Sunday, Monday, Tuesday...

Elections were on Sunday, confusion was on Monday, I spoke with Yvka today, results are due December 5^th.

Around 50 of the over 1,000 election posts pulsed with tension, Jean Rabel being one of them. The cholera, the corruption, the lack of infrastructure intensified by the earthquake all lead to leaning on some leaning on pure faith for betterment.

Part of Kay Pov’s roof flew away with Thomas, but they are eating each day and Yvka and the other ladies continue tending to them. Dr. Geralda took samples to test all of them for Cholera and Malaria last Wednesday. I fell into Mami’s arms after hearing that our loved ones in Kay Pov eat daily, I sobbed and sobbed humbled to be used as an instrument and without words to express my gratitude for being used.

On Sunday I went to mass. As I listened to the readings I imagined the different groups in Akadyen and Kolet acting out the gospel. The merging of the two worlds, the air conditioned vast church with fluffy kneelers contrasting with the four incomplete and crumbling walls and dirt floor with chickens occasionally joining us, seemed more eloquent than I could possibly imagine. I lifted my head and saw a lady who has been following the blog (like you) and keeping me and all those in Haiti in her prayers. She was in Haiti with me the way Yvka, Fabio, Rose, and Sylvani are with me here. Feeling my heart at rest I allowed the tears to flow. I felt Papi’s hand rub my back and sat back to lean into his chest and while I lay there soothing myself by the beat of his heart and the waves of his breathing I felt myself in the arms of Walter months back. I am grateful. My soul feels a deep peace and deep happiness, not in a pompous or grandiose way, but in a humble and silent way. I am at home, not because of my physical location, but because of my soul. I feel myself in the arms of Home, of Love, no matter where my feet stand. What a gift. What a humbling gift.

I handed over the elections with faith, delighted in hearing Yvka’s laughter again, and am surrendered to the present.

With you,

Luisely

written on November 30, 2010

after despair

I fell asleep on the grass, read a book about writing, found a recipe while I was at it, and yet I failed to write to you. So here is my attempt to no longer procrastinate my letter to you. A letter that will attempt to transmit what I’ve lived since my arrival to the States.

Four months ago, I dreamed with Christy’s baby. In the dream, I visited Christy and began speaking to the baby in her womb introducing myself as Tia Luisely. Christy’s voice stimulated the baby to dance in her womb. The baby’s foot poked out and subtly a light from inside the womb made the womb translucent.  The movements became clear to me. Christy pointed out the baby’s organs, and I marveled at the majesty of it all. I could see all the baby’s movements, the fragile fingers, the closed eyes (the way they should be at 5 months). The baby moved and I saw that the chin mirrored that of his uncles’, his eye shape was that of his fathers, and his nose resembled Christy’s. I looked up to Christy in the dream and told her the baby she carried was a boy.

Christy was 39 weeks pregnant when she and her husband picked me up from the executive private airport in Boca on the 3^rd. I hugged her and kissed her belly feeling myself grasp onto the life she held within. For the week that followed I accompanied her to see the midwife, watched movies on natural birthing *, read articles and chapters in books about how to best accompany her and “what to expect,” along with assisting with household chores and errands. We went on walks, took naps, studied Dunstan’s Baby Language and prepared the home’s last details for the baby’s arrival.

On the night of the 13^th, Christy decided to kidnap her husband and go out for the night. At 3:30am, the couple stood next to my bed while Christy whispered, “I’m in labor.” -She woke me from a dream where I saw the baby fresh out of the womb in a hospital, and studied his eyes, his cheeks, his hair, and toes. – We decided to try to rest as much as possible before the contractions intensified.

A few hours later, I prepared breakfast for her and packed the car with everything prepared for the occasion.  We went to her parents’ house where her sisters gathered along with her mother. We walked up and down the street breathing through contractions as she leaned on her husband. The contractions escalated, and I drove us to the birthing center where the midwife and her assistants were waiting.

Christy radiated with elegance while breathing through each contraction, concentrating and enduring. We walked up stairs two by two; she rocked back and forth on the rocking chair and swayed side to side leaning on us. As she hung her arms around my neck and swayed with me my legs trembled holding her up. I could feel her belly on mine, the baby’s movements and her womb contracting. We breathed together and swayed together. Life was coming forth. Christy clung to her mother who tried to carry her weight, as I held her mother up massaging her back one of Christy’s sisters rubbed mine, a moment of Divine Grace. A cycle of women breathing and accompanying another, one woman held the other in attempts to bear the weight of the one that bore the weight no one could bear for her.

