Monday, May 31, 2010

melting into the sun

I have seen God.

I have seen Walter's 84 year old hands rub sun-heated, soapy water over Samara's raisin skin, latched on to her bones.

I have seen the burning bush.

I have seen a blind man bathe his bed-ridden friend's armpits, breasts, ribs, legs, toes, and back with the dignity of a queen.

I have seen Jesus wash his disciples´ feet.

I have seen parched lips moistened by stubborn, tender hands.

I have seen Love.

Samara died yesterday. Her frail body let go.

There is a peace in death.

"For what is it to die
but to stand naked in the wind
and to melt into the sun?"
-Kahlil Gibran

May we look for the resurrection of the dead. Amen.

With you,

Friday, May 28, 2010

a kiss, a smile, a reprimand, and signs of rain

After giving the Salsa classes to the group of ladies today, I visited my forgotten friends in Kay Pob. The odor, a bit different than usual, with the mix of moist earth and forgotten urinals welcomed me. Doors were closed and voices mute. As I turned the corner looking for familiar eyes, I found Tiffany rocking back and forth in her chair. Her eyes looked intently at me and her expression remained unchanged. As I closed the distance between us I noticed the dirt on her skin and the stench of her body. Reaching her crossed legs, I kneeled in front of her and was met by her forehead leaning in for a kiss. Oh, I missed her.

Alex, as always, sat next to her and broke the silence, assuming that I must have been sick because I had disappeared. Fabio, at the other end, shyly ducked his head saying, “Mwen pa we ou. - I haven’t seen you.” I described my sickness, followed by my recovery. His smile sans teeth and bashful chuckle caressed my soul. Walter’s shouts from inside the room began, scolding me for not coming, for allowing him to think I had gone back to my country. I cannot recall the last time I received such strong reprimands, all from a man lying down in his mattress. I sat down next to him and leaned in to hold his face, “Walter, Walter, I was sick.” At a comical speed his face transformed, “Oh, I so mean to you. How you feel Luisely? I miss you so much. How’s your body?” He reached out to me and embraced me singing, as loudly as his previous screams, praises to God for my return. “I missed you too Walter.” “You missed me?” I was asked with a childish grin. “Yes, I missed you.” And it was true.

We went to visit the others, all of whom were in the same clothes we left them in almost two weeks prior. The sheets were the same and the stench horrendous. My family had been abandoned. Samara has stopped drinking any liquids, and developed a sort of crust on her lips. David disappeared two days ago and no one knows where he can be. Replacing him and his belongings laid a broken bottle on the soiled concrete floor. Lisanne, without her companion rested with lost eyes. Smelling the need, I took her bucket used as her toilet to empty it. When I returned and outlined her face with my fingers, stroking her cheeks, listening to her woes, I also glanced at her hands and found her feces smothered on her fingers which she evidently wiped her nose with. Less than two weeks of abandonment. This cannot happen. My goal next week is to find two women to accompany me in bathing them on Mondays. Assuring that when I leave, every Monday the two women will continue bathing my family. We’ll start with Mondays.

They were fed though, not missing one day of food, Thank God! We’re still working for the water. Let’s pray for that. “With our powers combined,” as Captain Planet would say, we can find a way to make water accesible for the people of Kay Pob. A Human Right, and access to basic hygiene.

As I left, heavy clouds hovered over the mountains and lizards scurried for cover. I looked up and thought, “I asked for water.” God provides. God always provides. – It still hasn’t rained.

With you,

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Hummingbirds and Lightening Bolts

Oh my beloved ones,

Monday evening my body became weak, my temperature began to rise, my bones ached, and my head throbbed. I recieved treatment for malaria, which after three days did not lower my fever, nor did it relieve my pain. Once the red-rash started spreading up my feet all around my legs, neck, and arms we realized I had dengue fever. To my fascination my symptoms went perfectly with those described in the medical books. With all of the action going on in my body the energy usually used to go out and do was focused inward. I believe with all my being in the dignity of beings for existing, not because of what they do. I had to put that belief in practice this week, within me.

Much has happened since I last wrote. I have been visited by an angel, been sung to by the trees, entered into wonderful dialog with rain and thunder, and witnessed hummingbirds tickling yellow flowers with their beaks. I have splashed around in water of a penetrating blue, received massages from my sister's tender hands, been left speechless with the gold, yellow, mango-orange, purple, and indigo sunset with different textures and different stories, and the radiant moon over distant lightening bolts.

