Tag: sons

An American oxymoron…

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My 13 year old asked me the other day while watching Top Gear, a television show that originated in the UK and has grown to a spin off in the United States.

Dad; what is the difference between a GMC truck and a Chevrolet truck?

Sitting back in my chair, realizing this was a moment where I could lay waste to any positive view he may hold towards these vehicles with a short idiotic tirade, I gathered my thoughts leaned down, put my arm around him and using my best Ward Cleaver laid this little number upon his unsuspecting bewildered eyes.

Ahhhh-hemmmm!

(Clearing my throat, using my best grandpa jones old man inflection)

The difference between them son is symbolic of the widening indifference in our countries mental acuity.  You see when our country was young, led by intelligent, strong willed, dedicated individuals we as a country knew the difference between right or wrong. A child could play in the street without fear, a woman was revered by men, a mom was considered the, be all end all of every child, and your house was your home, not a temporary storage area until you moved again hoping to make an extra buck.  Community meant that everyone cared about their town and participated in its growth.  You didn’t just live there to commute somewhere else without a care in the world about your neighbors or their well being.

The difference clearly rested in a country becoming accepting of all races and religions without prejudice.  Remembering we are all products of family members who immigrated here and just because we are third or fourth generation doesn’t mean we hold some inalienable right over others trying to achieve the same dreams. Yet that is exactly what we continue to do and every race and ethnicity is as guilty as the next when it comes to this process. Our country started with the ability to parent each other’s children without fear of retribution, living under the guise of “it takes a village”.  Education was a number one priority and teachers were revered for success afforded them through flexibility not unattainable federal guidance. Teachers are taught to “have the power” and “Show students the way” yet due to spineless administrators and frivolous lawsuits our children have all the power backed by parents wanting an education for their children but refusing to back any teachers play when it comes to their precious heathens.

Oh yes son the difference is clear as daylight! For you see in this country we have allowed so many to abuse the legal system for so long that a citizen of the United States is now considered guilty until proven innocent. Prisoners have all the rights and citizens have little to no protection from the criminals.  Our police forces have been told to uphold the law using the iron fist of justice, yet the iron fist has been reduced to cheap tin and is now tied behind every officers back leaving them unable to complete any given task or have the appropriate authority to do so.

In god we trust is upon every dollar yet church and state has been cited as a conflict of moral/ethical principal. The difference is right in front of your face son. Hold the door for a woman today and you are oppressing her right to equality, don’t hold the door and you are rude self centered man. Rape and abuse are the center of every television drama, glorified for all to see which seems to be an oxymoron in a civilized society.  The real housewives of any city USA are a ratings boom feeding these women millions of dollars. As American women we should be ashamed of these poor excuses for humans yet we glorify their shallow self centered struggles. Meet any woman who behaves as they do in real life (not reality TV) and she is instantly a trash talked bitch cut from the pack and left to obscurity.

What is the difference? ah yes, everyone gets a trophy when playing sports and no one loses; because if we have all winners that means someone will feel bad about losing, possibly stunting their ability to feel good about themselves in the future.  It also means that no one person will know what it feels like to truly succeed at something through failure, there bye over time eliminating the need to perform and win from our genetic make-up.

Our society is told to go outside and live life daily, these directions come from the confines of a television we paid way too much money for because its quality is so good you actually feel as though you are there, thusly preventing you from actually being outside. The difference is complaining about the rain while sniveling about the sun, whining about the heat while crying about how cold it has become!

The differences are right in front of you, you are bombarded with them every day.   WE (Americans) choose what we believe in as individuals, then we stick to it come hell or high water! Its what makes us great as a society, but its also what may in fact lead to our downfall.

In reality there are no real differences, a tweak here a few horsepower there, but essentially the very same truck. Over the last 100 years “we the people” have become so blinded by the Hollywood glow of some that lead, so ethically corrupted by misled faith, disenchanted with reality, bought off by envy and the American advertising machine that handles everything from a bar of soap to the Presidency, that “we the people” actually believe  there is a tangible difference between a GMC and a Chevy truck.

If you don’t think other countries aren’t laughing at our pig headed stupidity then drive down to your local Honda/Acura-Nissan/Infinity- Toyota/Lexus dealers and see who is having the last laugh at your expense..

Oh yeah, by the way son the GMC truck is waayyyy better than a piece of junk Chevy truck any day! Duh!  Stupid Chevy owners…

 

 

License to drive…

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Mirrors adjusted? Check! Seat is in the proper position? Check! Steering wheel is placed at the optimal level for a 10 and 2 hand hold? Check! Are you mentally ready to drive today son? To which a death glare is leveled upon my kindly old man face.

And so goes the dilemma a father faces while teaching his 16-year-old to drive. His son frigidly sits behind the wheel; grip tighter than a vise, knuckles Casper white as the truck moves slowly out of the driveway onto our mile long dirt road.  Plenty of room here to screw things up before he merges with the masses of Dario Franchitti’s/ Dale Earnhardt’s vying for position on Americas roadways! 

Now all of this is supposed to be a monumental moment; a point in family history where a father enjoys sharing his knowledge of the road and joy of driving with his son/daughter. Yet all I feel is fear! Now over my storied employment history there have been numerous adults who learned to drive the behemoth 18 wheelers that dot our highway landscape from your truly! Never once did I trickle even the smallest droplet of sweat! I could firmly place my cup of coffee on the dashboard and nary a drop would spill from the styrofoam chalice. Yet with the family prodigy I am as nervous as a death row inmate waiting for a pardoning phone call. 

Maybe my nerves would wear a little softer if my son showed some “drive” (nice play on words huh?) when it comes to this enormous responsibility. But he is so lackadaisical about the whole process it leaves me screaming ugly profanities inside my head! Why? Why is so indifferent? Why does he not seem to care about the outcome? He doesn’t come across as self entitled. He says he truly wants to learn the finer art of motoring. Yet getting him into gear (another fine motoring reference) has been sticky to say the least!

When I was a kid (flashback moment-didiloo,didiloo,didilooooo) life was like this;

Hi everyone my name is little Betty! I am only 13 years old and I love cars! I have models of cars that I built scattered all over my room, wanna see? The Chevelle and 1957 Bel-Air are my favorite cars but I would drive a Chevy truck with a 454, nice wheels, tires, painted blue with ghost flames! Yes sir by golly that is the truck for me! I clean horse stalls and do all sorts of chores saving money up so that one day I can get my license, purchase my truck and drive where ever and whenever I want! Only 23 months, 2 weeks, 4 days, 16 hours and 12 minutes until I get my license! I like to sit in my dads old GMC and pretend I am driving all over town! Every day after school and on the weekends if you want to find me, that’s right where I’ll be! Ahhhh Shucks, I can’t wait to drive!!!

Flash forward-(didiloo, didiloo, didiloooooo)

It’s taking so long to turn 16! Being 15 is a giant pain in the butt! Do you know when I turn 16 I will own the coolest truck in town and be dating girls left and right! Summer is gonna blow if I don’t get my license! Man, cruising around in moms station wagon with my permit is a giant drag! But I’ll let you in on a little secret.  Shhhh come in a little closer so no one else can hear; when my parents are gone I steal the old man’s GMC and cruise all over town! I know cool huh! Yeah its ugly but seriously who cares and who needs to be 16, when you have an all access pass to party time with no license needed! Turn up the tunes, pick up the friends and whoop, whoop, just cruise! As long as I am home before 8, because you know that’s when my parents get back from their Monday night association meeting and my dad would kill me if he found out! Oh yeah, I am soooo cool!

Flash forward a little more (didiloo, didiloo di-oh you get the point)

Yes! I have my license! I have a truck! I have freedom! Life is great! So long suckers, I’m hitting the road, places I need to see, things I need to do and they don’t involve this place! Van Hagar playing loud, windows rolled down so all you “walkers” can partake in some choice music as I roll on by! Owning a car is fantastic! If you have the means I highly recommend it!!

Present day:

I get nothing from the lad! No enthusiasm for driving, cars or trucks, nothing, nothing at all.  Where have I gone wrong? Is this even my child? Spinning donuts in the parking lot, drag racing out on Fry road, cruising downtown Petaluma on a Saturday night with hundreds of other cool cars and trucks! Loud music, screaming, laughing and having a general good time! Isn’t that enough to entice a young lad to give it a go; to want his license more than anything on this God forsaken planet?

What is that you say? Cruising has been deemed against the law? Hanging out with your friends is considered loitering? A custom car with loud pipes and a cool stereo is now disturbing the peace? To even think of working on your own car you need to aquire a Bachelor’s Degree in Mechanics. On top of that insurance and gasoline are five times the price they were when I was a kid?

Well hell, it all makes perfect sense now! What incentive does the lad have? Why would he want to drive at all?  Why would he even care? Apparently there is a reason they are called the “good old days”.  Because it was good and now we are old which leaves the youth of today nothing but boring days ahead!

