Peaceful Jubilee

Today was a normal day in Jubilee, however, for the rest of the city of Gonaives, it was not.  While I was going about my business teaching my students, riots had broken out in many places all throughout the city.  

Haitians are not typically known to be timely or organized.  In fact I usually plan to arrive at least 30 minutes late to events knowing that it probably won't start on time.  But, when it comes to riots, they are masters of planning.  At promptly 9 AM today, road blocks, burning tires, and protesters began.  I am told the protesting was for multiple reasons.

From my peaceful classroom, I could see pillars of black smoke rising up above the city from the burning tires at nearly every major intersection.  At one point, one of our school staff passed my classroom and informed me, "I hear they are shooting people and the police have tear gas!"  

Several of my students hugged me with concern in their eyes.  "Don't go home today!" They said knowing that I live in the main part of the city where the trouble was.  "Stay here in Jubilee where it is safe!  You can sleep at my house tonight!"

After school, I drove one of my students home.  He doesn't live in Jubilee anymore and I wanted to make sure he arrived safely.  As I cautiously drove my moto avoiding the main roads, I could tell the riots were over, but I could still see the evidence of the day.  I drove through at least half a dozen still smoldering tire road blocks.  I dodged cinder blocks and overturned dumpsters that were in the middle of the roads.

And then, I smiled to myself.  Jubilee was peaceful and everything was completely "normal" there today.  Jubilee.  The place that most Haitians are afraid to go to because it is known for  danger and crime.  

A Haitian friend of mine said to me today, "Well, its over for today but there is no telling what people will do tomorrow."  But I know.  I'm claiming tomorrow as another peaceful day because I'll be in Jubilee, beautiful Jubilee.

And He who sits on the throne said, "Behold I am making all things new."

Revelation 21:5

Proud Teacher Moment

This week I have been a very happy teacher.  Actually, that is a big understatement.  I've been ecstatic. Just ask any of the other teachers or visitors that are here this week.  I've been smiling, jumping up and down, dancing in front of the class, and running around like a crazy lady.  All because of something that one of my brilliant little students did.

My 1st graders understand a lot of spoken English and they can read phonics at a kindergarten level.  However, it is still very difficult for them to speak English.  They know random words or simple phrases, but putting them together to form complete thoughts is hard for them.

Despite the fact that they cannot write a lot in English yet, I have been wanting to encourage creative writing/thinking.  We have come a LONG way since September.  At the beginning of the school year, my students could barely focus long enough to listen to me read a story.  Now, they are trying to write their own simple "stories".   At writing time, I no longer hear them say "I can't do it".  Instead, they get to work writing quickly and illustrating their story.   They have the choice to write in Creole or English.  They have always chosen to write in Creole until this week.

At the end of writing time, one of the boys in my class, Ifocoeur, came up to me proudly displaying his story.  I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw his paper....


He wrote a story in English.
He wrote a story in English.
He wrote a story in English!!!!  (just in case you didn't read it the 1st time)

Yes, it was phonetic spelling (with a mixture of Creole and English phonics).  No, it was not the greatest story in the world.  But, it was the best story I've ever read.

(Translation: Today me go Port-au-Prince.  Mom gives me crackers.  Is good crackers.  Me mom thanks mom.  Is good crackers.  Me sleep.  Me jump.  Me run.  Jump.  Butterfly (not sure why he threw that one in there, haha) Me go to house.

Me go to house.  Me sleep.  Mom say, Ifocoeur, come on.  Me say food.  Come on, come on to food.  Me go to mom.  Mom gives my food.  Mom, is good food.  Thanks.

He managed to use as many of the English words that his little mind could think of and string them together to make a short story.  If only you could all hear him read it with the inflections in his voice, his broken English, and his adorable Haitian accent pronouncing "crackers" as "kwakiz".

Seven and a half months.  Five days a week.  Eight hours a day.  Planning/preparing lessons on my weekends and evenings.  Missing out on fun things because I'm busy working at the school.  Sweat, tears, and frustrations....It all became worth it this week as I listened to my student read his very own story to me in English.

I may look silly running around the school waving his story in the air.  I might seem weird for walking around all week smiling over one piece of paper, but I don't care.  I will cherish this moment forever.

Potty Talk

After typing this and then being too chicken to post it, I saw my friend Grace's recent blog post.  She wrote about people's perceptions of us and the realities.  To quote part of her blog, she wrote "Perception: We have deep, philosophical discussions all of the time.  Reality: We talk about bowel movements (everyone is either going too much or too little), sports, food, movies, music, & silliness a lot.  Maybe more than normal."

