Notes From Leogane No. 7: Death in a hallway, funerals and mass graves

Dear Family and Friends:

Of death, William Shakespeare penned several poems; one is:

Come away, come away, death,

    And in sad cypress let me be laid.

Fly away, fly away, breath;

    I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

My shroud of white, stuck all with yew,

    O, prepare it!

My part of death, no one so true

    Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet,

    On my black coffin let there be strown.

Not a friend, not a friend greet

    My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown.

A thousand thousand sighs to save,

    Lay me, O, where

Sad true lover never find my grave,

    To weep there!

("Come Away, Come Away, Death")

This past Thursday, I stood along a wall as a shroud passed.

I had been a bit self-absorbed the last three hours that day, as the construction company plumber was going back and forth between the Guesthouse and outside.  I was praying that the four of us who live on the second floor would have some respite from a week of bucket baths.

It matters not here whether we had showers from a nozzle that night. What matters to me now is the recognition that at times I have lost my bearings when navigating between trivial things and matters of importance to us and our loved ones.  On Thursday, all of my senses were jolted by death in that hallway.

As I walked from the second floor into the main entrance to the hospital, I heard a woman speaking very quickly to those with her, with a few moans injected into the conversation. They were at the initial hospital entrance at the street, not near the hospital lobby entrance.  In just the few seconds it took me to cross the lobby and go out back, I glanced their way and just assumed here was just another relative waiting for news from the Emergency Room physician or a nurse about the treatment needed for some injury.  I had not noticed the large black vehicle with "Paradis" on the driver's side panel.

I was really peeved when I couldn't find the plumber out back near the main pipelines that serve water to the hospital and the Guesthouse. I thought," I bet he left for day without getting us water.  Give me a break please."

I was looking down and not really paying any attention to those nearby as I started back across the lobby to the Guesthouse stairway.  The woman's excited conversation had dramatically changed to a wail.  Even then I didn't recognize the reason, not until a few seconds later when

a nurse held her hand out signaling me to stand along the hallway.

Two attendants were carrying a bright white shroud.  It was wrapped so tight that I could see a general outline of a face and the length and size of the deceased.  As the stretcher came out into daylight, and could be seen directly by the woman, she collapsed on the ground. I think she was in her mid to late twenties.  I will not soon forget the oscillating screams and cries, as her friends tried to bring her to her feet.  It was as if her legs had turned to jelly.  The widow or sister or close friend of the person being placed into the hearse remained on the ground for what seemed an eternity.

The deaths of my beloved parents and my dear brother were expected. They all died in hospice care.

I have never before faced death and its devastating aftermath in such an immediate and jolting fashion.  While we of course see its outward signs, the intangible essence of pure raw grief is not visible; but it is palpable.  It crawled into the hospital last Thursday afternoon, and judging by their reactions it hit certain people very hard.

I would expect that all hospital staff, out of necessity, would have grown an extra thick layer of "emotional skin," as protection of sorts from just such events.  Not so to my observation.  I do not know whether January 12, 2010 and its aftermath have changed the way many in Leogane react to death in their midst.  I would not be surprised to have someone tell me that the memory of 20,000 people lost to the Quake in Leogane has forever dulled their senses.  But I also expect that others have a chronic low level infection of grief that spikes at the sight of a funeral procession.

If you work or live in the vicinity of l'hopital Sainte Croix, you will hear and see many of the funeral processions going toward the Leogane Cemetery.  The street on the northern edge of the hospital is the principal passageway for those who have left this life.  Sometimes it seems that death comes in bunches in Leogane.  Two weeks ago, three funeral processions approached the intersection on the northwest corner of the hospital; two coming from the west and one from the north.  It was so crowded that the second and third processions came to a halt to allow the first procession, and its funeral music, to fade as it moved closer to the cemetery.  In turn, the third procession had to wait again as the second procession moved once again toward the east.

I must remember, however, that funerals will pass by here often, because this is the main street to the cemetery, and Leogane the city had a population of 100,000 before 5% of its citizens died in the earthquake.

As I write this Note, I have watched from the roof of the hospital eight or nine funerals process toward the cemetery.  Each of these funerals has been led by a band.  While most play music that would be called somber, some have mixed in more upbeat "New Orleans-style" funeral procession melodies.  During most of the funerals I have observed, what I have assumed was the widow or mother was walking directly behind the hearse, being supported on both sides by family or friends. This person did not walk quietly.  Other times, someone who I surmised was a sister or aunt was following a little farther back, and also being supported by others as she was sobbing loudly enough for me to hear.

A week ago yesterday, I was visiting with Peterson, who dropped by to chat.  (I think I already have mentioned that Peterson is one of the translators who go into the field with the mobile clinics.)  He was carrying a newly pressed suit.  When I asked him was he on the way to a wedding, he said he was attending a funeral the next day.  The next morning, Samdi, I heard music and went up to the roof to see if it was a rara band.  It was a funeral.  As the procession passed by, toward the back Peterson looked up and we nodded to each other.  The day before, I learned that his friend has died the way so many young people die in the United States - a traffic accident.