Thomas Berry wrote that this is our time to meditate not only our relationship with the Divine, and with our sisters and brothers, but also our intimacy with Earth. Sharing most of the week with the fluttering leaves outside my bedroom door and the pink and white flowers out of the other I understand that through our intimacy with Earth, our relationship and intimacy with God and our brothers and sisters intensifies.

Oh the connections everywhere. There is no way of escaping Love. :)

With you,

P.S.: I´m better ;) Mesi Bondye!

Friday, May 14, 2010


Two Friday’s ago Nazareth and Rose revealed indispensable information regarding the lack of food in Kay Pob. Mme. Lisette notified the day before that she would not be preparing food because there was none. Zaloa and I shared this with Nazareth and Rose who informed us that Pere Nehemiah, next door, was responsible for the money donated for Kay Pob by a twin parish from Michigan. Without vacillation Zaloa and I headed over to Pere Nehemiah’s house to find a means to feed the people in Kay Pob. We formed a great team, Zaloa defends herself better than I do in Kreyol and I dominate French better than Zaloa; God’s granted me the gift of diplomacy that balanced Zaloa’s gift of directness. Pere Nehemiah welcomed us and we sat, Zaloa in front of Pere Nehemiah, and me, in the middle to his left. Zaloa began with her passionate explanation about the lack of attention in numerous ways to Kay Pob, explaining that at this moment our focus was their stomachs and that “li foc mange yodia,” “they must eat today.” Pere Nehemiah agreed, adding that he had no money to help. We listened and, with Rose’s story of Calloway a few nights before, I described how it would be lovely if Jean Rabel felt ownership for Kay Pob and if the food would come out of the community as a whole, not from the outside or a few. He went on to tell us details about the committee that gathers every Sunday at 3:30pm to organize Kay Pob’s necessities. We told him we’d go as well.
Zaloa stepped in saying, “Yes, we know about the committee, but they need food today. We would like to know where the money donated from Michigan is, in order to use some of it for them because they will go hungry.” Pere Nehemiah, taken aback, looked at me and started speaking French. I went translating for Zaloa. “I have not seen the money you speak of, “ he announced. Zaloa, annoyed and determined, invited him to see Kay Pob, if he does not smell, touch, see, and hear the reality it is hard for him to be moved to act. We said our goodbyes and left. While bartering a bag full of fried balls of dough in the street to calm the bellies in Kay Pob at least a little, Nazareth and Rose came marching up the street, commanding us to follow them. We balanced our way up the five uneven, steep stairs, stepping around the men who rested on them and read the letters painted on the wall, the mayor’s office. The mayor seemed to have taken the day off, but luckily Stefan, his right hand man, sat among the men we weaved through to arrive. Nazareth and Rose introduced us and then proceeded to tell Stefan about the food, or lack of, in Kay Pob. Stefan without allowing his eyes to meet ours and occasionally nodding hello to passer-bys said, “I will go with you and see.” Zaloa, Stefan, and I exchanged a few words as we walked through the dust of Ru Jon Baptis towards our beloveds in Kay Pob. Before turning left up the hill, Stefan, while on the phone, beckoned us to follow him.