Lately, I have been trying to be very cautious about misrepresenting myself through my blogposts.  I want you all to know the real me: the good, the bad, and the ugly.  For that reason, I am throwing caution (or good judgement) to the wind and posting this in hopes that you will find it as hilarious as I do.  I will warn you, it is definitely TMI.

Today's blog topic is poop.  Potty talk: that thing that mother's tell their children not to bring up at the dinner table or in public.  Most of us were raised to not discuss our bowel movements with others unless absolutely necessary.  In fact, I'm sure most of you will cringe at the fact that I am even venturing to write about this.  

Over the past three years, I've learned that when you live in Haiti, you can basically throw all of your "potty talk" rules out the window.  You see, when you live in a place where people urinate and defecate on the ground, grocery shopping is done at an outdoor market , you eat food cooked on an open fire along the side of the road, streets are filled with trash, and people are uneducated about how germs are spread....you get diarrhea a lot.  

Getting diarrhea a lot leads to things like this:

• shamelessly running past people as you make a bee line for the bathroom
• having "accidents"
• in emergency situations, (ex: when your bathroom is occupied by a guest) having to use other locations such as your backyard or the side of the road
• everyone in the house knowing you have diarrhea because your toilet doesn't flush properly
• having your nurse friend hand deliver medicine to you WHILE you are on the toilet

Eventually after enough of those situations, you tend to find yourself having conversations like this:

• "I've haven't had diarrhea in a week!"
• "That lettuce didn't agree with me."
• "Sorry about your bathroom."
• "Well, I pooped my pants again last night...."
• "Don't touch that towel in the bathroom, I had an accident."
• "Being in the states was so great!  I had solid poop!"
• "Don't ever trust a fart in Haiti."
• "You might not want to go in there...."
• "Dear Lord, please help _____'s bowels this week."

When you live in community and you're innards are constantly going haywire, there is no room for embarrassment.  Clearly, I no longer have any shame.  I'm sorry, Mom.  You raised me right, but....oh not again......I've gotta run!

Not My Week

While this week has not been all together terrible, it certainly has not been my best.  Since Friday is here and I can reflect back on my week, I see that there are some humorous parts amidst the misery (I'm exaggerating...it wasn't actually that miserable).  I hope that this post makes you chuckle as you get a glimpse at some of the absurdity of my life.

It all started last weekend.  I took a bus to Port-au-Prince to visit friends and I felt myself getting sick as soon as I got on the bus at 6 AM Saturday.  By the time I was on my way home Sunday afternoon, I felt downright awful.  As soon as I got back to my house, I went straight to bed and crashed for several hours.  When I woke up in a feverish headachy daze, it appeared to me as if the sun was just starting to come up.  In reality, it was actually setting.  I couldn't believe that I had slept all night!  I checked my phone and saw that it said 6:30.  I thought it was 6:30 AM on Monday...WRONG!  It was Sunday night at 6:30 PM.  Thinking school would be starting in an hour and a half, I called April, my principal, to tell her that I was too sick to teach that day.  Needless to say, I was quite confused as she informed me that it was Sunday night and NOT Monday morning.

When Monday finally did come, I was still sick.  I spent the day in bed.  Tuesday, I was feeling slightly better so I went to school and taught.  In hindsight, that was a terrible idea.  By Wednesday morning, my voice was completely gone and I had a fever.  So, I missed school again both Wednesday and Thursday.

I'm being dramatic, but having a fever in Haiti has got to be one step away from Hell.  Its bad enough when its nearly 100 degrees out and you're sweating your butt off just laying motionless in your bed (keep in mind I have no air conditioning).  However, its even worse when the power goes out from about 6 AM until 2 PM almost everyday.  Then, its just stagnant heat.  So, there I was festering in my bed, covered in sweat, and watching all the mosquitoes swarm around the outside of my net.  Because my mosquito net has several holes, the little pests kept sneaking inside.  I practically drown myself in mosquito repellent every hour or so.  At one point I remember thinking, "If I don't die from this fever, the chemicals in this repellent are sure to kill me."

This morning (Friday) when I woke up, I was feeling better but my voice was still gone.  I realize that it is basically impossible to teach without a voice, but I had cabin fever and was sick of being cooped up at home.  So, I got on my moto and left for Jubilee.  On the way there, I noticed that I was running on fumes.  As luck would have it, there is a gas shortage and none of the stations have gas.  "Oh well," I think to myself.  "I should have enough to get to school and back home."  Three quarters of the way to Jubilee, my back tire went completely flat.  AWESOME.  I pulled over and saw a large nail in my tire.  Again, just my luck.  There wasn't much that I could do in that situation other than push my moto half a mile to the school....in a skirt and while not feeling so well.  By 7 in the morning, I was already a sweaty mess.  Major praise to God, I saw a friend as I was pushing my moto along.  He offered to take it to a "boss" (man who fixes tires) and get it taken care of for me.  When I went to give him money to pay for it, I saw that I forgotten my wallet at home!

