2002, Summer

This was an “extra” visit, required by difficulties with banking, housing — nuisances, but unavoidable nuisances in order to keep the work of the Mission going.  Haiti in summer — at the top end of the hot-hotter-hottest scale — is certainly something to be avoided if possible.  For me, it was unavoidable this time, and perhaps many times in the future (for the temple feast of the Church of St. Augustine in Jacmel falls in summer).  The Mission House on Butte-Boyer is no longer available (rented to the plenty-of-money Mormons), so no small amount of my time on this visit has been spent in searching out alternatives, ranging from indefinite hotel-dwelling (expensive and a considerable nuisance, as it provides no permanent “office” space to use while I am here, much less leave in place while away) to renting a house (actually possible at somewhat less expense… but with some considerable difficulties in the area of security and all the management problems which come with it).  Ideas, explorations, but no “solution” during this trip — stay tuned.  

Banking facilities — who gives them a second thought?!  But in order to be able to move funds into Haiti and distribute them as needed for the work of the Mission, they are essential.  The bank we had been using decided to concentrate solely on high-level commercial banking, and impose punitive service charges (more than $30/month) on accounts with less than a $5000 balance permanently maintained.  It’s not often that we have that much money available, let alone available as a permanent interest-free loan to the bank!  At least two full days of going and coming have been spent in this small detail — with many prayers that the new arrangement will prove to be long-lasting and trouble-free.  But what is trouble-free in Haiti?  In fact, the banking situation here is so shaky that it is probably unwise to leave more than the minimum necessary funds on deposit. 

More time “wasted” in the caretaking of the rented vehicle.  What do we think of a flat tire?  Minor nuisance — call AAA, at worst change a tire on the side of the highway.  Here?  A “simple” tire repair is certain to take an hour, perhaps two, maybe even three.   This time I had them all… an entire morning in Les Cayes, another at the Avis garage in Port-au-Prince, a tire change in a downpour (happily, someone was at hand to do it for us) on the return trip from Les Cayes.  Mercifully, no serious mechanical problems with the car.  Nonetheless, perhaps a full day, of my eighteen there on this trip, was spent just in tending to the tires on the car!  Such is life in Haiti. 

Happily, in spite of it all, more significant things get accomplished, and sometimes plans even develop more or less as foreseen!  Soon after my arrival, we gathered at the church in Port-au-Prince to celebrate the feast of the Holy Apostles, with Vigil and Divine Liturgy.  Despite the difficulties of transport, a considerable gathering of the faithful came together for the midweek feast, from all over the city.  Most of the members of the parish live at some distance, but with us also were several small children from the immediate vicinity of the church, regular participants in the services.  Some of them were amongst the fourteen newly-baptized at Pascha past. 

Immediately after Liturgy, I was off to dinner with Fr. Deacon Grégoire and his family at Fontamara on the far south side of the city, and then on to Jacmel.  We laid plans for a visit to the faithful in Les Cayes during the following week… with Matushka’s younger brother Réginald, a catechumen, dispatched to Les Cayes as the “advance man”. 

The rapidly-growing congregation at St. Augustine’s east of Jacmel is always a delight for me.  Arising, as it did, from a providential encounter with a local boy during my first “recreational” (!) visit to the area more than three years ago, this little congregation of course holds a special place in my heart.  Then, it was one persistently questioning teenager.  Now, it numbers fourteen baptized members, and several others in preparation.  With only the smallest of liturgical resources, this group of faithful comes together consistently, not only for Saturday/Sunday services, but during the week as well, to read their daily prayers together, read the Holy Scriptures according to the Church calendar, and read from the lives of the saints (amongst their small resources, a complete Synaxarion).  As often as possible (the trip costs about US$15/person, which must be subsidized from Mission funds… that much money represents the earnings of a month or more for most of the parishioners) they travel to Port-au-Prince for Vigil and Liturgy, a punishing two-day round trip.  Most of them I was to see a week later in Port-au-Prince, for… 

In their midst live a family of four, amongst the poorest of our parishioners in Haiti, but nevertheless so fortunate as to have their own home.  Guillaume was baptized Pascha a year ago, his wife Nicole and their two small children Pascha past.  They had lived together as husband and wife for several years, but were not “officially” married.  Without unduly troubling you with the complexities of Haitian man/woman relationships, it is necessary to note that “marriage” is only one of a number of more or less recognized couplings, and one of two legally protected, the other being “plaçage”.  While this latter is in some respects similar to what we call common-law marriage, it is far more socially acceptable.  Marriage (Haitian marriage, that is) demands much more, though it may in actuality be no more permanent.  In some respects, it is almost as much a declaration of social status as of commitment between man and woman.  These were the complications which had thus far kept Guillaume and Angelina from being willing to enter into “marriage” (certainly an untenable situation from the Church’s standpoint), even though they clearly constitute a family and clearly are and have been permanently committed to each other for a long time. 

