Tag: Thoughts

Haiti Mission Trip 2012 part 5: Bonswa!

theycallmebetty1 Comment

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 4: Dust in the wind…

theycallmebetty2 Comments

 

 

Dust in the wind…

Inside the church had a simple layout, one main hall, a dividing wall with a “pastors” chamber to the rear.  The inner walls were constructed with standard grade two by fours sheeted with (4×8) plywood; the entire ceiling was also covered with plywood, painted and set with a ½ inch trim plate.   I had brought one of my spare tool belts for just such an occasion.  Laden with a single jack, hammer, crows foot and pry bar, I quickly set to peeling trim while John G, took to making a purchase point for the ceilings plywood.  Our entire group looked like a WWF wrestling cage match, all circling the ring waiting for someone to “tap” them into the fight!  Two days of travel and unspent energy were waiting to wreak havoc upon this old building.  John G and I were able to clear an entire span of trim work allowing us the advantage of exposing corners of the plywood for prying.  Together with an inch gap on either end of our first board we gave it the old heave ho on the count of three.  (Now is that 1, 2, 3 or 1 and 2 and 3, or do we just go on 3?) This Lethal Weapon quote/play on words would haunt us for the duration of the trip. 

The board came down unexpectedly easy, along with 62 years of dirt! Within seconds it was black as night inside the building and everyone was scrambling for fresh air.  John and I both simply placed shirts over our mouths, braced for the tornado then stood still until the room cleared.  Laying eyes upon each other we both started laughing.  Covered from head to toe with an easy inch of dirt, we both resembled “Pig pen” from the peanuts.  The dirt fueled our fire and after acquiring a few dust masks the ceiling started coming down rather quickly.  We formed two teams on either side of the room taking down plywood, framing and roof supports all while other members cleared debris.  Everything that came out of the building was placed into neat piles for recycling later.  Nothing goes to waste here, if it can be reused somewhere else it’s either put to use immediately or hauled off to someplace else for distribution. 

A work day on the job site consisted of working from 0800-1500 with an hour off for lunch.  When informed of this my inner, self-centered workaholic, could not believe it! How will we get any work done in six hours I asked myself?  I would learn in time there was a reason for this modified work schedule and it had absolutely nothing to do with how much work one could accomplish. (i’ll discuss this revalation later)

We had arrived late on Friday afternoon starting work around 1300 and by quitting time (1500) the entire inside of the structure was stripped bare! Nothing left but four walls, steel trusses and a tin roof overhead.  It was exciting to say the least, everyone was pumped!  It was our first moment working together as a team, and we succeeded! Everyone was feeling a sense of accomplishment, which was a great moral boost after the last 24-30 hours.

Mason had pulled out his Nikon camera and started taking pictures right away.  At first I was a little bothered by this action since there was work to be done.  But after 15-20 minutes of watching this young lad with his camera, I realized it was selfish of me to think this way.  Mason held an obvious passion for taking pictures, this proved to be invaluable during our trip.  Someone once told me everyone has a “purpose” that purpose may not be immediately evident, and it may not be what you wish it to be, but if you pay close attention in time it will reveal itself.

 Mason’s purpose ended up being two-fold, one he became our official recorder with his outstanding photographic skills and the second part was his uncanny ability to relate one on one with all the children.

 While most of us traveled up to our second story perch, figuring out how tomorrow would unfold while trying to knock dirt from our clothes; Mason was already introducing himself to the local children.  His camera was an instant tool of acceptance.  He would take their pictures, showing them afterwards; this of course tickled the children greatly! This action became his personal bliss, these children where his muse; that was until a soccer ball appeared.  Futbol’ or soccer as we refer to the game is the nation’s favorite sport.  Our team was quite prepared for this fact with Mason and Paul’s church donating quite a few sporting goods for the trip.  Of course that meant soccer balls.  The minute a soccer ball hit the dirt children from all over came running to play.  This would end up becoming a nightly routine. Work ended, soccer began, and Mason would play the game of his life every night to gleeful smiles of many a child, and Caz as well….

