Three years ago, on my frist trip to Haiti, one of the first Haitians I met was Vilcin. As we set up the clinic, we recruited Vilcin to help us package vitamins out of a huge bin into individual Ziploc sandwich baggies. We set up an assembly line and before long we were a vitamin packing factory, cranking out baggies in steady rhythm. Vilcin thought our focus on efficiency was funny, and soon was spurring us on with a jovial “Quick, quick!”
A year later, we were reunited with our friend when we returned to Terre Blanche, and when he saw us he immediately shouted “Quick, quick!” and broke into laughter. Each year, Vilcin is a friendly and familiar face, and over time we have come to consider him a friend.
A couple of months ago Vilcin wrote a letter to our family, telling us about his situation. He has been sick, and hasn’t had money to feed his family. Dad and Mom brought down some money for him, and Pastor Delamy plans to distribute it to him in several installments.
I have been watching for Vilcin since we arrived on Saturday, but he hadn’t materialized in the clinic until this morning. My face lit up when I saw him, and I called his name and rushed over to give him a hug. He looked up and said, “Sarah!” As soon as I got close, I could see how gaunt he has become, and when I hugged him I could feel his bony body trembling. Today, this six foot tall man weighs 120 pounds. His bright demeanor has been replaced by the quiet resignation that comes with a serious illness in the third world. After hugging him I had to make a quick exit so he wouldn’t see me crumble. I cried in the corner for a few minutes, composed myself, and went back to work.
Vilcin saw a doctor and was sent to the lab for a blood test which confirmed our worst fears – he is HIV positive and is likely in the advanced stages of full blown AIDS. My friend Vilcin is going to die…probably soon. We don’t know for sure whether his wife has contracted the virus, but it seems likely that she will receive the same death sentence as Vilcin. Their children, who are students in the Terre Blanche school, may be orphans before they are grown.
Christ, have mercy.
On Monday and Tuesday, we had brisk mornings in the clinic, with a steady stream of patients that kept us busy. But on both afternoons the flow of patients slowed to a trickle and eventually petered out before our normal quitting time at 5 pm. While the slower pace has been surprising, the doctors have been very thankful for the lighter traffic as it has given them time to give some thorough, high quality care to a few patients who really needed the attention.
For example, yesterday a fourteen year old boy was carried into the clinic with his mouth and nose badly cut up and covered with blood. He had apparently had a seizure in the school building and fell and cut himself all of the way down to the cartilage. They had just gotten him situated on the treatment table when he seized again.
A few hours later, with some anti-seizure meds on board, Dr. Chau and Dr. Harold spent at least three hours carefully and painstakingly sewing the boy’s face back together. Chau says that in the states she would have referred a patient with such a complicated laceration to a plastic surgeon, but here we were just thankful there was a team of doctors available to repair his face and medicate him against infection. We can’t imagine how his face would have healed without immediate medical attention.
Pastor Victor lives in the city closest to Terre Blanche, called Gonaives. Gonaives was hit hard by the tropical storm season last fall, and many people lost everything. I asked Pastor Victor how the hurricanes affected his family, and he told me through an interpreter that their home was flooded and badly damaged and that he and his family had to climb up onto the roof of their house and stay there for seven days while they waited for the waters to recede.
As he told me about the experience, M. Herold, who was interpreting the conversation, stopped to interject that his home had been destroyed as well. He lost everything he owned – every piece of clothing, every household item – and even his car was washed away by the wall of water that flooded the city. His home was practically destroyed, but they have nowhere else to live, so they are trying to rebuild it slowly, as money and time become available.
These are my friends – I remember them from years past – and even in the midst of this kind of devastation they still make their way to Terre Blanche to help those even less fortunate than themselves. If I hadn’t asked, I wouldn’t have ever known how much they have suffered since I saw them last year.
Perseverance, long suffering, faithfulness, contentment, joy. Lord, may I learn something from the way these people press on in the face of adversity!
This morning we had the honor of worshiping with our Haitian brothers and sisters. It’s quite a sight inside that little green cinder block church, filled to the brim with people in their Sunday best.
The youngest children sit in the front rows, boys on one side and girls on the other. A few of the older children stand guard nearby and make sure the littles don’t get too noisy or unruly. Alfred leads the singing in his bold vibrato; everyone joins in with loud voices. Why don’t we sing like that at home?
The service was a smorgasbord of things – introductions, a reading from the Psalms, a group of women singing and dancing, children doing a hilarious skit, Pastor Delamy praying, Pastor Jason preaching. It was long by American standards, where church services are rarely more than 90 minutes, but it was a beautiful sight to behold and I never noticed the time.
Pastor Jason shared from the story of Jesus healing the paralytic that was lowered through the roof. He reminded us that Jesus has the power to heal the sickness and pain in our lives, but even more importantly, he has the power to forgive our sins and reconcile us to God.
I am always thankful to be able to worship with my brothers and sisters from other parts of the world. Across the span of time, space, language and culture, we are unified as part of the family of God.
It’s the time of year in northern Haiti when through the car window, you see pint-sized baby goats toddling through fields and wee chickens running across the road. Daytime temperatures are enjoyably warm (I’m guessing low 70s) and by evening a sturdy wind is whistling through the Artibonite Valley.
After dinner, Mme. Francis sits on the steps next to the kitchen wearing her winter parka…for Haitians, this weather is cold; for us, it’s a welcome change from the dreary Oregon winter.
