Time passes...or does it?

I feel like I've been here for months already. We've been in full swing since the moment we landed. Already today I've been typing contracts in French, writing up payroll reports, having endless conversations with Haitian after Haitian with all the frustrations we can take in between.

Dee and Wilckly bear the brunt of it. I remember last year having to halt whatever administrative (and necessary) work I was doing so that I could talk to visitors for hours and hours. Most of the Dorce's work is done sitting in the same chair all day dealing with the dozens of people gathering at our door. It's much harder than what 'm doing now.

Every once in a while I'll have to stop and participate in the visits. I have to greet all the people that come through our doors because most of them just come to tell us hello and that they missed us when we were gone. It's actually pretty sweet. But, of course, they come hungry and in need of something. That's where the work comes in.

One of the greetings I really looked forward to when I got here was the one from Melissa. That sweet little girl was so bashful when I first saw her last Sunday. She wouldn't look at me at first, but I could tell she was holding back a smile. Then she grabbed my hand when I wasn't looking. Eventually she fell asleep in my lap. Just the way I like it.

It's difficult here, but it's nice to be back in a place where the things that should matter, do.

Back In Haiti

What's great is that I'm back in a pace that I enjoy: easy, relatively slow, but oddly productive. In America I was going a mile a minute but I never felt like I was getting anything done. This feeling is much better. I've only been here for a couple of days and I've already alphabetized some lists, made a few lists from sratch, picked up a load of food, bought a phone (takes more work here than there), and completed a few other fine tasks.

There was a lot more familiarity coming back here than I have ever experienced coming to a foreign country. It makes sense having been here for so long and doing all the things I did before, but still I was just surprised at what didn't surprise me.

Coming back to familiarity didn't soften the blow of returning to the normal Haitian scene, which just happens to be poverty and devestation beyond what most peope ever see, much less understand. The first pictures I saw were of the headless body of a 3-year-old boy that was killed in the recent flooding right here in Carries, not more than five minutes from where I sit.

Now we do damage control. The shipment of food we just picked up will be gone momentarily. Among other tasks, we have to find more.

We're stressed, but not worrisome. This is not a job for the worrisome, it's a job for the faithful.

And so we continue.

Late nights

Having been slowly weaned out of falling asleep with the sun, I am experiencing on of my first really late nights. It feels good to work while everyone sleeps. This tends to be the only time I feel truly productive- when I know I won't be interrupted by a phone call or a house full of busybodies.

The last month has been more difficult than I expected, less productive than I expected, and altogether much slower than I expected. I feel like I'm just now able to live out a normal day of work and rest and conversation without being overwhelmed with fatigue or unexplained tension. At first, I thought it was just tightened nerves. But as time has passed I've noticed that it's simply because of what I know now.

It's hard for me to live here, to drink coffee and watch a tv show and drive to the park and eat a turkey sandwich when I know the turmoil that's out there. I have seen and experienced some of the harshest living conditions in humanity. I've known the truest of hard days. I've seen the filth of neglected children and the struggle that families go through to make it to another day.

But now I'm back to the sweet life. Structure everywhere. Enforced laws. Electricity freely flowing. Water from a faucet. Kids with sneakers on. Carpeted floors. English-speakers all over the place. And after a whole month I'm still not quite sure what to do with myself. I've never known this type of re-acclimation. I have to get used to my own country again.

It's happening, only much slower than thought.

I wonder...

if it's normal to crave salt.

if I've just gotten up from a magnificently intense dream.

why I wake up thinking that I'm still in Haiti.

whose life Dee saved today.

how I survived the last year.

if it's okay to buy cookie dough by the pound.

what the kids are doing.

how I was ever satisfied with an indifferent lifestyle.

what time it is.

why I'm not asleep.

who I might meet next.

why I seem to be the purest gravitational force of blessings beyond my wildest dreams.

how may people wore this t-shirt before I did.

how much it costs to see a movie these days.

what will happen next.