We arrived to a two story pink building; we felt our way up the dim staircase finding a little office to our right. There, a young lady sat at a desk with four men relaxed in chairs around the bureau. As soon as we were seen, the men straightened up, two of them excusing themselves as the lady and one of the two men remaining stood confidently. Hands extended, names interchanged and eyes gazed upon us. Neither one of us knowing why we were lead to this office, we turned to see the sign that read National Project of Scholastic Canteens, our explanation followed. They listened, concerned and went on to explain that the organization only distributed food to schools, but that if they saw any opportunity to distribute food to Kay Pob, they would do so. One man stood up, opened a cabinet and started counting money to donate. Zaloa stopped him saying, “No, no, we did not come here for donations.” “But to see how the community at large could look after Kay Pob on a regular basis,” I injected. They smiled and nodded and took out a paper. The man who had said nothing to us directly so far, stood up and said, “Let’s go.” “To Kay Pob?” I asked surprised. “Yes,” and he followed. By the time we finished stumbling down the dim stair case a request for him to go somewhere else came. He turned to us, lifting and pointing to the empty report in his hand, “I will go.”
Zaloa, Stefan, and I returned to our original quest climbing the hill to Kay Pob. Pushing the brick colored gate open, and turning the corner instead of having a gust of urine-filled air, we smelt food. Kay Pob was full of movement, as we never had seen before. Mme. Lissette, the cook stirred a pot of soup with carrots and potatoes, food our eyes never had seen served before. Spectators crawled everywhere. Joy and anger danced in me, neither one taking the lead. There was food, yes. Lisanne, Tiffany, David, Walter, Tyler, Fabio, Samara, Junior, and Alex had food, Alleluia! Ask and you shall receive. At the same time, was this an act, was this all in order to shut us up and make a show. We asked Mme. Lissette and she said simply, “Pere Nehemiah.” We looked at Stefan and saw the spectators and the attention he was receiving. Stefan saw action, smelled food, and heard laughter; as soon as he leaves, the spectators would be gone, they would still need food tomorrow and the laughter gone (with the occasional exceptions). I decided to stay in the present, “Luisely, there’s no need in that, be with them now.”
That Friday was our day for exercise. We distributed the balls of fried dough in order to give them a bit of calories to move their arms and legs up and down with our stretches. The commotion from the spectators and our visitor filtered our voices and attention was difficult to attain. Walter stood right next to me in order to hear all my instructions, while Tyler focused on trying to make the three paralyzed limbs follow the instructions given with his one functioning arm. Overwhelmed by the action and number of people, Tiffany rolled up in her petit chair and rocked herself back and forth. Others complained and others laughed. Stefan stood up, checked on the food and said his goodbyes. The spectators trickled away little by little. After tending to all of them, I stepped into the opaque room Samara, Lisanne, David, and Tiffany share. A group of women surrounded Samara’s skeletal body, Zaloa looked up to me and extended her hand. We held hands and began to pray. Zaloa, not one to pray, held Samara’s hand while tears strolled down her face.
Two weeks have passed since that Friday and each day the people have been fed. Kay Pob is changing. Mme. Lissette’s manor with the people is gentler; caresses are exchanged with gazes of love. The committee gathered enough money to buy soap to wash the clothes. The clothes waits for us clean and dry on Mondays when we bath them. This Monday Samara allowed us to cut her nails, a first, Zaloa cut, while I caressed her and sang to her. This past Wednesday we saw her eat a few spoonfuls of rice, another first for us. (Before Samara survived off of the Tampicos Zaloa buys her. She drinks about a quarter liter of the fruit punch per day.) This Wednesday Pere Nehemiah met us at Kay Pob and visited with the people for at least a half hour.
Hope. Little by little. Maybe next week we no longer have to carry the water up the hill, maybe our cries will be heard and the inactive cistern will be fixed.