So out of the driveway we go, his hands in the perfect 10 and 2 position, the stereo is on, air conditioner set and he is piloting this barge very well down the road.  I resist the urge to browse Facebook as we roll through the countryside. I am trying to build his self-confidence by acting like I fully trust him while I am slyly paying attention to every little detail of his driving manners.  It still ends up being a moment I will cherish forever.  We drive many miles over several days with small corrections here and there, then finally giving him the freedom to drive comfortably without repercussion he relaxes and settles back into the seat.  Another driver on the road, another human reaching the pinnacle of freedom for their age; He may be ready to take the final test securing his permanent license. It might be time for the sensei to release his student out into the world. We pull the truck over and with a sincere smile along with the adoring eyes of his father I lean in and tell him what a good job he is doing, he slowly looks over with a half cocked smile and says thanks. Still no real excitement on his part…

Maybe we should just scrap the whole idea and find him some public transit?

Art of the lie…

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Art of the lie

I received a very interesting phone message today while traveling down the freeway at 65 mph in a bright green fire engine.  Interesting not with any windfall of knowledge or wealth coming my way. Interesting not in the fact that my wife, who left the message never leaves me messages. (she would rather talk to me personally) No this phone call triggered my curious Spock (Star Trek) one eyebrow lifted facial response for the pure and simple fact it was a lie. 

Now being a parent of four children, teaching the transparency in human nature associated with a lie is of the utmost importance. Nothing brings down fatherly wrath faster than a child caught in a lie.  A reminder that lying brings nothing but ridicule and solitude as no one wishes to be around you is never more prevalent in my household once you have been detained for said infraction. 

But….

There is something to be said about the art of the lie? All lies start out simple enough, the truly gifted can carry them thru lie after lie building upon a story that eventually not even a used car salesmen would buy.  But there are the chosen few, the masters, individuals with special gifts who get it right the first time.  Capturing you with an opening line, reel you in by the lip while never doubting their story for a second! You walk away wowed and in the end, thinking to yourself; I wish my life was as good as that guys! 

These “super liars” have creativity, something so many of us human beings lack these days.  An ability to play out an entire scenario inside their head like a bad romance novel.  Starting at page one the lie is not complete until they have personally closed the imaginary book inside their cranium.  Egomaniacal? Yes! Self centered;? Yes! Able to leave you mesmerized by their charming guiles? Yes! The gifted liar is truly a sight to behold.

Back to the beginning.

After arriving at the hospital to retrieve my crew, I took a moment and withdrew my phone to see who called. Seeing it was in fact my wife I eagerly touched the voicemail button and sat mesmerized as my wife simply stated; So here’s the story, the kids are all running right? And they see a hawk with a kitten in its hand and Cody goes and shoots the hawk out of the air and the kids save the kitten and brought the kitten home. That’s the story…

Thought number one: Cody knows better than to shoot a hawk.

Thought number two: Really the cat lived after falling, how many feet to the ground? Cats have nine lives and I have witnessed my fair share of cats falling from high distances (yes the fire department does get called out for cats in trees, it’s not a myth) but out of the air with nothing to break its fall? Suspicion looms..

Thought number three: Cody is a hell of a shot, but really, a hawk flying away with food trapped in its claws.

Hmmmmm something is definitely afoot.

It turns out our kids found a kitten roaming alongside the road, down the street from our house.  Now since we live in the middle of nowhere, 3/4 of the way down a 2 mile dirt road, odds of it belonging to someone are slim, so our children concocted this farce believing my wife and I would accept the wounded feline, dinner plate survivor into our abode with open arms never once questioning the complexity of their story. 

They were 100% wrooooo—-RIGHT!

After careful discussion, and not wanting to reward a blatant lie, my wife and I chose too privately commend the story telling effort, while publicly reminding the children lying was never acceptable.  Yet the four of them, along with two young family members visiting for the week actually put their heads together thinking about the welfare of this little animal and came up with one fo the best bull pucky stories we had heard in a while from any of their little brains.  Ah the joy of teamwork!

They were outed for the lie, we all laughed heartily at the effort. A true family moment to be remembered and most likely told to grand children someday.

It was only after I hung up the phone, while sitting at my desk waiting for the computer to open up did it dawn on me. 

We just helped them, by awakening their creative story telling skills! It like putting water on a seed once a day, then feeding it tons of sunlight.  Before long it will grow and evolve leading them inevitably to “the art of the lie.”

 

Haiti Mission Trip part 11 The last day

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Friday June 15th 2012

This morning the group is filled with a combination of excitement and sadness.  It’s that feeling you carried with you at the end of summer camp.  Happy to go home yet saddened to no longer be surrounded by these people whom you have become close to in an abnormally short amount of time.  Knowing when you wake up tomorrow the scenery will be completely different. Your feet, your body and soul will no longer encompass this place you called home for the last 8 days. It’s as if you were never there, then you ask yourself; if I come back to this place will it be the same? Will I carry the same feeling of accomplishment and joy currently residing within my being?  Could there ever be another group as wonderful, humorous and caring as ours?

We had our last breakfast, we cleaned up our rooms and many of us left suitcases filled with clothes, shoes and other belongings behind for the church to distribute to its members.  Everything was moved downstairs quietly towards the loading zone as the guest house trucks arrived to cart us away.  Small talk and innocent giggles were had by all.  Before any of us had time to sit and reflect any further it was time to go.  Our final goodbyes, our last au revoir or in Haitian; bay-bay; goodbyes are always miserable.  Some small tears were shed, many blank faces climbed aboard our chariot home. As we pulled away I looked back at our temporary home and sighed.  Many days I was ready to leave, while other days I couldn’t wait for the next challenge and now here I was watching it disappear in my rear view.  Mixed emotions swelled inside bringing tears of joy to my face. 

It only took a few minutes for most to settle down and you could see many reflecting as we rolled along towards the guest house.  Gone were the naïve Americans white knuckling their ride through town, in their place were 10 seasoned mission participants who no longer feared NASCAR style driving, crowded streets, UN personnel, language barriers, and humidity. The further we traveled from Leveque the easier it was to accept our next destination.  The guest house was looking more and more inviting. Yet inside I was already longing to see our new-found friends again.  I knew there would be another mission team in two weeks, then another after that and so on.  Before long the people of Leveque would forget who we were but I was positive they would never forget our contribution.  We had all talked about traveling back to see the finished church, I feel as though this is my next personal mission. 

After 30 minutes we arrived at a dirt road that headed back into the hills; this led up to the mass grave constructed for an estimated 316,000 who perished on January 12, 2010.  We had all declined the offer to see this memorial.  Not out of disrespect mind you, but from exhaustion.  The further we travelled the more we all relaxed and exhaustion was evident on every person inside that bus.  The bus turned anyways and up the hill we traveled.  Letting out a heavy sigh of frustration my mind-set was soon replaced upon arrival to the memorial. 

Where a sloping hillside once stood now lay a football field sized plateau. Of to the left, closer to the original hillside sat a marble monument.  Simple in stature and design, looking upon it you suddenly felt remorse for ever thinking you could drive by this place without stopping.  To get at the memorial you needed to traverse this football field sized area which meant walking over the dead.  Humbling to say the least; the entire area lays in clear view of the ocean with a gentle sea breeze enveloping you where you stand. A picture perfect view for all souls at rest; with my head hung low I made my way back to the bus where I vowed to never look past another’s reflection of the past to meet my own personal needs.

Two hours, lots of sweat, a few bumpy roads and we were back inside the comforts of the guest house.  A facility that when I arrived looked as though it had seen better days, but to me on this day it appeared as though it was the Grand Hilton, the Four Seasons, the Fairmont, it was filled with luxury and comfort. After unloading both vehicles I made my way upstairs to our rooms where immediately the i-phone was plugged back into the world.  After 30 minutes of returning e-mails, sending pictures and catching up on work I found a clean pair of swim shorts and headed to the pool.  

Our entire group was here and after jumping in I realized it was the first time I had actually been cool for 8 days. It was fantastic!  Water, cool water all around my skin, no sweat, no wet clothes, we all swam until our fingers shriveled up.  Many of during the course of discussion joked that when you arrive at the guest house for the first time the pool should be off-limits.  Because you can only truly understand the significance of this little concrete gem after you have sweated your ass off for 8 days! Of course we were only joking, maybe….

After dinner our group was invited into another structure for a debriefing.  We all shared our stories of trial and triumph with the coordinator.  I am sorry to say I don’t remember her name as she was the replacement for Sara who had finished her tenure on this assignment.  It was an excellent way to end our journey as we spoke very highly of the church congregation in Leveque.  We also discovered there have only been a couple of instances when a going away party was thrown for the team. She had heard lots of compliments about our group over the week and was impressed we took the entire building to the ground.  We all left feeling very good about our efforts, knowing we came together as one and performed to the best of our abilities, it was gratifying to say the least. 

As the night wore down we all trailed off to bed.  The 1950’s metal bunk with cotton batted mattress I despised the first night felt like a goose down bed from heaven.  Drifting off to sleep all my brain could focus on was the pride I held inside for our group, the immense fatherly pride I held for my son, the new friendships I now cherished and the thought of hearing my wife’s voice the minute we touched down on American soil tomorrow.  Sleep came quickly…

 

Haiti Mission Trip part 10: Working on a chain gang…

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Thursday June 14th, 2012

Waking up this morning there was an incredible sense of accomplishment.  Standing at the balcony brushing my teeth gazing upon the remnants of a building.  Its amazing what people can do when they put their minds too it.  Where a large church once stood there now remains nothing but rubble.  A hazard taken to the ground so a new beginning can emerge. 

