This new life of mine

I've been continuing to adjust and learn about this new place that I call home.  Despite having lived in Port-au-Prince for two years, I am often in shock and awe of my surroundings here in Gonaives.  I am so incredibly thankful that God has allowed me to be a part of this place...a part of this family.  Sometimes when I look around, I can't help but wonder how I got to be so lucky to be here.

Jubilee school has been in session since September 6th.

I've been working hard to write lesson plans and get to know my students.  I am the kindergarten homeroom teacher, and I teach four different classes each day: Kindergarten English, two different classes of 1st grade English, and 2nd grade Science.

The children forgot a lot of the English that they learned over the summer.  So, I have been spending the large portion of my time catching them up again and reviewing what they learned last year.  The students challenge me on a daily basis.

My classroom is one half of a large room.

The room is divided by three large cabinets.  The other half of the room is for another class.  My students and I are blessed to have four walls and a roof over our classroom.  

This set-up does occasionally make it difficult for my students and I to stay focused.  The noise coming from the other class often gets too loud to concentrate or hear.  On top of that noise, I also get the noise of the pre-k class because there are holes in the wall that we share with Pre-K.

While it can be frustrating, it sometimes makes me laugh when my students decide to join in with counting, reciting, or singing when they hear the other classes.

The school is located in Jubilee, which is literally located in the city dump.  So, when I look outside my window I see people going to the bathroom or watch dump trucks burning loads of trash.

In the distance you can see the trash burning

In between teaching, I've found myself as a mediator for arguments between children, rubbing cream on little bodies covered in ringworm, holding down a small child as he gets stitches in his head, or simply just getting to know the people of Jubilee.

It is a hard place.  A harsh place.  A beautiful place.

Distinctly Different

The sun is beating down as I leave the school at the end of the day.  I walk alone.  My sandaled feet are dust covered.  I feel sweat run down my back.  Heads turn to look in my direction.  I'm constantly reminded that I'm different.  It was the same in Port-au-Prince but in this new city, there are less foreigners.  Here, Haitians are not especially fond of white people.

I smile as small children wave to me.  I say good afternoon to some of the people that I pass.  Several women hold out their hands and ask me for money.  A few teenagers ask, "Blanc, wa tis yo name?"  I feel all eyes on me and almost wish that I were invisible.  For once, I would like to blend in and go unnoticed. 

Suddenly, I hear my name.  Not blanc, but my real name.  I turn to see a familiar face.  One of the young girls that I've spent time with since I moved here calls me over and asks me to come inside.  I step over a small canal with dark black water and trash running through it and pull open a rusty door made of a piece of tin.  As I step into the yard, her whole family is there.  Mama is leaning over a plastic basin washing clothes while some young men play dominoes.  She introduces me to her family and we exchange names and small talk for a few minutes.  As I turn to leave, the mama asks me, "Aren't you scared walking around alone?"  I tell her that I'm not afraid.  This is, after all, my home.  I leave smiling, happy to make new friends. 

As I step back onto the street, I'm just a stranger once again.  I hear men calling out to me, some saying vulgar things, some cat calling or whistling, and some professing their love.  The way some of them look at me makes me feel a sick to my stomach.  I ignore them and put one foot in front of the other.  Some days it doesn't bother me, but today I feel my blood boil.  

I reach the center of town.  

The money changers call to me and vendors point out their goods.  As I walk, a man and woman pass by.  They smirk at me and one of them looks directly at me and tells me that I am Satan.  I keep walking.  I pretend that I didn't hear them or that I didn't understand.  I know I shouldn't let it bother me, but unfortunately it hurts.  I keep walking and I hear my name being called.  I feel relief as I see another face that I recognize, a man that I met the previous week.  He sells jewelry in the square to support his young son.  He shakes my hand and we talk for a few minutes.  I see people nearby watching me with curiosity, probably surprised to see that I can speak Creole.  He doesn't ask for anything.  He doesn't try to sell anything to me.  He simply wants to talk.  I forget about the rude people on the street.  We part ways and I decide to buy a fresco because its hot and my mouth is parched.  

I find my favorite fresco vendor and approach his little cart.  He pulls back a burlap sack to reveal a giant block of ice.  He shaves some ice with a metal razor, fills a small cup, and after swatting away some flies and bees, he pours a homemade coconut flavored syrup over the ice.  I hand him five gourdes and walk towards the tap-taps.  

I find a tap-tap that will take me on the correct route and I climb inside.  I sit down on the hard bench.  The people inside curiously glance in my direction.  A couple sitting across from me start to talk about me.  They make fun of me and laugh to each other about how I can't understand what they are saying.  I don't say a word.  Typically, you pay the driver when you get off the tap-tap, but this time he pulls over and wants to be paid before we leave.  It costs five gourdes to ride a tap-tap.  The driver tries to tell me that it costs me twenty gourdes.  I don't say anything, but I reach out my hand and give him five gourdes.  Today, I don't have the energy for smart responses or comebacks.  I'm hot and I'm tired.  Most days, I'm used to being different.  Most days, I can laugh it off and just joke along with them, but today I just want to be invisible.  I want to blend in with everyone else. 

