Late last night I decided to take the back roads home, while allowing the heater to thaw out my toes. Thoughts swam through my mind as I slowly swerved through the paved curves. Interrupting my monologue of to-do lists and hopeful thinking, a red light from the dashboard appeared. As my eyes adjusted, I realized the little words read BRAKE! I hesitated at believing the sign since I didn’t sense the car dragging nor did I smell the brakes burning. I checked the emergency brake and it laid there in its expected position. I jiggled the brake a bit, pushed the button at the end of the stick and the light continued to shine, differentiating itself from its blue and green counterparts. Then I got it. The little guy lit especially for me. It, or Jamaima (the car I gladly drove in), or better said, the Beauty of Beauties wanted me to brake, to stop all the shenanigans diving in and around my mind and simply be. Be in the deep blue of the sky, the long sheer clouds smeared through it cradling the chubby moon, and the silhouettes of the pine trees framing my passage. I smiled and decided to listen and be. I stopped Jamaima, temporarily relieving the headlights of their duties, and allowing my eyes to rejoice in my surroundings. I looked up at the moon and felt her manifestation in me. I allowed my eyes to wander through the vastness of the moonlit sky and my soul to be humbled, and at ease, with its place in the vastness. Then I turned my head towards my left and saw more splendor. A lake lay embraced by pines, mirroring its tree frame in its unruffled waters. The lake reflected the moon, the silhouettes and the clouds above. I allowed the chill of the night to fill my lungs and listened to the unseen flow of the lake. It lay placid and seemingly motionless. All the life, and with it, death, it carries within, and all the peace that it transmits for simply being.
The cold began to chill my nose so I cuddled back into Jamaima, turned her on and rode the rest of the way home with the little red light still shining for me. I am perfectly aware that it may simply be another glitch in the car bought from a junk yard, and I am tremendously grateful for that glitch and the other glitches in life that remind us to brake and truly be. To sense, to smell, to see, to listen, to stop and be. "For the kin_dom of God is at hand." Mark 1:15
With you,
Luisely
Showing posts with label Searching through the river's current. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Searching through the river's current. Show all posts
Monday, January 17, 2011
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
setting captives free
Approximately 100 bodies packed the preschool classroom where the Sunday services in Kolet take place. Those who arrived later clung to the windows from the outside to catch the show. As I looked around the audience, standing in the back, I could see the sweat streaming down their rich dark skin, babies suckling on their mothers´ breast, children crawling between legs to go further up, but their eyes fixed on the action in the front of the room. I stood in disbelief as I witnessed the group of eight feed off the energy of the audience, improvising and hooking the spectators/spec-actors, having them roaring with laughter and interacting with the characters on stage. “God, these are the same that started with me a few months back, the lacked the courage to speak up loud enough for me to hear.” The miracles continue.
The conversation about the play and the possible solutions continues. People are still playing the game, searching for solutions in their own minds. In our own house on Sunday the conversations revolved around the play and the situation in the educational system, Nazareth and Rose, both discussing possibilities for the oppression to come to an end.
I knew nothing as to what would come out of Theater of the Oppressed in Jean Rabel and tried to follow the Divine Spirit with the eight, taking it day by day.
A missioner who began working in the Northwest of Haiti eight years ago saw the play last Thursday, before we presented it to an audience. After seeing the play we sat together and she asked me, “Luisely, you know that what you are doing in there is not simply theater, right?” “Yes,” I answered. “People in high places may not like you shining the light on these realities.” “Yes,” I answered.
The troop will travel around the department (state) by foot performing in different communities. Tomorrow we will present the play for a group of 48 educators from around the state. May the Holy One continue guiding us, giving us the courage and wisdom to continue seeking the truth, challenging one another, questioning systems, shining light on the oppression in search of justice. May we Love one another through theater, through laughter, drums, and tears.
With you,
Luisely
P.S.: Neida, you are right, step by step (drenched in faith).
