One thing that's difficult about being on the mission field long term is watching other missionaries leave to go home. Recently we said farewell to a family from CAM who have become our dear friends, as they frequently attended church with us and shared a meal afterward. Things are always changing, and its their turn to return home to the States and resume life there. They came for a final Sunday service. At the close of the service, Pastor Bazalet asked our friend to lead in prayer. His voice faltered as he said good-bye to the church people and encouraged them to stay strong despite the difficulties they encounter living for Christ in Haiti. It was an emotional moment for many of us, as tensions are already high with the current state of the country and challenges that come with it.
Despite the incessant protests consisting of roadblocks, rioting, and violence all over Haiti, our church was able to host a one-day seminar for pastors. Twelve pastors came for a series of messages covering some common issues within the churches in Haiti. They had plenty of questions, and lively discussion followed each sermon as Barry gave responses.
Wednesday, September 25th, it was our turn to say farewell to Arcahaie and the mission house. Several months ago, we had purchased tickets to go home on furlough, planning to leave on Thursday. As political tensions mounted through the week and violence increased, we knew that we had to at least try to get to Port-au-Prince the day before our scheduled flight and check into a hotel very near the airport. For days we heard one thing after another that was a potential obstacle to us getting on the plane. Monday we heard that the damaged bridge just outside Cabaret had been finished off in the middle of the night by a band of thugs. Crossing this bridge was the only way from the Northern part of Haiti into Port-au-Prince, and this was one more way to try to hold up the country. Through Monday and Tuesday, they were "allowing" people to cross through the river bed if they were willing and able to pay the "toll" they demanded. Well, this should be interesting, we thought.
Tuesday morning we received word that the Port-au-Prince airport had caught fire and all international flights were canceled for the day. How long would this last?
Wednesday morning Arcahaie was clear, and there was no way of knowing what the following morning would bring and if we'd be unable to make it to the airport. Around lunchtime we loaded our bags and stroller into the back of the black Ford Ranger pickup, and Ramou and Ocean came along with us so they could drive the truck back home, supposing we made it there.
There was very little traffic in the smaller towns, but the presence of a few tap-taps and people waiting to take their produce to the market gave us some reassurance that things were fairly normal. As we approached the town of Cabaret we were anxious to see what we would find on the other side where the bridge had been damaged and then torn apart. We were more than relieved to see that someone had taken the initiative to fill in the gaping whole, one car width wide, so vehicles could at least take turns crossing the bridge. What a relief!
We fairly flew over the clear roads until we reached the outer parts of Port-au-Prince, and we could already see smoke clouds billowing all over the city. The first road block was fairly simple to get through, and a little more than a dollar was sufficient toll for passage. We turned toward the airport, and the normally bustling Route 9 was completely void of vehicles, except for a few motorcycles. We were finally stopped beside a police truck, packed full of armed officers who were beside a closed-down gas station (no gas to sell) talking to a group of people. They waved us down to say, "Don't go any further. We're not helping you."
However, a man on a motorcycle said he could get us through. By all appearances, he was one of the same gangsters who were participating in the rioting. Could he be trusted? After much discussion and contemplation, we decided to let him lead us, and soon there were a pair of them. They sped ahead right up to the line of debris and flaming tires, where a masked thug with a pistol was the first one to meet us. He was reluctant to let us through, but the men on motorcycles were able to communicate, with much shouting, that we were okay to go. Our presence sent a ripple through the crowd of fired up, angry men, but as the leaders helped to direct the situation, we were allowed to pass around this series of obstructions and burning tires.