Paul also held a disarming charm that resonated within the community! He would walk where he wanted when he wanted introducing himself to everyone. A personality trait I actually envied. At one point Paul hauled out some toys to share with the children. Two bubble blowing guns appeared and within minutes, from the second story balcony bubbles rained down upon the children like snowflakes.  This of course was accompanied by Paul yelling at the top of his lungs “BUBBLESSSSSSS”.  The children laughed, danced and chased the little soapy spheres, all while screaming “BUBBLESSSSS” in return.  Paul had an immense amount of positive spirit and energy!  We teased him for this, but it was all in good fun.  In reality some of us secretly wished we could harness some of his incredible power to use for ourselves.  Paul actually made a statement that nothing could deplete his endless bounty of energy and enthusiasm. (Not his exact words) This would be tested during the week. 

Maggie as Mason also had a way with children. She wandered downstairs and was quick to fall in love with the small children; it appeared the feelings were mutual.  There was something about Maggie’s name that led to children saying it over and over again.  It became quite humorous. Every night after the first night you could hear off in the distance some small child sweetly, quietly, saying “Maagggiiiieeee”.

 As we sat in our chairs overlooking the work site a combination of sweat and dirt pooled at our feet. (Have I mentioned yet that it is really hot here?) The word came a shower area was arranged for us on the second story of the adjoining building.  John, John, Cody and I strolled over with our solar showers to set them up and prepare the room for a barrage of dirty people.  The room was an intended shower room with tiled basin and drain.  Next to the basin sat a 50 gallon drum filled with water and a small container to draw water from the barrel.  We filled one of the solar showers and the three of us with Cody standing on Johns shoulders set to hanging the bag for use; once accomplished we also hung a curtain across the open doorway, a veil attempt at privacy from the house directly behind the structure. It was a perfect set-up! A little home away from home, except for one thing; the shower never really worked with the mass amounts of dirt and sweat stuck to our bodies. Nothing short of a pressure washer was removing that gunk! All gave it a try, and everyone (including yours truly) came back regaling the therapeutic values of just dumping a half-gallon, cool bucket of water over your body after a hot, hard day’s work.

After all had showered we were called to dinner by Madame Lulu.  Circling the table like hungry vultures, John C. settled us down by having us hold hands while he led us in prayer.  Madame Lulu spread out her arms, welcoming us to our dining experience with a warm Bon Apatite!  Having never tasted Haitian cuisine previous to this trip, I was pleasantly surprised by the fare we had dined upon at the guest house.  But I am here to say very proudly that; Rachel Ray, Emeril Lagasse, and Bobby Flay have nothing, and I mean NOTHING on Madame Lulu!  The woman is a goddess in the kitchen! To make things even more impressive she does it all with nothing more than some simple canned good, seasonings, frozen meat and a propane converted oven/stove that we carried up two flights of stairs and placed inside our temporary dining room.  No million dollar kitchen, no stainless counters, no kitchen aid cooking utensils. Just some simple utensils, a table, a few bowls and one stove! It was fantastic, it was heavenly, and for eight days her cooking was the center of many discussions. What is she going to be cooking tonight? There is no way she can top last night? But she did, she would, and we all loved her for it!

The night ended with some light conversation about the upcoming day along with some devotional time.  During devotional time, John C. asked us to recount three things.  What we liked about today? What we didn’t like about today? And where we had seen God today? 

There were a number of wonderful responses. I remember feeling at ease with the people who surrounded us; blessed by the souls sitting in this circle of trust. Cody was quiet; I believe he’s trying to figure out his place on this strange adventure. Thank goodness he’s formed a bond with Miss Maggie, Heather, Anne and Jan.  They keep him laughing and he returns the favor on a consistent basis.

It had become my turn to answer these three little questions.

  1. What did I like about today? We were finally here after months of planning. All the anticipation of traveling to this land far away and I couldn’t wait to see what unfolded over the next several days.
  2.  What didn’t I like about today? Emotions; overwhelmed by all we had seen up to this point. I thought I was prepared; I studied online and read until my eyes crossed.  Some nights I felt as though Television static was all that buzzed through my brain. 
  3. Where had I seen God?  I had seen God in the faces of all who came together today.  10 individuals who never worked on a project together, combined with 5 Haitians who didn’t know what to expect from us Americans and yet somehow, language barrier and all, we gelled together for one combined purpose.  Destroy an unsafe building furthering the town of Leveque towards building a new safe temple devoted to worship.  Really quite moving when you sit back and think about it?