The conversation about the play and the possible solutions continues. People are still playing the game, searching for solutions in their own minds. In our own house on Sunday the conversations revolved around the play and the situation in the educational system, Nazareth and Rose, both discussing possibilities for the oppression to come to an end.
I knew nothing as to what would come out of Theater of the Oppressed in Jean Rabel and tried to follow the Divine Spirit with the eight, taking it day by day.
A missioner who began working in the Northwest of Haiti eight years ago saw the play last Thursday, before we presented it to an audience. After seeing the play we sat together and she asked me, “Luisely, you know that what you are doing in there is not simply theater, right?” “Yes,” I answered. “People in high places may not like you shining the light on these realities.” “Yes,” I answered.
The troop will travel around the department (state) by foot performing in different communities. Tomorrow we will present the play for a group of 48 educators from around the state. May the Holy One continue guiding us, giving us the courage and wisdom to continue seeking the truth, challenging one another, questioning systems, shining light on the oppression in search of justice. May we Love one another through theater, through laughter, drums, and tears.
With you,
Luisely
P.S.: Neida, you are right, step by step (drenched in faith).
Monday, July 12, 2010
in the eyes of the other
Wednesday before heading out to Kolet, I sat in our little chapel for a little conversation with the most creative of creators and said I was open to whatever creations needed collaborations. The idea of Theater of the Gospel came to us after performing a little skit one Sunday in one of the services. Out of all the people who attended, maybe 5 knew how to read and in other posts where we go for Sunday services less. People thirst to know more about the man they know as their God, Jesus. With many not accustomed to sit in a classroom and listen attentively for an hour or two straight, services and mass consist more of singing and praying what rout memorization has taught them. Thus, theater of the Gospel began.
We read the stories of the gospel, the Good Samaratine, Martha and Mary, but to all who were gathered they were unknown. Seeing the stories slowly being understood and then coming to life in them with bliss and curiosity moves me. A liberation occurs and I witness it. They go from repeating and mimicing to making the story their own, and discussing what the parable means in their own reality. I think this is what was intended with the Gospel. For the parables to be shared and embraced with the reality of those listening, allowing it to be genuine "good news."
In each place before going into the reading I started off with an excercise where each one of us chooses a partner, introduces him/herself and locks eyes with the other. Words, gestures, nor movement are needed. This excercise challenges participants no matter what culture, but some face a greater challenge than others. Haiti is one of those cultures. The education system for numerous years taught students not to look into the teachers eyes, other systems in the country encouraged the same behavior. We rotated partners after approximately a minute. Within that minute though miracles and mysteries occur. While locking eyes with another without intention to convey anything love occurs. I'm not sure if it is because we enter into the depths of the other, or because we see ourselves in the other, perhaps we see the whole world in the other.
I start this excercise by paraphrasing Jesus, "what you do to the other, you do to me," the eyes you stare into are the eyes of God.
In Kolet two men and one woman held back tears while we fixed eyes, in Akadyn a man and a woman did the same, and a child could not hold back hers. Oh the depths of our eyes. Gazing into one man's eyes I was overwhelmed with beauty. Beauty was before me, looking straight at me and I at Beauty. I gazed and saw Pain, I gazed in another and saw Jesus, I gazed in a wrinkled man and saw a child, I gazed and saw the world, I gazed and saw all Divine.
With you,
Luisely
Monday, July 5, 2010
the entangled pair
Where there is life there is death. This is an obvious concept which some choose to see as a paradox. Some societies try what they may to segregate the two, keeping death out of sight, smell, and touch. Other societies carry on not attempting to conceal the intricate connection between the two, either by choice or by lack of alternative.
Louise, one of the few literate members of the church community in Kolet, gave birth to her sixth, two days ago. The grandmothers chose the baby´s name.