While finishing up last night it still bothered me the way our combined group began to fall apart once “Bald guy” appeared then started barking orders to the Haitian workers.  Not being one to let things go I cornered Caz asking him questions in regards to the incident hoping it would help me better understand what had happened.  According to Caz; (my interpretation) after the earthquake Bald guy lost some of his family and his home, while others were running about not know what to do, he took it upon himself to start uncovering people trapped in the debris.  He has orchestrated the removal of many earthquake damaged buildings through nothing more than sheer will, muscle and desire.   The workers look up to him because of his reputation; definitely feeling like the right “call” had been made in allowing him to take down the portico, it all made complete sense to me now.  Pride is a powerful thing and this man held enough for our entire crew, and with that I salute you Bald guy.  You were grumpy, slightly mean and unorthodox in your methods but you were completely in the right.

Today we began moving concrete, lots and lots of concrete. The pile closest to the school needs to be replied into the confines set forth by our esteemed project engineer. All of the remaining concrete block covering the church slab needs to be shuttled onto a new site out front.  Making matters worse new cinder block arrived yesterday and half our crew has started working on a new wall surrounding the church.  Half the manpower twice the work and it appears today will be the hottest yet.  Time to buckle down and get to it.

Now moving concrete rubble one piece at a time is very tedious work indeed.  Your mind needs someplace to go as one oversized rock after another is thrown into a pile some 15-25 feet away. When there are only three shovels, three wheel barrows and 13 people, someone is getting their hands dirty.  A few of us took up residence out front slowly throwing one chunk at a time, while others tackled the relocation of the rear pile.  The ones with shovels and wheel barrows took to clearing the pad distributing the mass between both piles.   It was long, slow hot and tedious work. 

Around noon time a few of us were feeling the effects of the abnormally hot day.  Exhaustion from the weeks work combined with knowing just how close we were to finishing began to play mentally with our minds. I drank more water during this one day than all other days combined. Showing the signs of exhaustion there would be no more “slow sipping” for this cat. No sir it was chug a lug all day long! As soon as one water bottle had emptied another was filled than devoured by my ravenous thirst.  Not alone I noticed many of our crew working in 15-20 minutes segments then sitting in the shade for 15-20 minutes.  The “quitter” side of me was working hard on my brain, but my conscience continued to override the thought process. 

Joh G (Hammer) on the other hand was a freaking machine! This guy could not get enough of smashing things with his hammer! I secretly looked up to him for strength, if Hammer was getting up to go work some more than gosh darn it I was too! It felt like an eternity, as though no progress was being made one rock at a time, one shovel full at a time, one wheel barrow full at a time! It had become slightly disheartening.

Spirits crushed, exhaustion ruling my head I decided taking a break from the site was in order.  Spending the whole week working on the building left me at a loss for interacting with the school children.  Something I was looking forward too prior to the trip.  Maggie, Jan, Heather, Anne,Cody and Caz all headed up towards the school for some scheduled classroom time.  Every fiber in my body screamed “go back to work”as I headed up to the school compound! But I knew in my heart I needed to swallow the pride of completion, get out of the sun and go have fun with the children. 

 Entering the classroom it was clear everyone was having a fantastic time.  All of the children were in the throes of making bracelets from string.  Each one of our group was spread around helping children with their projects! One little boy sitting at the table in front of me tapped me on the shoulder showing what an impressive job he had done with his project.  All of them smiled, laughed and generally appeared to be taking the bracelet project quite seriously.  Cody started out quiet as usual but after having Maggie drag him around a few times he started talking with the kids. It was good for him. The boys seem to look up to him and were always confused by his quiet demeanor.

Back at the job site, feeling refreshed, and ready to tackle the mound of mess something occurred to me! It’s funny how being gone for a little while takes you out of the little visionary tunnel you have stuck yourself inside.  The piles were noticeably bigger! The church slab seemed a little cleaner and it appeared maybe, just maybe with a little luck we would get it cleaned up before 3pm today! Our agreed upon goal during lunchtime quickly became; clean the floor off so as we leave the children will have a safe place to play soccer; definitely an attainable goal.

The day was long and hard, but we completed our goal! My estimate would be approximately 25-30 tons of debris moved by hand! The floor was clean for the kids and we all were excited, having accomplished our goal! It also appears there will be a party given in our honor by the community tonight. The community leaders have decided to hold it  right upon the very floor we just cleared! Some teenage kids along with a few adults cleaned it off with buckets of water and brooms made from palm leaves while we all bathed. Speaking of bathing, my last bath was the best bath ever! The water was cool, the warm breeze felt fantastic and I finally took my work shorts off for the last time! These shorts became sort of a running gag, as we started on Friday, they were covered with a thick layer of dirt from the ceiling.  So dirty they were that I puffed my chest out and with a smart ass tone declared them the official work shorts of Haiti! Then boldly declaring they shall be worn everyday until we finish our mission! Of course my little quip was merely to gross out our group and yet they women from cell block C would not let me forget that asinine statement.  So following through with my word, the shorts were worn everyday until Thursday at 4:30 when they hit the bathing room floor for the very last time!  Yes they smelled bad, they had changed color and they practically stood up on their own, but success was mine!

7:00pm

Chairs and church pews are being brought out then placed in a semi-circle on the slab.  A boom box has arrived, lights have been strung up and our generator is at full throttle.  People from all over the neighborhood are arriving and we have been asked to be seated.  Once again Charles says some very kind words in regards to our hard work and dedication.  He leads us all in a prayer and blesses the evenings upcoming activities.  Soon we are entrenched in song, laughter and some of the funniest skits! Its like summer camp with musical chairs and impromptu performances! We are all having the time of our lives! The children sing for us, its beautiful, a young woman sings for us and doesn’t miss a beat when the CD stops playing.  Then a well dressed young man holding a guitar stands up to sing a song to our group but instead turns and sings directly to our Anne!  It was hilarious!  Some of us were pretty sure afterwords an arranged Haitian marriage had just taken place and Anne was “gonna have some splaining to do” when she arrived home with the new hubby!  Earlier in the evening this young man mustered up the courage to give Anne a wonderfully written love letter filled with devotion to her very existence! So we just knew through Haitian song they were now husband and wife!

Many games were played including a chug a lug game involving two 20 ounce bottled Cokes, using no hands.  After watching one Haitian lose to another, reflecting upon my beer drinking days I mumbled to Caz, pretty sure I could have won that contest.  Within minutes Caz relayed this apparent proposal to the powers that be and two new Cokes were acquired for a chug off! Now I can’t lie, I was pretty excited, for after watching the speed at which the winner chugged his Coke, it seemed like an easy win for me! Before pondering the ramifications of actually beating this man, Yalaylay strolled by me slowly, then stopped directly in front of me, smiling as he placed his hands around his own neck to indicate the choking sign.  Wait a minute, I thought, is he smack talking me? Is Yalaylay talking Haitian trash? Oh I am going to beat this guy all right, then I am calling out Yalaylay ! But I didn’t have to wait, I never had to face the previous winner, you see Yalaylay was my challenger and yes he was indeed talking Haitian trash to me! The music stopped, Cokes were placed on the chairs, our hands were placed behind our backs while Madame Lulu counted down, 3-2-1 GO!

From what I have been told I gave it a pretty good go, even holding the lead for a bit, but Yalaylay was the village ringer! A bona-fide champion chugger he beat me by a gulp and a half. The place went nuts! People were laughing and hugging, Yalaylay came over, shook my hand then hugged me with the biggest smile! Through Caz I told Yalaylay I would be back next year to beat him! He welcomed the challenge. 

At the end of the night we were all hugging, tears were being shed, last-minute photographs were being taken.  Goodbyes continued for quite sometime and it was truly the hardest moment of our entire trip. Even Cody had his picture taken with some of the other teenagers.  Saying goodbye to some of the most honest, down to earth, hard-working people I had ever met was very difficult indeed.  They have all been handed a horrible situation and yet they survive with strength drawn from their family unit, the church and a belief that all people are good and it can only get better from here. 

Taking a moment to personally thank a few people, I pulled aside Wilson and Jonas telling them what an honor it had been to work alongside them both.  Jonas’ wife came over handing me her baby, then hugging me while kissing both my cheeks. She did this with many of our people, she was incredibly sweet and honest. Cornering Caz in one of the downstairs rooms to thank him for all his hard work with our group, I handed him our department coin.  Explaining to him the only way one of these can be given away is to someone who is selfless, who puts all others first by exemplifying honor and integrity. He was honored by the gift, humbled by the kind words and I think a little embarrassed even though he received the coin in private.  Caz truly is a remarkable man.  We all pray someday he ends up becoming a translator or official government representative for his country.  He loves this country and its people so much, and it shows through his continuing ability to find ways to make life better for its people. I will miss him, I am very proud to call him friend.

We slowly milled our way back upstairs. Taking an opportunity to share our last night together on the balcony, telling jokes, laughing at Annes’ new husbands expense.  We all hope she keeps the love letter for one day when she finds herself in a relationship that is not working out so well she can pull the letter out, remembering there is someone out there who truly does worship the ground she walks upon. If that person is a world away then there must be plenty of suitors here in the states that will do the same.  You are worth it Anne!