I had brought my camera to the roof just in case the music was from a rara band.  Until last Saturday, I had not felt comfortable photographing a funeral procession, even from the roof.  But when I saw a woman, who clearing was part of the funeral group, standing in the middle of the intersection off the northwest corner of the hospital taking several pictures, I used my camera.  I will be sending you some of the photographs.  The large contingent of girls toward the front, in light brown outfits, are Girl Scouts.  As I mentioned before, at the Episcopal church next door, Girl Scouts in uniform sometime serve as ushers during communion and have other duties during the service.  There also were Girl Scouts trying to hold back motos during the Catholic Stations of the Cross procession on Good Friday.

As I'm typing this note, I’m wondering whether a funeral procession will pass by in the next few days, with the woman I saw last Thursday walking behind a hearse.  Perhaps not, because it is obvious to me, after walking around Leogane off and on for a month, that these processions cannot be afforded by all in Leogane.  I would expect that most, if not all, of the people I saw at the tent city last Saturday could not afford this type of send off.

When I was watching the rara events of last Sunday, I did not expect to see many people from the tent city. After seven or eight o'clock that night, I think some were worried more about finding food for themselves and their children for the next day.  Rather than dancing and singing along with a rara band down below my window, I imagine some were quietly talking or singing to their children, and praying that sleep would bring a few hours respite from hunger.

Tomorrow, I'm going to walk down to the site of the Leogane mass graves.  All I have to do is follow the pathway of the funeral processions I have been watching.  I will be sending you a photograph taken a little more than a month after the earthquake.  The article accompanying this photograph includes this:

"Unlike the capital, Leogane's mass graves are in the town itself, alongside a main road and just in front of the cemetery.  Piles of dirt and concrete sit above them, old clothes, underwear and shoes

mixed in." (M. J. Smith AFP, Life goes on at Haiti's quake epicenter (24 Feb. 10). The caption under the photograph states in part: "Rubble covers a mass grave on the side of a road just outside a cemetery in the coastal city of Leogane in February 23, 2010."

A memorial to all those in the mass grave now is on the surface, above the rubble now serving as grave cover.

I cannot think about last Thursday, the funeral processions, and the mass grave not far from here, without also remembering that there are so many that could not have a final visit with a loved one.  In many instances, surviving families lost more one person without having the closure that comes from honoring the dead, and remembering a life lived, at a mortuary, church or cemetery.  There must be thousands upon thousands in the mass grave down the street who never were seen by a husband, wife, daughter, son or parent, for the last goodbye. Rotting corpses needed to be covered in quick fashion.

Many years ago, Jeanne and I were stopped in traffic for a funeral when she told me that while growing up, when she and her siblings were with a parent, they would say the rosary as a funeral procession passed their car or where they were walking.  Knowing Jeanne and some of her siblings, I bet a few of them did the same when neither of their parents were with them.

I'm going to modify that tradition some. I have promised myself that when a funeral procession passes by me here, and also when I'm back in the States, I will pause to think of the people in mass graves everywhere; to remember all of the families who did not have the chance for a personal, in person last goodbye of honor. It will not only think of Leogane and other mass graves in Haiti, but those in Indonesia from the tsunami there, the earthquake and tsunami in Japan, the Jewish Holocaust of World War II, the Cambodia Holocaust, Serbia and Bosnia, and all other such mass burial places on this earth.

I hope that these pauses will jolt me, when needed, to remember always to cherish those who are so important to me and who have meant so much to my becoming who I am.  And to let them know that often.

I have more to share with you about various things going on in Leogane and elsewhere in Haiti.  Out of respect for the dead, that can wait for another day.

I hope this Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

David

April 30, 2011

Notes From Leogane No. 6: Saturday Market, a Tie and Rara

Dear Family and Friends:

As this weekend comes to a close, I would like to share with you some snippets about Leogane from the past two days.

Rara:
By now, I would have thought that I would have experienced enough rara processions that I could do justice to giving you an outsider's description of this music/event.  During the past week, two of the translators I know - Mario and Peterson - had suggested that once we got to Thursday the number and frequency of rara bands would greatly increase.  Peterson thought that Sunday afternoon would present a great sampling of rara bands.  I have discovered, however, that the main street for the procession of rara bands is about 1/3 of a mile north of here.