Bethlev’s mother and father buried their 11 year old son a week and a half ago, and yesterday buried another. A month earlier they were the two Rose, feared suffered most of starvation from the family. Their teeth and jaw bones were the most protruding; their cheeks were the most meager. The first death occurred suddenly. The eleven-year-old’s temperature rose rapidly, by the time the mother found a way to reach the nearest nurse the advice was to get him to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. Upon arriving to the hospital, not a doctor could be found. The child died waiting. Since the boy died in the hospital the mother was not permitted to take her son’s body home to bury. The corpse needed to be left in the morgue, which meant paying money they did not have for a service they did not receive and another they did not want.
The father, prior to the boy’s illness, lacked health himself and thus the income of the family starved alongside the members. The payment of the morgue and the transportation to the hospital meant more money taken away from the little needed to feed the remaining family. A week and a half later, their eldest, a boy of 16, died in the same manner. This time there was no money for the transportation to the hospital. The extra expense failed to save the other, nor did it help those still alive.
The house the family, who used to be of seven, resides in is smaller than the room Jara and I use. They divided it in two. Yesterday, as neighbors, family, and friends gathered outside the house Rose walked into the first of the two rooms where she found her friend, the mother, holding a wooden post with both hands, swaying her body side to side, eyes blank, searching for nothing. In the neighboring room the body lay. Alongside the corpse sat his siblings, one of whom, Bethlev, the seven-year-old girl with a leg and foot impediment, with a rising fever.
The cycle continues.
On our way to visit the mourning family we passed by to visit two families, celebrating the three new lives received in Kolet. The mother of the newborn twins lay on her side with one of the babe’s suckling fervently on her breast while the mother trembled with her eyes rolling back, seemingly coming in and out of consciousness. The grandmother tended to the other infant while calmly explaining that her daughter’s fever had not descended in three days. The doctor prescribed medicine. “What medicine?” Jara questioned. No one knew. “What does she have? What did the doctor say?” No one knew, no one asked. Here a visit to the hospital consists of sitting in front of the doctor, allowing him or her to inspect you, taking some tests not knowing and not asking which ones, and receiving a prescription before receiving the results of the exams- of course, paying for all the procedures.
“The breast milk,” Jara cried, “she’s drugging them with whatever she’s taking.” “If they don’t drink that, then what Jara? What else are they going to survive off of?”
“Bethlev has a fever. The disease, if it is a disease, could be infecting all of the family. They all need to be checked. They need an autopsy.” “Jara autopsies don’t exist here. Using money on a corpse that could be feeding those alive? With what money are they going to be examined Jara?”
“We can pay for the exams.” “There are some who already believe that the family is being cursed because they have received so much attention from the white foreigners since Bethlev’s leg operation was covered by us. The family may see this as a punishment from God or a curse from jealous others.”
The cycles continue.
The boy was buried yesterday evening. A nurse visited the two younger siblings today do some testing.
The twins’ legs tucked in and out, both new lives apparently full of health.
Louise’s baby wore a pink bonnet held together by a pin.
With you through these cycles,
Luisely
Louise, one of the few literate members of the church community in Kolet, gave birth to her sixth, two days ago. The grandmothers chose the baby´s name.
Bethlev’s mother and father buried their 11 year old son a week and a half ago, and yesterday buried another. A month earlier they were the two Rose, feared suffered most of starvation from the family. Their teeth and jaw bones were the most protruding; their cheeks were the most meager. The first death occurred suddenly. The eleven-year-old’s temperature rose rapidly, by the time the mother found a way to reach the nearest nurse the advice was to get him to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. Upon arriving to the hospital, not a doctor could be found. The child died waiting. Since the boy died in the hospital the mother was not permitted to take her son’s body home to bury. The corpse needed to be left in the morgue, which meant paying money they did not have for a service they did not receive and another they did not want.
The father, prior to the boy’s illness, lacked health himself and thus the income of the family starved alongside the members. The payment of the morgue and the transportation to the hospital meant more money taken away from the little needed to feed the remaining family. A week and a half later, their eldest, a boy of 16, died in the same manner. This time there was no money for the transportation to the hospital. The extra expense failed to save the other, nor did it help those still alive.