In order to be married in Haiti, it is essential that the couple have their own home, own means of support, and be able (by hook or by crook) to make a certain social display associated with the marriage.  The Church, of course, is interested in none of this.  Prior to my arrival (a bit over two months after Angelina’s baptism) I knew little of the circumstances, only that for whatever reason they had declined, up to this point, a solemnization of their marriage.  All of this led to a very interesting (and enlightening, for me) two-hour visit in their home, which I began with the determination that, one way or another, they would be married before I left Haiti. 

But, for all the dimensions of the marriage to fall together, I couldn’t actually perform it (though I shared in it), as it is very doubtful that I have any legal authority for marriage in Haiti.  As I decline to undertake that rôle at home either, I have no interest in finding out.  Seriously complicating the situation was the fact that Guillaume, although a trained block-mason (he has built a very nice little home on a scrap of ground his father gave them), has been unable for over two years to find any work (the “official” unemployment rate in Haiti is 30%; the reality is far worse), except as a sharecropper on a small patch of land which belongs to someone else (who of course takes most of the crop).  Consequence: essentially no cash.  So how, they asked me, can we possibly get married:  no wedding gown, no suit, no shoes (Guillaume’s only shoes were a pair of tennis shoes riddled with holes, Angelina’s a pair flip-flops), no rings, no nothing — and nothing with which to acquire any of those things.  In fact, not even the money with which to travel to the church in Port-au-Prince for the wedding.  Laying principle aside, I concluded that the Mission would have to provide those things which were for them emotionally/socially essential, even though for the Church absolutely meaningless.  And, as a wedding gift, Mission funds to provide the sand and cement to finish the roof of their house — which is still raw concrete, which leaks like a sponge when it rains.  Fortunately, Guillaume is a skilled mason, so material costs (bad enough at $400 — a donor would be more than welcome) were all that needed to be provided.  Of the wedding itself… stay tuned! 

Daily Vespers (as well as Vigil and Liturgy) at St. Augustine’s, meetings with parishioners, trip to take Nicolas to hospital an hour distant to try to discover the cause of a year-long debilitating cough, time to settle the little mission’s finances with the concierge at the Hotel Cyvadier (special thanks to and prayers in order for Jean, without whose kindness our work there would be far more difficult)… and a few hours here and there to relax somewhat in a delightful and beloved environment. 

And that’s the beginning of a modest “tourist invitation”.  Haiti is an unbelievably difficult place, but nevertheless is God-given an extraordinary beauty (where humans haven’t destroyed it), and now a growing body of Orthodox faithful.  Thanks be to God, we now have two flourishing parishes in Haiti (Cap-Haïtien not to be forgotten, but nevertheless not yet having reached the status of a “visitable” parish).  As previously noted, a determined ecclesial traveler could fly to Port-au-Prince on Saturday, brave the miseries of the airport and its environment, go to Vigil on Saturday afternoon (now put back to 4:00 because of the heat), spend the night at the Visa Lodge (very comfortable, 10 minutes from the airport, van service provided, 15 from church — and could probably be convinced to provide transport to church as well), go to Hours & Liturgy on Sunday morning, and fly back to New York (or Miami, with connections to everywhere) on Sunday afternoon.  A second possibility is now viable, requiring a little more bravery, but with a remarkable reward at its far end:  Fly to Port-au-Prince, rent a car (Avis strongly recommended), drive to Jacmel (reasonable after a midday arrival), spend one of the most delightful vacations of your life at the Hôtel Cyvadier-Plage (no, they didn’t pay me for this!), three excellent meals a day included, go to services at St. Augustine’s (less than 10 minute walk from the hotel) in the evening, return to Port-au-Prince for Vigil and Liturgy (your car will be crammed with pilgrims from St. Augustine’s) and fly home Sunday or Monday.  Nicolas, the “founder” of the little mission, is learning English rapidly, quite well enough to be very helpful, and enough of the hotel staff speak English well enough for such a visit to be comfortable even for those who know no French (to say nothing of Créole).  But a word of caution… don’t try it without communicating first! 