On Palm Sunday morning, four different rara bands came by my window from early morning until mid-morning, but that number has not passed by here on any given day since then.  Last Tuesday I followed a rara procession for a few blocks (and ran into Peterson) and I did the same with another rara band the next evening (and again ran into Peterson).  Both of these bands really kicked it in.  Others were okay, but these two were by far the best I heard.  They not only had musicians with the traditional instruments, but also brass trumpets, trombones, clarinets and a snare drum.  In reading about rara, I learned that there is not general agreement about the origin and meanings of rara.  So, when I mentioned to you a few weeks ago that Bob Sloane had been told that rara bands were tied to a story about the need to keep an angel awake to remove the stone from Jesus' tomb when needed, that's just one view.  And, from my reading, not a particularly common one.  Rather than trying to suggest –

which isn't credible to say the least - that I can provide you with any further guidance about rara, I recommend to you two rara-related websites; both of which have excellent video footage of rara bands:  "RARA Vodou, Power and Performance Elizabeth McAlister's work in Haiti 1991 - 1995;” and “The Other Side of the water: the journey of a Haitian rara band in Brooklyn." (Check out the YouTube on this at http://youtu.be/JlyoHpEv76Q.) 

Saturday Markets and a Tie
Don't ask me why I came to Haiti without a tie or a sport coat.  I knew I would be here for Easter, and I knew from my travels in Haiti twenty years ago that Haitians throughout the country wear the best to church.  As is the same in the United States and elsewhere, what is someone's "Sunday best" varies from family to family.  But, from the funeral processions I had watched during my first two weeks here, and from my first Episcopal service next door on April 3rd, I knew at a minimum I should be wearing a tie to Easter service today.  Boy was I right.

So off I went yesterday morning in search of a tie. I had asked someone at the hospital where I could buy one, and he said "The large market up by the nursing college. Go straight up north
on the road like you would be going to the college, but instead of turning left and going west on the way to the college, keep going straight and you'll run straight into the big market."

Rara II
Sorry to interrupt, but I had to rush to the roof to see what was the largest rara crowd to pass by here since I arrived in Leogane.  Maybe this is the rara finale band and procession. The procession was headed toward the Leogane Cemetery. The band was pretty good. One song sounded a bit like "Hold That Tiger", but not exactly.  It also was quite a bit sassier than you would have heard at a 1950's football game.  Do they still play that song at games; maybe at a LSU or Auburn home game?  Oh well.  As I was saying.

I knew the nursing college is about one-half mile away, so I decided to first walk through markets closer to the hospital.  I headed around the corner from the hospital entrance, heading east. The gentleman with the rock pile was there.  But now what before was a two feet stack of
rocks was spread all over the ground.  He still was making smaller rock bits.

There was a continuous line of street vendors around that first corner, stretching all the way down to the "Bus Depot" at the end of the block.  No ties.  There were several vendors selling shoes, both new and used.  One vendor's specialty was straw hats of all styles and sizes.  Mostly women's styles though.  New and used clothes were for sale at several places.  Cell phones covers - just like the kiosks at the malls in Phoenix.  Several stands selling pre-packaged food.  Sundries on sale.

Rara III
Two other rara bands have passed by my window in the last ten minutes. This must be the grand finale night.  I'm heading down to the street!  Twenty minutes later.  I'm back. "Holy Riddler Batman," it's a massive block party.  By my eye, people are stretched two to three blocks in three directions - west, east and north. Two blocks north of the hospital is a stage with mostly techno music being played. So that is what kept me up last night!  The teens and twenty-somethings are there. Many others are off following the rara bands going east.  A fourth band just went by my window. Great drums. Many couples and families are just strolling around.  The end of Easter weekend is near.

At the end of the block I turned north at what we all call the "Bus Depot." There are white school size buses, with blue stripes, that will take you to Port-au-Prince. There are "tap-taps, which go to less populous areas, but still travel quite a distance, for example to Jacmel going south from Leogane over the mountains and then down to the ocean on the southern most side of Haiti.  Tap-taps are large pick-up sized vehicles, with a seating "cage" type addition to the back bed.  The sides have wooden slats, but with plenty of spaces to allow for the flow of air.  There are "permanent benches" fastened to the two long sides of the bed of the truck.  To expand seating, a portable bench may be added in the middle of the bed.  Stretching your legs out during the ride is not an option. Tap-taps are almost always painted bright colors - lots of blue, red, green and yellow is used. Religious references are painted on the top of the front cab, such as "Jesus," "Deliverance," "Isaiah," "Salvation," "Deux," sometimes in English other times in Creole or French.

"Motos" serve as the local taxis. Girls and women passengers ride side-saddle facing to the left.  Boys and men ride cowboy style; no side saddle for us please. Passengers get on and off on the left side, to avoid getting an ugly scar from being burned by the exhaust pipe on the right side of the motorcycles. Most of the motos in Haiti are manufactured in China.

People getting ready for a bus or tap-tap ride can be seen making a last minute purchase of a snack for the trip, or a bottle of water or other drink. Food vendors run along the side of these vehicles as they are pulling away, hoping for one last sale through a passenger's open window.