With you,

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Sheets and Plywood

Walking in, I pass two grandmothers washing clothes and two preteen boys simply sitting. The group of men are assembled to the left, over a dozen, immediately their attention is on me. They stand up and start salivating, starving beasts. I glaze over them until my eyes meet one, a smooth-skinned glorious lady sitting by the column. My face and hers rejoice, mine with a sense of relief. I feel safer with them around. This is their home more than mine and they know the norms, the language, and who to trust. I go directly towards her and sit in front of her, with our knees interlocked closing the conversation for us.
As we begin our conversation they begin to surround us, attempting to gain strength with their numbers and their size. As we sit, they stand, closer and closer, interrupting our conversation with attempts to speak Spanish, French, English, and insulting me in Kreyol. The “owner,” not the pimp (the ladies pay rent and keep all their earnings), pushes my shoulder, I continue my conversation with the magnificent being in front of my eyes. The man raises his voice and pushes my shoulder again. Lourdette raises her eyes, with them asking me to acknowledge him, I look up and the man demands something in Kreyol, although I imagine his command I tell him I do not understand. Another yells, “Que le dez un beso!” The owner puckers his lips. I turn my head and continue to converse with Lourdette. The men feel the loss of power and we can sense their irritation rising. The owner places a chair to my right and eyes fix on me. The man tells Lourdette that he wants to be part of the conversation; I look at him and tell him that I came to visit the “madames.” The men start saying loudly, “Sorti blon,” “leave white one, you don’t belong here.”
Lourdette smiles at me and invites me to her home. We stand up and walk through the men to a tin room with one hallway with doors with letters painted on them. Plywood divides the room into six sections big enough for crib mattress and a tiny night table. Lourdette unveils the sheet used as a door to reveal her home. Hers is the nook farthest from the entrance (more importantly, exit) in the right corner. As we walk in men enter and block the door. We continue and start our conversation in whispers. She shows me the condoms we gave them earlier and opens one and grabs a candle. She demonstrates while explaining in Kreyol that if they do not put on a condom the men have to leave. I ask her if they respect the rule and she responds yes adamantly. She goes on to tell me about her seven year-old daughter who lives with her aunt to whom Lourdette sends money to maintain her. Her daughter is preparing for her first communion, to be held on the 19th of May. Curious to know if she still receives communion I inquire, she nods, my smile grows. “It gives my spirit strength,” she replies. A handful of rocks fly over us, landing on the sheets that protect us. She yells at them to stop and I continue the conversation keeping my eyes tenderly in her gaze.
The men’s aggravation grows with the continuous lack of attention. Their means of intimidation begins to have its affects on me, but I refuse to show it. I am attentive to what I can use to defend ourselves since there is no means to escape. She tells me about her family and how she misses her grandmother. She’s been working in the club since February 7th, but has been maintaining her family financially for a year outside of the house, in the same industry. In the middle of our conversation she leans over and kisses my cheeks and hugs me with bliss. I am her guest. This repeats itself as stories are shared and our legs interlocked on the small mattress. The second batch of rocks cascades over the sheets. I look at her and listen to her telling them to stop. The oppression before my eyes nauseates me. “Do they scare you?” I ask. “Non,” she replies devoid of the smile I have grown accustomed to. Her assertion of courage strengthens me.
Less than a minute later she invites me to visit Ingrid’s home. Ingrid, the lead prostitute, demands respect from all, carrying herself with elegance with her twisted natural hair and her thirty-two years. Not knowing whether this is Lourdette’s attempt to protect me or if she simply wants to visit Ingrid, I agree. We leave the sheets and plywood to themselves, walking through the hallway towards the light. Outside I pay attention to a 12 year-old boy washing his feet and ignore the men roaring for le blon to leave, we walk passed them towards the right of a smaller tin structure separated in three with a letter accompanying each door. When we arrive to the last door Lourdette calls Ingrid on her cell phone to make sure she is not working. With only tin and plywood dividing us I hear Ingrid’s response, “I’m sleeping, come back later.” I ask Lourdette if she wants to continue talking, she smiled and says, “Allez. No, go, come back later.” “What time?” “Four.” I kiss her plump cheeks and turn around.
Not acknowledging the men, I pass the 12 year old boy and the two grandmothers still washing clothes as the two preteen boys simply sit. Leaving the steel doors I ask myself if my response to the salivating men was too passive or if it was more effective than assertively addressing them. Although they oppress and their acts disgust me, I know they starve for Love, of whom I am called to be a vessel of. I pray for wisdom and will be back at four.
O Love, that You may bless me indeed
and enlarge my territory,
that Your hand be with me,
keep me from evil,
and that I may not cause pain.
With you,