The house the family, who used to be of seven, resides in is smaller than the room Jara and I use. They divided it in two. Yesterday, as neighbors, family, and friends gathered outside the house Rose walked into the first of the two rooms where she found her friend, the mother, holding a wooden post with both hands, swaying her body side to side, eyes blank, searching for nothing. In the neighboring room the body lay. Alongside the corpse sat his siblings, one of whom, Bethlev, the seven-year-old girl with a leg and foot impediment, with a rising fever.
The cycle continues.
On our way to visit the mourning family we passed by to visit two families, celebrating the three new lives received in Kolet. The mother of the newborn twins lay on her side with one of the babe’s suckling fervently on her breast while the mother trembled with her eyes rolling back, seemingly coming in and out of consciousness. The grandmother tended to the other infant while calmly explaining that her daughter’s fever had not descended in three days. The doctor prescribed medicine. “What medicine?” Jara questioned. No one knew. “What does she have? What did the doctor say?” No one knew, no one asked. Here a visit to the hospital consists of sitting in front of the doctor, allowing him or her to inspect you, taking some tests not knowing and not asking which ones, and receiving a prescription before receiving the results of the exams- of course, paying for all the procedures.
“The breast milk,” Jara cried, “she’s drugging them with whatever she’s taking.” “If they don’t drink that, then what Jara? What else are they going to survive off of?”
“Bethlev has a fever. The disease, if it is a disease, could be infecting all of the family. They all need to be checked. They need an autopsy.” “Jara autopsies don’t exist here. Using money on a corpse that could be feeding those alive? With what money are they going to be examined Jara?”
“We can pay for the exams.” “There are some who already believe that the family is being cursed because they have received so much attention from the white foreigners since Bethlev’s leg operation was covered by us. The family may see this as a punishment from God or a curse from jealous others.”
The cycles continue.
The boy was buried yesterday evening. A nurse visited the two younger siblings today do some testing.
The twins’ legs tucked in and out, both new lives apparently full of health.
Louise’s baby wore a pink bonnet held together by a pin.
With you through these cycles,
Luisely
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
What blessings...
My first full day: morning, afternoon, and evening in Jean-Rabel. The bells start ringing at 5:30 in the morning and then at 5:45, they are the wake-up chimes for daily mass that starts at 6. We have the good fortune of hearing the bells loud and clear since we are right next door to the church. Exhaustion won over the noise and I stayed in bed until Zaloa got up, which was probably 6:15. The plan the night before was to do exercise together at 6. By the time I reached the bottom of the stairs (we live above an elementary school) Zaloa had finished jogging 25 laps. I started jump roping until Rose passed by me coming out of church and ready for breakfast.
During breakfast one of the drivers called Nazareth asking to borrow one of the cars, Zaloa and I agreed to go with him and we were on our way to towns nearby. We passed banana trees below us, cacti above us, and saw the blue sea in front of us. On our way if any people were in the way Rico, the driver, would honk them out of the way, by the time we reached the periphery of Jean-Rabel the horn stopped working and I was praising God for that. My heart would break every time a woman with something on her head, or a child, or an elderly with a donkey would be scared out of our way. We finally reached our destination, a school with 7 rooms, one for each grade starting with first. We (Zaloa, a man from the school and I) unloaded the rice, pasta, cornmeal, and tomato paste from the car. Rico watched. After unloading, Zaloa and I went into a classroom where the students had all walked out of the classroom to look at us. We walked in and started figuring out the math problems on the board with them, while their teacher spoke with Rico outside.