The Bus Depot borders on the main highway that leads north back to Carrefou and then into Port-au-Prince.  In the other direction on this highway, you are heading out of Leogane along the north ocean side of the south western part of Haiti, going to Petit-Goave.  Before Petit Goave, you can take a junction toward Jacmel over the mountains.

I decided to head all the way up to the BP fuel station, another quarter of a mile, to what is the northern edge of Leogane city centre. No luck finding a tie. I learned very quickly to walk
against traffic, to see all of the motos coming at me down the highway at quite a clip. Twenty or so were staged in line to fuel up at the BP. Many others just buzzed through the gas station to avoid the two speed bumps in the highway in front of the station.

I turned around right after the BP, retraced my steps and then turned west on a road that would eventually get me back to where I could go north toward the big market.  There were many of the same type of vendors on this road.  A "Police" pick-up sped by me, and came back the other way five minutes later, still speeding and weaving through a bunch of motos, or should I say - the motos got the heck out of the way.

As I got to Rue St Croix (my common name for what is formally Rue Tevenot), I began looking for the big store. But, I didn't recall ever seeing a big store in the area the two times I had walked to the nursing college.  As I kept going north about 200 yards past where I would have turned left to go west to the nursing college, I went into a new area of the Leogane city centre.  There was a very specific change in the surroundings. I came upon a major tent city.  Many of the "homes" had USAID coated paper or USAID light canvas as the principal building material.

There were very few concrete structures in this area of Leogane, and these were all stores.  There were no permanent homes. The air was much  more pungent than near the hospital. A saw several children without any shoes. Others with only a shirt on. The few dogs I saw looked sick. There really weren't any roads so to speak here. They were dirt paths, and you really needed to watch out for the motos.

Man, there is a really great rara band jamming just outside my window right now. Great stuff!

Then it dawned on me.  The "big market" was made of the rows of street vendor shops, mostly blankets on the ground that were in a semi-circle on the outer edge of the tent city.  I passed at least five clothing vendors but didn't see any ties hanging up.  So at the next clothing vendor, I said: "Mwen bezwen achte yon kol."  (Accent marks omitted for the "e" in achte and the "o" in kol; I haven't learned how to do that yet.) Thursday, I had asked my Creole teacher, nineteen year old Watson, how to say "I need to buy a tie." A woman about 50 years of age pointed to a pile of ties wrapped around each other like a bunch of snakes. No worry here about creases in these "pre-owned" ties. I picked one out. When I  reached in my pocket for some gourdes, the "sales-person" pointed toward another older woman. I guess she was either the owner of the street stand or the cashier.  I asked this woman "how much" in Creole, expecting something around 300 to 400 gourdes.  ($1 U.S. = 40 gourdes)  When she just opened her hand, I knew that I got to make the initial offer. She readily agreed to 350 gourdes, so this novice Creole negotiator probably paid too much.

By the time of my purchase, I was almost at the end of the semi-circle market, so I stood on the right side of the road going south. Just standing still on the side of the road usually gets a taxi to stop. No need to raise your hand in the air like in New York City. Other people just say "taxi" as an empty moto approaches, keeping in mind that not all motos are being operated as taxis.  Watson has a moto, but he doesn't do taxi.

Driving the first quarter of a mile back, I realized that for the first three weeks in Leogane I had not really seen areas where the very poor live. Now I have.

I paid the moto driver 20 gourdes and said "Mesi" as I got off on the left side.  I went up to my office and through the wonders of the internet checked on when I would be able to stream in the radio broadcast of the Arizona State v. Cal Bear baseball game.

I hope this Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

David
April 24, 2011

Notes From Leogane No. 5: Good Friday Stations of the Cross Procession

Dear Family and Friends:

Greetings from Leogane this Good Friday morning. For this Note, it is best to let the photographs do most of the talking. An hour ago, I suddenly heard voices in song approaching from the west; not far from the "new" temporary structure Catholic Church.  I rushed to the roof with my camera.

I was very moved by what I recognized as a Good Friday Stations of the Cross procession.  As I was leaning over the rood edge watching, I received a "thumbs up" sign from a group of young boys.  The smiles of 7-8 year olds speak a universal language.  I got a wave from below by Father Tom, a Catholic priest from the University of Notre Dame who came by yesterday to introduce himself.  (Fr. Tom works at the Filariasis Clinic next to the hospital.  Filariasis is a mosquito bites caused disease you may have heard referred to as elephantitis. Among other conditions, filariasis can cause extreme swelling of the lower extremities and chest areas of men and women, and significant enlargement of male testicles.)

The procession stopped in front of the hospital for about thirteen minutes of prayer and responsive readings at this station of the cross.  Though they were in Creole, I recognized parts of the prayers by their tempo and key words of the crowd's responses.  As an "Ave Marie" prayer was being chanted, I put down my camera.  I must admit to getting a bit misty eyed.