Slowly one by one we all trailed off to bed, knowing in the morning it was breakfast then pack up the trucks for the long ride back to the guest house! Sleep would come very easy tonight..

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 8: Where there’s thunder..

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Tuesday June 12th 2012

Rain moved in last night blanketing our compound on and off for a few hours. The smell of rain along with flashes of lightning was amazing. Haiti must be where the phrase “when it rains it pours” comes from. One minute you can see the stars and the next lightning is flashing thunder is clapping and rain is dumping. Then in the blink of an eye the rain has dissipated leaving you wondering why as the humidity/heat rise rapidly.

The good thing about the rain last night; it silenced the dogs, drowned out the neighbors and basically kept all obnoxious sounds to a minimum. There is something about the pitter-patter of rain on a tin roof that is very satisfying, calming, like a steady white noise allowing you to relax. Within minutes, the sounds of droplets smacking our roof sent my body into a deep relaxed slumber. I awoke feeling rested and ready for the day’s challenges. Rain cleanses all…

After breakfast we all stood along the rail of our second story balcony taking in the sight of our building. Three trusses to go and it’s demolition time! Many of us had been salivating for this moment of pure sledge-hammer bliss. I believe every one of us has the primal urge to destroy things; thanks to a proper upbringing many have never felt that urge. For those of us who have felt that urge there is nothing more rewarding than corralling your pent-up emotions, placing a tool in your hands then bashing the crap out of an inanimate object until it has been obliterated into dust. Some people need a little prodding, a little poke at their psyche allowing them to emerge from their prim and proper shell. Living life by following rules has left them incapable of finding their inner anger, their primal urge to destroy, but put a 10 pound sledge into their hands, place your hand on their shoulder and tell them “its ok, crush the concrete” and before long (usually about 5 minutes) they are sweaty, smiling, and laughing at what they accomplished, both mentally and physically.

That’s the way today went down. Everyone started out timid, focused, but after removing then dismantling the last three trusses it was Hammer Time! Four walls made of cinder block, 10 Americans, 5 Haitian workers and two interpreters all ready knock them down! John C and John G (affectionately nick named Hammer Time) started breaking block over the windows so we could cut re-bar ties. By doing this we could then knock a break line at window height and with ropes in place pull the wall away from the striker slowly bringing the walls down one window section at a time. Taking down walls in this fashion also expedited our clean up time with the blocks being broken up, swept up and moved to a debris pile outside, all from the concrete floor of the building.

We all took turns breaking down walls, smashing fallen portions into bits for transport in wheel barrows. It was all working very well. The Engineer of our project stopped by not long after we started moving debris, he pulled John C and myself aside with Caz our interpreter to discuss where a debris pile should be placed. Apparently we had started dumping in the wrong location and he wished the pile to be 6 feet in the opposite direction. No problem, simple enough to correct, I had Marcanie pull the workers aside and we directed them to the correct dumping location. We marked it out with a tire and nothing further was discussed on the subject of location. This would later bite me in the butt.

The day proceeded well, as we saw immediate results to our hard labor intensive work. There were only two minor fumbles that could have been disastrous and both involved me.

  1. Every morning I would give a short but sweet safety briefing. Things like “keep your head on a swivel” or “Always look up before walking into the building” and of course “have you consumed enough water today” Apparently I didn’t listen to my own advice for as I was studiously working on bringing down a wall from outside while the crew pulled from the inside, I spied a single cinder block teetering from the top of this wall approximately 10-12 feet above my head. Instead of heeding my own advice in regards to safety first. I continued striking the wall while staring at the block thinking; Hmm, I really should knock that down before I go any further. At that very moment the block fell striking my left ankle, leaving me temporarily breathless and focusing very hard at not allowing any profanities loose from my lips. It swelled up instantly to the size of a tennis ball; it also made it very difficult for me to maneuver around the unstable footing outside. I decided I was not going to look at it until after lunch. I could stand on it so it wasn’t broken but it sure did hurt like hell.
  2. After lunch with my foot being out of commission I took it upon myself to go upon the portico to knock down the parapet and main arch. This would alleviate all dangers to unstable falling blocks. While working on the arch I continued taking notice of where people were located below me before each and every strike of the hammer. A large crack began to emerge running the entire baseline of the arch which meant it was coming down in one big piece. As I started hitting it really hard, trying to coax it over I noted the only person close to me was my son Cody and he was smashing concrete over half the distance of the building from my location. No chance for him to get hit with any bricks. As I leaned in and gave the wall the last big push it needed, at that very moment Cody decided to change positions. I couldn’t stop the wall; I couldn’t yell fast enough, all I could do was watch. The 35-40 foot by 4 foot section slammed onto the ground and broke into pieces with each and every one of them sliding by him on either side. It was as if God said; not today son, protecting him from flying debris. Jan screamed and began to cry; Cody just looked behind him, shrugged his shoulders then took back to beating concrete with a sledge-hammer. Like nothing happened. Me, I played the whole incident off, but inside I was sick to my stomach. The image is still in my head a month later.

By the end of the day both main walls were on the ground. The group was sweaty, tired and feeling accomplished. A little rest upstairs and then Paul had arranged for a community meeting where everyone around us could come and ask the Americans anything they wished. A let’s get to know each other if you will.

6:00 pm the locals started showing up. Chairs and benches were set in the courtyard and we tried dispersing ourselves amongst the group. There seemed to be a little stand offish attitude at first. Pastor Charles started things off by welcoming us and explaining to both us and his community, how hard he worked to get us there along with the importance of having our work crew live on the job site promoting friendship and harmony. Individually we introduced ourselves telling of where we lived and what church we belonged too. Some people told of their employment back home, I chose to stay quiet on the subject. It took some prodding from both our people and their pastor but eventually people started asking us questions through our interpreter. Heather was grilled by two female teachers wanting know the requirements to teach in the United States and what qualified her as a teacher. Once the two sides realized their education was very similar there seemed to be an unspoken understanding. Political questions flew about. Everything from how we felt about our current president, the former president Bill Clinton to our stance on gay rights and marriage. At one point a gentlemen stood up and wanted know; why the boy doesn’t speak? As he pointed to Cody most of us at once shouted “he’s shy”! This had been a minor bone of contention with some of the Haitians. Cody was very quiet and with the rest of the party being very outspoken it was noticed quickly. All of that uncertainty in regards to Cody went away after Wednesday that was when one of the Haitian workers named Wilson told me with a huge smile on his face he (Cody) was the boy who worked like a man.

A few questions stood out for me and they stick in my mind today.

  1. How can the American churches help with College education for Haitians? This was a great question for as we continue to help build infrastructure should we not be focusing on education ensuring more for the future of their youth. If we merely feed these people they will only know charity, but if we teach them to feed themselves both physically and mentally wont they eventually teach others and ultimately prosper as a society?
  2. Was it hard to leave our families behind to help people we didn’t know or have a reason to help? They were very pleased to know from each and every one of us that it was hard. That some of us were prepared having spouses that traveled here the year before, while others where mentally dealing with an experience that was not only challenging emotionally but rewarding as well.
  3. What advice could we give the Haitian people in regards to becoming “better” or recognizing better opportunities? All of us had a little different version of the same answer. It went something like this: take ownership in your country, pride hard work and caring for your neighbor. Opportunities will come, but you need to create your own, act on them and succeed. Rebuilding this church is the first step for this community and all of us were proud to be a part of that process.

The evening ended with all of laughing and having a good time. Once again Paul had done an excellent job of putting us out there for all to see. He really was fantastic with placing together the right opportunities at the right time.

Tomorrow we agree to disagree…..

;

;

;

Haiti Mission 2012 part 7: Raise the roof..

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Monday June 11th, 2012

Last night before going to bed, my 11-year-old called to say hello.  Within seconds there appeared to be tension in our conversation.  When asked about his apparent discontent he slowly started whimpering and within seconds it became a gale force storm of tears.  Jake wanted Cody and I to come home. He cried and through his whimpering, I deciphered he missed us terribly.  I felt helpless, as a father should I suppose; usually when he misses me a short trip to the firehouse will bring quick consolation; returning his normal demeanor. But there was no short trip, no hey buddy I’ll be home tomorrow, instead he is regaled for his bravery being the “man” of the house while his brother and I are away.  After a few moments of pandering to his needs, he calms down.  I miss him, I feel horrible there is no way to comfort him, to hug him and make his fears go away, but slowly he comes around, he pretends to understand.  After a few “I love you’s’ and I’ll be home soon, he giggles slightly when I tell him goodnight. “Goodnight turkey lips” usually works every time and this time was no exception.

The good news? I slept all night! Yep that’s right, soaking sweat, dogs barking, parties next door and all! Nothing a good set of ear plugs (thank you John C) and a few days of mental and physical exhaustion can’t break you down too.  It was fabulous!

Once again we met after another of Madame Lulu’s wonderful meals. Today was a big day for our crew. No more playing around, a full days work lay ahead and there was plenty of work to go around.  After meeting with the crews, discussing the heat index, water intake, our urine output and covering our job site safety bullet points we all set to taking down beams.  The beams ran the length of the building tying the trusses together.  They needed to come down as one piece, all roughly 90-100 feet of them. There were five  beams on each side of the building.  Slowly we started unbolting then cutting away the supports.  With one person per truss holding the beams in place after each was cut away we would slowly slide them down the apex of the truss until they reached the edge, then let them drop to the ground where an awaiting crew would systematically cut the unions and stack them for recycling.

