Moving uphill...

Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010 3:45 p.m.

It was a normal day in Haiti, and we were busy constructing a new tarp roof for the yard, when a sudden phone call interrupted our plans for the evening and the rest of the week...probably longer. Apparently in the short time Wilckly had been gone from the construction sites uphill a man had stolen half our cement and broken apart our newly laid foundation, then called him to brag about it. Wilckly and Dee immediately left to meet with the officials about having him arrested, and the rest of us marched uphill to assess the damage. When they returned, Wilckly announced his decision that from now on at least one of us must be uphill at all times...and so the long-awaited move finally took place.

That first night we slept in a half-finished house with only a tarp for a roof...we were hoping for no roof so we could fall asleep under the stars, but as soon as the men finished putting up the tarp rain began to fall...once again, as always, God knew what He was doing. It was a cool and quiet night, and so peaceful compared to the yard filled with crying babies and barking dogs. And then we woke up to a gorgeous sunrise over the ocean, which we can see from the foot of the mountain where the land is being cleared. So beautiful.

Since then, every night, and taking turns throughout the day, we have been uphill, overlooking construction, painting, and organizing supplies in containers. I can hardly believe how different, how developed, the land looks, even from two months ago when I first returned here. No matter how badly some people here want our plans to go awry, God is continually showing us His sovereignty by providing ways for everything to get done, even when it seems impossible. And at the same time, He has blessed us with a somewhat peaceful place where we can get away every once in a while. His grace never ceases to astound me.

A new account of my typical day in Haiti...

Wednesday, March 10^th, 2010 6:15p.m.

The time has come once again, for a descriptive account of my

daily life here in Haiti this year. Now that we have come to some

point of consistency (as much consistency as is possible

in this country) I am able to give one:

I am pulled out a light sleep by the sound of clear, passionate Haitian voices carried through the cool, early morning air to my ears. I roll over on my cot, pull the blanket up to my chin and slowly open my eyes. It is still dark, the sky is sprinkled with stars, it is maybe 5:00 a.m., and Taz Kafe Sho (“Hot Cup of Coffee”), the daily before-dawn church service, is in full swing. I fall back asleep listening to the lively melodies the people raise up in praise of their Savior.

Around 6:30 a.m. I awake again, this time to broad daylight, puppies barking as they play-fight on the ground near our beds, guinea hens screeching, goats running out the gate on their way to the open fields, the boys pushing squeaky wheelbarrows filled with trash to be burned, and ladies rushing around to clean up and prepare breakfast. I make my bed, greet everyone I pass with “Bonjou,” and ask hopefully if it is possible for the ladies to make some dlo sho (“hot water”) for my bath. This is not by any means any everyday occurrence, but every once in a while we are granted the delightful opportunity to enjoy a warm bath after a cold, 65 degree night.

After a bath, devotions, and a breakfast of of spaghetti and fresh bread just bought on the street, the day has officially begun. For me there are papers to file, distribution lists to type, financial records to keep, rice and beans to measure and bag, e-mails to send, and blog entries to post. We take turns on the computers, internet and copier while the generator is running, and do our best to take advantage of the limited time we have with electricity.

Many times while in the middle of one of the above mentioned projects construction materials for one of the numerous construction projects Wilckly is conducting run out, and I am asked to go on an errand to buy more. I grab my backpack and some money, throw on a skirt over my shorts, and Elves, our driver, Smith, one of the boys, and I hop in the dump truck and drive to the nearby town of Williamson to “ashte” some cement, sand, rebar, or tin. Usually we stop on the way back to refuel the truck and buy some Cokes at the gas station, then it’s back to the yard to unload.

By now it is mid-afternoon, and our typical lunch of rice and beans and chicken (sometimes with a pleasant surprise of corn, carrots, or even salad on the side!) is served. After lunch we relax for a little while…I read, write, or play with the kids…then we finish up any work leftover from the morning. Very quickly the sun sinks low in the western sky, and all five of us: Kiki, Dee, Crash, Crystal, and I make the hike uphill to look over the work the men have completed that day. Already the land looks so different: it has been cleared of rocks and brush and thorns, a path made for the truck, tin fences are up, a foundation has been laid for a house and another is in progress, and two empty containers sit near the bottom, ready to be used for storage. We sit on the foundation, talking about the worries and stresses of the day, laughing and encouraging each other, and watching the sunset create a brilliant tapestry of golden-oranges and rosy-pinks over the cerulean blue of the ocean.

When it is dark we walk back down the mountain, followed by our ever-faithful watch dogs, and enter the gate, to be greeted by the fifty or so people who still spend every night underneath the tarps on the ground in our yard. A couple of hours later, when everyone has finally settled down, we don our warm clothes, make sure the inverter has enough charge to keep the yard lit all night, and make our way to our beds where we read, talk or listen to music until we fall asleep. The night is interspersed with sounds of babies crying, roosters crowing (by the way, it is an enormous falsehood that roosters only crow at the rising of the sun), and seven dogs all barking at once when they don’t recognize someone who has entered the yard, but for the most part we are able to sleep, and awaken – sometimes refreshed, sometimes not so much - ready for the next day.

What To Do When It Rains...After An Earthquake...In Haiti:

Sunday, February 28th, 2010

Step 1: Sit inside.

Step 2: When the Haitians "remind" you for the fifty-seventh time that it isn't safe to sit inside, re-locate to the outdoor office.

Step 3: Place large tarp over the "office," which includes: you, a desk, a chair, a computer, the internet modem, and cords.

Step 4: Watch a movie with some friends in the office under the tarp while munching on Pringles, canned peaches, and candy.

Step 5: Move office back inside when the light rain becomes a downpour and threatens to flood the theater.

Step 6: Dry off all electronic devices and cords.

Step 7: Decide it's time for bed.

Step 8: Move beds away from torn areas in tarps.

Step 9: Attempt to fall asleep, only to be rudely interrupted by raindrops that have made their way through holes in the tarps and

onto your face.

Step 10: Move beds again.

Step 11: Re-position yourself and the blankets on your bed so as to not repeat step 9.

Step 12: Attempt to fall asleep - again - to the sound of rain on a tarp...and pouring off of a tarp...onto you.