You may be able to see some of the worshipers kneeling on the ground, which they did for the entire stop at this station. I saw at least three worshipers kneeling on the dirt who, by my eye, were at least sixty years of age. Photos show the procession as it passed by the hospital. I hope this Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

David
April 22, 2011

Notes From Leogane No. 4

Dear Family and Friends:

In Leogane, twisted pieces of rebar, metal and concrete chunks, from stores and houses demolished on January 12, 2010, still are scattered on the sides of roads and in empty lots.  Slowly but surely these visual sores are being removed. I know there is much hurt here, both on the surface and deeper within the walking wounded.  There are daily reminders whenever you walk about Leogane.  I cannot pretend to know the magnitude of the heartache and the physical and emotional scars that remain with the good people of Leogane, in Port-au-Prince and other communities in Haiti.  But, it is not too difficult to know that real horror came to Leogane not too very long ago.  As was reported by a member of the British press on January 18, 2010:

 As a guest in Leogane, I see the obvious physical scars fifteen months later; children, teens and older men and women with amputated limbs. The emotional wounds surely are there, but they are not that apparent to me.  They do bubble to the surface every so often in unexpected ways.  Five days ago, I was sitting outside, near the main hospital entrance, when a young girl - best guess, 7- 8 years old - walked over from across the street, sat down, and greeted me in English.  I already had noticed her sitting on a small straw fashioned chair with some adults tending to business at a modest street stand selling various packaged snacks and sundries. Her English was far superior to my Creole.  As we exchanged pleasantries, she remarked without embellishment to me, a complete stranger, "My father died."  I later learned he perished in the 'quake.

I have no idea how long it will take for someone who experienced the horrors in January, 2010 to no longer relive that time every day or week, or maybe only in dreams.  Our past remains with us in a multitude of measures, with complex and nuanced tugs on the heart and mind.  I think it fair to say that after extreme hardship, some people can move on, though still hurting inside, while others are totally paralyzed by their grief and shock at what happened to them and their loved ones, whether now lost or living.

In the midst of all this, fifteen months later there are palpable changes in the look of the streets, as compared with the photographs and videos I have seen of Leogane from the first few weeks after the earthquake.  Across the street, next to Madame Carmen's lime green house, three new adjoining, two-story apartment buildings have been built.  L'hopital Sainte Croix is undergoing a major renovation; the dust in my bedroom is witness to this.  A new hospital wing is on the drawing board.  When I met earlier this week with the architect who prepared the hospital architectural plans and specifications, he showed me the plans and graphic design renderings for the new Episcopal school and church next door.  Many here of course hope that eventually all necessary funds will become available to fulfill this most ambitious of dreams.

During my first walk around Leogane two weeks ago, I was told that for the first few weeks after the 'quake just about everyone stayed put. No one walked around what little there was left of their neighborhoods because there were so many rotting corpses lining the streets and filling empty lots. To my eye now, Leogane is moving forward.  There are many small shops.  "Motos", the light weight motorcycle in-town taxi service to use when you need to get somewhere within 10 or so miles, are doing a brisk business. (A lesson I learned quickly was that, when you hear the loud "beep" of a Moto horn, don't make any quick moves toward the side of the street.  Stay in a straight line or stop, because there may be several Motos passing on your right and left at the same time.  There are no yellow center stripes on the main streets of Leogane city center.)

This morning, a large flat-bed truck pulled up in front of Madame Carmen's house.  It was greeted with animated gestures and vocal gymnastics from several adults; though of course I had no idea what they were saying.  I think they were directing the two-man crew in the truck, from Samaritan Purse International Relief, to the intended location of the cargo of strong looking wooden building panels, with fasteners embedded in the panels to aid in joining them together.

By the end of daylight, a wooden floor and four wooden sides to the structure, with a hinged door, were erected.  All that is lacking at this time is a metal roof.  My best guess is that this shell of a new home will provide about 400 square feet of under roof living space. I don't know how many people will live there; 3, 4, or 6?  Thousands upon thousands of these ready-to-assemble sheds/ homes are needed in Leogane, Port-au-Prince, and other communities ravaged since January, 2010, to replace the make-do plastic cover or canvas make-shift tents you see everywhere in the impact zones.

Not to be misunderstood, the building of more substantial permanent homes and commercial buildings is now part of the fabric of Leogane. In many places, columns of rebar stand erect in anticipation of the completion of the concrete forms that will surround them, as monuments of a sort to the grit of this community. The music that streams through my bedroom window, three - four nights a week from "The Massage" club, brings forth brass beats, laced with a heavy dose of Cuban-style songs - think of the Buena Vista Social Clubs albums - and the ebb and flow of laughter.  The bad news, after two weeks I realize this club has a collection of about 15 - 20 songs that are played every night, and usually in the same order.  The one I least like lasts about five minutes.