I pray for patience.  I pray I will be able to do what it says in 1st Corinthians 4:2 - We bless those who curse us.  We are patient with those who abuse us.  We appeal gently when evil things are said about us. 

Again, only in Haiti...

Upon unlocking our metal gate this evening, Grace noticed sparks.  About an hour later, Kez came into the house yelling that her entire arm was just shocked when she touched the gate.  She and Grace went outside to find that someone from the street had snuck into our yard (concrete walls and razor wire all around it) and rigged up a wire to steal our electricity.  I might add that stealing electricity is a dangerous but very common practice here.

Someone had wrapped a live wire around our razor wire that is connected to our METAL gate.  Very safe.  Like I said....only in Haiti.

There's a Parrot in my Class!

It's not everyday that a bunch of kids randomly walk into your classroom proudly showing off a parrot.  Only in Haiti.

Prayer request: Tomorrow is the first official day of school.  I am teaching kindergarten English/Reading, two classes of 1st grade English/Reading, and 2nd Grade Science and Social Studies.  I have 46 students to meet and 46 names to learn.  I have 9 hours before school starts and I feel like I have a 12 more hours of preparation that could be done.  It should be an interesting day!!  Pray, pray, pray please!

The Never Ending Trip

Saturday, I decided to ride along with Papa Beaver, Mama Kathy, Grace, and Becca to Port-au-Prince. They were going to do some airport drop offs and pick ups and run some errands.  I simply wanted to stop by TLC to pick up some of my personal belongings that were still at my old apartment, and hopefully see Dorothy and Nickson.

From Gonaives, it is a three hour drive to Port-au-Prince.  So, we decided to leave at 6 AM.  The plan was to be back home in Gonaives by 4 PM.  However, things did NOT go as planned.

Grace, Mama Kathy and I all wanted to stop at the scene of the bus accident.

None of us had been past that place since last Sunday.  They had surprisingly pulled the bus up out of the water.  You could see that they had to add some dirt and gravel to level the bank a little bit.

The telephone pole that the bus slammed into was replaced, the water level had gone down, and there was nothing but a bus seat left in the mud. 

 After taking a few pictures, we continued the journey.

Half-way to PAP, we found out one of the flights was delayed by several hours.  So, that meant extra time spent waiting in Port.  To make a long story short, we spent the majority of our day sitting in the bed of the truck in the hot hot sun.  We made the waiting more interesting by telling stupid jokes, taking silly pictures, eating ring pops, hanging out in a gas station because it was air conditioned, creating our own version of the game "Chubby Bunny", listening to music on our iPods and spitting kanep seeds at random objects.

After sitting for over 2 hours in the airport parking lot, the family we were picking up finally arrived.  Then, it was time for the LONG drive home.  Grace and I were not pleased about the idea of driving all the way back to Gonaives in the dark.  Haitian roads are dangerous enough in the daylight.  Also, we were both on edge because of the bus accident last weekend.  There were 4 people inside the truck and the other ten of us were in the bed of the truck with all the luggage.

About ten minutes into the drive, Grace and I noticed dark black clouds hovering over the mountains.  Just great.

A few minutes later, the rain started.

It wasn't bad at first but eventually it was a downpour.  Typically here, the rain doesn't last for too long.  This time, however, it rained for nearly two hours.  I was freezing in my shorts and t-shirt so I covered myself with rice bags and we all huddled as close as we could to the cab of the truck.  Papa Beaver did not want to stop to let the storm pass because that meant we would get home even later.  So, we continued on until the truck headlights started to dim making it difficult to see.

Thankfully, it stopped raining.  Unfortunately, the truck stopped running.  We were, however, lucky that the truck broke down at a gas station.

It took an hour for Papa Beaver to get the truck started again.  By that point we were all cold, wet, very tired, and slightly cranky.

Although the truck was running again, neither the headlights nor the taillights were working.  We were about 45 mins from Gonaives so we waited for Amos to come with the other truck.  His headlights were working but his taillights were not.  Sounds safe, right?

Half of our group loaded up in the truck with Amos and the rest of us stayed in the back of Papa Beaver's truck.  Papa Beaver followed Amos closely so that he could see from his headlights.  My eyes were heavy and I was exhaused, but I was very nervous as I rode in the bed of the truck.  It was pitch dark, Beaver does not have good vision at night, and we had no lights.  That is not a good combination for people who just experienced the trauma of a vehicle accident.  I prayed the entire 45 minutes.  I was riding with my back against the cab so I could not see.  Each time Beaver used the brakes, my heart stopped.  Praise the Lord, we made it home safely.

A trip that was meant to take 10 hours ended up being 17 hours long.  The majority of it was spent sitting.  Needless to say, I am not planning another trip to Port for quite some time.