Amazing is a understament when describing the well oiled machine that had become our crew.  Working together, sweating together, accomplishing big goals in a very short period of time.  I know I have said it many times but the human spirit, is an inspiring thing to behold.  By lunch the beams were gone and we were ready for trusses.

truss/trəs/
Noun:
A framework, typically consisting of rafters, posts, and struts, supporting a roof, bridge, or other structure: “roof trusses”.

The trusses were a little trickier. The needed to have all supports tying them together cut. Ropes were then tied to the peak, applying tension from either direction for stability; then with John C on one wall and me on the opposing wall we would simultaneously cut away the ties that attached the trusses to the cinder block wall allowing the rope crews to slowly lower the trusses peak onto the floor.  Once the peak hit the floor another rope was tied to an upright end formerly attached to the wall and with a great big pull the truss would slide diagonally down the cinder block wall until it fell onto the floor.  Once on the floor the crews would make quick work of cutting the truss in half, removing it from the building then stacking it neatly outside for recycling.

By 3pm/15:00 there were all but three trusses left.  It filled us with a great sense of accomplishment.  At the end of the day we gathered our group to thank everyone for working so hard and staying safe.  We had Caz tell the Haitian crew how honored we were  to work alongside them and how we looked forward to another safe productive day on Tuesday.

Today, being our first full day of work I also fully understood why we quit working at 3pm.  The heat! The humidity and heat hits a high around 3.  Its stifling to say the least.  For anyone who is not acclimated to this type of heat feels like a Sahara death sentence to say the least.  After today I never once thought about 3pm being an idiotic time to stop work again.

The kids are back, a soccer game is afoot.  Bubbles continues to be the phrase of choice as Paul once again takes time to play with the smaller children.  Mason is also surrounded after every soccer game.  They are teaching him Haitian-Creole, he is taking notes and trying his very best to understand what they are saying.  The interaction between our two cultures is fantastic.

Everyone worked very hard today. Watching Maggie, Cody, Caz and Marcanie pull on trusses, then tear them apart after they hit the ground was pretty cool.  Jan, Heather and Mason were troopers carrying off all the scrap metal. The entire crew continues to inspire me every minute of every day.  Everyone has a job and even if they have never done anything like the task they have adopted all of them sure look as though they know what they are doing.  They are fantastic human beings, with great spirits inside them.  Once again the day is finished and as I sit in my chair atop the balcony quipping one joke after another with these people I feel as though I am surrounded by family.

Speaking of family I am calling my wife tonight. I miss the sound of her voice more than I can describe.  Its one thing to be away from each other while still communicating every night or even several times a day. Its completely different when you are not able to speak with her for days.  I find myself praying she picks up the phone, and though there is doubt, after all her schedule is very busy tonight; I pray for only a minute or two, just hearing her voice will be all the revival I need to carry on for a few more days.

The phone rings………

 

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 6: Who let the dogs out?

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Sunday June 10th

Awoke this morning around 4 am to the sounds of dogs barking out front.  It was a good thing  they woke me because there was so much sweat trapped in my cot that taking a moment from my slumber to put on a life-preserver was indeed a sound decision.

Laying there pondering what on earth these animals could have to bark about for hours on end I was at a loss when suddenly like a brick it hit me. The dogs are just having a conversation. We know dogs are very social animals and enjoy the company of others, so wouldn’t it make sense that after spending the day hiding from the heat just like we do, at night its time to socialize? So with that mental image I am fairly sure the conversation goes a little something like this;

Dog 1: (bark) Hey I am a dog!

Dog 2: (bark) Hey I am a dog too!

Dog 1: (bark bark) Get out of here, really?

Dog 2: (Growl, bark bark)Yeah man! I am really a dog!

Dog 1: (Howl) Where are you at brother?

Dog 2: (bark, bark, bark) I am over here man!

Dog 3: (bark) Hey are you guys dogs?

Dog 2: (bark, bark) Yeah man I am a dog!

Dog 1: (bark) I am dog too!

And well you can see how the conversation just blossoms from this point on.

I digress..

Sunday morning; there is no work for our crews today.  Instead we are going to worship with our hosts the Leveque congregation whose church we are disassembling.  Paul has graciously offered to give the sermon and assist with communion.  He is a little nervous, (he says he is not but it shows on his otherwise bubbly face) and rightfully so, it’s quite an honor to speak in front of another congregation and for myself personally the language barrier would have been hard to overcome even with our interpreter.

Another wonderful breakfast has been prepared by the magic chef Madame Lulu, afterwords we disappear into our rooms only to assemble moments later dressed in our very best clothes.  We all brought slacks, skirts, nice shoes and the group consensus was to wear our UMVIM shirts for the service.   All of us are excited to gather as one with the people in this community, it will become another moment of bonding, and hopefully forging our souls together.

Before walking downstairs people begin to arrive.  Families come out of the woodwork dressed in their very best, bright yellows, pressed whites, and shiny shoes.  The women have gone to great lengths with hairstyles, ribbons and jewelry.  The young girls are perfect, straight from a Normal Rockwell painting, if Norman Rockwell brushed in some debris and banana trees.  It is painfully obvious how important Church is to these people.  The only way I can explain the social order of things here would be to compare it 1800-1950’s America.  Church/God then family and work. In awe of their priorities when it comes to work, family and religious beliefs I find myself ashamed at how we as a society have let our personal desires, greed and lack of  morals lead away from the family unit.

Walking down the stairs we are met with numerous greetings of “Bonjour”accompanied by brilliant smiles.  The children are always happy to see our faces but Mason and Maggie’s seem to be the main focus of attention.  Everyone shuffles into one of the classrooms which has temporarily been transformed into a church.  Gone are the classroom desks and papers, in their place are 6 rows of pews hand placed and straight as an arrow.  In front there is a small podium and table with a cloth covering what at home would be the bread and communion chalice. In Haiti because of the many illnesses one can acquire, bread remains the same but wine/grape juice is in dispensable shot glass sized cups then covered for safety.

The service begins and it is glorious! Our group is given the honor of being seated in the first two rows with our interpreter sitting next to the pastor translating every word that is spoken.  Caz does a wonderful job translating along with singing! Before long we are all trying to sing the songs in French-Creole.  Failing miserably but trying just the same. By the way; Haitian sing! They sing while they are working, they sing while they are playing, and they sing loud to the heavens above while together in church.

An hour and a half goes by in the blink of an eye; Paul has done a wonderful job of spreading goodwill between our groups.  Handshaking, smiles and laughter precede the service as we all meet in the hallway out front.  Some of us break off playing catch with the children (frisbee, tennis ball, etc) , Mason and I put on a juggling act, while Paul turns on the bubble machines to the delighted screams of “bubbles” from all the children.  Slowly families begin to dwindle away, leaving us to mosey upstairs, undress from  our Sunday best, throw on some shorts and prepare for a Sunday excursion.

Because Sunday is a day of rest a Tap-Tap driver had been provided for us so we may go off and recreate for the afternoon.  The group has been given many beaches/restaurants to choose from for our excursion and the unanimous decision is a destination known as Club Indigo.  Having heard wonderful things about this place from our Hosts at the guest house, our group was excited to lay our eyes upon the crystal clear Caribbean waters while dining at an all you can eat buffet.  The ten of us also decided that Sunday should be a day of rest for the fabulous Madame Lulu and our two wonderful interpreters Marcanie and Caz. The word is spread and our offers accepted. We all gather at noon, swim shorts on, sun screen applied, back packs loaded with essentials, just add one crazy, cool Tap-Tap driver and shake! The perfect recipe for a perfect day!

Our Tap-Tap drivers name was (guessing once again so its Phonetic) Yalaylay. Hired to be our on site transportation at night should an emergency occur he was acquired for our daytime transportation to the beach.  Yalaylay was tall and lanky, friendly and charismatic.  Carrying himself with the cool laid back style one would expect from an islander, he quickly won over the entire crew and the sound of his name could be heard echoing across the compound both morning and night. Y A L A Y L A YYYYYYY!!!!

Our group loaded into the rear of the Tap-Tap, squeezing into every available space! Cody and Maggie sat in the front seat, Caz and I were the last to load and sat (barely) at the rear overhanging the pavement.  The ride was fantastic! Yalaylay cranked up the radio (Bob Marley) and took to navigating our way up the highway as best he could.  Some of us noticed right away when the truck reached traveling speed it would slowly drift to the right only to be brought back to center abruptly.  There were times I wondered what would happen if the steering actually failed on this ride? Then I would remind myself to relax, put my OSHA (my nickname) tendencies aside and enjoy the experience. 

OSHA: The United States Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) is an agency of the United States Department of Labor. Congress established the agency under the Occupational Safety and Health Act, which President Richard M. Nixon signed into law on December 29, 1970. OSHA’s mission is to “assure safe and healthful working conditions for working men and women by setting and enforcing standards and by providing training. (Wikipedia)

My nickname was earned after the first of several discussions in regards to safety both on the job site and with our teams’ personal health throughout the week.  As the appointed EMS team member and assisting John C with planning and organizing on site work during the day the name stuck.  I wore it proudly for the entire week, it was earned with simple questions such as these…

Remember team, if you are not peeing, you are not hydrated.  Pee checks are at breakfast, lunch and dinner.  (Little did I know one member would take this a little too seriously; but I will cover that later.)