Thankfully, a friend lent me money for the tire, and I somehow made it through the day teaching my classes.   I had  the assistance of a student who would stand next to me and repeat to the class whatever I whispered to her.  By the end of the school day, I was sweaty, tired, and cranky.  On the way home from school, I decided to treat myself to a snack from the "supermarket" across the street from my house.  It is about the size of a gas station mini mart but with less selection.  I ended up getting a coke and splurging $1.25 US on one imported apple (apples don't grow here).  As is typical, they didn't even have enough cash in the register to give me the roughly $4.00 change that I was owed.  So, I left with a handwritten receipt showing that they owe me money the next time I go shopping.

Many days, I stay sane by simply just shaking my head and laughing.  Sometimes there isn't much else you can do!  I am going to start of my weekend right by taking a cold shower and enjoying my apple.  I hope you can all find some humor from the events of your week, too.

Have a blessed and joy-filled weekend everyone!

Beautiful and Beloved

       "Mademoiselle Katie!  Santia and Claudia are fighting!" yells one of my 1st graders as they are leaving school at the end of the day.
       I walk up to the small group of students and look at the two girls in question.  "I know you two are not fighting right now because you are MY students.  My students are beautiful, smart, and wonderful and they don't fight.  People who fight look ugly."  I cross my arms across my chest and ask them, "Now, are you going to keep fighting, girls?"
       "No!" they respond as they giggle and run off towards their houses.
       As I turn around to go back to my classroom, I can't help but smile to myself for having quickly diffused that situation.  However, my happiness only lasts for a moment until I hear another one of my first graders say something.  She had not been a part of the conversation about fighting, but she had clearly been listening nearby.
       "Well Mademoiselle Katie, I'm Haitian so I'm going to fight."  she says.
       I turn to see a slight smirk on her face as if she is waiting to hear what I am going to say in response.  "Just because you are Haitian does not mean you should fight."  I calmly tell her.
       Without missing a beat, she says, "I'm ugly, and you said ugly people fight.  So, I'm going to fight."
       That comment catches me off guard, and I take a step towards her.  "Why do you say that?  You aren't ugly.  You are beautiful"" I say to her with love and concern in my voice.
       As if she is talking about something as light hearted as the weather, she says, "I'm ugly.  My mama tells me that all the time.  She doesn't love me.  My papa loves me, but not my mama.  I'm ugly."
     I can feel my heart breaking inside my chest as I reach out and cradle her face in my hands.  "Listen to me," I tell her.  "You are not ugly.  You are beautiful.  Do you hear me?  You are beautiful.  You are beautiful.  God made you the way that you are, and you are beautiful.  Even if your mama tells you aren't, always remember that you are beautiful to me and to God."  I kiss her on the forehead and give her a quick hug.  The other classes are being dismissed now and even though I would like to hold her close and lavish her with encouragment and love, our conversation is interrupted and she turns to go home.


It was a conversation that lasted just a minute or two, but hours afterward I am still feeling its effects.  I feel it deep in my heart.  It stings.  No, it throbs.  Looking back on my childhood, I wonder what would it have been like to have the love, encouragement, and affection that I received from my parents replaced with condescending words or the all too frequent beatings?  I believe that it would have affected every relationship that I had in my life.  It would have changed the way I view others and my ability to trust.  I wonder, how is it affecting the way that she views the world?  What lies does she now believe about herself?

From the depths of my heart, I long for my students to know the same love that I received from my parents as a child.  I desire for them to be told each day that they are special, loved, and beautiful.  I want them to feel safe and protected.  As much as I try and as much as I want to, I cannot parent all of these children.  I cannot fill the voids in their hearts.

But, I can do my part.  I will show them love each day in every way I can.  I can hug them, wipe their tears, and speak words of life over them every opportunity that I get.  I can forgive them when they do wrong, and continue to love them just as Jesus did for me.  I know that my love for them will never be enough to cover the hurt that they have experienced, but my love will be a light.  It will pierce the darkness that surrounds them.  And one day, my students will eventually trace my light back to its source: The Light of the World.  The earthly love that I received from my parents was just a mere drop in the ocean compared to the tsunami of love that our Father wants to drown these children in (Matthew 7:11).