Following our visit, returning to the center of Jean-Rabel, we filled a water jug with water at the nearest water pump and went to “Kay Po,” the house of the poor. Zaloa visited Kay Po the week before and saw the inhumane conditions the people were in a bathed seven people on her visit and changed their clothes. Kay Po is a place where the unwanted of the city stay. There is a blind lady (Analise) and her cripple husband with an opened wound filled with little creatures, an elderly lady with dementia who may weigh 60 pounds maximum (Sylvani), a paraplegic, a blind man who can get by with English, a psychologically instable lady for may smile at you one minute and the next yell at you and leave running, and more. They have rooms with entries ways with a two and a half foot step as an entryway with thin mattresses, a latrine, and a cup by their mattress to use as a toilet if they cannot make it to the latrine. Needless to say, their necessities were everywhere, and the flies accompanied them more than not.
We set up two stations, one next to the other since we only had one bar of soap. We had two big plastic bowls, one for each. We took one at a time each and helped them reach our little station in the shade. The area is completely inaccessible, for any of them, especially the weak and blind. We took off their clothes and sat them on a rock and squatted next to them to begin bathing their beautiful, soiled skin. What beauty. What pure beauty. The cataract-eyes full of wonder and peace, the wrinkle skin suddenly with goose-bumps because of the gratitude felt, the songs sung to us as we scrubbed their armpits, the tears that streamed down in silence as we allowed them to wash themselves. A lady who is supposed to work there helped us by filling the container of water twice, down at the water pump. After each washing we would put lotion on them and give them massages. Zaloa brought clean clothes that she bought in the market for each woman. (She bought clothes for the men her previous visit.) Before taking them back to their corresponding room we went into the room and emptied it of all the garbage and more. We used the leftover water to scrub the floor of the room with a broom made of palm leaves. We asked the lady who is supposed to look over the place for clean sheets and she changed two beds and told us there were no other sheets to change the other beds. After we cleaned the bed as best we could it still smelled of urine. We will try until the room smells of the breeze that occasionally passes through.
Since we noticed that the clothes Zaloa had brought for the men last time was still on the men and their previous attire was still filthy and thrown on the floor, we decided to go to the river and wash the clothes ourselves. At that time three women came to help us: Tata, Diane, and Frosina. Sr. Nazareth sent them to help us. We left Kay Po with the dirty clothes on baskets on top of our heads, headed to the river. On our walk down I started humming a song Immacula, a friend here in Haiti, taught me last time I came and Tata’s face lit up with joy and began singing it with me. We both were walking to the river with the soiled clothes on our head and the same joyful song flowing out of our lips. What joy. We needed soap so we stopped by our home and Nazareth told us it was time to eat and that we could go to the river after we ate. Tata, Diane, and Frosina decided they would wash at the river and we could meet up with them after we ate. So up we went to wash our hands and arms for lunch.
Rose made a fantastic Irish stew with goat and a touch of “pike,” or hot chile. Finished with a fruit salad with mango, banana, and a type of grapefruit that is in season. We left with full bellies and grateful hearts to the river. The women had told us around what area in the river they planned on meeting up with us. We walked through the river, passing by: the bathing people greeting us with “Bonsoir,” women squatting and scrubbing all colored clothes, some taking off the clothes worn at the moment to clean them as well, the pigs on top of the trash bordering the river. The sun on top of us burned while the river below us refreshed, the little goat belted out their misery as Zaloa and I walked and shared on our search for the ladies and the clothes. After about an hour of the sun adding freckles to my nose and cheeks, we returned to Kay Po and didn’t find any evidence of their return. We walked through the market, speaking our broken Kreyol and smelling all types of smells passing by the salted fish, the goat heads, the chickens, fruit, veggies, and tobacco and flies to adorn them all. We passed by Antoni’s house and checked beans for rocks while sharing stories. Four generations of Antoni’s family surrounded us: her son, Lulu, her mother, and her grandmother who just turned 90 (a blessing in any country, rarely seen in Haiti). The laughter and songs helped us forget about our thirst and sweat. After a while it was time to return to see if the women had arrived. As I tried to balance a DVD on my head we ran into Nazareth who told us the women arrived with the clothes half an hour after we left to search for them.