When we are working on the building keep your head on a swivel, look up when entering, look down, and look all around.  We are here for a very short time and I am on vacation so no one gets injured. Understood? (This advise worked out well, only two major accidents. The team leader fell from a ladder my son was manning and apparently I couldn’t take my own advice ending up injured by Tuesday.)

 The highway headed north was littered with cars, pickup trucks and semi’s trucks or bobtails, all having been involved in head on collisions. (have I mentioned they drive crazy in Haiti?) Most wrecks looked fatal, and it amazed me this metal carnage was just cast aside, left to rot.  We traveled through a few towns along the coast, the weather was perfect, the sky was blue and the ocean looked amazing.  After an hour we arrived at our destination, a gate guarded by grounds personnel leading back into lush vegetation along a cobble stoned roadway.  Entering into the clearing Club Indigo began to emerge from under the palms.  It resembled the set of Fantasy Island; White plantation style open air buildings all facing the ocean with a grand entryway.  Slowly traveling by the front we headed into an open field where all vehicles were parked.  The U.N. comprised the majority of vehicles in the lot this day.  Both official and unofficial transports neatly parked rows, this appeared to be the main choice for U.N. soldier relaxation.  This of course kicked old OSHA into overdrive.  After hearing many stories about U.N. soldiers and their “above the law” attitudes I found myself lagging behind making sure our entire group stayed together as one. 

$40.00 dollars apiece was our one way ticket to beach and buffet! Strolling through the main area past the bar, along the walkway by the pool one could distinctly pick out different languages being tossed about the pool deck.  I picked up quite a bit of Portuguese, a little Spanish and of course French-Creole. But the main thing I noticed was no conversations were taking place in English.  Our group strolled along the beach until we came upon a coconut tree with a few chairs underneath.  Gathering a few more chairs to claim our territory, most of us were stripped to our swimsuits and in the water before the sand settled.  It was warm, clear, salty and beautiful.  We swam out to the buoys then back several times. Some floated around while others dove under looking for shells and fish; Standing in the water felt like a world away from where we were no more than 90 minutes prior. To be quite truthful it felt a little shameful. Who were we to come here and act like vacationers? We came here to work, to help the impoverished, to create a physical and spiritual difference in not only our own lives but the citizens for who we serve; The people of Leveque.

Before I had the chance to become too sanctimonious someone hollered; time to hit the buffet and all those feelings were temporarily dissipated! I needed to eat.  Funny thing about a buffet, it can be the best food you have ever eaten or it can be the worst thing to cross your plate.  You never hear someone say; oh the buffet was adequate. Until that moment we had no idea just how spoiled we become towards Madame Lulus food until we found ourselves faced with a buffet stock piled with the very same creations.  All of us looked at each other and grinned as we piled food upon our plates.  Sitting down at our table, salivary glands drooling, with one bite our palates quickly learned the difference.  As we slowly picked through our half rate grub, I looked up to see Madame Lulu smiling at me. She knew, she knew it was crap, she knew her food was the gold star this half way house for Haitian chefs aspired to become. She knew it and yet she still blushed as each and every one of us pledged our allegiance to this woman’s golden spatula.  We were all grateful for her presence and enjoyed being around her, and even though the food was poor (meaning she deserved to be served much better), there wasn’t one of us that weren’t glad she joined us for a much deserved day off.

We all had a fantastic afternoon, swimming and playing. Yalaylay, Marcanie, Caz and Lulu swam to their heart’s content while, singing, laughing and frolicking with us in the water.  We discovered Marcanie couldn’t swim, yet he bravely waded out as far as his fear would let him go.  Maggie tried her best to teach him to swim but alas Marcanie got no further than sinking like a rock.  At one point Caz snuck up behind him, grabbed him, and then drug him out deep.  Marcanie looked like Scooby Doo, legs and arms flailing as he walked across the water after Caz let him go! Cody never came out of the water continuing his search for shells he swam all day long!  He came up with some very interesting looking crustaceans which made their way home.  Maggie, Jan, Heather, Mason, John C, John G, Anne, Paul and I spent the rest of the afternoon switching between lounging and swimming. 

As I sat on the beach I jotted down a thought;

Sitting on a white sandy beach straight from the scenes of a Rogers and Hammerstein musical I have found myself gazing upon 13 other people all happily frolicking in the ocean.  9 of them are so very far from home. Yet they are here together these 13 people; they don’t speak the same language, they don’t all share the same passions, but they are becoming friends. No longer are they strangers or acquaintances, no longer do they wander this earth unaware of the other. They have been brought together, united as one.  For these 13 people now hold a bond that no one can change.

Haiti….

As for the 14th member of this illustrious crew (me); He feels extremely honored to have been given the opportunity to know them all.  He feels especially honored to know one of them in particular, for that person fills his heart with endless pride.

His son is showing signs of becoming a man, his sense of humor is developing, his timing and delivery are being perfected, and the ability to tie the two together at the perfect place and time is quite evident. These attributes are allowing him to meld into any situation with ease. A quality many never develop, leaving them often times misunderstood.  Watching him interact with the others from our team I feel as though he is liked by all, admired by some, and loved by only one.  His dad…..

 In the blink of an eye it was time to depart our little slice of heaven.  The thirty year old, slightly run down former Club Med resort had been a Caribbean delight for us overheated mainlanders.  We all changed, gathered up our belongings, took the last few pictures that needed to be taken and headed off to our waiting Tap-Tap. We were some of the last to leave due to the U.N. soldiers suiting up, loading up and departing about an hour prior. (A little scary considering they had all been drinking most of the day.)   This of course left us feeling like we received every penny of the forty dollars we shelled out to bask under the sun on this gorgeous stretch of coastline.

The ride home was fairly quiet although Heather’s hair continued to be a great source of fun. As we traveled down the road the red mane of hers would engulf all who unknowingly traveled into its path! She became fondly known as chicken head by the girls from Chowchilla or Cell block C. 

Anne, Jan, Heather and Maggie while living the dream in our concrete bunkers had taken to referring to it as the Chowchilla Women’s Correctional Facility thereby naming themselves the Chowchilla four or C-4.  Our nicknames were all earned on this trip and one of the reasons we bonded so well as a team. Our group’s sense of humor consistently played into making this trip what irreplaceable memories are made of. I miss that sense of camaraderie.

Arriving back at the compound we were met by the children all chanting Mason, Maggie and of course BUBBLLEESSSS! The generator was started, technology was charging, the kids were playing and each and every one of us found our own little spot to sit and reflect.  We all enjoyed another fantastic day together; another moment in time to be remembered forever.  Sitting on the balcony darkness slowly set in; once again we laughed, told jokes, and thought about the work that lay ahead. 

Tomorrow is Monday; let the real work begin….

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 5: Bonswa!

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Saturday 9th 2012

Another sleepless night! Currently three nights in a row and I am not sure how much longer my body can take this lack of sleep. The problem for me remains the same, Haiti never rests! Being a little Haiti naïve, I was under the assumption that being away from the main city life would be a little slower, a smidge quieter, yet nothing could be further from the truth! Behind our compound are houses hidden in the mango/banana trees that appear to be the collection point for those who never sleep! Music like that of a Caribbean polka pumping from the residence all to the hoots and hollers of its inhabitants!  Lying in my bunk sopping in sweat, cursing the heavens above because there is no escape from this dreadful noise! My ear plugs have eluded me in the dark, and I am afraid to wake the lucky ones while searching my bags with a flashlight.  As for all the music I uploaded into my iPhone for just such an occasion; I made the mistake of storing everything using the “cloud”, and since all my data functions are disabled to keep from being charged an arm and a leg at AT&T it can’t be retrieved.  So all I have are eight songs placed directly onto my phones memory. Eight songs for eight days, yeah I’m screwed! Somewhere around 1 am exhaustion gets the better of me and I pass out, only to be rousted from bed at 3 am by the sounds of two dogs barking at each other! This continues for around an hour and is immediately replaced by the wonderful crows of chickens singing to the rising sun!  Now if all of that weren’t bad enough for yours truly; Marcanie started snoring around midnight and never quit.  Snoring in itself is not so bad, living in a firehouse with 4-6 other guys for 1/3 of my life, snoring is something you get used too.  But this man (Marcanie) is the king daddy of snoring, the Gandhi of bear growls, Lord of the buzz saw, the champion tree chopper, I am pretty sure some of those sounds could not legally be registered on a decibel meter! Long story short, another rough night and the hot Haitian coffee could not be poured soon enough.

Upside; Cody and Mason didn’t hear a thing (ahh to be young and able to pass out at the drop of a hat) they slept right through it all.  At least some of us received a welcomed night’s sleep. Everyone else was awakened at one time or another, dog barking seemed to be the complaint of choice.

