the voyage

I left Jean Rabel with my beige back pack, my red sac, and a gift bag carrying passion fruit, coconut, fresh sweets made of coconut, lime, and banana and a fried rooster, all gifts from those I would leave. The Thursday before leaving Jean Rabel, I snuggled the rooster dubbed Monsieur Lion under my arm from MaWouj to Jean Rabel a journey that took us three hours by foot. We were walking back from our last performance together of Theater of the Oppressed. We woke at 4am to take advantage and walk before the sun rose. Some late risers altered the plan and we ended up leaving around 7am. As we walked up the rocky mountains, under the shade of the Eucalyptus, mango, and avocado trees, through the rivers, sliding in the mud, other pilgrims joined our troop. Children walking to school, women carrying merchandise to sell, others with their donkeys equipped with goods, and men walking with their machetes in their hands. Out of all of them, one had the same destination as us and balanced a large cooler on her head full beyond the brim with Sapi-bons, popular frozen bags full of flavored ice, the country’s popsicles. In one hand she carried a plastic container in a plastic bucket and the other was free.

We soon began carrying her burden and means of living. Yvka placed it on her head and with the weight of the cooler wrinkling her forehead she took one step at a time with elegance and laughter as I wiped her brow. We alternated carrying the load for two and a half hours uphill, songs were sung, people joined, dances were danced, people joined, and stories were shared, people joined. Upon arriving to MaWouj, we went separate ways remembering each others’ names in our prayers.

We broke bread together, split avocados and bananas. We performed in MaWouj and the audience responded with a powerful current of energy. The pews could hold no more weight on them. The spect-actors kept searching for solutions for hours until the sun beckoned us to continue our journey home. As we walked, the crimson, purple, and fuchsia clouds painted the sky and out of one emanated the thickest band of rainbow I’ve taken in. For a while we walked in silence honoring the presence of ever-present Holiness.

We all knew it would be our last voyage together (at least for now) and through their laughter, encouragement, tending to one another they continued showing me what our journeys are about. We are here to help others free themselves of their yoke, or share in the carrying of it. We are here to encourage the other. We are here to listen to the other. To laugh, sing, dance, and rejoice with and in the other. We are here to stand in awe of our Creator with the other.

We are here to bind ourselves with the other.

Mousier Lion and I have become very well acquainted since the walk- the coconuts, sweets, and passion fruit as well. I arrived to Port-de-Paix and then Port-au-Prince, took a tap-tap to Grassroots United, and as I helped the non-profit Rebuild prepare for the coming of Thomas was offered a seat on a private jet to Ft. Lauderdale.  The sky above the white clouds displayed a sunset similar in color and marvel as the one our Divine Artist painted for us as we finished our voyage on Thursday. The stars took place of the sun and the jet glided its way further from Haiti and my loved ones on the island. I arrived to South Florida with my beige back pack, my red sac, and a soul carrying all gifts from those I left. My voyage continues.

With you,
Luisely

¡Dios me mima de una forma INCREIBLE!

Walter´s words have continued with me throughout the week and there is no way of not seeing the truth in them. My days continue to be filled with manifestations after manifestations of Divine accompaniment in everything. Mami doesn´t approve when I use absolutes, because in most cases they can lean towards an exaggeration of the truth, more than the truth. But this, Mami, is an exception. Everything I need, even if I don´t know I need it, is handed to me in a creative and abundant way.


From the simplest details like craving sardines this morning with the left over veggies and seeing that on the table Nazareth had placed a can of sardines. Or the ten hours of sleep I enjoyed last night, after telling God how much I truly needed a deep intense sleep. Ask and you shall receive.

On more elaborate details:

My deepest desire in my work here is that it be a journey with the people of Jean Rabel, in such a way that when I leave the work continue in the hands of the community, if that is their desire. Day by day my desires become realities.

Yvka, one of the mademoiselles who volunteers at Kay Pov, and I are raising funds from the community, local churches, organizations, and people with means in Jean Rabel for Kay Pov. The funds will be collected every September (God-willing) and will go in a micro-financing bank called Fonkoze. From those funds we will pay the administrator of Kay Pov (a position we have created), the lady who washes the clothes and sheets, and any miscellaneous work to be done for maintenance of the grounds, such as leveling out the yard. The administrator of Kay Pov (currently Yvka) is responsible for advocating for the people´s dignity and rights in Kay Pov, seeing that the changes needed occur, administrating all the funds, paying the workers of Kay Pov, buying the materials (soap, detergent, razors, etc.), collecting donations in September, visiting each person in Kay Pov every morning and evening to check on their needs, administer the volunteer work, give them their medicines, etc. The group of older women from the Catholic Church who were responsible for Kay Pov in the past fully agree and support this work, we have worked together with all those involved in Kay Pov and they praise God for the changes. Yvka gives herself completely to the work because she believes in it and the mademoiselles trust her and appreciate her. Thank you God!