I hope to make "Joe's" tomorrow night - about 1/2 mile from the hospital - for a few Prestige beers (Haiti's own brew) with the "post-earthquake documentary" film producer and cameraman who stayed here last week.  Joe's is supposed to be the "anti-Massage" bar. Whether that was intended by the owner, or merely was the result of a more modest business budget, Joe's works for me and for a number of NGO volunteers in town.  I hear that now that a table (a piece of plywood supported by two building blocks) has joined the eight chairs for patrons, there has been a noticeable increase in clientele. Whatever their choice of night spot, my view is that it is good to hear of people partying in this town.

I had dinner this past Tuesday night with the hospital architect and the Head of the Nursing College in Leogane, Dean Hilda Alcindor. She is an amazing person. Haiti needs as many Hilda Alcindors as it can find.  At dinner, the Dean was happy to report that this year's graduates would complete their four years of nursing instruction on schedule, and will graduate next month.  The nursing students of Leogane played a major role in assisting with the rendering of acute trauma care, the delivery of babies, and other essential medical care in the aftermath of the earthquake, on the grounds of the Nursing College.

 The college saw 5,000 surgeries performed there from the day of the earthquake through the end of May 2010, due in no small part to the minor damage experienced at the nursing college as compared with the wholesale destruction of buildings at l'hopital Saint Croix.  No one can accuse Leogane of being a quiet place.  In certain parts of town, including outside my window, people talk in the street from early morning until late in the evening.  I think this is a good thing.  This place seems to have taken a healthy dose of happy banter and the poking of fun at friends.  (Remind me when I get back to Arizona to relive the "joke on Dave" the first time I had to go outside in the dark, on the grounds in back of the hospital, to restart the electrical generator at 1:45 a.m. when all power had been cut-off to the Guesthouse.   Let's just say it took me 35 minutes to "find the solution" that early morning.  After this "lesson", I can get the power back on in 5 minutes from the time I get out of my bed at night.)

After two weeks in Leogane, I'm becoming somewhat attuned to the daily sounds and street beats outside my windows.  The first sounds of a crowing rooster let me know that a new day is fast approaching. (Yes, they do crow to herald the coming of dawn.)  The ice truck, dropping blocks of ice across the street for St. Anne Pharma and two apartment dwellers, usually is the first signal of the start of a new work day. As I shave, around 5:30 a.m. or so (usually closer to "so"), out of my bedroom window I can see women walking to one of the street side markets on Rue St. Croix or farther away at the "Bus Depot" not far from the Leogane Cemetery.  They are carrying all sorts of fruits, vegetables, kitchen wares, packaged goods, clothes, etc.  The buzz of Motos on streets near the hospital confirms the approach of 7:30 a.m.  The march of school children by the hospital - all in uniforms – tells me that 8 a.m. is near.

All day trucks pass by with an assortment of building materials, appliances, equipment, and dry goods. At least one should be carrying cases of Prestige. At all hours of the day, I see people stop and chat with their neighbors and friends. Madame Carmen always has an impressive array of visitors.  Some of her biggest fans seem to be teenage boys in the neighborhood. These chatty times have shown me that I have much to learn about the courtesy of asking someone about their health, and news about their family members, before diving into the cold facts of business at hand.

Each day in Leogane brings the type of activities that reveal this to be a vibrant place.  I like best the slow but deliberate unfolding of the day that morning brings.  (I expect Jeanne still doubts that I now take showers before 6:15 a.m. each morning.  So much for that "sleeping in with early retirement thing.")  Others here will prefer the faster pace of mid-day.  Maybe they enjoy the sight and sounds of the vendor walking up and down the streets yelling, "dlo, Dlo, DLO!” as each word for "water" becomes louder, and the pronunciation is stretched out more, with the fervent hope of attracting a paying customer.

Perhaps the "twenty-somethings" look forward to the evening and the chance for music and laughter at a club. Parents may treasure time at the dinner table, to hear stories about school from their children and to discuss other events of the day just completed. Whatever the preference, these choices, and the sounds and beats of the streets, mean that there is renewed life in Leogane.  As I begin to settle in to somewhat of a groove here at the Guesthouse - as best you can when there is construction dust everywhere and you have to take a "bucket bath" because water has been shut off to the individual rooms - these Notes will now be sent no more frequently than once every seven days.  I have completed the Notes that set forth my initial sightings and impressions since arriving here on March 30.