Breakfast was at 7am on the nose and it smelled heavenly.  We were treated to spaghetti? I know it sounds strange right? Spaghetti for breakfast! But it was the best spaghetti ever! Nothing like what you would envision spaghetti to be, it was spicy, with vegetables and no sauce over the top! There was fruit and cereal, coffee and tea. The food was perfect.

 We gathered our tools, marching downstairs to meet with the incoming workers at 0800.  Today is Saturday which means it will be another half day of work for everyone.  Our goal this morning is to expose the steel trusses by removing the tin sheeting from the roof.  A few of us have high hopes that we may actually have a truss or two on the ground before noon, but that may be nothing more than wishful thinking.  Caz, Marcanie, Pastor Charles and the ten of us meet inside the church. A quick safety briefing is given along with mentioning what our goals are for the day.  We collectively decide that Opening up the concrete windows to create air flow and removing all the tin sheeting on the roof is our goal.  Everyone is pumped. Excited and ready to go! Once the concrete windows are knocked out with sledge hammers we can begin on the roof.  The Haitian crew decides going onto the roof and removing tin from the outside is the best plan.  Mean while a different plan is taking shape which places ladders inside the exposed trusses as makeshift scaffolding, allowing us to work in the shade and not risk someone falling from the roof.  Yes the tins are bolted to the trusses but they are bolted on using J-hooks.  J-Hooks are just what they sound like; they are bolts in the shape of a “J”. With the nut outside on top of the roof, the “J” passes through the tin with the “j” portion grabbing a steel truss securing a piece of tin sheeting tightly.  This is where the four bolt cutters we brought with us come into play.  Instead of unbolting the hooks from above, we are having two crews safely move up and down the length of the building cutting “J” hooks from the inside using ladders as scaffolding. Safe, easy and fast it worked as planned! The tins came down one at a time, everyone (who wished to go up in the scaffolding) took turns cutting the “J” hooks as bolt cutting a couple of hundred of these things can become a little tiresome. It went fairly quickly and we finished before noon which allowed us ample time to formulate our plan for the beginning of the week.  The beams and trusses were next to come down starting Monday and we definitely were going to need some sockets or crescent wrenches for this project.  Realizing the deficiency in our tool cache Paul suggested that we head into Cabaret (the next town over)with an interpreter to retrieve these items from a local shop.  John G, Mason and a few of the Haitian workers wished to tag along as well.  It sounded like great fun and an adventure to boot. 

Cabaret (Creole: Kabarè) is a municipality in the Arcahaie Arrondissement, in the Ouest Department of Haiti. It has 63,450 inhabitants. During his dictatorship François Duvalier renamed it Duvalierville in 1961 and a megalomaniacal construction project was begun. The project failed, but the name was kept until Duvalier’s successor, his son Jean-Claude Duvalier, fled the country in 1986.

Marcanie took us across the street from the compound where we stood waiting for a Tap-Tap to drive by.  A few loaded Tap-Taps passed us by but finally after about ten minutes one happened to stop. It appeared to be loaded with too many people for our group to fit inside, but not thinking like a Haitian I was wrong. So with a long gaze and a long deep breath we all stepped forward to receive our first lesson from the University of Tap-Tap.  Pushing and shoving, jostling and contorting, we all squeezed on, in and even hung a little off to the side. It was unsafe, crazy and something that had my Spidey senses abuzz but it was exhilarating! We all loved the ride into town and couldn’t wait for another Tap-Tap ride back to the compound!

We arrived in the town of Cabaret to witness complete controlled chaos! In the center of town the markets were open, people were everywhere! Hustling, moving, buying and selling Cabaret was alive!  Our guides took us from tool shack to tool shack looking for a simple crescent wrench or some socket wrenches.  There wasn’t a free place to move or stand without running into, bumping or moving out-of-the-way of another person, vehicle or motorcycle. We traveled through side streets, down alley ways into areas where people were fixing cars and bikes, Marcanie took us everywhere and we talked with quite a few friendly and helpful individuals.  At one point we ended up in a two-story building that resembled a shabby apartment complex filled with building supplies. There were two men sitting in the front entry staring at us as we went upstairs and it was the only time I ever felt a little uncomfortable, on edge. It seemed as though they really didn’t want us inside. Just my opinion though, I could have read the situation wrong, but it sure felt that way.  In the end we arrived back at the first store we visited. (Isn’t it always that way?) Even though the store only had two crescent wrenches available it would be enough for the task at hand on Monday. While Paul haggled with the owner over the obvious inflated prices on our behalf, John G and I were drooling over the brand new Korean and Chinese manufactured motorcycles that were for sale in front of the store.  At one point the owner informed Marcanie we could purchase them for $1000.00 u.s. dollars.  I wanted so badly to purchase one on the spot, then cruise the streets of Haiti! Nothing would have been more exciting than traveling home knowing I survived Haiti’s traffic chaos on a motorcycle! But most importantly it would have been nice to go off on an afternoon cruise and discover a little Haitian culture on my own.  Before concluding our business with the local shop owner, the price had dropped to $950.00. I am pretty sure with a little haggling $800.00 would have left me the proud owner of a Haojin 125cc motorcycle.

The afternoon trip turned out to be quite an adventure! We had walked through Cabaret, met a handful of locals and strolled into a little store for a soda. I felt uncomfortable, out of my element and excited all at the same time. Slowly working our way through the crowds back uptown towards Tap-Tap central, our construction friends grabbed the first empty Tap-Tap we came upon. Ushering us inside and after back filling the Toyota truck bed with as many people as humanly possible we slowly made our way back to our temporary home in Leveque.

The entire group gathered upon our return for prayer and lunch.  Afterwards, Paul had made arrangements through a few of his new friends for our group with the assistance of an interpreter to go on a walk about. We heard of a village in the hills behind us and it seemed like a wonderful opportunity to stretch our legs while introducing ourselves to some of the local residents. Our walk took us alongside the highway past many shanties and half destroyed homes.  Residents sat or worked in their front yards under shade trees hiding from the heat of the day.  Most waved hello, some smiled sheepishly while others looked confused at our presence.

Turning left onto a washed out dirt road leading up a hillside, the road took us through groves of bananas and plantains.  The country side was a strange mixture of tropical beauty combined with modern-day refuse scattered about without care.  After witnessing the crowded, dirty streets of Port-au-Prince and the jammed hustle of local Cabaret this little excursion was a peaceful respite for our crew. After walking with and passing many locals we came upon a concrete irrigation/drainage ditch where many children were playing in the water.   There was one small pathway leading over it and we waited patiently as donkeys and motorcycles all carrying passengers made their way across. 

Once we crossed groups of small children seemed to arrive from nowhere. Running alongside us shouting, taking our hands, some would beg for food, some would beg for water, and others were just content to receive the attention we provided.  Around a mile in we encountered our first housing encampment. Built by a group called Samaritans Purse.

Samaritan’s Purse is a non-denominational evangelical Christian humanitarian organization that works worldwide to assist people in physical need alongside their Christian missionary work. The organization’s president is Franklin Graham, son of Christian evangelist Billy Graham. The name of the organization is based on the New Testament Parable of the Good Samaritan, in which Jesus uses a parable to teach people the second great commandment – how to “love thy neighbor as thyself”.

Samaritan’s Purse works in more than 100 countries around the world. International headquarters are in Boone, North Carolina, with additional U.S. facilities in Charlotte and North Wilkesboro, N.C. Affiliate offices are in Australia, Canada, Germany, Ireland, Hong Kong, Netherlands, and the United Kingdom. Field offices are located in some 20 countries across five continents.

The buildings were of many different sizes, some seemed to be small in the 14×16 foot range while others looked a little larger. There were central outhouses along with meeting halls.  At one end of the project sat rows of larger 20×60 building that for some reason reminded me of a Japanese internment camp from the 1940’s.  But they were all clean, neat and orderly.  Most were weather wrapped and it seemed every one that we saw had occupants.  Smiling and waving, we were always greeted with a smile and wave in return.

Moving farther up the hill while holding a small child’s hand I began to feel somewhat guilty.  We were walking into these peoples’ lives, staring at them, taking pictures as though they were some kind of circus attraction put there for our amusement.  Personally there were a few occasions where making eye contact was hard because of the guilt I felt inside.  My mind was racing, what were they thinking, how did they feel about themselves, about our intrusion, or the hand they had been dealt since the earthquake?  Were they grateful for the housing and assistance provided, or angry because many of the projects seemed unfinished? Had these Haitians truly been helped or hindered by the short-term assistance that eventually became less and less?  

At or around mile two we came upon another community erected by Mission of Hope. 

Mission of Hope: as an organization following Jesus Christ, we exist to bring life transformation to every man, woman, and child in Haiti. Mission of Hope was founded in 1998, and continues to serve Haiti daily by meeting the physical and spiritual needs of the Haitian population.

At Mission of Hope, we desire to serve the nation of Haiti, and see lives changed. Our passion is to see the hopeless find hope through Jesus Christ, and empower future generations through education to bring their country out of poverty. Mission of Hope website http://www.mohhaiti.org

The housing at the Mission of Hope complex was refreshing to say the least.  Houses were all neatly in a row with independent yards, fences and gates.  The inhabitants looked happy sitting on their porches and all welcomed us with large smiles and a hearty Bonswa! We arrived at a church and were warmly welcomed inside where we gazed at the simplicity of their building.  A place of worship built on rock in the middle of nowhere and it was perfect. We all enjoyed spending a few moments inside.  As we traveled onward through the project children swarmed us, grabbing our hands. Laughing at our faces and all of them wanted to play.  Taking a few moments at an assembly building we took pictures while playing with children.  It was nice, even Cody got into the action.  Everyone of us had a child taking very special interest in our arrival.  It was the first time during the walk I wasn’t feeling ashamed for my presence.

