Whap! Exilia’s towel smacked against the side of her leg again. The sound echoed from the benches behind her as all the ladies swatted at the pesky mosquitos that seemed to fill the air. The cute little incense coils had now smoked their way to mere ash piles in their unnoticeable efforts to keep at least a few mosquitos away. The air was still and muggy. The sweat ran. Children squirmed. Exilia looked at me and smiled as she swatted a mosquito away from Bethany’s ankles, a smile of understanding, as if to say, we’re glad we’re here anyway. We sang and enjoyed the Sunday morning message in spite of the potential distractions.
The hot, muggy conditions have made it a perfect time for the little biters to breed and accompany us for every service, but the mosquito population isn’t the only thing growing. As we began a new series of baptism/membership classes on Friday, we were more than happy to have two new converts among those in attendance.
Remember the story about the fireball lady out in front of the church gate who was selling beer out of her cooler with her coke, and refused to admit that it could be wrong, as well as living with her latest boyfriend? Well, she’s one of them. She says she got rid of her boyfriend, she’s done with that old life, and she’s gotten right with God. A new demeanor of meekness seems to bear witness of this inward change.
The other one is a very quiet young man whose girlfriend has been coming on Sundays for quite some time. He also says he’s done with the things of the world and ready to be sold out to God. He and his girlfriend are both in the baptism class.
* * *
Rain pounded on the metal roof while everyone sat quietly, unable to hear each other talk over the heavy sound.
We slipped into our seats, trying not to track too much mud across the floor. We had been caught in the downpour while only halfway to church, and were glad to now be inside the dry building. Ramou came in a few minutes behind us, looking like he was soaked to the bone.
While we sat and swatted mosquitos and waited for the rain to subside in order to start the service, I thought back to a year or so ago when a sudden rain shower had dumped buckets during a Sunday evening Bible study. That time, though, we were in the little stick church, without walls to keep the blowing rain out. The service was almost over, but no one could leave during such a massive downpour. Before long, the whole crowd of people were smashed tight onto half the benches, trying to get away from the water that blew through the palm leaves that were only good for making shade. After a short time of just listening to the rain on the roof, we decided to get our books back out and sing. And we sang! What a sound was lifted up to heaven while we all huddled together and sang our hearts out.
I smiled at the precious memory, but I was sure glad now for the sturdy block building we were in. I moved a little further from the window so the mist wouldn’t get baby Andrew wet. Once the rain subsided, we carried on with another encouraging Bible study.
* * *
“Abram, do you want to help me take this plate out to that man?” I asked. We were busy as usual, in the middle of a school day, and a little old man was out hoeing the garden in the sun. He had knocked on the gate that morning, hoe in hand, looking for work, so Barry set him to work on the weeds that were growing quickly with all the rain. It was getting close to noon, and I hadn’t planned on making anything special for myself and the children for lunch, but I felt bad for this frail old man out working so hard. I didn’t have time for rice and beans, and I was anxious to get on with other things I had planned for the day, but I felt like I should feed him. Then I remembered last night’s spaghetti in the fridge. It was the perfect amount for a good size Haitian serving. I quickly heated it up, put the noodles on the plate, topped them neatly with the homemade sauce, and put a sweet muffin on the side for a little something extra. Abram was glad to help. The man was standing just out side the door waiting on his food and water. I opened the door so Abram could easily slip out and practice serving. He didn’t make it far. Just as he was about to step out, the plate plummeted and it all went upside down. There sat the quick, yummy spaghetti, right where everyone steps with their pig barn shoes. The old man watched the whole thing. Unsure of what to do, I stared for a moment, inwardly hoping he would say, “Aw that’s ok.” But he didn’t.