Thursday, May 6, 2010

Clapping palms, baby's breath, a flame

Thursday the bells rang at the usual times: 5:15, 5:30, and 5:45am. For some unusual reason they seemed endless on Thursday. During one of the chimes I decided to start counting the clangs, I reached thirty something and then my slightly delirious imagination started wandering. I thought, “Either someone died or a foreigner is filming the man who rings the bells and hasn’t captured the image she or he wants so continues asking the bell ringer to pull the rope.” I know, quite vivid and wildish thoughts for a half-asleep brain. Zaloa, who as the days go by I am more and more certain is a saint, heated up the left over soup for me. We bushed our teeth, cleaned up and were off to a new adventure... the lake.
Zaloa and I passed the market and the magnificent trunk of a tree that guards the lone bridge in town. Passing the banana, coconut, and papaya trees we laughed and played hide and go seek with the sun, the sun had the upper hand. With the sweat rinsing off our sun block we realized we needed a better sense of direction and a gentleman, Jean, decided to accompany us the rest of the journey to the lake. On our way there we met with Violet, her grandmother, her pregnant mother (with the 11th on her/his way), her 6 year old brother on their donkey, and one of her sisters. The women on their way to sell pumpkins and mangos in the market, while the boy and the donkey made their way to the well to fetch water. Violet decided to join us and welcome us to their home since it is the only abode on the lake.
Upon arriving we saw the three dusty faces of Violet’s youngest siblings outside of their house, which is no bigger than my room, in the entrance simply sitting. Jesufran (7), Annette (5), and Mistrel (2) watched us come near and hid behind the door. Violet offered us their two chairs; we sat under the shade and began to sing with the children. In the beginning it was mostly Zaloa and I foolishly clapping our hands and patting them on our legs while singing a sort of patty-cake song from the Basque country, but suddenly the shyest of the three, Mistrel, began to pat with us. Ooo, the exquisiteness of seeing his dusty hands clapping on cue and his back rolling like a snake with the rhythm of the song.
We decided to take a stroll around the lake with the children, Violet and Jean. We raced, danced, and played hopscotch accompanied by the gaunt cows, the tied up goats, and the ducks responsible for the only ripples on the lake. I asked Annette the word for tree in Kreyol and instead was told the name of the specific tree, when I pointed to a hill with a variety of trees, so she could see I wanted the general name, she started naming each type of tree by name. I laughed and listened in awe seeing the wisdom she offered me. Since I had courageously offered to cook lunch at home, we parted with the children, once again leaving them sitting in front of their house alone. Violet, Zaloa, and I filled our journey home with song and laughter. Zaloa and I placed our feet in a stream of water that beckoned us to refresh ourselves, as I stepped out my shoe headed downstream without me. I got up and ran like a bullet and caught it. The people bathing themselves at the stream laughed and screamed as such a sight, “Le Blon,” “the white one” running after her shoe.
After a scrumptious lunch (Zaloa helped more than a little), we headed to Kay Pob, where we shared some left over cake from the priest’s celebration. Lisanne, after devouring her cake decided she was ready for bed again. As I walked her back and saw her lifting her head to feel the sun on her eyelids and cheeks I began to sing to her, which lead to a slow dance with a turn. The joy Lisanne radiated caused Tiffany, who was serious until that point, to run up and down laughing. I put Lisanne, listening to Samara’s (Sylvani in precious entries) groans. I walked towards her humming and began caressing her frail body, Zaloa entered and told me to smell her breath, “It’s the smell of death,” she told me. We stayed there accompanying her for a while.
A young lady from the neighborhood appeared while we were saying our goodbyes for the day. She walked towards me nudging a 4 year-old girl in a watermelon shirt in front of her. She murmured something to me. I did not hear and asked her to repeat; when I leaned closer I understood her request. She was asking me to take her daughter. Zaloa, looked at the young woman and sternly said, “Non, pas bon.” The little girl shyly looked up at us and then at her mother. “Les blons,” “the white ones,” are generally seen here as people with money and good intentions, so for a mother who does not see opportunities for her children, leaving her child with a “blon” could be a desperate act of love. The young lady invited us to her house. We were welcomed by her two blind parents, her two sisters, and her newborn baby. The encounter with the newborn’s breath, fresh of breast milk, the evening breeze, the interaction of the sisters as one groomed the other, enriched me with hope.
Following our visit, Zaloa and I went by the region’s hospital to pick up condoms. We planned an exercise session with our friends in Kay Pob and wanted to fill balloons up with sand so the people at Kay Pob could work their fine motor muscles by squeezing the balloons. Lack of supplies allows creativity to blossom, so there we were picking up condoms for our exercise date the following day. While leaving the hospital with 200 condoms we saw two foreigners, we were curious and went to introduce ourselves. They were doctors who had come, one from Ecuador, and the other from Chile. They arrived last week and take shifts at the hospital. From there we passed by the club to visit the prostitutes. The ladies live and work there and never leave the club. They do not socialize with the outside world, they are the marginalized. Zaloa is determined to have the women interact with other women. In that attempt, she asked if they liked to dance. After the affirmation, Zaloa told them about the salsa classes, their faces lit up. They started smiling and said they were willing to come to learn. Zaloa told them she would be passing by daily to invite them until they came. We will see. We left the condoms for their use and left with high spirits of the possibility of dancing in communion with them.
Before eating Rose, Zaloa, and I exercised, each to her level and each with perseverance and determination. During the reflection Thursday night, Nazareth pointed out how the perseverance and determination used during the exercises an hour earlier exemplify the perseverance and determination we have and must have in the work we do.
The wind picked up, lifting up leaves and threatening the candles flame, and I felt you. I felt how connected we are.