As the night grew thin, we all sat on the balcony talking, texting, writing, reading and playing games on our phones.  It was nice, very family like when you think about it.   No one could run off and hide like back at home. No television to dull your senses and turn off your ability to interact with others; Just our twelve (Caz & Marcanie included) all sitting in a line, on a balcony, with our feet up, laughing, joking and regaling each other with our own little triumphs during the day.

Heaven is truly where you find it. 

Goodnight Johnboy….

Haiti Mission Trip 2012: part 2 We are guests…

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

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…..

Haiti Misssion trip 2012 part 1

theycallmebetty1 Comment

 

Everyone needs a great adventure! Living life in the same general confines day after day can become mundane at best. This last week my son and I took the adventure of a lifetime. We traveled to Haiti on a mission trip.

Haiti, officially the Republic of Haiti, is a Caribbean country. It occupies the western, smaller portion of the island of Hispaniola, in the Greater Antillean archipelago, which it shares with the Dominican Republic.

In 2010 a 7.0 earthquake struck the city of Leogane, approximately 16 miles west of Port-au-Prince. The devastation to the country was massive. Nearly 220,000 Haitians killed (although government estimates were higher) millions left homeless with no electricity, running water or sanitary services. Billions of dollars in aid were raised, tent cities were built, the dead were buried and the people of Haiti were left to grieve.

June 2012

Mission Impossible

Good morning Mr. Phelps. Your mission if you choose to accept it, meet with ten other like-minded individuals looking to spread gods word and lend a hand to an impoverished country. Appoint a leader from within the ten, who will represent you, your families and the church with the utmost character, honor and dignity. Have that leader appoint jobs that best suit the team. Meet at SFO on the afternoon of June 6th, with clothes, food and enough tools to effectively demolish a building riddled by earthquake damage. Once all is in place load the plane with your team under the assumption you may never return. If you are caught or captured the association will disavow any knowledge of your being. Good luck Mr. Phelps. This note will self destruct in 5 seconds……

Our team.

John C.-Leader code name: Precious

John G.- Co-leader code name: Hammer

Mason- code name: Bieber

Paul- code name: Bubbles

James- code name: OSHA

Cody- code name: Gun Show

Heather- code name: Chicken Head

Anne- code name: The Annimal

Jan- code name: Naj/Cornrow

Maggie- code name: Rosie the Riveter

We met up on the morning of June 6th, pumped and ready to go. Our minds on fire at what we assumed lay before us. We had two teenagers on the team, Cody and Maggie, who were looking for more than just the average “community service credits” to complete high school. More is definitely what they received.

We laughed and joked all the way to the airport. We met Mason and Paul at SFO as they came from another town far away from our own. Having waved goodbye to our loved ones we passed through security and set out on our journey.

First leg; 9 hours of traveling.

Day rolled into night and night back into day. We arrived in Miami on time and drug our tired, sorry butts through the multiple terminals until we settled on gate 24, our new home for the next hour. The tantalizing smells coming from a coffee shop across the way filled our senses and before long we joined the throng of local business travelers drinking coffee, eating pastries and pretending our minds were in the same time zone.

While boarding our flight for the last leg of our journey, I quickly noticed a different mood or demeanor aboard this plane. Gone were the happy, laughing families headed to Miami for a week at South Beach or Disney World. In its place were weary Mission group travelers and grumpy looking businessmen. The flight was quiet and uneventful, we all found a certain irony in the “corn muffin” snack we were given en route to Port au Prince.

Landing in Port-au-Prince it was evident we were no longer in the United States. Uniformed personnel everywhere, passengers ushered like cattle from one place to the next eventually landing in line for immigration to check our documents. Having heard many a horror story about this process I watched intently as the officer checked documents, asked questions, occasionally rolling his eyes and waving on to the next victim. There were only two of them and both seemed like a DMV worker on a bad day.

Finally it was our turn, grabbing Cody we walked up, papers in hand ready to do battle with the icy stare of the immigration agent. He looked me in the eye, stared at my documents, looked at Cody, stared at his documents, stamped them both and waved us through. Not a word passed between us. Seriously? I was shocked! It was nothing as we had been warned. In and out in 15 minutes.