All he said was “He can’t carry it.” I apologized and said I’d have to make him more food. “Yes.” He replied dryly. Now there was no way out. He knew we intended to feed him, so my other plans would have to wait. Another batch of spaghetti was the quickest thing on the menu. Half an hour later I had another heaping plateful of spaghetti with homemade sauce, plenty of meat, and a coke with ice. This time I took it out myself and set it on the table, certain this little old guy would be so glad for a hot meal, especially since it was getting late. I sent one of the children to tell him we had food again. Without so much as a thank you or bowing his head to thank the Lord, he sat and started into his big plate of spaghetti. He only ate half of it.
* * * *
As news spread of another series of rioting and roadblocks, we knew we had to prepare a few things. The one major thing that we always need to have on hand is plenty of feed for the 100+ hogs that are on the little farm. It’s usually no problem to run to Port-au-Prince, load up the box truck, and come back. This time, there was a new challenge.
Heavy rainfall had caused significant damage to a bridge in Cabaret, right along Route National 1, the main stretch of blacktop. It was deemed impassable. Taptaps that would normally run all the way to Port-au-Prince from Arcahaie were driving to the bridge, where people then unloaded, crossed to the other side, and got in another waiting vehicle on the other side.
Barry weighed his options. He would have to either drive far out of the way, through the mountains, which would be rather difficult in the box truck with all the weight and troublesome brakes. It could hardly be done. The other option was to call the feed place and see if they would have a truck available to meet him at the bridge. Also a challenging option.
He decided to get in the box truck and head that way to see first hand what was going on with the bridge situation. He stopped at the bank first and withdrew money for several different uses. Any significant amount of Haitian Gouds creates a bit of a bulge in the pocket, and this time Barry had a bulge on each side.
When he stopped the box truck and got out to look at the bridge, there were two “helpful” young men right there to offer to show him where to go to get around. They appeared to be heavily influenced by the American rap scene, and had the aura of genuine gangsters. Or at least aspiring to be. One of them stood shoulder to shoulder with him, nudging him toward a lane that Barry knew to be a dead end. They were adamant they wanted to show him the way across the river, but an inclination told Barry to decline their help and get back in the truck. They were persistent, and didn’t want to let him go. He was finally able to get away by taking one of their phone number, with a promise to call when he was ready for their help.
“Those men were going to rob you for sure,” a middle aged Haitian told him later that day as Barry recounted the incident.
It wasn’t long after that that we received word the bridge had been temporarily filled in and fixed enough use now, so Barry was able to zip to town, get the pig feed, and be safely back home in a half day. With fuel, pig feed, and rice on hand, we feel prepared to stay put for a while if the riots get bad again.
* * *
The rioting did, in fact, begin on Sunday. “We can’t ask Anouce to risk his life to come today,” Barry told me at the breakfast table that morning. Titanyen, where Anouce lives, is 30 minutes away and often the heat of the battle lies between us and him. He definitely shouldn’t come.
“You’ll just have to preach in Creole,” I told him with a smile. “You’ll do fine.” He’s been transitioning into it for months anyway, and Anouce is often just there for help with phrasing things he’s not sure about. So it was that Barry preached his second message ever in Creole, and did fine. After asking the church what they thought, they said they like it better without having a translator and hearing right from Barry, even if his Creole isn’t perfect. However, since there are Americans who come about every other Sunday who aren’t fluent with the language, they decided that using Anouce every other Sunday would be good for a while. The progress is exciting!
****
Here at the farm, where the mission house is, the animals are successfully reproducing and growing. We weren’t sure what to do with the rabbits that were almost too many to count, but we’ve now found a buyer. Caribbean supermarket just bought a dozen of them butchered and ready to package, and said they’ll take all we can bring them. The hogs now, are being taken to an American farmer who’s living in Haiti running a butcher shop.
After months of preparing the soil with manure, turning, hoeing, more manure, and more hoeing, we finally planted a little garden in the shade house that was put up in March. The soil is rich and loose. With all the rain in the evenings, we’re hoping it was the right time to see if we can grow some food!
Thanks for checking in with us again! God hears your prayers and we are thankful for them!
Bondye beni ou!