The motorcycles then led us down an unpaved side road, I suspect bypassing another series of road blocks. Unfortunately, we couldn't dodge them all, and too soon we were approaching another barricade, heavily guarded by dozens of crazed young men. At the sight of the truck, they were even more angry, but our hosts again helped the situation a little. Many were angry but reluctantly resigned to what they were told. From 30 yards away or so, I could see one young man pick up a large rock and launch it toward the truck. Thankfully, Barry saw it coming, too, and was able to back the truck up and avoid impact. This young thug was not going to be told to calm down, and his American flag tank-top and matching bandana were charging toward us, unrestrained by the many others who tried to hold him back. His dreadlocks bounced as he marched, hollering angrily as if deranged. When he reached the truck, he heard something about children and looked into the backseat where I was holding a crying baby and three other little ones sat trembling and confused. His anger seemed to melt away and his countenance turned almost humane. There was still another, who didn’t appear to be more than 16 years old, that wouldn’t back down. He was restrained by his buddies in order for us to pass.
After inching our way through that mess, the ordeal was far from over. Our escorts led us through a few more barricades without a lot of trauma, and when we reached a clearing, they said we were clear to make it the rest of the way to the airport. We were reluctant to believe them, but they insisted it was alright and boldly refused to go any further.
We soon found out why.
We made a few more turns and hit a the road that runs just on the outskirts of City Solei. Here we found more of the same rocks, burning tires, and debris, but didn’t see a whole lot of people. We rounded the turn toward the airport, and a masked man dressed fully in black stopped the truck, shouting the only words he knew in broken English. “Money, money money! I’m hungry!” In a matter of seconds, there were two, of them, then three, and more and more. Countless big arms were coming in both front windows. Someone pulled a knife on Barry, but there were so many other arms in the way that he couldn’t do anything more than small scratch on Barry’s thumb. We tried to keep going, but they were jumping on the back of the truck, piled on the hood, and hanging all over the truck. One man lay on his back on the hood and wrenched his head back to look inside, and his eyes held an unnatural, frightening stare. The stench of drunkenness filled the air as the whiskey bottles came in the windows with their desperate arms. There were too many of them to even try to give them anything, but Ramou, in desperation, pulled out a small bill. The already flailing arms went even more wild. Barry veered the truck and tried again to speed up, but we hit a large rock that was unseen with all the bodies on the hood. The men tried to cut the truck tires, but failed. I turned around to see Ocean in the back fighting them off of our luggage. The bag containing our clothes was as good as gone, but Ocean, a rather large man, was able to quickly grab it and pull in back in. He was unable to save everything, but our stroller was a minor loss considering what could have been. What could they have done if I had stayed in the front seat with Andrew?
I don’t even know how we eventually got out of there, but we escaped without shots being fired after us. I guess some were content enough with the loot they managed to get, and backed off to fight among themselves over it. A few others pursued us on motorcycles, but once we reached the “safety zone” of the heavily guarded airport area, they turned back. We were so glad when we pulled into the hotel quarter mile from the airport, and we would be able to fly out the next morning.
Although we were now safely at our destination, Ramou and Ocean still had to somehow get back home to Arcahaie. We told them they should stay and we’d get a room for them, but they were unconvinced. They left the hotel with the intent to head a different route around Port-au-Prince, but to turn back if things looked too unsafe. They made it all the way around the city, but once they reached the road block that had been our first one while coming and the easiest to get through, things took a frightening turn. Rather than a few men who were content with a small amount of money, this time they found a machine gun in their faces. “This is the end for you,” they were told. When Ramou offered to pay his way through like at worked so many times before, the man told him, “I don’t want your money. This is your last day.”
They finally managed to escape by pulling out cash and holding it up, saying, “Here this is. Just take it and turn around as if we were never here.” By God’s mercy, it worked. The man turned around. Coming back through the smaller towns this time, they found that things were heating up as the afternoon progressed. We were so thankful to hear when they made it all the way back home! The sacrifice those two men made in taking us to town that day is amazing to consider. Another missionary used a Drone to count that there were 65 roadblocks on the stretch we passed through.
Through our projected month home on furlough, we’ll be keeping an eye on the escalating situation in Haiti, praying that each further step we take will be under the Lord’s direction. I could never begin to write all the details of what happened that day on our trip to the airport, or even truly put it in words that paint an accurate picture, but one thing we do know is that we were protected by a strength much greater than man. We again thank our supportive church body for their enormous amount of prayers through our challenging travel time!
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