The mayor, the pastor of the Catholic Church and the town in general agree with the work and plan on supporting it, an enormous step to where we were before.

What we need falls into our arms, if they´re open.

The theater of the Gospel continues to astound me. On Monday at least forty people came to take part in the preparation of Sunday´s gospel, the room could not house so many people so some crowded around the holes of the walls and the doors to listen and see. The reading was about the shepherd with 100 sheep. Even the parable fit perfectly with the amount of people who came to participate.

The play with the group of theater of the oppressed will be presented in the streets of Jean Rabel with the Haitian rhythm in the drums, songs, and dance. I know; I have yet to write in length about Theater of the Oppressed. Before the month ends I will. I sit in awe as I see the group act out their reality and their situations of oppression, sometimes its nauseating, others infuriating, and each time we learn from one another.

The salsa classes asked to perform a “spektakle,” as they call it. I confess that organizing performances and parties is not my favorite passed time, but I said yes, telling God to illuminate me with the choreography and all the other details. Indeed the Creator of all creation collaborated with me and the dance flowed out.

The yoga classes continue and the back aches are slowly waning.

The list of examples supporting the truth in Walter´s words is endless.

I want to share with you one of last night´s treats… If you can, read a letter that Pierre Teilhard de Chardin wrote to a friend Adore and Trust in God. Another reminder of the Great company we all have.

With you,

Luisely

My beginning in Jean-Rabel

I arrived Sunday afternoon to Port-de-Paix in a plane that fits about 11 passangers. Sr. Rose was waiting there for me with a lovely small and warm hug. We sat in the frontseat of a car with Wissman, the driver, and journeyed through the dirt roads dancing through the crevaces of Earth. We bumped along and shared stories as we passed by women and their donkeys and laughing children. After about an hours drive we dropped Wissman off and Rose drove through the town to our home. On the way she explained that over 16,000 refugees have come to Jean-Rabel since the earthquake. Since many are not used to rural life some went back to Port-au-Prince and little by little have all been returning to Jean-Rabel, because living in the country is safer than camping in tents.
Following a marevolous welcome and lunch I was off to a women's meeting with Zaloa, a 31 year-old volunteer from Bilbao, Spain. This is Zaloa's second time volunteering with Nazareth and Rose, and has been here for a week now. Her passion is for women's rights and began working with a woman in the community, Antoni, to organize a place where women can gather and share safely and openly and learn more about our rights. We walked over to the school where the gathering was to take place and were recieved by blasting music that did not allow you to hear the person right next to you. A rumor also went around town saying that women had to pay to come to the meeting. (One obsticale, met by another.) Zaloa and I left to start gathering others, especially the prostitutes, so they could feel equally invited as women to the gathering, because we all have gifts to share and lessons to learn.
Although the music drove us out to another location and the rumors dismotivated others, women came from all the region and packed the room, there were at least 50 women gathered at the meeting. The women's gathering was ment to be lead by women obviously, but 4/5ths of the meeting was lead by Antoni's husband instead. He was telling the women about their rights and they quietly and respectfully listened, once the women wanted to voice their opinion he excused himself and allowed Antoni to listen. The meeting itself exemplifies the chavanistic reality and the oppression lived by Haitian women. We sang and ate and laughed and shared with the women. I mixed my French with the 10 words I know in Kreyol and laughed as we tried to communicate, one woman to another. We arrived before 8pm because since there is no electricity in the town it is hard to get around in the dark.
Nazareth, Rose, Zaloa and I ate and went to the little chapel here in the house for reflection. the song sung to welcome me was "Pescador de Hombres/Mujeres" or "Lord, You Have Come." A song close to my heart since I was about 4 years old. Papi was part of the choir in Christ Our Redeemer and would occasionally let Norely and I sit with him. I remember this song in particular because Papi would sing it with such strength and in the language I was used to him speaking to me in. What a perfect welcome, for I have seeked other shores.

So that was my first day in Jean-Rabel.

With you,
Luisely