It's time for me to venture into new areas of town, meet new people, and have different Leogane experiences, so that the Notes remain of interest to you. But, should I suffer a fit of writer's cramp, I am holding in reserve a Note about the wonderful staff here, who treats me so well. And the food - "Manje a pi bon gou!" As I close, Dr. Livingston has leaped up onto the desk next to my lap top.  He's just chillin' on a book taking a cat nap. (I couldn't help myself). He too wants to avoid the dusty floors. He remains a really cool chat (Creole for "cat"). Hard to believe an eight-month old kitten could have such personality. But not to worry, Dylan. When put to the question I remain a dog lover and partial to Black Flat Coat retriever rescue dogs.  I hope his Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

David

April 14, 2011

Notes From Leogane No. 3

Greetings to you all from Leogane:
 
It is a beautiful Sunday morning in Leogane.  The cool air blowing into my modest, but more than adequate office is due in part to the "lapli"/rain - a major 60 minutes down pour - that visited us early Saturday morning. 

The last of the mobile clinics volunteers left yesterday for their return flight to Boston, after staying here for a week.  Because of major remodeling construction work that began yesterday on the Guesthouse floor, the next group of mobile clinic volunteers will not be here until the last week in May.  Beginning with the return of the next mobile clinic team in late May, the new improved Guesthouse will be teaming with volunteer groups from the United States for the remainder of my stay in Leogane.  One ten-person volunteer group, associated with Family Health Ministries, will be working in the general area of Leogane for two months, beginning May 30.

Our guests this past week also included - for three days - a producer of documentary films about how communities around the world have tried to recover from a natural disaster.  The producer, David, along with his videographer, Scott, was joined by the third member of this group - a Presbyterian relief representative who knows Leogane and was introducing David and Scott to various people in town.  Friday they interviewed, among others, Pere Joseph Kerwin Delicat, the Rector of the Episcopal Church next door to the hospital. 

David received an award for his documentary on the aftermath of the tsunami in Indonesia.  During dinner conversation with David and Scott Thursday evening, I learned that they will be coming to Haiti at various times over the next 2 - 3 years to document the recovery efforts from the January 2010 earthquake.  The documentary will rely in significant part on initial interviews, and follow-up interviews two to three years from now, with people not only in areas where the earthquake destroyed many important buildings and caused such devastating loss of life, but also interviews with Haitians living in other parts of the country that have been significantly impacted in other ways.  For example, after the earthquake, hundreds of thousands of Haitians left Port au Prince and returned to villages where they may have grown up.  David and Scott are interested in how the influx of such relatives and friends to more rural areas of Haiti is affecting the quality of life and sustainability of "extended families" in these areas.

Last Sunday, I had the privilege of attending the Sunday service at the Episcopal Church next door.  Both the Episcopal and Catholic church buildings were leveled in the earthquake.  Episcopal services now are held in what previously was a basketball court/recreation area.  The wooden roof, with strong cross beams, and wooden pillars on the sides to support the roof structure, are all that remain from before the earthquake.  Along with the concrete pad, the roof and side supports have become the permanent parts of the new church.  All sides of the church are made from canvas, which can be rolled up to allow a breeze into the church.  There are about twenty rows of wooden benches in the church, with each row being made of left side, middle, and right side sections of wooden benches - much like the three sections of seating at St. Anthony on the Desert Episcopal Church in Scottsdale.  (Indeed, there was a woman sitting about three rows back in the right side section who had the same gait, mannerisms and direct eye contact of Jill Kyler.  This Madame must have been the official greeter.)

I think I may have already mentioned that the service lasted more than three hours.  For me, this was time well spent.  I cannot possibly convey here the communal soul, so to speak, of this gathering of more than three hundred people - standing room only.  I rather think it best to share with you just a few of the many lasting impressions from this morning of worship.   

First and foremost for me was the music.  This service provided me with a new appreciation of how song can lift spirits during worship.  By my count, there were more than ten songs sung during the service, by five different singing groups.  There was the "adult choir"; about 15 singers with their director playing a portable electric keyboard.  There was what I call the "twenty-somethings" choir, four women and a man accompanied by a single acoustical guitar.  There was the "youth choir"; ranging from five to thirteen years of age.  There was a women soloist.  And, there was the seven-woman group that I call "the purple/whites."  This choir group was dressed to kill.  Each wore a white suit top with purple stripes and a matching white skirt, also with purple stripes.  The suit and skirt were complemented by a purple blouse, of the same shade, and white shoes.  The applause "the purple/whites" received from the congregation after their 5 - 6 minute song bodes well for the youth movement at this church.
 

All of the music contributed in its own way to lifting spirits.  One might say that the variety of music reflects in part the diversity of ages and music tastes of those attending the service.  Maybe so.  But how do I know that the 75 year old (my best estimate) woman sitting next to me wasn't enthused more this particular Sunday by "the purple/whites" than by the older adult choir.  Indeed, the youthfulness of spirit of Madame sitting next to me was underscored by the fact that she knelt on the concrete floor several times during the service - in a "Sunday best dress"  - while many of younger age stayed seated and just bowed their heads.  (I couldn't let this gesture of worship by my 75 year old pew member serve to single me out as a "worship weenie".  It only took a few minutes to brush the dust from the concrete floor off at the knees of my pants after the service!)

