Bukasa and Haiti

Within the past year I have been privileged to visit two of our Church’s most inaccessible missions.  Beside them, Moscow and even Siberia are like places at the other end of the subway line.  Of Uganda, I know almost nothing except our Church of the Annunciation and the island upon which it is situated, Bukasa; Kampala I only passed through, spending a couple of pleasant nights in a very “civilized” hotel and a few hours on the streets.  Of Haiti, I have been given to know a great deal more, in the six visits here, averaging about two weeks in length. 

One’s first inclination would be to characterize Bukasa as much farther, much harder, much more demanding.  Objectively, this is true.  One must first reach East Africa, a challenging trip in its own right (Nairobi is the air hub), make his way to Kampala (either by shaky airborne transit or shaky bus, unless he is rich enough to afford BOAC), then by the east African equivalent of a tap-tap to the “harbor” (a sandy strip along the shore of Lake Victoria), then by motorized canoe four hours (provided the motor keeps running throughout), and finally across Bukasa either on foot (quite possible, though steep in places) or in a tractor-drawn trailer, if the tractor is running (it isn’t at the moment).  Needless to say, everything which can’t be grown on the island or pulled out of Lake Victoria has to make exactly the same trip, with the predictable consequences.
By contrast, I can leave Nashville at 7AM (which requires leaving home at the inhuman hour of 4AM) and arrive in Port-au-Prince in time for a late lunch.  I can get 250 pounds of supplies there along with me (paying American Airlines $50 for an excess bag or box), plus whatever I can stuff into my pockets (I have a jacket for the purpose with lots of pockets) and a backpack (my “purse”).  If I successfully make my way through immigration, customs, and the hordes of taxi drivers seeking my trade (I always have), I can either take a taxi or rent a car (great caution in choosing a company is advised!), and be settled into the Mission House long before dark. 

The truth of the matter is that, spiritually, physically, and in almost every way imaginable, the trip to Port-au-Prince (and all which follows) is by far the more difficult.  In part, of course, it is because here (I am writing in situ) I am responsible; there, I was a largely carefree visitor… gone to give comfort, to share fellowship, to bring back news of our most inaccessible mission to the Church community at large.  But there is much beyond that.  On Bukasa, the Church has, as it were, grown into place.  Though surrounded by a (modest — the island only has a population of 2-3,000, depending on where the fish are) sea of paganism, tempered by a small number of Protestants and Roman Catholics (but none have either permanent place of worship or a resident clergyman), the Church there belongs.  It is part of the fabric of society.  The society to which it belongs has remained (and may it ever remain so) a natural human society, well rooted in the soil and the water around it, with daily and monthly and yearly rhythms which have changed little since the people settled more or less permanently (much less in this case, as a substantial number of people follow the fish around).  The Church there is part of an organic entity which makes sense. 

By contrast, in Haiti, tragically, nothing makes sense.  This must be qualified:  my experience, except from the windows of a car, is almost entirely with urban Haiti.  It is probable that in the remote mountain fastnesses, in the all but inaccessible western end of the country (the adventurer in me is longing for a good excuse to go there), the situation is far more like that on Bukasa.  But in urban Haiti, there is nothing which could be called order of any kind — political, social, economic, legal, spiritual, even personal.  Nevertheless, somehow it keeps on keeping on.  But it continues in a seemingly unending state of chaos (so much so as to give rise to a sociological study by a Haitian fittingly titled Haiti:  Les Origines du Chaos).  In such a situation, nothing can really be rooted or grounded, nothing integrated.  It is into that context that the Church comes in Haiti, and it is unlikely that there will be much clarity about its position or relationship to the people around it for many years to come. 

My trip to Bukasa was a delightful adventure, graced by sharing its terminal point with brothers and sisters in the Faith for the nearly two weeks I was there.  Despite the demanding travel schedules, I returned exhilarated, ready to go back at the drop of a pin (I hope I will be blessed to do so someday!).  Each trip to Haiti, much as I love our people here, and the country, is an ordeal… though one to which I increasingly look forward.  There is only one way of accounting for this:  the Grace of God.