a Xerox copy of a children’s sign language dictionary, and he only had the pages for A-M. Adam tried to explain to Dixie what the animal was, but since he had no sign for reindeer, the best they could come up with was GOAT. So I tried to talk with Marie Carmelle and get a more accurate description of a deer with horns. Total bewilderment. I enlisted the help of Jiselle, who speaks French quite well, and she tried to get the word for reindeer out of Madame Marc. After 10 minutes of intercultural and multilinguistic exchange, with the Americans EARNESTLY trying to convey the image of the animals that fly through the air and lead Santa’s sleigh, we were told the word must be “Cabrit”. In other words, “Goat”. Rudolph, the red nosed…..GOAT.
PS I brought Adam a Sign Language dictionary for Christmas. He now knows the sign for reindeer. I’m still not sure it will mean anything to the Haitians. Anyway, I prefer the image of the Christmas Goat.
INCARNATION
Our return trip to Port au Prince airport was not by school bus. That Monday morning, two team members were driven to the airport by Pere Sadoni to catch an earlier flight. Later that morning the rest of us left St. Vincent’s after saying goodbye to the children and staff. Most of the team piled into a large van, with five of us in Pere Sadoni’s vehicle. We rode Haitian style, with five people in the back seat designed for three. You get the picture.
As we rode through the streets of Port au Prince, our hearts were filled with the experiences of the previous week. So much hope and sorrow and joy compressed into a few days. On Pere Sadoni’s car radio, Celine Dion was singing “O Holy Night”. A song of Incarnation. God’s gift to our weary world.
At the airport a few minutes later, my daughter remarked that she loved her work in Haiti, and wondered where else she might travel some day to do mission work. She used the phrase “some other God forsaken place”, to which my son promptly and emphatically responded, “God forsaken! Are you kidding? God is everywhere in Haiti.” The message of Incarnation is clear in Haiti, as all who have visited there can attest.
MIAMI AIRPORT
Chapter 1 Where is my guitar?
Chapter 2 Where is my passport?
Chapter 3 Where are the boarding passes?
Chapter 4 My phone is dead.
Chapter 5 “But we have all of our bags.”
Chapter 6 My phone is dead (reprise).
Chapter 7 Are you serial?
Chapter 8 I am SO not going to work tomorrow.
Appendix A Map of Miami International Airport, with plotted route of the Nelson family
Appendix B Diagram of Concourse E
Epilog “Please maintain control of your personal belongings at all times”