My American Firsts

I wanted to put together a little compilation of the first things I got to experience after returning to the States after a nine-month absence. Some are fun, some are awesome and the rest are simply spectacular. Enjoy.

First Meal: Turkey sandwich and coffee at Starbucks.

First Beverage: Apple Juice.

First Person I met for the First Time: My 4-month-old niece, Elliot (Woohoo!)

First Hugs: 1 of my brothers, both of my sisters and Misty.

First Drive on a Road with Lines on it: St. Louis to Quincy, just like the good ole days.

First Night's Sleep: On a cot in Elliot's room. Comfy and COLD!

First article of clothing I had to procure: Jacket. Brrrrr.

First Person I Surprised: Lindi, followed by Kelsey. Kelsey's reaction was awesome!

First time I Drove ALONE: To church on Sunday morning, 6 hrs after I got off the plane.

First Walk ALONE: Sunday afternoon in the rain. Perfect.

First Book I started Reading: "Shakespeare's Four Great Comedies". I recommend it.

First Dessert: Cheesecake on Monday. Wonderful.

First Nap: A couple days after getting here, home alone in a recliner. Doesn't get any better than that.

First "Duh!" experience: The second night, I watched a movie on my laptop because I forgot there was a tv. Near the end, the computer's battery died and I put it away, not realizing that I could just plug it in and finish the movie. Electricity . . . who knew?

Those are the good ones. All the little things may seem unimportant, but it's a comfort thing. Familiarity is nice to experience. My days are still pretty random, but in a way that's very normal and mostly unstraining- pretty much the opposite of the last nine months in Haiti.

The negative is that Dee and I are seperated again, so we're back to trying to work together while we're a couple thousand miles apart.

I'm working hard at filling my schedule now. It's working out pretty well so far. I'm making new contacts and nourishing others. It's been quite refreshing so far.

Much love and more soon,
C

Story Time 2nd Edition

After the fated mango harvest of a single tree, Crash didn't give the donated shot of Promethazine a chance to work, because, in her misery, she wanted to take as many doses as possible of anything that promised relief.

Having been told by the generous pharmacist that it was okay to take a second shot, which Crash didn't have, 4 hours after the first, Dee contacted a friend that lives near a pharmacy about 30 minutes from where they live. The pharmacy, by the grace of God, had Promethazine, but in one big bottle and no individual doses. The only solution to this problem was to open a syringe, take out a dose of the shot and send the open syringe on a tap tap Crash. So it was done.

When the opened and unlabeled syringe arrived, Crash had to wait yet another 30 or 40 minutes while her nurse, Monique, called the pharmacy to verify that the syringe contained none other than Promethazine. The pharmacist gave her guarantee, whatever THAT is, that it was the right medicine that they were about to inject into Crash. On faith, they did so and had to wait until the next morning to repeat the process.

In the morning, with no changes having occurred, Dee sent for another opened and unlabeled syringe to be brought. But there was a different pharmacist at the pharmacy that morning than was there the night before. This pharmacist insisted that the price they paid the previous night was incorrect and that they would have to pay double for it today. With an amused and understanding chuckle (because that happens a lot in Haiti), the double price was paid and the medicine brought.

After 3 shots and still worsening reactions, Crash nearly paid to have her plane ticket changed to that very day to go to America where this problem could be quickly solved, but decided to wait another day. During that day, her mom called and suggested taking a steroid to help it out. And by some more of God's grace, Dee found 5 steroid pills in a first aid kit which Crash, not sure about but totally desperate to find relief, took all at once at the suggestion of the bottle containing the pills.

She went to sleep hoping for the best, which is exactly what came piece by piece over the next week.

Crash woke up the next morning with a less-swollen face, which is the best improvement anyone had seen thus far. The day after that it looked almost its normal size. The rash persisted everywhere, but the swelling was going down and Crash could begin to move her mouth, talk more clearly and even smile a little in another day or so.

