with wide eyes and a hopeless stare

Patrick came into the tiled room where I was sitting, and exclaimed, “I just read the news and Barack Obama is not taking any lobbyist money for the general election! He might really be a changing force. He might be the real deal!!” Turning my eyes from the small shoeless child carrying the big plastic chairs on his head up the hill, I managed to Patrick, “I certainly hope so.”

There is a relief in returning to Haiti, although I wish the flight to Haiti from Miami was a longer one; maybe then, I could justify the vast gulf in quality of life. When it took two days to get to Dhaka, that same gulf seemed better explained. My few journeys to Haiti are eerily similar to each other. On the way to National Airport, again I had a Ghanan taxi driver. And again, my initial land-travel in Haiti allowed the first force I encountered to be a huge UN tank, this time the tank was making a u-turn in the middle of a shanty community, for several minutes. I have noticed a few welcomed changes: the airport had air conditioning; I did not have to risk getting a ride with a stranger in the high kidnapping zone because I was traveling with Theresa; rather than taking the small plane to Les Cayes, I was able to rest in Port-au-Prince for the afternoon.

I have spent several hours talking, walking, and “shopping” with Marie-Denise a single, thirty-two-year-old, woman who is obviously much wiser and more cautious than me. You know - - it is just so flattering when conversations with new Haitian friends begin with something like, “Your eyes good. Bleu.” Ahh, the flattery. “Ou travey Delmas?”
“Secretary. But now I am not working.”
She wants to be a Canadian.
I told her that I want to see the Citadel in the north because I am so interested in Henri Christophe. (Now just imagine someone telling you something like, “I SO admire, George Washington.”)
“Ou renmen Barack Obama?”
“We!! Ay, mwen pa renmen Hillary Clinton.”
“Kisa?”
“Hillary Clinton vele plus bagay. Automobiles, maisons, gourdes. Barack gan petite maison.”
“Dakore. You say she wants many things. But how can a nationality Kenyan run for President in Etase Unie?”
“Papa Kenyan. Mama American. Barack American.”

Until Tuesday, I will stay at a church-twinning guesthouse in PAP. As you can see from the photo of my room, we have electricity for about half of each day! And, the room is screened on the top, so I don't require a net. Americans stay here on their way to or from their twin parishes all over Haiti. This will be my home-away-from-home when I come to PAP one or two weekends a month to take care of business, purchase medicines, and so on. The house and fantastic gift shop is run by Sr. Mary, a graduate of Catholic University and a former academic at the University of Buffalo she came to Haiti for the first time three years ago, and for reasons just as illogical as my own. I am unclear about the whole story yet, but she said that in the 1970’s she was in Peru with Gustavo Gutierrez and was connected to the Latin American liberation theologians. Of course I am looking forward to hearing about all of that.

Theresa flew up to Port-au-Paix Friday morning to visit a parish. She invited me to come along because the arrangements for my business here in Port-au-Prince have been postponed, however I have decided to stay here and rest. I am tempted to American friends in PAP who run the Red Cross and other things here, or I may just relax for a few days.

The time passes slowly in Haiti. It can be torturous. It can be freedom.

On Thursday, I met Patrick in one of those happenstance situations in which travelers encounter one another and the world; - his flight back to Cuba was canceled. He grew up in Anchorage, went to UCLA, and now is a fourth year med student at UCSF, currently on a leave of absence. Growing antsy in Cuba, Port-au-Prince became an exciting option. Friday night he returned to San Francisco to visit his girlfriend, and then he is off to India where he will take a month long class with Jamkhed. For the next year, he will use a grant to study anti-malarials as partial HIV/AIDS treatments for pregnant women in Uganda.

Friday morning we walked to Mother Theresa’s place here in Port-au-Prince. On Thursday Patrick was in Cite Soleil at a clinic. His first three patients were the sickest people he had ever seen: 1) diagnosed with full-blown AIDS (sores all over his body), 2) gangrene from a cut washed with dirty water, (the man was brought to the clinic in a wheel barrow), 3) a woman literally dying of the hunger that all three of them experience. When he told the Sisters at Mother Theresa’s that he was able to help in some medical capacity, he was told, “No no no no!” Why the Missionaries of Charity choose chaos over the embrace of a responsible level of medical care for the sick and dying is beyond me. If Patrick showed up at Partners in Health he would also be refused, but that is because at PIH, they believe in a preferential option for the poor. Missionaries of Charity find some kind of beauty in the idea of the poor always being with us. As one doctor wrote of their shop in Calcutta, many years ago, “I could not judge the power of their spiritual approach, but I was disturbed to learn that the formula includes no strong analgesics.”

There is nothing quite like watching a one year old sick child sit straight up in her crib, hold on to a spoon, and feed herself like a robot with wide eyes and a hopeless stare. No crying, no looking at the bowl. Just feeding. I fed two sick babies with one small bowl of porage. Their arms were so skinny, and their back bones and spines where sticking out. I made friends with Fedney, no idea how old he is, but his smile was beautiful. He sat on my lap most of the morning while little girls did my hair and a boy in a dress stared with distress at me from afar, under the grapevine that canopies their playground.

I thought of Dr. Chris yesterday, and the poverty on Il a Vasche where we met, and I thought of how much I admire and respect him. I also thought of all the other Haitian doctors who are determined to provide a high quality of care to their own country. I look forward to the water, and the mountains, and the village, and my work.

Someone mailed a card. Sister Mary misplaced it. Thank you, though, to whomever it was that sent it. The private mail system via this address is pretty reliable. I will be in Port au Prince one to two weekends a month, so I can retrieve it them. Rather than frequent mass emails, I will be blogging as often as I can, so feel free to save this link and check it for my Haiti updates. I am also excited to host you when you visit Haiti!!!

Justice lies at the threshold and begs; the guest within, in the house of the pans, is Injustice, the evil one. They invite her with laughter into their palace, and for Injustice they pour the full flagon of mead. – from Stories of God, by Rilke