Now here is where you learn the importance of keeping an eye on your bag, like you are told in every airport in every major metropolitan city in America. In Haiti, you need to be the first to grab your bag as it comes off the line. If you aren’t the first to your bag there is a Haitian in a red shirt waiting to grab it for you. Once this happens they want money for handling the bag. It’s that simple. Any job no matter how small means an income for these people. Just a dollar, that’s all it takes. One dollar. If you say yes to grabbing the bags, ten of them will argue over whose claim it is. Its quite shocking at first, but what would you do to feed your family in a country the government has basically left behind?

Luggage gathered we were met by Jackson our church appointed liaison, who had a crew of his own handling our bags. Once identified as being attached to our group the other baggage handlers moved aside out of respect and allowed us all to travel unimpeded to our awaiting vehicles. Arriving at the vehicles we were greeted by two more members of UMVIM (United Methodist Volunteers In Mission) with great big hugs and giant Haiti Hello’s. For our group it was a welcomed sight and tensions eased a bit after the bombardment of hustling for bags from men just trying to earn a buck.

The ride through Port-au-Prince to the guest house was eye-opening to say the least. Devastation, filth, and concrete dust hung in the air. Everything here is built from concrete as wood is a premium. Also concrete handles the bombardment of seasonal hurricanes better than wood products. The roads through the main city were filled with giant pot holes and piles of garbage, abandoned cars and street venders. Some roads had pavement, others were dirt, while some where a battered combination of both. City streets were filled with people, cars, tap-taps and motorcycles. There appears to be no traffic laws as drivers went where they wanted when they wanted with nothing more than the tap of a horn. In Haiti the horn is used the way it was originally intended, to warn you of an upcoming vehicle. Much different from here in the United States where it is considered an insult associated with poor judgement. While stopped trying to wedge our way between another vehicle and motorcycle our vehicle was bum rushed by a handful of children and a few adults. The children with their hands out saying; hello friend, god bless you friend, may I have a dollar? The adults selling bracelets and necklaces or water. We had been warned not to give anything, no matter what for fear of the chaos it would evoke. Yet every fiber of your being wants so desperately to help the children.

The immediate area was dirty, crowded, and smelled of sewage in some spots, but there seemed to be a strange harmony, or rhythm to the controlled chaos surrounding us. We wound our way through the street and alleys, collapsed concrete buildings and fences, eventually driving by a “tent city” that remained in effect. The tent city was at one time an organized neat row of fabric buildings but now were relegated to disgusting shanties and I found it hard to understand how people could live that way. That of course is the ugly, privileged, I am better than you American coming from inside; in hindsight you make the best with what you are given and try to forge ahead. Its human nature. Our driver told us many have deserted the tent cities and are finding better housing but for every family that leaves there are many more taking their place. Crime is rampant inside the tent cities and gangs are claiming areas as their own.

The smell of burning plastic, paper and rubber hung heavy over the area as well. Our diver apologized to us for all we had seen along with the smells. I thought it odd he was apologizing, but what I failed to think about at the time was; this was his home. He remembers the way Haiti used to be, a place of pride for himself and many of his countrymen. It must be sad to see his own people suffering day after day.

The streets climbed upwards, they grew more narrow. Still lined with merchants selling their wares, people bustling about, make shift repair shops, fabricating materials in ally ways the place was alive with activity! It was exciting. In all the dreary colors one thing repeatedly stood out and continued to stand out throughout the trip. The bright, clean pressed, sharply put together uniforms adorned by school children walking in groups around every corner.

I checked in on Cody from time to time during the drive. He was quiet and reserved looking at everything that passed our way. He Had Maggie with him so they were both sharing the very same experience. I was glad they were together, our families have known each other for many years and that simple familiarity goes along way in a foreign place.

We drove by entire blocks of housing crumbled to the ground, tarps covering some with people still living in what was left of their homes. It continued endlessly up the hillside as we rose. Yet there they were, school children, neat, clean and fresh as a daisy. Bright yellow, Blue and grey uniforms all markers of the schools they attended. it was awesome! A smile and wave would get you the same greeting in return. One last turn of a corner and we had arrived. Mission accepted…

The guest house. (to be continued)

Haiti Bound….

theycallmebetty2 Comments

So it begins!!!!

2 hours and counting until my son and I leave the comforts of our humble abode, the loving arms of our family and travel just north of the equator, into the West Indies towards a little island country known as  The Republic of Haiti.