After spending last night an hour north of Port au Prince at the Mission of Hope, we set off this morning for the long drive up country. Our travels have been long and arduous, and there is nothing so beautiful to my eyes as the village of Terre Blanche! The Haitian workers here greeted our arrival with a song, and we prayed together, so thankful for safe travels and to have finally arrived here, at our destination.
For me, Terre Blanche truly is starting to feel like a second home. I love this village…the dusty brown hills and the cactus fences, the mangy dogs and laden donkeys, the mango trees and thatched huts, and above all else, the familiar smiles and embraces of friends.
Before dinner, I got to go for a run through the village with the Arteest and our teammate, Rachelle. We were joined along the way by three little musketeers who loped along beside us and kept us company as we ran along the road, passing all kinds of traffic: pedestrians, donkeys, chickens, motorbikes, and a pig.
Tonight after one of Elvie’s trademark dinners we got to work setting up the clinic and pharmacy so we can start seeing patients after church tomorrow. The day is winding down, and I am one happy girl. Sunshine, good friends, exercise, good food, and meaningful work. This is what it’s all about!
Tomorrow afternoon will find me on a plane bound for Haiti, along with the Arteest, my Parental Units, and a bunch of other neat people as part of our ongoing friendship with a remote northern village. We’ll fly to Miami, then Port au Prince, and then make our way ever so slowly up the bumpy, pothole-ridden “highway” leading up country to Gonaives and then Terre Blanche.
I am so looking forward to seeing our friends Pastor Delamy and Elvie; Mme. Julbert, the clinic nurse; Jeanti, a fantastic translator; Lunel, the primary school principal; Alfred, the unstoppable song leader; Joel, who does pharmacy consultations; Mme. Francis, a sweet lady who helps prepare our meals; Pastor Osmy, the incredibly intelligent lawyer-turned-pastor; and a host of other friends who we only get to see this one time each year.
We will go up to the clinic roof at night lathered up with potent bug repellent, sit on plastic chairs and look at a sky full of huge, glorious stars that you can’t quite see in the city.
We will walk to the top of the bluff in the late afternoon, feeling pleasantly tired after a full day in the clinic, and look out over the thatched huts and cooking fires as the dinner-time sun casts a beautiful light over the village.
We will walk down to the river and notice how the rain, or lack thereof, has provided a barely adequate water source for villagers to do laundry, and see clean clothes spread out over rocks to dry in the sun.
We will jog down the rocky dirt road in our running shoes and shorts and gather an entourage of curious children jogging alongside us in their flip flops and dress shoes, wide eyed and wondering about what these white people are running to, or from.
We will wake early to the sounds of braying donkeys, crowing roosters, and sick people singing outside the compound wall as they wait for the clinic to open.
We will laugh with our Haitian friends when our language skills fail us.
We will cry when Jesus breaks our hearts for those who are suffering.
And most certainly, we will be surprised and challenged by new and unexpected situations that ask more than we have to give and require us to ask for help from the One who is with us all of the time, and loves us best.
I haven’t ever been a big fan of Sam Adams, the newly elected mayor of Portland. He seems to have a penchant for flashy, expensive projects that, in my opinion, aren’t the best ways to use the city’s resources.
However, in November given the choice between Adams and Sho Dozono, I voted for Sam. He had more experience in city government and wasn’t embroiled in scandal like Dozono, who had a public financing debacle and whose businesses had $22k in outstanding rent owed to the city.
Today, as news surfaces of Adams’ previous sexual relationship with an 18-year old intern, I am saddened. I am disappointed that Adams would engage in a sexual relationship with a subordinate (especially one who is *barely* a consenting adult), but primarily I am disappointed that he would boldly lie to the public to cover his tracks. In Sept. 2007, Adams provided a written response to allegations of an improper relationship. Here’s an excerpt of his letter to Portlanders:
“As you have probably seen in the media, I have been the target of a nasty smear by a would-be political opponent. I will not dignify the substance of this smear by repeating it – if you read the accounts you will see there is no foundation to it. The reason is simple: it is untrue.
This kind of ugly politicking may be commonplace in other cities and at the national level, but Portland and Oregon largely has been blessedly free of it. It saddens me that it has been introduced here, and I have faith that Portlanders’ rejection of it will mean that this incident is an anomaly.”
Adams’ outright lies to the public have come back to haunt him, and his credibility is severely damaged. Will he resign his post as mayor? Time will tell. It might just be the best option.
I am happy to report that I have exterminated 35 pounds of fat from my body since late July. It’s not exactly that the weight is “lost,” which implies that something accidental or unfortunate happened – mine was a deliberate act of will, day in and day out, for the past five and a half months. It’s an act of will that will continue as I work toward getting rid of the last several hangers on, and then will (hopefully) become part of my normal life going forward, as I choose to make the health and vitality of my body a bigger priority for the long run.
It’s hard to describe how good it feels to be lighter on my feet – but there’s nothing like it. It is absolutely, without a doubt, worth every moment I’ve spent jogging and every cookie I’ve let pass me by.
Two years ago today, I became someone’s wife! And what a grand day that was. I’ll save the mushiness for a private venue, but let me just say that I’m hoping for 50 more years with my Arteest.
I’ve spent the day in Salem today, and even though I’ve spent a combined total of about 14 years of my life in this town, being away five years has changed my perspective a bit. Portland is only 50 miles north, but there are still some pretty noticeable differences. Today:
