Haitian Roshamon
March 12, 2004
The update I never got around to writing was going to be called "Haitian Roshamon". Roshamon after the film where the story of a man’s death by bandits is told by multiple viewpoints, each with a slight variation and the viewer never knows which one is the truth.
This was the scenario we encountered often in Haiti- trying to winnow out the truth. In the clinic, a woman came in with a sick child, claiming that the mother had died and that she was the child’s aunt. Later, the "aunt’s "children came to visit, and let slip that they were the sick baby’s siblings, and the aunt was in reality the baby’s mother.
A man came down from the mountains on the back of a donkey, helped by friends, without the lower part of his left leg. The first story is that he cut off the leg himself with a machete, after the leg turned black on him. The man, who is alert, claims that the leg fell off one day, and that it had been sick. A neighbor confirms the first story; the man himself clings to his.
A young boy is left at the clinic and is not recovering. On the way to the hospital we stop at the town where he is from and ask for the boy’s father, who had originally brought him to the clinic. The neighbors stand around, gasping and pointing, exclaiming that the boy still lives, even though they had been told that the boy was long dead.
After our year in Haiti, working for the sisters and with the Haitians, we found that truth was elusive. Were we doing the right thing by being there? Was the work of any of the development workers effective? Were we approaching the poverty, the suffering, the hunger, and the seeming hopelessness in the best way?
And now, with the political situation in Haiti in shambles, the truth remains elusive: was the former, democratically elected president a good leader intent on raising up the country and helping the poor who have been so long ignored and abused in Haiti; or was he a machiavellian man who become just as corrupt as Haiti’s other rulers, who used political violence and vote rigging to carry his personal mandates? Did he leave on his own accord, or was he muscled out by a stronger neighbor? Which is the truth?
It’s Lent, so we can ask it- What is truth?
I don’t know if we found that answer in Haiti. I know that we left with more questions than we came with, and I know that we left with a great deal more sorrow and pain than we had when we stepped of the plane in January, 2003. I also know that I left with great happiness, too. I know I had an experience that I could get nowhere else, and that was unique to my own time there.
I learned about trying to be present in the moment. Often, when working out in the field, under the hot sun, my hands blistered from the massive hoes Haitians use to turn over the earth, I would angrily ponder what I was doing there and where I should have been instead.
Do you remember Thornton Wilder’s play, Our Town? Do you recall when the main character, Emily, passed away and joined the dead out on the quiet hillside that overlooked the sleepy town of Grover’s Corners? She asked if she could go back to the land of the living, even if for just one day, to re-live her life. The other dead townsfolk warn her not to, that things aren’t the same once you are able to look back at your daily life from a distance. But, she decides to go anyway, choosing her twelfth birthday as the day she will go back. And when she goes back, to see herself and her parents go about their daily lives, oblivious to the future that she now knows, she is filled with sorrow. She realizes that we can never see our lives as we live them. And she cries, "Good-by, Good-by world. Good-by Grover’s Corners… Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking… and Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths… and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you."
Promptly she asks the stage manager, an omniscient character in the play, "Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—e very, every minute?"
And that is how I felt often in Haiti- did I ever realize life while I was living it there?
There were glimpses:
I remember working in the hot sun of late May, again in the convent’s five-acre garden. I was alone, re-digging some trenches that had filled in because of the rain. Around noon I took a break in the shade of a small flamboyan tree, and sipped some water from a gallon jug. I looked up from the water and saw thousands of small, yellow butterflies coming over the wall on the wind, passing from the east to the west, across the property and out over the hills. It was literally a river of tiny butterflies, passing around and above me, flitting across the rocky, hot dirt and over the wall on the other side of the property. And I thought- this is what I will remember of Haiti. My hands are aching from the pick-axe, my back is soar, my underwear is riding up, my pants are dirty, I’m sweaty and hot and tired, and I’m sitting mid-river amongst thousands of marvelous little Haitian butterflies.
And this is what I remember: sitting under the almond tree that shaded the front door of the nutrition center, waiting for Christy and Sr. Uyen to come out so we could get home because it had been a long, long day. And sitting next to me was a mother, holding her two-year-old son, Lukeson. She had just brought Lukeson to the clinic, and he was in the advanced stages of kwashiokor. His eyes were barely open, his breathing was shallow, and his mother was sitting, stoically wiping away the flies on his face with a bandana. Lukeson’s legs and arms were so swollen from malnutrition that his light brown skin had split open and was weeping fluids, mimicking a bad burn. Christy came and sat next to me, and she said what was on everyone’s mind: "I don’t think he is going to live." And we sat there in silence, and I could see myself sitting there, next to my young wife and a young Haitian mother, holding her dying boy, and I thought that I wanted to be anywhere but right there, right at that moment. That maybe, this time, I didn’t want to realize life as I lived it—every, every minute. And I felt awful.
Coming back to the United States has not been easy. I have been angry, and despairing, and sad. I have laughed at our folly and taken offense at innocent questions people have asked. I have been defensive, and short-tempered. I have had a serious crisis of faith; and I find myself asking- give me faith Lord, just not right now.
But even if I don’t want to realize life, and it’s inherent suffering and injustice and a whole host of maladies and problems, I know that I have to if I am also going to realize life as happiness and joy and inspiration. It was easy to feel good about yourself in Haiti- almost everyone thinks you’re greater than you actually are. They compliment you on coming to their country to help, even though we were living in a huge house and never once felt hunger in our bellies. It was easy to feel good about ourselves because we weren’t readily aware of social mores, and thus felt free to talk to everyone—the poor, the rich, the drunks, the prostitutes, the illiterate, the Catholic clergy and the voodoun priests. It was easy. It will be harder to live a similar life in the United States, to not fall into the habits we all have- to judge people based on class, religion, job, skin color, orientation, nationality. Will I be able to talk to the beggar on a street corner and not feel self-conscious among my peers? Will I go out of my way to learn about others, to listen, to seek justice?
I hope I will.
***
Final Clinic Update
***
As you may recall, we were bringing Samantha and her mother, Elmita, to Green Bay with us so Samantha could have surgery to fix a cleft lip and cleft palate. On Feb 7th, they returned to Haiti, bags stuffed full with donated items and Samantha with a brand new smile. The people of Green Bay were exceedingly generous to Samantha and Elmita. Winter clothes were brought over for their use while here, and they received summer clothes for Elmita’s husband and other daughter. Samantha was the belle of the ball wherever she went- cooing and trailing drool, her smile capturing hearts.
We were worried when things got unstable in Haiti and we had not heard from them. But, just this week, we received word that they were doing well and are happy to be back with their family.
Although Elmita was unable to say it in English we know that she is overwhelmed by the generosity shown by the community, the hospital, the doctors, and the church. She would tear up when asked if she had anything to say to everyone, which is more than one could say in any language. She was proud of Samantha and her new smile, and said no one would recognize her when they arrived. While Samantha was here she learned to walk on her own, and used her reconstructed mouth to speak. She was able to say "Mama" for the first time while here. (Evidently she learned how to say "kaka" too, which is a swear word in Kreyol. I have no idea how she learned that, although her mother cast a wary eye at me for some reason.)
Sr. Marie Claire reports that she is ok, although there were some scary times in the town and on the road. The clinic has five children in it, most likely not because of a lack of need, but because people are reluctant to venture out. She is joined by an older French couple who have volunteered in Haiti before. We wish them success in their work.
And the people of Haiti? How are they faring? Haitians are remarkably resilient, stronger in body and spirit than you or I. They endure. But they are still people, and they will suffer. If you want to help them, you can pray for them, or visit later to show solidarity. If you want to assist financially, I have included below the names of some organizations that we saw there, and which do good work.
As for us- we are heading out to California on Sunday. We will be settling down in Oakland, which is right across the bay from San Francisco. We will try to find work and reflect more on our experience. If you are passing by, please know that you are always welcome.
Lastly, thank you to everyone for reading these and commenting on them. By having an audience we have been forced to think more on what we are doing. You have been an invaluable journal.
Thanks for all your support and prayers,
Tim and Christy Zahner
Green Bay, WI
Below are some organizations in Haiti that we encountered and which do good work:
FMOL: Haiti Mission, Inc.
This is the mission where we worked. Run by the Franciscan Missionaries of Our Lady, out of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Haiti Mission includes the nutrition center for malnourished children, an outpatient clinic, a reforestation program, school-sponsorship, a market-woman program and much, much more. The best way to contact them right now is through the United States office in Baton Rouge. Contact: Sr. Magdalen O’Donavan, FMOL, 4200 Essen Lane, Baton Rouge, LA, 70809
Fonkoze
Fonkoze, (which is Kreyol pun of sorts meaning "The Shoulder to Shoulder Foundation") is a micro-credit bank for the poor. They offer small loans, business assistance, and the chance for Haitians to open a bank account with very little money and risk. More information is available at www.fonkoze.org
Hospice St. Joseph
The folks of HSJ helped us on numerous occasions, and it seems that they never take a rest. In addition to running a great guest house, the have a health clinic for the poor, a school sponsorship program, assist market women, and much, much more. A very worthy organization, and very well run. When you go to visit Haiti, an overnight stop at HSJ is always a treat, and their affordable rates include breakfast and dinner. They can be found at www.hospicesaintjoseph.org
Norwich Mission House
Fr. Gerry and Amber are the Americans who round out a very fantastic team at NMH. With a great view and a wonderful garden, NMH is another fantastic place to spend the night on a visit. We did often, and they were always welcoming and helpful.