HAITI (noun)
The noun HAITI has 2 senses:
1. a republic in the West Indies on the western part of the island of Hispaniola; achieved independence from France in 1804; the poorest and most illiterate nation in the western hemisphere
2. an island in the West Indies

We will be traveling to the town of Thomas (pronouced To-mah) and working on a job site inside the town of Leveque (pronounced lu-VEK)

Never having been one to make a production out of saying goodbye. I feel the need to profess my profound feeling of pride as we (Cody and I) fall from societies “grid” for 10 days.  Helping people we have never known, making new friends, traversing a language barrier, working hard and hopefully coming back home with a feeling of accomplishment.

Leaving this country, should be an experience to say the least.  At 45 I am not what you would call a “well-traveled” man.  Unless you are referring to moving from state to state behind the wheel of a semi-truck.  Or traveling from north to south within the confines of our own state as part of the Operations of Emergency Services mutual aid response matrix.  If that is the case well then I am certainly “well-traveled” indeed.

Yet I am ready and willing to face the challenges that lay before us.  Excited to have our eyes opened to issues that have befallen a country strife with political corruption and greed.  Knowing the only source of revenue or aid comes directly from the churches.  A stream of assistance the government cannot control for fear of a people led uprising.

So with malaria Tuesday under our belt its officially travel Wednesday.  Our bags are packed well, our clothes have been treated, our snacks laid aside for the roughly 8-10 hour trip that lay before us.  We know not of what we will encounter or the problems that lay ahead.  Yet we are excited and raring to go!  As I sit here typing Cody is becoming one with his inner gamer for the last time. Clearing his head and preparing for the journey.  I too am doing the same but as we all know its writing that clears my head and readies me for the game.

I hope to find some service here and there, so I may blog about our journey.  If not there will definitely be a months worth of material when I return.

So without further ado….  In the skillfully crafted words of the late great Mel Blanc traveling through the wonderful medium of my favorite cartoon character Mr. Yosemite Sam!  Sooooo loonnnng suckers!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Feeling broken

theycallmebetty3 Comments

 

Where did you go?

Who have you become?

I feel as though I don’t know you anymore. As though a stranger has newly entered my life, yet nothing could be further from the truth. I find myself filled with remorse, anger, compassion and hatred all at the same time.  Realizing I shall no longer defend your outrage. I can no longer bear the brunt of destruction you leave behind. Cleaning up your emotional toil in both cumbersome and tiring. You are like a pebble tossed into a pond.  The original hit was you, then slowly you sink to the bottom for safety, while leaving others to ride the waves, praying they don’t drown, hoping to survive.

What made you this way? The person I remember has always been a little angry, somewhat gruff, yet once alone you were charming, and funny.  Somewhere, somehow you made a conscious decision to change for the worse.  You can continue to place blame, to point crooked fingers, but in the end it rides squarely upon your shoulders.

You claim all is not fair, life is not fair, you bellow that nothing is ever done correctly, and you regale how much better life would be without you.  Then flipping as a switch you are back to normal.  On/off, on/off, the effects fleeting at best, but back to normal none the less.  Your emotions can be felt as the constant ticking of a time bomb.  There is no one left to defuse you.

To this I say; There will be no more sleepless nights worrying about your state of mind. I shall portray that of mediator no more. You shall never yell at someone I love again with out serious repercussion.  I will no longer defend absurdity under the guise of being elder. You have chipped the very last fragment of love from my heart. If you wish to be gone from this world than so be it.  You are gone in my eyes, your soul has left my heart, I am empty when it comes to you.

Feeling broken…….

Maybe you were right after all,  Life is not fair.

Faces from our past….

theycallmebetty1 Comment

They leave behind families who know nothing of how, or why. Often misunderstood they rise to the challenge everyday and wish nothing more than the ability to return home to the country they love. Proud, brave and sometimes terrified, they perform under stress as no other. Some becoming what legends are made of, others lives are changed forever. 

It takes a special person to perform their particular duties and as Americans we should show nothing but respect not only for those who return, but for the fallen as well.  It has often been said that our WWII veterans were the greatest generation.  They sacrificed all for our country.  If those men and women set the standard then I believe all fallen soldiers should be held with the same regard.  None of them wished to perish, none of them woke up one particular morning thinking today is my last day. None of them asked to be subjected to the horrors of war, to losing fellow soldiers and thier friends.   They all knew the job that laid before them.  They all knew the risks associated, and yet each and every one of them stepped forward with honor and integrity, putting aside personal feelings of dread to complete a task for you, for us, for themselves and for our country.

