a1832: Travel Adventure (fwd)

[Bob Corbett <corbetre@webster.edu>]

From: riwilson <RIWILSON@maf.org>

        Benjamin Guy David, a large man who resembles Louis Armstrong in
     voice and mannerisms, stopped by and asked me if I would come to Okap
     (Cap Haitian) and preach for a new church he had started there.  I
     agreed.
        It took some planning.  First, I decided I did not want to ride a
     bus to Okap, it would take too long.  I had only a weekend to do this.
     So I decided to fly to Okap with my friend Denis Archimel from
     Port-des-Paix).
        We left early on Saturday morning and arrived by 9:30 A.M. in Okap.
     The mountains of Haiti were beautiful to fly over--but so barren!
     Very few trees.  One mountain stood out because its top was covered
     with trees.
        Benjamin Guy David met us at the airport.  We then walked to the
     highway to get a tap tap.  I was looking forward to seeing his church
     and meeting the people.  What I didn't realize yet was that Okap (Cap
     Haitian) was just the place where the plane landed.  it was not where
     we were headed.  Three tap taps later we arrived in Port Margot.
        On the way up the final mountain to Port Margot the ailing Toyota
     truck could barely move, which was beneficial for at least one
     passenger who fell off the back of the truck after it fell into a
     large hole in the road.  People began to shout (I was riding in the
     cab scrunched between the driver and the money taker).  We stopped
     while the man picked himself up off the road and climbed back into the
     truck.
        After arriving in Port Margot, two and a half hours after landing
     in Cap haitian, we began walking.  Three hours later and close to
     nightfall we found ourselves in a small group of houses (not even a
     village) and it was raining.
        We settled into a small three room Haitian house.  It had a dirt
     floor and only two beds.  The other rooms were empty.  The rain came
     down harder.  Breaking out flashlights we were able to unpack and
     settle in--I was to preach that night, maybe.  Rain sometimes kills
     off meetings in Haiti.  But no, we held services.  But the people took
     me by surprise.
        The audience was all children, ages 5-12 or thirteen.  So I shifted
     gears.  instead of preaching an adult sermon I used a story telling
     style I would use for a church camp or Vacation Bible School.  The
     childre were fascinated, and not just because of my story telling
     ability but also because I was  "blan."
        After services we ate, beans and rice with a delicious sauce poured
     over it.  The people feeding us had only one set of dishes and two
     pots and a skillet.  They washed our plates so they could then eat.
     We were a great inconvenience but they welcomed us with great
     hospitality.
        Sunday morning I met the congregation of adults.  Many had had to
     walk miles down the mountain to come.  We had maybe 50 adults plus
     children.  Services were being held in the local school.
        The teacher for the school was holding school in this buliding with
     no books, paper, pencils--just a black board (broken) and some chalk.
     He was doing so without pay because the children needed it.  Of
     course, I was asked for money and support both for the church and
     school.  This was to be expected.  Not being wealthy I could not give
     them any long term help.  They understood, they said.  But they really
     knew that all "blan" from America are wealthy, so I must be just
     cheap.
        We had to start back to Cap Haitian right after morning services in
     order to arrive at the airport for a 7 A.M. flight back to
     Port-au-Prince.  After riding the same three tap taps back to Cap
     Haitian.  Our last tap tap driver came upon a Ra-Ra band forming on the
     highway.  He never slowed a bit,  instead he laid on the horn, flashed
     his lights and charged forward into the band.  The man holding the red
     flag waved him through as people scattered off the highway. Whew!
        We got off the last tap tap in a teeming neighborhood in Cap
     Haitian.  We had to climb mounds of earth mixed with garbage and trash
     and navigate an open sewer to get to Belony Guy David's cousin's
     house--or what was left of it.
        The city officials had bull-dozed half the house.  The people had
     one week to find other accomodations--fat chance.  The problem?  the
     landlord had built the house too close to an open drainage ditch.  So
     the city simply knocked down half the house and ordered everyone out.
     Let's see the mayor of Bloomington, Indiana try that!
        Tired, hot, dusty and hungery.  We sat on the front porch resting.
     I broke out my one pound jar of peanut butter I always carry on trips.
     The only food David's cousin's wife had was six small rolls--all they
     had in the house to eat.  I gave them money to go buy six Pepsi's to
     drink--they were ice cold and delicious.
        After eating we went immediately to bed--as guests they gave us
     their best bed.  We were sleeping on mattresses covered with plastic.
     All windows and doors were closed and locked, for security.  But this
     increased the heat and humidity levels.  But after living in Haiti for
     a while you become used to that.
        As we departed the next morning, before dawn, I gave the woman of
     the house the rest of my jar of peanut butter as a gift--it wasn't
     much but it would help them eat a meal or two.  We prayed together.
        Arriving at the airfield we sttod amazed at the beauty of the early
     dawn.  As we did so our plk\ane landed, early, to take us back to
     Port-au-Prince.  Almost the end of a memorable trip.
        Once again, the beauty, patience, and faith of the Haitians I met
     on this trip impressed me.  Very few of those I met will ever ride a
     plane to Port-au-Prince, let alone to Miami.  But they will keep on
     keeping on.  Remembr them, won't you, as you go about your day?

     Richard Wilson