From Jacmel… sometimes hopes work out… up into the mountains to visit the Café-Lavé coöperative at Tombe Gateau.  The facility was open, the director was there, and it was indeed possible (they aren’t always preparing the same quality of coffee) to purchase a 50# sack of the coffee of the highest quality, carefully blended from beans picked at a variety of elevations, washed, fermented, and dried. Should you be a true coffee-lover… it’s ready for you!

The plan:  to leave Jacmel in mid-morning, stop at Tombe Gateau to pursue the “coffee connection”, and meet Fr. Dcn. Grégoire at the Carrefour de Jacmel (some two hours distant for me, without the stop, and anywhere from 2-6 hours for him, from his home in Fontamara) between 1PM and 2PM.  A serious accident in the mountains (gasoline tanker and van) missed only by a couple of feet blocking the road for hours, if not days (I later learned to my relief that no one had been seriously injured), but otherwise my journey to the meeting point went smoothly; not quite so his… it had in fact taken him 5 hours.  Nevertheless, we both arrived at nearly the same time, to continue our journey together to Les Cayes, yet 2-3 hours distant, for the planned meeting with inquirers there.   

Which goes well… important questions, responses well received, hopes for the future.  A long trip (2-3 hours from Carrefour de Jacmel to Les Cayes) for what seems, on the surface, very little.  But a seed planted is very small. 

A chance encounter, one of those things which changes the way we see the world… stop with Fr. Grégoire for a very late lunch before the gathering, a young girl approaches the car, asks if she can guard it while we eat.  Still there when we return, give her a couple of coins.  Perfectly ordinary (in Haiti, anyway).  Next morning, ready to leave for Port-au-Prince… but there is a tire on the car which keeps losing air, a source of worry… the trip is long, and functioning air pumps few and far between.  Prudence suggests a repair.  Long story of useless spare (someone had driven it on the rim), tire to be bought, wrong size, back and forth.  Arrived at the tire repair “station” (a pile of tires, a fire, and an “artisan” at the side of the street)… there she was again.  Only a few blocks from the first meeting… chance? or had she seen the car and sought it out?  No knowing.  Who was she?  Juliette.  How old?  Doesn’t know… Fr. Grégoire’s nephew (Matushka’s younger brother, a catechumen), has known her for years.  A child of the streets, where she has lived as long as she can remember, no mother or father known.  Is she hungry?  Yes… give her whatever I have in my sack to eat (a couple of energy bars, some dried apricots).  Gone, looking for a tire.  Back, she isn’t there anymore… except on my heart.  Somehow I have to do something more for her, but I certainly don’t know what.  No amount of money I could give her would make it possible for her life to be different.  Where does she sleep?  On the doorsteps, on the galleries, hoping no one will hurt her.  Finally, I have to do something… if someone sees her, please ask her to come back.  Les Cayes is the fourth largest city in Haiti, but still a very small town… and she is back in minutes.  Give her some money… at least enough for a few decent meals, perhaps a reasonable pair of shoes; pray no one hurts her to take it from her.  Pray more… and more… and more.  She doesn’t go away from my heart.  So I talk… to the only people who could possibly do anything for her.  Go back to Les Cayes (hometown for some of our people), find her, open hearts and homes to her, maybe help her to find a new way.  But can she do it?  Or is she so wedded, by her twenty-something (my guess, confirmed as reasonable by others) to the street of waterfront Les Cayes that no other world is conceivable.  Pray for Juliette!  Want to know more?  See 2002, December: Juliette Revisited.