Can you say you would do the same thing?

Wont you join me today as I hang my head and humbly say a prayer to all soldiers lost in many theatres across the world over multiple generations? 

It is after all Memorial day-not national BBQ day.

To all soldiers in every branch of service I say;  Thank you for your service to our country and may God bless you, and your family.

Remember the fallen, respect those who remain. 

I can’t

theycallmebetty1 Comment

I hate the phrase “I can’t”! Really, it should be stricken from use in all societies! Think about it, I CAN’T! It really, truly means “I won’t”. It means you made up your mind there is no possible way to participate, take part in, or just do what you have been asked.

Children use this phrase the most. After careful examination of the issue or task at hand most usually find out they “can”. In our house nothing drives me crazy more than a child that says “I can’t”. Nothing drives me even crazier than a parent that says; its ok honey I understand. Which empowers the child to fail on a consistent basis because it is now a learned habit!

What if our entire civilization centered on that phrase? What if all we knew was failure? What if every time something needed to be done, we all stood up at once and said “I can’t”?

Every society is filled with individuals that continue to rise to the challenge. People who know nothing but success. We worship them, we sit back in our Lazy-Boys, turn to our spouses and usually spout some useless dribble like; I could have done that or if I had been born with a silver spoon in my mouth I would have succeeded also. But what is the real issue here? The real issue is that you have resigned yourself to living the life of “I can’t”.

Now I suppose there is the argument between “I can’t” and ” I won’t”. There are many of you out there that admittedly “wont” act when called upon. “Wont” try something new. “Wont” go that extra mile out of fear. But I argue this, “Wont” is not the same as “Cant”. People who claim they “wont” attempt something usually know their limitations. Most individuals I have run into through my 17 years of working side by side with type “A” personalities will use the “wont” not as an excuse, but because at some point in there lives “I can” allowed them the opportunity to try. They wont, because they know just how far they can push themselves; this comes from experience, having tried different measures of success numerous times in the past.

I know there are a thousand excuses for “I can’t”. A thousand hypotheticals; If someone asked you to jump off a cliff wouldn’t you say “I can’t”? My answer would be; no I would say “I wont” jump off the cliff because I know it would be detrimental to my health. Having learned the meaning off pain from falling out of a tree house as a child.

So don’t bore me with that crap.

I speak from experience. I used to be the guy who sat back and said; I could do that, without any follow through. Then one day, a long time ago I decided to become a firefighter. Everyone I knew told me it would never happen. I was uneducated, to old (they only hire 18-22 year olds you know), fat and out of shape. I heard all the excuses. Just about the time I was ready to spout an “I can’t”, I woke up and told myself “I can”. I can do anything I put my mind too. I can succeed at what ever is put before me. There is no failure when you have tried and given it 100% effort. Win lose or draw you could, you did, you learned, you survived and by not caving into “I can’t” ideology. You succeeded.

So my question is this, what kind of world would we live in if there was no such phrase as “I can’t”? If we all lived by the rule of “I can try” at least once.

Once……..

On vacation?

theycallmebetty1 Comment

 

Vacation.  The feel of sand between your toes, waves crashing upon some forgotten shore, the serenity of being one with your surroundings. Also one with an ice-cold beer..

or

Sweat pouring from your brow as you traverse a narrow trail on a ridgeline at 8000 feet.  The air is crisp and so are your thoughts because at this height you feel closer to heaven.  To your left unparalleled views, to your right a crevasse that would surely scare even the most steadfast of climbers. But up you go, you are living life to the fullest, you have one week of vacation per year that’s all yours and you are living it up! Beaches are for the weak.

or

Really? One more monument to go, man my dogs are barking!  Cant everyone else just go on without me? I know this is the trip of a lifetime, but do we have to use my entire lifetime up right now? Ok I am coming, just one more monument; right?  Then we can go back to the hotel bar and start self medicating this foot pain away!  Never knew I was going to take a week off to walk a thousand miles while sightseeing  our nations tributes to history! What a moron, I wish I was at a beach some where.

Is this what vacation means to you? Does any of this sound familiar or ring true? Well these were actual examples of vacations I have been on in the past.  Times that were special in their own ways.  Moments I will cherish and remember always.