The rash went away very, very slowly and, as unpleasant as this may be, caused her face to crack and peel as it departed. The rash on her arms and chest and ears took much longer to calm down and is still irritating and itchy, but not so great a problem that she can't be thankful for this condition rather than her former one.

And let's not forget emotional damage. Crash can't so much as look at a mango without a certain terror encompassing her. She smelled some ripening mangoes in a depot and immediately ran away to wash her body, praying that the milk wasn't airborne or something. Another time, moving a playpen for the baby, a hanging mango bumped her on the head and she screamed, unhealthily afraid. Never before has a fruit drawn so much fear from a person, but she is recovering as best as can be expected.

She is thankful for those who prayed so fervently for her recovery and hopes never to encounter such a fruity disaster as this one ever again.

Story Time

Once upon a time under a mango tree, a white girl decided to be a part of the mango harvest (and by harvest, I only mean one tree in our yard) in Haiti. She isn't quite able to climb like the natives, so she decided to be the catcher of the picked mangoes on the ground while the natives threw them from above.

All was wonderful while she caught the mangoes and got all sticky from the syrupy milk that's in the mango vines. She and the natives played speed games to catch the mangoes and had a generally merry time.

After the fun, the white girl washed the sticky stuff off of her tanned skin and continued in normalcy until the next day, which was anything but normal...

After a night of restless sleep and seemingly random and unexplainable itching, the white girl, named Crash, got out of bed. After changing Lonia's diaper and wondering what that weird look on her face was, Crash exited her room and upon approaching her best friend, Dee, opened her mouth to ask a question. But Crash didn't have to speak, for the look on Dee's face had answered the question already.

"Whaaat in the wooooorld???" asked Dee.

"Yeah, I feel deformed, but from the look on your face, I must LOOK deformed as well," Crash answered.

"What happened?"

"I have no idea. What does it look like?"

"Not good," replied Dee, graciously understating the monster face Crash was wearing.

It turns out that after 23 years of life without a single allergic reaction to anything ever, Crash was allergic to the milk in the vines from which mangoes hang from the trees. Her face swelled up, barely leaving enough room for Crash to see beyond her protruding eyelids. She developed nasty rashes on every single solitary spot where the milk stuck to her, including both arms, both hands and all across her chest, and the same rash covered her swollen face.

Day one was nothing but questions, only a few of which were answered in the least. Pain was a general constant. Itching and burning came later that morning.

After a virtually sleepless night, which Dee joined Crash for just in case an emergency took place, day two was when monster face took its full swing. The resident nurse, Monique, went on a trip to find as many remedies for Crash as she could. She brought back, 3 creams, 2 lotions, 2 syrups and 1 box of pills.

None of them worked.

Two days passed.

Finally, Dee and her husband decided that Crash had been through enough, so they took her on a bumpy one and a half hour ride to a clinic. At the clinic, the guy in scrubs told them, after looking at the 3 creams, 2 lotions and box of pills, that they were using all the right medicines, they just needed to wait longer.

But after seeing the way Dee's face went savage and hostile as it did (and Crash's would have if she could have moved any facial muscles), the guy in scrubs said that a shot of Promethazine would help. But the clinic didn't have any.

Dee walked briskly across the street where there happened to be a hospital. She entered the hospital pharmacy, but Dee didn't have small enough change to buy the medicine (an ironically common problem in Haiti) so she waited 10 minutes while her temporary guide went to buy a coke to break the change, drink it and come back.

Upon his return, Dee asked for the exact shot she needed and the pharmacist said, "Oh, we don't have this."

"Of course, you don't," Dee said, dejected.

"But we do have individual doses in the operating room. But I can't sell that to you," the pharmacist replied.

"Then give it to me," Dee said with a sternness that cannot possibly be ignored.

And the pharmacist did just that.

Now, whether the shot worked or not, you will find out in the next edition of Story Time.