Christy and the baby went on for 27 hours, breathing through each contraction with the support of all of us and without the assistance of medications. The midwife leaned over to both Christy and her husband and said, “You are suffering and tired, the baby’s head is pushing on your pelvic bone and not through your canal. We can continue here if you’d like, or we can go to the hospital now.” In minutes we were out of the birthing center and in the hospital. In the hospital, tests were run. Christy’s platelets were remarkably low and her liver inflamed. Soon the nurses prepared Christy for an emergency C-section where she would go under general anesthesia, the complete opposite of what she planned.

On November 15^th at 7:59am Ian Diego Paredes felt the cold hospital air, stretched his arms and legs without boundaries, and a few hours later felt his mother’s warm body from outside and filled his belly with her warm milk.

The experience humbled me and beckoned me to delve within to find the wisdom ancestors passed down to me through intuition. Ian means “God is gracious.”

For the week that followed, I tended to and accompanied Christy and the baby in the hospital and then in her home as her body healed and Ian’s discovered more of Earth and her beauties. The bond between Ian and Christy, Christy’s yearning love for her husband, my understanding of the baby and my body’s natural response to the baby bewilders me.

On the 23^rd, I left, allowing the family to carry on as they will and should. While saying farewell to Ian, he opened his deep blue eyes and let them dive into mine allowing my soul to gaze into his and his to bless mine.

Living this sacred time with Christy’s family gave me the life and hope I needed after leaving Haiti. It was a reminder that there is life after pain, there is hope after despair, and that we are always given what we need, it is up to us to open our eyes and see.

With you,

Luisely

P.S.: I would like to invite anyone who accompanied me in Haiti, who continues accompanying me now in the Miami area to dinner on December 8^th at 6pm. It’s a simple get together to answer any questions and a form of thanksgiving our union. If you’d like you can bring a dish to share, anything your heart desires. We will be meeting at Andres Novela’s residence (thank you to him and his familyJ) his address is 5162 NW 114^th Ct. Doral, FL 33178. The complex is called Doral Landings West. If more than one of us shows up parking may not be that splendid, but it’s okay, we’ll find locations.

*I recommend watching The Business of Being Born.

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

the journey continues

I am in Florida now. God's gentle way of transitioning me from Jean Rabel to South Florida is through a little boy in my college roommate's womb. That little one fills my heart with hope and new life in such a perfect way after Haiti and my farewell from all those I left. I'm tending to my dear friend in her 40th week of pregnancy. The stories of my journey here: my farewells, cholera, the hurricane, the baby's birth and all the stories to come will be posted. I will continue writing and will continue being with you. I have no internet access for now (slightly ironic), but will go posting as the opportunities arise.

With you,
Luisely

The Little Prince and the Fox

“What does tamed mean?”


“It’s something that’s been too often neglected. It means ‘to create ties’…”

“To create ties?”

“That’s right,” the fox said. “For me you’re only a little boy just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you have no need of me either. For you I’m only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we’ll need each other. You’ll be the only boy in the world for me. I’ll be the only fox in the world for you…”

“…if you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. I’ll know the sound of footsteps that will be different from all the rest. Other footsteps send me back underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like music. And then, look! You see the wheat fields over there? I don’t eat bread. For me wheat is of no use whatever. Wheat fields say nothing to me. Which is sad. But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be wonderful, once you’ve tamed me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I’ll love the sound of the wind in the wheat…”

That was how the little prince tamed the fox. And when the time to leave was near:

“Ah!” the fox said. “I shall weep.”

…

“Then you get nothing out of it?”

“I get something,” the fox said, “because of the color of the wheat.”

…

“People have forgotten this truth,” the fox said. “But you mustn’t forget it. You become responsible forever for what you’ve tamed…”

-an excerpt from Antoine De Saint-Exupery’s The Little Prince

“You do things so that we’ll miss you,” Fabio repeats as the time gets closer.

I leave in a week.

The ties created leave me enriched, leaving me even more in love with all that surrounds me. And now my time to leave is near, Ah! I shall weep.

Now the sound of a gust of wind through the banana tree leaves, the smell of charcoal with the wet Earth, the tune of Little Richie’s “I feel good…”, and a certain rhythm of the drums send my heart soaring back to those it is tied to.

And I mustn’t forget that I have become responsible forever for what I’ve tamed…

With you,

Luisely

Holy Ground

I took off my shoes and let the mud squish through my toes from Kay Pov home.


“Take off your sandals, for the place where you are standing is holy ground.” Exodus 3:5

Papi and Marcos came for six days. Each day they were in Kay Pov building a shower, walkway and stairs to the shower. Papi left his shoes behind.

Marcos took a ball and played in front of the house with a group of boys of all ages, all barefoot, sliding in the mud and rocks.

One of Lisanne’s sons picked her body up from the morgue and took his dad, Daniel, with him. He left his mismatched, oversized flip-flops in the empty room.