So where did Betty go this past week?  What kind of vacation did I embark upon?  Was it mind-blowing fun, thought-provoking, or calm and relaxing? Nope! It was none of those things at all!  It was hard work, “Survivor” like, mentally taxing and filled with all the challenges a parent could possibly handle!

I went to the fair!  Yep that’s right boys and girls Betty packed up her things, loaded up the kids and all their animals and headed to the fair!  Why you ask?  Well let me enlighten you; here in good old Redneckville USA we take great pride in our animals! Some would even say we love our animals first, family second!  Now hold on a minute it’s not like that you crazy fool! Kids around these parts are all part of a national organization (no not the Nazi youth movement you filthy animal) called 4-H.  In 4-H kids learn about raising animals for commercial markets along with developing breeding programs, ultimately enabling or teaching them the ability to carry on farming.  As kids get older and enter high school many of them join FFA or Future Farmers of America.  With hard work and acquired skills there are endless scholarship possibilities for these young go getter’s.

So we packed up our little 4-Hers, loaded up their animals and headed to the local fair for a week of washing. trimming, showing, and eventually selling their animals at auction.  The kids receive a check for all the hard work which is placed back into the bank to start next years project.  With a little luck and a lot of hard work a kid could have enough money saved by college to pay for a years worth of school.  Throw in a few scholarships and you can plainly see the advantage to this program.

I am the leader of the pig group (insert snort, chuckle here) and we arrived with 6 clean and happy pigs!  They laid around and let thousands of people gaze upon their little snouts.  Our kids from the group did a great job of enticing young ones to step up and pet the pig ( a phrase that means something entirely different in other circles) they also explained how pigs are raised, what they eat, where they sleeps and why they like to cover themselves in mud. The fair always reminds I take for granted my country upbringing as I answer questions from parents and children who have spent their entire lives inside the city limits.  It really is a bubble we place ourselves inside.

Back to the fair…

So the fair.  What can I possibly say about spending my week’s vacation at the fair.  I know I have said this before but I am going to say it again: (old guy moment) In my day the fair didn’t cost you an arm and a leg!  In my day you didn’t need to give blood just to purchase a corn dog!  When I was a kid I could go to the fair with 40 bucks on Monday and be using the last of it on Friday. That is a whole week of rides and corn dogs, cinnamon rolls and soda for $40.00!  Today $40.00 will get you 4 corn dogs and two beers then you better pony up at the ATM so maybe just maybe you might have enough extra cash to buy your way off the grounds.  Got the kids with you, just leave your wallet at the main gate cause your cashing in your IRA’s to pay for this excursion!  $29.00 dollars for a carnival ride wristband! Times that by four and you can see how this trip can rapidly force you to file chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. Speaking of carnival rides, one thing that hasn’t changed over the 37 years I have been going to the local fair is the carnival ride operators or “carnies”.  These toothless gems of salesmanship and lack of hygiene still rule the roost.  Long hair, beards, toothless grins, scrawny beat up demeanor, most looking as though they just popped out of a heroine coma long enough to pull their shift on the Zipper.  What would a carnival area be without them,  and yet we trust our children with their safety.  If you saw any one of these gents strolling down the street you would cross to the other side and not make eye contact.  You would lean over to your kid and whisper “remember when I told you about strange people to stay away from? Theres your example”.  STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER-STRANGER DANGER!!!!

I am sure Carnies are really nice people deep down inside, heck catch one right between coming down off the coke and mellowing out on some refer and you got yourself a free prized stuffed animal to take home!  Whoop Whoop!! It’s nice to see some things never change…..

Besides the animals, food, and carnival rides our fair still has the charming buildings filled with award-winning arts and crafts.  I have always found other people’s creativity or lack there of, interesting.  There are hog calling contests, horse shows, sheep shows, goat and cattle shows.  Rabbitts, chickens, turkey, and quail.  It really was a great week of people watching, and developing better interpersonal skills.

Definition: I drank beer and bullshitted with other parents for an ungodly amount of time.

The best part of all?

Watching the kids smile, make new friends,  have fun and create memories that will last a lifetime!

 

Betty’s Words of Wisdom

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

A vacation doesn’t need to be on a desert island far, far away; or some destination you have always wished to visit.  A vacation can be as simple as pulling back from current responsibilities, relieving some mental pressure, regrouping your thoughts and allowing you brain to rest. 

Betty is back, more to follow..    🙂