Kim Priore

It’s hard to explain the joy of the Haitian people until you’ve experienced their stoicism day in and day out.  These people face more challenge and hardship in one day that I will likely face in my whole life.

Today we got rain.  It came in the afternoon: hard, driving, soaking rain – the kind that makes debris lying around a yard rise up and float away.  Prior to this it was a very busy morning for me.  We basically packed about two weeks of work into one day.  Make that  half of one – we were done by 2:30.  It began with our scheduled 8:30 meeting with the chicken coop committee, which convened promptly at 10:45.  I got all of my questions answered, heard about how difficult it is to keep this small business afloat, their determination to make it succeed, to learn from their mistakes and setbacks and make it better.  I also got a good look at the sugar mill and an update on that, not to mention a marriage proposal from a toothless guy with a wife and a few kids at home.  Sweet.  Then Jephthe took me to the homes of a few people who had purchased eggs from the chicken farm, brought them home and hatched them, built their own little coops, and are replicating the project on a smaller scale.  One guy hopes the eggs will help pay his way toward finishing high school.  Through the streets and backyards your intrepid reporter traipsed, over sugar cane husks, trash, and Lord knows what else.  I even got my donkey ride!  Yes it’s on video and yes (Dad and Doug I’ll just beat you to it here) I made an ass of myself.

In the meeting this morning, sweltering under a tin roof, swatting at flies, and enjoying the smell of a couple hundred chickens, it occurred to me how very different this was from a business meeting in the States.  I looked at the little chicken coops that people had slapped together in their yards – not trying to be mean but to the untrained eye they look, well, pathetic.  You have to know what they represent to see the hope therein.  On the way back, Jephthe pointed out the house where Sanon grew up, which is really quite decent for here, but which was just a harsh reminder that this world contains disparities which divide people who migh otherwise see eye to eye.  It made me angry and sad.

So I mulled all this over this afternoon as I napped and attempted to sleep off a headache.  Then the rains came.  When rain comes in Haiti, life comes to a stop.  They’ll cancel class, close up shop – I’m not kidding, my kind of place.  So the crowd on the front porch of the guest house had started to grow and I went out to see what was up.

There was a card game going on, Mitou was having her hair braided, the kids were splashing in the growing lake in the front yard, and Jephthe was – well – being Jephthe.  He couldn’t contain his joy at the much-needed rain, and the prospect that we might have working showers before I left.  As lightning split the sky and deafening thunder echoed off Mt. Pignon, the mood was one of general revelry.  Over and over I kept hearing peppered throughout the conversation the word “dlo,” the Creole word for water.

Immediately I started to worry about what this would mean for our drive to Cap tomorrow.  Jephthe just shrugged: “God will make a way somehow.”  I finally had to catch myself and say, Has God not provided everything else for this trip?  And not in my timing, but in His?  Look around, I thought.  Look at these people who could find so much to worry and complain about, and instead they’re rejoicing in the “dlo.”  Even Mitou, who rarely speaks in English unless I ask her something, was beaming up at me from under her half-braided afro, “God is good.”

This is the point in the trip at which I’m supposed to have it all figured out, and present you with such nuggets of wisdom as, “They’re poor but still so happy, and so giving.  And the children broke my heart.”  And those things are to some extent true.  But they’re not happy all the time, there’s nothing romantic about a poverty that means you can’t feed your kids.  Both Caleb and Jephthe have had problems since I’ve been here with empoyees stealing from them.  At times I know I’ve been the object of not-so-kind laughter.  And quite frankly, y’all, begging kids can get annoying after awhile.

The truth of the matter is that people are people no matter where you go.  There are nice ones and mean ones and inspiring ones and those that will disappoint you.  There’s not much you can do about that.  But it’s a sinful, fallen world that says it’s ok for Jephthe’s kids to grow up here while ours grow up wanting for nothing.  I hate it when people try to explain Haiti’s poverty with simplistic answers about work ethic or alcohol or Vodou.  But I hate it even more when they seem ok with it.  And so I’ll do my small part to change it, not because I think I can, but because I’m not ok with it.

I wrote this entry out longhand in my journal because the power’s not on yet and even if it was, it’s still raining too hard to try and make it over to the cyber cafe (Hey, when in Haiti…).  I may have to build an ark to make it to Cap tomorrow.  For all I know this is some huge tropical storm, not like I’ve seen a forecast in 2 weeks.  What I do know is that tonight, God has sent “dlo” to people who know how to rejoice in it.  And I’m really honored to be with them.