Now Tiffany sleeps in their room with her brother for protection. Three weeks ago she slept without him; someone entered, abused her, leaving her forehead with a welt covering half of it and a broken lip. She takes off her flip-flops before entering the room.

The committee in Kay Pov is working! Yvka has been officially hired. The Fonkoze account is open both for Haitian deposits and US deposits. Letters have been written to local organizations to ensure a monthly influx of food in Kay Pov. The lady who washes the clothes and sheets of those in Kay Pov will now have ensured pay. She walks with her bare feet on the ground.

Take off your sandals for you are on Holy ground. Exodus 3:5

With you,

Luisely

God gives, God takes

At 5 in the morning Yvka opened the broken door to Lisanne’s room with a warm bowl of buyon (a soup with plantains, dumplings, and yucca).


As the sun rose from the mountains from afar Yvka sat next to her trying to spoon feed Lisanne, monitoring her breathing. Throughout the morning she bathed her in bed changing her clothes since she could no longer contain her bowel movements.

I arrived at 9am, after theater of the oppressed. The flies swarmed around her as she struggled for air. It was as if they knew.

We sat with the others as we planned for the morgue. Madame Lakwa tried to fill Lisanne’s empty stomach at noon while Yvka went off to hide her tears from the rest. They knew, we all knew.

I went to eat and bring back food for Yvka, who hadn’t eaten. Yvka and I stayed accompanying and sharing stories of the time spent with Lisanne as I braided her hair.

The wind blew, the children laughed, Alex complained, Tyler slept, and Lisanne ceased.

I went to her, calmly searched for her pulse, placed my hand on her chest, my finger under her nose, I kissed her still warm cheekbones that I had kissed so many times before and rubbed my warm nose against her cold one.

I walked across the room to Daniel to rub his head. Daniel spoke to me without lifting his head, “M pa kapab fe anyen, m pa kapab fe anyen. I can’t do anything, I can’t do anything.” He struggled up and limped over to his partner whom he had had ten children with. He uncovered her head, leaned over close to her face, straightened up, and limped back to his cot where he sat with his head low. “She’s dead. M pa kapab fe anyen.” I stood up, went outside, found the buyon and offered it to Daniel. He looked at Yvka and nourished himself with his companion’s last meal. He knew.

The wind blew, the children left, Alex complained, Tyler awoke, and Daniel ate.

As M. Lakwa and M. Lissette went searching for assistance at the morgue I continued to braid Yvka’s hair with Lisanne to my right and Daniel to my left.

When M. Lakwa and M. Lissette arrived with the stretcher the sun snuggled into the far off mountains. I thirsted.

They found no one to help carry the body to the morgue. We laid the stretcher by the cot on the floor. I lifted Lisanne’s head and upperbody while Yvka took her legs. Down the steep doorway, through the narrow corner, passed the gate, we carried. The weight of her body perplexed me; Lisanne was pure bones, and her body a cross. As soon as we passed the brick red gate two young men began bantering, laughing. The mockery continued all the way down the hill through the town to the main street.

People began to follow us out of curiosity.

“Who is it?” the voices cried out from porches and kiosks.

“An old one from Kay Pov,” a young woman responded through her smile.

“One less!” they cackled.

“Who is it?” they yelled, “Alex?”

“No, another from Kay Pov,” one of the followers replied.

“Aw, what a shame, I was hoping it was Alex.”

“Who is it?” they asked.

“A moun from Kay Pov.”

Laughter followed.

Motorcycles zoomed by honking and the mockery continued.

It wasn’t until we arrived to the main street that two women offered to help, M. Lissette on one corner of the stretcher and someone unknown to us on another corner. The four of us continued down the street towards the morgue as the crowds continued.

Abba, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

The man at the morgue wanted to discuss business before opening the door for us. Sweat streamed down our faces, the unknown lady went to place her corner on the floor while M. Lissette refuted, “No, we will carry her until she enters.” We did not budge. The man looked at our faces and unlocked the heavy doors to the small room that contained another body. We followed directions placing her body on the floor. We left.

There lay the body of Lisanne “like a dish that is broken.” (Psalm 31)

Our friend

who devoured her rice and beans and only used her spoon to scoop more in her hand,

who squabbled constantly and thunderously with Daniel, but who missed him terribly when he went out for wood,

who would store her powdered tobacco in a knot in the bandana she wrapped around her head,

who opened her clouded eyes towards the sun to sense the sunlight
is now a part of it, of us, all.


All the group of ladies from my first salsa class cleaned out her room today and sat to accompany and feel the wind blow by the side of Daniel and the others in Kay Pov.

Now Tiffany will have a bed.

With you,

Luisely