With you,

Monday, May 3, 2010

Glasses, braids and moonlight

Song filled the air as we washed the dishes after breakfast on Wednesday. I left with my heart full of the joyful noise to Kay Pob, while the celebration of the order of priests next door began in the early morning, with a mass that started at 9am and ended past 12pm, dancing, and music galore. Zaloa and I stopped at a water font to collect water in a plastic jug. We filled it and I placed it on my head to carry up the hill to Kay Pob. As other women passed me, with the same (much more practiced) way of carrying goods, smiles appeared with a hint of solidarity. We arrived and distributed salted fish and fried balls of dough we bought on the street and fried plaintains for the few with teeth. Building relationships gives life, we already know who likes what food. Tiffany, (T in the previous entry) offers her food to everyone else and distributes it before eating, and astonished us on Wednesday with a “Mesi.” Walter (the blind man who speaks English) persistently asked us kindly for shoes since his only stayed on his feet thanks to the twine he tied together. Rose provided us with men’s shoes that were like heaven to him.
After filling bowls with water and passing them around to wash themselves we stayed talking and laughing with them. Walter stood up went to his room and came back with a surprise... eyeglasses with prescription. He stood tall and said, “Look at me!” The stickers and tag still blocked the lenses. We asked him, “Walter, do they help?” And he said very matter-of-factly, “No, I do not see.” We laughed hysterically, a blind man with brand new thick prescription glasses. And out came Andre showing off his glasses. We asked him the same question and he said, “No, I see too big with these.” Maybe previous missioners decided to donate glasses. Zaloa took them for a walk around town with three ladies from Nazaret’s artisan group: Lydia, Nelly, and Cheryl, the whole rocky and unlevelled stroll Walter walked proudly his glasses.
I stayed behind because Lisanne (A in the previous entry) took off her bandana and placed my hands on her hair, asking me to braid it. I asked Madame Lynette (the cook, when there’s food) for a comb and after cleaning it well, began my hairstyling. Lisanne’s hair had been neglected enough to start dreading and collecting a few extra items. Lisanne sat, with much needed patience as I worked my way through her grey threads. With only one braid left to braid, Lisanne looked up towards me and said, “Mwen couche.” I smiled and took her in my arms to start guiding her back to the room, where while she hugged me I was able to finish her last braid. She touched her hair and straightened her back with a smile. Lisanne, the most attached to me, and the most physical with me, reached searching for my face, she touched it softly, leaned forward, asking for a kiss and staying there for multiple others.
By the time I finished, the group that had gone for a walk returned. We said our goodbyes and walked down the hill with the ladies from the artisan group, Cheryl shared her story, saying that her husband died in the “tremble-de-terre,” she returned to Jean-Rabel where her aunt and uncle live with her four children. I asked her if she missed her husband, she looked at me without words. After a while she murmured, “Men are parasites.” Silence and empathy walked along with us the rest of the journey. The inequality between men and women is extravagantly present.
When we arrived for lunch, Rose and Nazareth were full of stories to tell and frustrations to share about a few encounters throughout their day with oppressive priests. We listened, vented, and laughed.
Nazaret started spreading around town that I was going to start giving Salsa classes on Monday at 9am. The enthusiasm from the women surprised me and as I went through town in the afternoon inquiries about the class followed me. We’ll see what beauty unfolds, we all have been asking around town for any Latin music that may be in town and they all say there’s salsa in Port-au-Prince. Our internet is not strong enough to download music, so if need be I’ll ask a man that plays the drums to be our music, or I’ll sing.
I cannot count how many times I have read Stone Soup to my nieces and nephew, and how many times before that I had read it or had it read to me. On Wednesday, Nazaret read Stone Soup to us as our reflection. Miracles happen when we unit and bring all our broken jugs together. Rose shared the story of Calloway, Ireland. A cloister of nuns resides in Calloway and depends on the town’s generosity for everything. If the nuns have gone three days without eating they ring the bells in the convent. Calloway assures itself to never hear those bells ring. Rose shared this in reference to Kay Pob. Zaloa and I are passersby; we are here today and will be gone. Jean-Rabel must sustain Kay Pob, how glorious would it be if Jean-Rabel took felt ownership of Kay Pob the way Calloway feels ownership of the convent. We will see, we know that Calloway and Jean-Rabel are different realities, but we also know that broken jugs gathered together allow miracles to happen anywhere.
The moon, full to the brim, passed through the palm trees and lit the way as me made our way through the night, I felt your love through its reflection.

With you,