Back to Port-au-Prince (only 2.5 hours for the tire story in Les Cayes… thanks be to God the useless spare was replaced in the process, despite the temptation to take a chance).  Because… more tire story… blowout in a downpour halfway back, tire change in the same downpour (a palm-leaf roof isn’t very good shelter either for baggage, all which had to be removed to get to the spare, or people, in a heavy rain!).  The fellow who came running to help with the tire in the downpour worked diligently in the rain, though it seemed that perhaps he had never seen that type of car jack before.  The job finally accomplished, everything was loaded back into the trunk and I offered him his well-earned wages… and encountered a heartwarming peasant exchange familiar to me only from me reading:  Thanks! I offered him.  Respect! he responded (not a response lightly offered, as I understand it)… and I was grateful to be able to respond to him as he expected, Honor! 

The rest of the trip back to Port-au-Prince mercifully uneventful, supper with Fr. Grégoire and family, and back to the hotel. 

More tire story (at the Avis garage), morning lost, visit to Food for the Poor postponed, afternoon lost in a fruitless trip to Pétionville in search of checks for bank account… not yet ready; printing machine broken down.  Next week, maybe…  But I’m leaving next week!  Well, maybe Monday.  No… too close.  Well… maybe they can get delivered tomorrow or Saturday.  Phone calls; consultations.  Call tomorrow.  OK. 

Tomorrow… more of same.  Maybe a friend of a friend has found a house… maybe it will be possible to look at it later in the day; maybe not.  Go talk with Eddy at the OK Corral about an apartment there.  Look at watch… just time to get to the bank if the checks are there… they are!  Back up the mountain to the bank, arrive just in time… still takes a half-hour to get the checks… another half-hour to answer questions about Church by curious bankers (time we can hope is well spent!).  Curiosity… go take a look at Haiti’s first real “supermarket” on the way back to the hotel.  Well… the new Eagle Market is clean, new, brightly lit… and about the size of a 1960s Kroger’s.  Nonetheless, quite a contrast to most of the “markets”, which at best are about the equivalent of the Liberty Bestway… with very outsized liquor departments! 

Start back to the hotel… and the phone rings (aren’t cellphones marvelous, when they work… a genuine miracle in Haiti)… the friend of a friend who knows about a couple of houses is there… wants to show them to me… and they’re about where I am.  Back to the Eagle Market parking lot (complete with shotgun-armed guards) to wait (only a half-hour) for him to get there.  Houses?  Impossible.  More talk… what do I need?  Sure, he can find it… cheap.  Wait and see. 

Saturday.  Time for the wedding.  Bride and groom, fathers and mothers, friends and members of St. Augustine’s in Jacmel have all traveled.  A few came Friday afternoon, to stay overnight with Fr. Grégoire and Matushka in Fontamara (maybe 2 hours, maybe four, by tap-tap, from the church).  Many more left Jacmel at 2 or 4 in the morning by tap-tap, hoping to arrive at the church in time.  By 10:00, we numbered probably 40, maybe considerably more as time went on.  Young people, old people, fathers and mothers, babies… a beautiful gathering, and a beautiful wedding, to celebrate a new life in the Faith as a family.  Glory be to God!  The wedding and reception went on till early afternoon… just time enough to dash back to the hotel for a few minutes’ rest before Vigil. 

Except for the traffic jam at the airport.  Back into the rocky, muddy back streets (a few years’ experience helps), hoping that perhaps, by God’s grace, I would find the right combination to get there with enough time to count… rather than having to simply reverse course and return directly to the church for the service… entirely conceivable).  Yes… it happened.  45 minutes’ rest… and back through the rocks and mud for the Vigil.  A night’s rest, and Divine Liturgy… and just enough time for a little repose before undertaking the relatively short, and miserable, journey to La Plaine. 

Hard to believe that so short a trip (certainly not more than 7-8 miles) could be so punishing… but every time I make it I feel like someone has been beating me with rubber hoses for several hours.  And then I think of the faithful who make the same trip, round trip, in a pickup truck (the Transport Orthodoxe de La Plaine), for Vigil and Liturgy… certainly without air conditioning, and perhaps without rain soaking them through and through!  A good visit.  Amboise and his family (wife and two little daughters now all baptized); then a walk through the quarter to the mud hut of “La Dame” and her nine children… but she had gone to the market to sell.  Sell what?  She buys eggs on credit in flats, then sells them two or three at a time, and so gains a pittance.  But even Port-au-Prince, city of millions, is a small town, and shortly after Amboise, Sophia (his elder daughter) and I return to their home, La Dame is there with Marie, who has obviously gone to tell her I was there.  What a joy to see this courageous woman… who not so long ago came to one of our catechetical gatherings at Amboise’s home (but only after the gathering was over… she was afraid her children’s clothing wasn’t good enough to be there), to tell us they all wanted to be baptized… and now are.  But this visit… they were not there for Sunday services.  Why?  She had no clothing for some of the children.  God doesn’t care… but she is ashamed.  God help us! 