When I returned to the Guesthouse after the service, someone asked me "How long did the sermon last?"  I replied, "Which one?"  By my count, Pere Kerwin addressed the congregation three different times.  The first "sermon" took place about thirty minutes into the service, and lasted about 40 minutes.  Those of us who arrived a few minutes late for the beginning of the 7 a.m. service - (I get to blame a few other lollygaggers from the Guesthouse) - had to stand outside the back of the church until this first sermon was over.  While I do not understand French, and only have begun to tackle Creole, I still could tell that Pere Kerwin is a captivating speaker.  There were several times during this sermon where there were interactive exchanges with those in the pews, including applause for the Lord after Pere invited a demonstrative response to some part of his sermon, perhaps a discussion of a scripture reading.

The second sermon by Pere took place after Eucharist.  It lasted about 25 minutes.  My read was that Pere was weaving together themes he had gathered from all parts of the service.  After this second sermon, at about the 2-hour mark of the service, I thought I soon would be exiting the church after I said goodbye in Creole to my peer neighbor, Madame.  Not so fast grasshoppe!

For the next hour, the service morphed into a weekly church community business meeting, with many questions and answers flowing from the pews up to Pere Kerwin and the Deacon, and responses from the clergy back to the parishioners - the "third sermon" I mentioned above. 

During this part of the service, I was introduced as the new Guesthouse Manager at l'hopital Sainte Croix, and was given the opportunity to briefly address the church, including a report on where the mobile clinic teams would be serving the community of Leogane, and other areas farther away, during the coming week.  Pere Kerwin translated my brief remarks into Creole.  I'm happy to report that when I observed that, "with the congregation's permission", I would like to return for other Sunday services during my three-month stay in Leogane, there was enough polite applause for me to interpret as an affirmative response. 

I close my observations about last Sunday's service with the Eucharist part of the service.  Incense was in heavy use during the consecration.  I think the altar literally disappeared behind the incense cloud on two occasions.  Everyone coming to the front of the church received Eucharist from Pere Kerwin, who dipped the host in wine before we all received communion by mouth.  But, there's more - which partly explains the length of the service.  After the serving of Eucharist, the blessings of all of the children began. There had to have been at least fifty children who approached Pere in groups of two.  No quick and done laying of the hands for this blessing ceremony.  I think each group of two children received no less than 10 seconds of attention from their Rector.

At (my - oops sorry Jeanne) our church, St Anthony on the Desert Church, there is a sign at both exits from the church parking lot.  Each sign states something along the lines of:  "You Now Are Entering the Mission Field."  To me at least, the directive that our religious faith requires more than just attending service on Sunday is important for my stay in Leogane.

With that thought in mind, I close this Note by introducing you to the older man I have seen almost every day since I arrived in Leogane.  He works just outside the entrance to the Episcopal Church.  Every day that I have observed the gentleman and his rock pile, he is doing the same thing.  From this observation, I gather that he is doing this work for many hours each day, most if not all days of the week.  He is dressed in tattered light brown shorts and a stained sleeveless undershirt.  He has no shoes to cover his weathered feet.  His hands are covered in dust, and bear signs of years of hard labor.  They are rough.  He sits behind a number of large rocks a little smaller than the size of a deflated soccer ball, hitting these largest rocks with a regular-sized hammer.  He obviously would benefit by having something more in the nature of a down-sized sledge hammer, with a hammer-sized handle.  These broken pieces from the larger rocks are then struck by the hammer and eventually reduced to small bits of rock that go onto the gentleman's rock pile.  I have no idea who will buy these rock bits, nor do I know what price in gourdes he might receive.  All I know is that this gentleman is doing what he can to survive after the earthquake.  Who knows, perhaps his work will result in the production of a building product that might someday find its way to a rebuilt home, or perhaps a foundation for a classroom across the street.

For me, this man serves as a symbol of Haiti after the earthquake. He doesn't need me to come from Arizona and dump a bag full of ABC (a rock aggregate used to make concrete) next to his rock pile for him to sell rather than the rock bits he has made.  What happens when I return to Arizona and don't bring a second bag of ABC to Leogane next month or next year?  But, the gentlemen probably would benefit from someone providing him a better tool - perhaps a down-sized sledge hammer - so that he can move forward with his work in a manner that doesn't take so long and doesn't cause so much wear and tear on his hands.  For me, it is important for the gentleman with the rock pile, and all of the people of Haiti to be assisted - in the many ways available to the friends of this country - in the rebuilding of a new Haiti with Haitian hands.

I learned much last Sunday thanks to the grace and friendliness of my fellow churchgoers.  I have learned a valuable lesson about dignity in the midst of extreme adversity from many Haitians I have met since my arrival at the airport in Port-au-Prince; not the least of which the man next to the rock pile. 

I hope this Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

Peace,

David

April 10, 2011