Zaloa went to tutor two young ladies and I went home to wash some clothes. As I washed my clothes and later my body, the children’s voices filled my ears, singing voices fill the house from 3-5pm. What soothing waves to flow into our ears, full of strength, joy, and pain.
My shower was one of the most refreshing showers I have taken. I beat any add trying to show someone fully enjoy a shower. The dust of the streets Jean-Rabel clung to my hair (which had been under a bandana) and in my nostrils. What blessings. What a blessing to have water to cleanse us and to quench our thirst. It is amazing how water gives life and sustains it.
Right after my shower, Zaloa came and we decided to do exercise (a WOD) and stretch our bodies. Nazareth and Rose watched and had their week’s worth of entertainment. After watching us exercise Nazareth expressed her excitement, suggesting I give classes here, as I did in Brazil. Gymnastics for the little ones, dance for the ladies, and most importantly Theater of the Oppressed for anyone interested. We will see. I came with an open heart, willing to do what the Spirit moves me to do, so we’ll see.
We heated our lunch leftovers and made a tomato salad and enjoyed our meals. We shared a reflection by candle light, fighting to keep our eyes open. Nazareth went off to bed, while Zaloa, Rose, and I played two rounds of Sequence (a board game with cards) while the mosquitoes feasted on us. By 9pm we were in bed, grateful for the day’s obstacles and miracles.
With you,
Luisely
During breakfast one of the drivers called Nazareth asking to borrow one of the cars, Zaloa and I agreed to go with him and we were on our way to towns nearby. We passed banana trees below us, cacti above us, and saw the blue sea in front of us. On our way if any people were in the way Rico, the driver, would honk them out of the way, by the time we reached the periphery of Jean-Rabel the horn stopped working and I was praising God for that. My heart would break every time a woman with something on her head, or a child, or an elderly with a donkey would be scared out of our way. We finally reached our destination, a school with 7 rooms, one for each grade starting with first. We (Zaloa, a man from the school and I) unloaded the rice, pasta, cornmeal, and tomato paste from the car. Rico watched. After unloading, Zaloa and I went into a classroom where the students had all walked out of the classroom to look at us. We walked in and started figuring out the math problems on the board with them, while their teacher spoke with Rico outside.
Following our visit, returning to the center of Jean-Rabel, we filled a water jug with water at the nearest water pump and went to “Kay Po,” the house of the poor. Zaloa visited Kay Po the week before and saw the inhumane conditions the people were in a bathed seven people on her visit and changed their clothes. Kay Po is a place where the unwanted of the city stay. There is a blind lady (Analise) and her cripple husband with an opened wound filled with little creatures, an elderly lady with dementia who may weigh 60 pounds maximum (Sylvani), a paraplegic, a blind man who can get by with English, a psychologically instable lady for may smile at you one minute and the next yell at you and leave running, and more. They have rooms with entries ways with a two and a half foot step as an entryway with thin mattresses, a latrine, and a cup by their mattress to use as a toilet if they cannot make it to the latrine. Needless to say, their necessities were everywhere, and the flies accompanied them more than not.
We set up two stations, one next to the other since we only had one bar of soap. We had two big plastic bowls, one for each. We took one at a time each and helped them reach our little station in the shade. The area is completely inaccessible, for any of them, especially the weak and blind. We took off their clothes and sat them on a rock and squatted next to them to begin bathing their beautiful, soiled skin. What beauty. What pure beauty. The cataract-eyes full of wonder and peace, the wrinkle skin suddenly with goose-bumps because of the gratitude felt, the songs sung to us as we scrubbed their armpits, the tears that streamed down in silence as we allowed them to wash themselves. A lady who is supposed to work there helped us by filling the container of water twice, down at the water pump. After each washing we would put lotion on them and give them massages. Zaloa brought clean clothes that she bought in the market for each woman. (She bought clothes for the men her previous visit.) Before taking them back to their corresponding room we went into the room and emptied it of all the garbage and more. We used the leftover water to scrub the floor of the room with a broom made of palm leaves. We asked the lady who is supposed to look over the place for clean sheets and she changed two beds and told us there were no other sheets to change the other beds. After we cleaned the bed as best we could it still smelled of urine. We will try until the room smells of the breeze that occasionally passes through.
