Saturday, February 07,
2015
The sun has just slipped behind the island, the hush of dusk falls over
the beach. We move our chairs to sit
around the pool (really just an empty basin – a very deep swimming pool that
has been out of service since the former owner left), taking advantage of the
last few minutes of light and silence.
We watch the sky as it turns all hues of rosy-pinks, golden, and
silvery-blues. The first star appears
overhead and an even deeper quiet ensues.
When the kids finally realize we are too enrapt in the moment to answer
their never-ending questions they climb on the trampoline and jump. Soon it is too dark to see; so dark we can
hardly remember how bright the sun had been shining only a short while before.
Just when the silence becomes more unnerving than peaceful we hear the
creak and slam of metal. The door swings
open; we cannot see it, but we know from the sound. Pastor Kiki is home! We listen intently as his sandaled feet cross
the rocky yard. Even the children are
quiet now and have ceased their jumping.
The silence grows more intense, impatience causing the wait to feel like
an eternity. Then, suddenly, the roar of
a motor cuts the silence like the last stroke of an axe felling a tree. Every wall echoes with the sound. Over that we hear, “Way, yay! Way, yay! Way,
yay!” The children are back up, jumping
with all their might, shouting with glee.
And then…light. Fans. Computers.
Electricity. The generator is on.
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The above account is (or was) our
nightly ritual. The kids know what it
means for the generator to be on.
Computers, movie time, ice from the freezer, and more. So every time they hear the generator the
chant begins: “Way, yay! Way, yay! Way, yay!”
Over and over. Every night,
without fail.
What’s so funny is that, with the
help of some of our partners, we now have an inverter and solar panels, which
means we don’t have to turn on the generator as often. So on most nights, now we are able to simply
flip a switch and the lights go on. Of
course, when the solar panels don’t give enough charge to the batteries, or if
we have to run more things than the inverter can hold, on goes the
generator. But even if the lights are
already lit, phones and computers already charging, as soon as the sound of
that generator hits their ears, the children start their shouting chant, “Way,
yay! Way, yay! Way, yay!” Even with more
reliable electricity, they still don’t take it for granted.
I’ve learned a lot of things,
living in Haiti. One of the most
important lessons, though, is not to take blessings for granted. Or even, to open my eyes to understand what
truly is a blessing. Growing up in the
United States, I never would have considered electricity to be a blessing; it was a fact of life. Same with air conditioning, cold drinks,
having gas in the tank, finding gas
to put in the tank, hot water for
showers, etc. I never even thought about
it. But since moving to Haiti I’ve been
learning the meaning of the cliché phrase: “You never know what you had it ‘til
it’s gone.” And learning to appreciate
it when I do have it, whatever it
is. Especially electricity. Sometimes I’m even tempted to join in the
chant: “Way, yay! Way, yay! Way, yay!”
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