He knows everything about my students.  He knows when they sit down and when they rise.  He is familiar with all of their ways (Psalm 139:1-3).  He knew them before they were conceived (Jeremiah 1:4-5).  He chose them when he planned creation (Ephesians 1:11-12). He has numbered every hair on their heads (Matthew 10:29-31) and created them in His own image (Genesis 1:27).  They are fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14).

The pain that is in my heart for my students is being replaced by overwhelming joy.  In this life, my students are suffering.  But oh how lucky they are that their Father is pursuing their hearts everyday.  His eyes are fixed on them.  To some people they are worthless, but to Him they are His prize.

Restavek

I have known about "restaveks" (child slaves) since I moved to Haiti.  I have recently been reading an autobiography written by Jean-Robert Cadet, the man in the video below.  As a child, he was a restavek.  The word restavek is Creole and it means "to stay with".  In reality, it means a child slave.  Just by the meaning of the word, you can see that most Haitians are in denial that restavek is modern day indentured servanthood.

Although Haiti was one of the first nations to officially abolish slavery, it is still alive today.  It is culturally accepted, and not viewed as slavery.  It is so accepted that it is almost undetectable within the culture.  Poor families give up their children and send them to live with other people who they believe can provide for their children.  Parents have hopes that their children will have a better life.  In the end, their children are treated as less than human and forced to work for that family.

I've witnessed it myself.  I've heard my Haitian friends talk about having children live with them and work for them as if it is no big deal.  It is heartbreaking.  It is common.  Please join me in praying for this part of Haitian culture to die.  Pray for eyes to be opened and for hearts to change.

Ransomed Dog

If I were a teacher in the states, having my co-worker come into my classroom and say, "Katie, can you drive me on your motorcycle to the cemetery?  Some thugs stole my dog and they're holding him at ransom." ....would not be normal.  But here in Haiti, I've realized there is no such thing as normal.

So, at 8:30 AM this morning, I found myself driving April to the cemetery without a plan for getting her dog, Dexter, back.  Since we aren't in the business of taking bribes, I figured it might get a little interesting when got face to face with the dog-nappers.  

As we neared the cemetery, it wasn't hard to figure out where the stolen dog was being held.  Beaver and Kathy's truck was stopped in the road (complete with a group of visitors in the back).  Next to the truck, a group of at least 30 Haitians had gathered.  Before I even had time to bring my moto to a complete stop, April jumped off the back and walked right up to the thug that had stolen him.  He yelled at her to stop and not come closer to him, but without even missing a beat, she reached down, slipped Dex's collar right off of his neck, and scooped him up.  It happened so quickly and so smoothly that you would have thought she had rehearsed it a hundred times.  

The entire crowd roared with shouts and laughter as the man just stood in the street dumbfounded.  I don't think that ransom panned out how he had hoped.  By 9:00 AM, Dexter was back safe and sound and I was greeting my students good morning.  Just another day in Jubilee!

Class Superhero

Most days, my students are required to come to school in their uniforms, but once in a while they randomly show up to school dressed as a superhero....

Moments that Make an Impact

One particular day several months ago I went to the clothing section of the market.  This section of the market is like an outdoor thrift store filled with used clothing imported from the states.  You rummage through piles of clothes and when you find something you like you have to barter to get a good price.  I remember that day many of the vendors were being rude and harassing us.  My friends all walked away to browse elsewhere, but I wasn't really interested in the clothes so instead I started a conversation with some of the people that were being rude to me.

To make a long story short, they were asking for money.  I said that I was not going to give them money but I could offer prayer instead.  I ended up praying for a man with back pain.  Nothing miraculous happened, but I did leave with new friends who were no longer harassing me.

Fast forward to today.  I went to that same section of the market, but I had forgotten about that event from several months earlier.  As I passed by the same man and woman and they both smiled and greeted me like an old friend.  We small talked for a while until my friends were ready to leave the market.  The Haitian man and woman said, "What?!  No, don't leave!  We want you to stay and talk longer.  Next time, come by yourself so that you can stay as long as you want."  I chuckled and promised that I would come back another day.  Just as I turned to leave they said, "Well, aren't you going to pray for us today??"

I couldn't have been more surprised or more happy!  Of course I gladly prayed for them and I walked away with a stupid silly grin on my face.  It was a perfect reminder that each interaction I have, each word that I exchange with others has an impact.  That day months ago I assumed those people would never remember me or that simple prayer.  Today, I was happily proven wrong.

Galatians 6:9 --  And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.