Since we noticed that the clothes Zaloa had brought for the men last time was still on the men and their previous attire was still filthy and thrown on the floor, we decided to go to the river and wash the clothes ourselves. At that time three women came to help us: Tata, Diane, and Frosina. Sr. Nazareth sent them to help us. We left Kay Po with the dirty clothes on baskets on top of our heads, headed to the river. On our walk down I started humming a song Immacula, a friend here in Haiti, taught me last time I came and Tata’s face lit up with joy and began singing it with me. We both were walking to the river with the soiled clothes on our head and the same joyful song flowing out of our lips. What joy. We needed soap so we stopped by our home and Nazareth told us it was time to eat and that we could go to the river after we ate. Tata, Diane, and Frosina decided they would wash at the river and we could meet up with them after we ate. So up we went to wash our hands and arms for lunch.
Rose made a fantastic Irish stew with goat and a touch of “pike,” or hot chile. Finished with a fruit salad with mango, banana, and a type of grapefruit that is in season. We left with full bellies and grateful hearts to the river. The women had told us around what area in the river they planned on meeting up with us. We walked through the river, passing by: the bathing people greeting us with “Bonsoir,” women squatting and scrubbing all colored clothes, some taking off the clothes worn at the moment to clean them as well, the pigs on top of the trash bordering the river. The sun on top of us burned while the river below us refreshed, the little goat belted out their misery as Zaloa and I walked and shared on our search for the ladies and the clothes. After about an hour of the sun adding freckles to my nose and cheeks, we returned to Kay Po and didn’t find any evidence of their return. We walked through the market, speaking our broken Kreyol and smelling all types of smells passing by the salted fish, the goat heads, the chickens, fruit, veggies, and tobacco and flies to adorn them all. We passed by Antoni’s house and checked beans for rocks while sharing stories. Four generations of Antoni’s family surrounded us: her son, Lulu, her mother, and her grandmother who just turned 90 (a blessing in any country, rarely seen in Haiti). The laughter and songs helped us forget about our thirst and sweat. After a while it was time to return to see if the women had arrived. As I tried to balance a DVD on my head we ran into Nazareth who told us the women arrived with the clothes half an hour after we left to search for them.
Zaloa went to tutor two young ladies and I went home to wash some clothes. As I washed my clothes and later my body, the children’s voices filled my ears, singing voices fill the house from 3-5pm. What soothing waves to flow into our ears, full of strength, joy, and pain.
My shower was one of the most refreshing showers I have taken. I beat any add trying to show someone fully enjoy a shower. The dust of the streets Jean-Rabel clung to my hair (which had been under a bandana) and in my nostrils. What blessings. What a blessing to have water to cleanse us and to quench our thirst. It is amazing how water gives life and sustains it.
Right after my shower, Zaloa came and we decided to do exercise (a WOD) and stretch our bodies. Nazareth and Rose watched and had their week’s worth of entertainment. After watching us exercise Nazareth expressed her excitement, suggesting I give classes here, as I did in Brazil. Gymnastics for the little ones, dance for the ladies, and most importantly Theater of the Oppressed for anyone interested. We will see. I came with an open heart, willing to do what the Spirit moves me to do, so we’ll see.
We heated our lunch leftovers and made a tomato salad and enjoyed our meals. We shared a reflection by candle light, fighting to keep our eyes open. Nazareth went off to bed, while Zaloa, Rose, and I played two rounds of Sequence (a board game with cards) while the mosquitoes feasted on us. By 9pm we were in bed, grateful for the day’s obstacles and miracles.
With you,
Luisely
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