Another thought… for those with somewhat thicker wallets (all of us!) and slightly more sensitive consciences (some of us)… what can and should we do for this family?  First of all, a house… not a mud hut.  How much would it cost?  To build it right (Haitians, with reason, build strong when they can… think hurricanes and earthquakes), perhaps $10,000 US for a well-built block house large enough for the family (by Haitian, not US, standards), with some of the labor contributed by parishioners here.  A large amount of money for most of us… a very small amount for all of us.  Pray… and give! 

Monday.  More tire stories (still leaking).  Then, finally, to Food for the Poor.  Nothing can be done.  Nothing to give.  Well, maybe.  Finally… well, a food allotment for the School of St. Nicholas at La Plaine, the most in need.  A bale of clothing, to be shared between Morning Star Ministries (yes, in Haiti it’s very wise to make common cause with whoever is willing to work with us) and the people at La Plaine.  Well into the afternoon… time to go back and talk some more with Eddy at the OK Corral about housing, check some more long-term hotel options (not very promising), then on to look at a possible site for another church, more accessible to the general public (not promising at all… too much for too little, too far from a main thoroughfare), visit the School of St. John Chrysostom, which desperately needs $2000 for the first year’s lease on a new home (the old location is fronted by an open sewer, and in a heavy rain by a considerable river).  More money needed… where to get it? 

Tuesday.  Training session at the church for priest, deacon, readers… maybe two hours to discuss problems with Vigil and Liturgy, some general instructions concerning baptisms, weddings, funerals?  No… closer to five.  Then a visit to the home of my newly-baptized godson Marc, and his parents Julbert and Michaila.  Julbert is a university student… by God’s grace recipient of a scholarship granted by a faithful couple in the US, just enough for his school fees and transportation.  They live in one room, with a communal toilet, deep in one of the difficult (but by no means most difficult) quarters of the city.  Cooking is thanks to a little propane hotplate stuck in the corner of the room, separated from the sleeping area by a string and some sheets.  Beautiful, wonderful people.  Julbert teaches in one of the schools attached to the Mission, for a pittance… and they are terrified that they may not have enough for the lease on their room when it comes due.  How to make a little more?  Buy some candies and suckers on credit, hope to sell them for a little more than they paid for them… maybe add to them a few mangos gleaned from the tree in the church courtyard.  They, too, need more help.  Pray, and think, and act! 

And everywhere, the schools… with their children who can’t pay their tuition, but come to school nevertheless too often hungry.  The costs in all our schools are minimal, but impossible for so many Haitians.  Altogether there are perhaps two hundred (as well the ten or so in Jacmel who are enrolled in Roman Catholic schools).  The schools seem to run on nothing.  Teachers remain unpaid for months… or forever.  Consider… twenty dollars a month year-round will provide schooling for a child; thirty will provide schooling and at least one decent meal each schoolday.  Do it! 

And, finally, the visit draws to an end.  I have learned the hard way that I can barely withstand the shock of a “direct re-entry” into the US… some sort of decompression is essential.  So I call the work to an end, and leave Port-au-Prince, to drive two hours to the north to a bayside “resort”, Moulin-sur-Mer, where I have one foot in Haiti and the other in the “normal” world (only, of course, to return over Haitian “highways” to the Port-au-Prince airport tomorrow!).  And I think, and read, and write, and swim… and pay one more visit to the overpowering memorial to the slave history of this country (and our own), appropriately visited by as severe a torrent of rain, short of a hurricane, as I have ever experienced.  I take shelter next to the slave wagon, behind the oxen, in the cortege in front of the slaves (themselves unprotected from the rain… only the wagon rates cover) under a palm-leaf roof (better than its predecessor, but still far from perfect!), then walk back to my bayside room in the still heavy after-shower, just in time for the next downpour.

The tears of the Mother of God.
Lord, have mercy!… and guide us to have mercy.