As we made the corner heading for home one of our guides pointed up the hill to a similar housing complex also built by Mission of Hope.  This one was strictly for the deaf community.  How wonderful to have an entire community of like-minded individuals living as one.  In America they would be considered handicapped and maybe in Haiti they still are but in this village no such phrase exists for they live, farm and work together as one. Inspiring.

While walking towards home I asked one of our interpreters Marcanie; Why if we say nothing to an individual in passing do I feel contempt coming from the person we passed? But if I smile and say Bonjour/ Bonswa (good morning/afternoon) as we pass every person lights up with a gigantic smile then waves?  Marcanie proceeded to tell me that by saying good morning or afternoon in passing you are showing a sign of respect towards that individual.  Out in the country is it expected to show respect not only for your elders but for all individuals as human beings or children of God.  If you choose not to say good morning or afternoon after making eye contact you are showing, superiority or you feel as though you are better than they are; which in turn is extremely disrespectful. Here in a country where hard times and strife seem to be an everyday occurrence, the simple principles that our country once lived by still exist.  Say good morning or good evening to a complete strangers in our country and you are looked at as though you are crazy. It is sad.

We arrived back to the Leveque Hilton to another wonderful meal prepared for us by Miss LuLu.  We prayed, we sat for devotional and then we once again partook in something that is sadly missing from our everyday lives.  Together like a family we sat on the porch and talked. Every single one of us, for three-four hours! We laughed, and joked, telling stories about our day, sharing our experiences, our personal feelings, the highs and the lows. It was pure bliss!

I want to build a patio and shade cover in our back yard so that after dinner, no one is allowed to go their separate ways, but instead all will meet for devotional time, laughing and talking about their day.  Just like we used too, as families before technology, dual working parents, after school sports and just plain old life got in the way..

Haiti Mission Trip 2012: part 2 We are guests…

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The Guest House. (checkpoint Charlie)

June 7th 2012

We arrived pulling through an all steel gate with an attendant standing by ensuring no one wonders onto the property unexpected.  The compound is filled with trees lining a dirt/cobblestone drive leading to a retaining wall some 30 feet high.  To the right a new project is being built consisting of concrete and cinder block. (shocker)

To the left the guest house.  A two-story building that in its day (around the 80’s I am guessing) was a top rate place to stay.  My first impression walking down a pathway into a covered porch area was that of disappointment.  (this would change later) It was not what I had expected after looking it up online.  But hey we aren’t here to lounge and relax, our group came to work and work was all we talked about for the last month.

We immediately banded together unloading the trucks, and introducing ourselves to the guest house hosts.  Tom and Sara. The two of them quickly gave us a run down of the facility, showing us to our rooms.  Men in room 3, women in room 5. A bathroom/douche at either end of the hall with two toilet/water closets nestled in a narrow hallway around the corner.  A table with community computer and wi-fi at the top of the stairs. (our last link to the world for 8 days). The men walked into room three and all of us quickly obtained a bunk bed best suited for ourselves.  There were two other teams expected that afternoon and I was looking forward to meeting them, hoping to glean some information about the area and what to expect.  I am not one to let too much bother me but I was nervous in this strange land so far from home.  Feeling a little like a cornered animal, no place to go, run or hide.  Any information that might calm my nerves would be more than welcome. Being as though I was worried and nervous I couldn’t help but wonder how my son was doing, but to my surprise he was strangely calm and relaxed.  Excited for what the next 8 days lay in store.

We met with Sara again who had arranged for us to go sight-seeing that afternoon.  We talked about going to the Baptist mission, or off to some of the more challenging neighborhoods taking in the sights and sounds, possibly seeing more tent cities.  In the end we opted for lunch and a swim at hotel  Ibo-LeLe in the province of Petionville, Port-au-Prince. Located around 1400 feet up the side of a mountain this hotel boasted some of the best views of Port-au-Prince and the surrounding area.  Sara and Tom decided they would go with us as lunch and a swim away from the compound sounded enticing. It was also a nice way for them to understand and learn a little about this feisty 10 person team from California.

We loaded into our 10 person Toyota and headed off up the mountain.  Strange thing about climbing and winding through the narrow and sometimes steep roadways.  Conditions seemed to improve. Living conditions, housing, stores, streets, everything seemed a little neater, a little nicer, a little more affluent for a devastated country with no means.  HMMMM???

At one point while turning a street corner the stores seemed nicer, painted, organized, and then we rolled up on a two-story, freshly painted grocery store surrounded by a giant stucco/plaster wall.  Both entrances were guarded by men with shotguns.  Presumably to keep residents out without the means to pay for items. The method or mode of transportation seemed to change as well the higher we climbed.  Gone were the 300,000 mile abused Tap-Taps.  In their place was still late 90’s early 2000’s Honda’s, Toyota’s and Nissan’s, but also a mix of Mercedes, Land Cruisers, Range Rovers and even a few Porsches were spotted!

Could this be the actual visual translation of the rich live on the hill and the poor suffer the plains? Before I had time to ponder these visual cues we had arrived at Ibo-LeLe.  Walking down the entry way it was very reminiscent of 1960’s Cuba portrayed by Hollywood. Very open, and inviting, straight from a James Bond movie.  We all made our way out back to the pool area where we found a shaded area to sit and enjoy our lunch.  There were three levels to choose from, one in the open sun on top, one completely shaded in the middle and the lower pool level area.  Before we could settle into a few chairs we were told the middle level where we were was closed.  Looking around I noticed some men in black suits eyeing our presence.  They were sharp and wore ear phones connected to radios.  Behind us sat a table of roughly ten people who had been enjoying lunch. All talking had stopped and they to were staring directly at us.  My alarm bells began ringing, and we all quickly moved to the upper level.  I said good day to one of the “suits” who gave me a casual smile in return.  While enjoying our lunch we learned the ten person table was in fact a private party for the Minister of Agriculture.  Sweet in country less than 6 hours and I had already crashed a political party! HA!

Lunch took around 2 1/2 hours and all of us quickly learned the meaning of Haiti time.  My wife warned me that; Haiti time meant I needed to move slower, take my time because nothing in done in a hurry.  Well except driving of course.

We never went swimming as lunch took the better part of our afternoon.  The views were spectacular, and all of us took the opportunity to grab some pictures from the upper deck of the hotel.  If you squinted your eyes and pretended you could almost believe nothing had ever happened and it was the way the country was supposed to look. Yet as we stood there I was finding it shameful to be treated so well when so many had nothing.

Cody and the crew were settling into all they had seen and experienced when we weaved our way through Port-au-Prince earlier. We laughed and joked, shaking off the nerves associated with sensory overload,  but nothing could prepare us for the moment our eyes would gaze upon the National Palace.

After lunch we made our way down the hill leaving upper class behind, winding through narrow streets filled with garbage, street venders, people and cars, eventually making our way to the bottom where organized chaos reigned king once again.  Rounding one final corner we came upon the National Palace grounds.  It was pure devastation.  We had all seen pictures, we had talked a good game, but I personally was not prepared for what I saw.  It was destroyed beyond belief.  A symbol of the country’s strength, prosperity and security, leveled beyond repair.  It massive domes laying sideways like a drunk man trying to stand under his own power.  Walls sheared off, floors collapsed, sections flattened.  This once mighty building left in ruins for all to see.

In that moment for me personally I understood why the country was struggling to survive.  Imagine if the White House had been flattened. This symbol of America unites millions each year who come to see it, gaze upon its historic and valued walls.  How can a country move forward without one of its main symbols of recognition?

Designed in 1912 by architect Georges H. Baussan its design took second place in an architects national competition.  It was awarded the winning nod because the first place building was deemed to costly.  The budget for the new palace was set at $350,000 and construction began in 1914.  In 1915 the under construction palace was set ablaze by a mob that ousted then murdered President Vilbun Guillaume Sam.  This assassination led to the United States of America occupying Haiti which opened the door for the U.S. Navy engineers to oversee the Palaces completion in 1920.

There have been several attempts to start work on the palace since the earthquake with the latest taking place in 2010.  Only the middle rotunda has been cleared and all construction has been halted.

In my opinion a country needs to start somewhere.  Mobilizing your people through strength and pride can be done with a symbol such as the National Palace. A place for its government to unify and build solidarity. It gives a country hope; hope that progress on that level can trickle down to its people.  People who I would soon find out have immense pride for their country.  Band that passion, that love and a stronger country cannot help but emerge.

It was a long hot trip back up the hills through the streets to the guest house.  We were all tired from our long flights and a few of us were looking forward to a swim in the guest house pool before dinner.  We all knew tomorrow the group would ship out to our assignment.  We all had no idea what we were in for and the thought of a simple swim, some dinner and one last night in a bed seemed to be the order of the evening.

God bless this country, because from what we had seen so far its people are amazingly resilient.

To be continued…..