NMH is part of Haitian Ministries for the Diocese of Norwich, CT. Programs sponsored through Haitian Ministries include health care, school sponsorship, fair-trade artisan crafts, orphanages and parish twinning between churches in the US and Haiti. And if you want a bit of Haiti without flying through Miami Airport, they also run a Haitian craft store in Connecticut. Their web site is http://www.haitianministries.org.
Kay Sen Pol
St. Paul’s House is in Les Cayes, about an hour from Aquin. Here the Diocese of Worcester, MA runs a guesthouse and supports a home for the elderly. They also run a school-sponsorship program, among others. They have a great view from their roof of the near-derelict port of Les Cayes. Contact them through the diocese of Worcester, MA.
See all the updates at www.squarefour.com/haiti
Posted by Christy and Tim at 04:56 PM on March 12, 2004 :: Permanent link
Orevwa, Aken
We leave Aquin tomorrow, before sunrise, 4:30 am. We’ll pull out of the garage, honk the horn twice to say a final goodbye to Marie Claire and Scooby, roll down the hill to the barrier, say goodbye and good luck to Avrisse who will have opened the barrier, and then we will make our final trip down the muddy, rutted path that is the road for Mon Sejou, which means my vacation in Kreyol.
What do we leave behind? Clothes, books, and various things we don‚t need or can replace easily. We leave behind friends, and familiar places.
What do we bring with us? Memories, lessons learned, hearts broken and patched, good times, hard times, dust, art, coffee, and a lifetime of stories.
I thought I had more to write, but nothing is coming out right now. It is hard to leave, far harder to leave here than it was to leave the U.S. in the first place. Haiti is a hard place to not love, once you’ve been here long enough.
Thank you for all your support, and thank you for all your letters and cards and packages. They really brightened our days here, and we loved hearing from you.
We’re heading to Port au Prince for a few days, and then on to Green Bay on January 1st- Haiti‚s bicentennial, no less. We’ll write again when we have a time to gather our thoughts.
Have you read Hurston’s Their Eyes Were Watching God? It ends with this, and so will I:
"It's uh known fact, Phoeby, you got tuh go there tuh know there. Yo' papa and yo' mama and nobody else can't tell yuh and show yuh. Two things everybody's got tuh do fuh theyselves. They got tuh go tuh God, and they got tuh find out about livin' fuh theyselves."
God bless-
Tim and Christy
Posted by Christy and Tim at 09:50 AM on December 29, 2003 :: Permanent link
Haitian Christmas
Dear Friends and Family:
This is the second-to-last Haiti update we are going to be sending from Haiti. In January, we will have passed one year here in Haiti, and the time has arrived for us to return home. We will be leaving on January 1st, Haiti‚s 200th anniversary of independence. When we leave we will be accompanying Samantha David and her mother, Elmita, to Green Bay. Samantha is scheduled to undergo surgery on January 7 to repair a cleft palate and cleft lip at a hospital in Green Bay. We thank you for reading these updates and following our journey through the year.
It‚s Christmas Eve here, and in a few minutes, we will be hosting the staff and their families for a little Christmas fet. There will be presents, and music, and we have a movie in French to show, and maybe the boys and I will sneak out in the back and grab a few pulls of Kremas, the peculiar Haitian holiday liquor that resembles phlegm and tastes like coconut. It should be a good time. But even if it‚s not so fun, I think we would have had an excellent Christmas already, and it largely has to do with you.
Because you helped us with your support, we are able to have a real, fun, give-it-all away kind of Christmas. But first, a Christmas memory: I remember once when I was "volunteering" for Sacred Heart Community Service during the annual gift give-away. My friend Kenric Erickson and I were assigned to drive a car around, delivering gifts all over San Jose on Dec. 23rd. I complained about having to do it, of course, as my mom was the Executive Director and unwarranted complaining is the prerogative of non-profit orphans. So, Mack, as Kenric was called then, and I were driving around San Jose, lost and without a decent map. We were not happy. It was getting late, and I had a premonition that this year would turn out like the year before, wherein I had to sit atop a pile of frozen turkeys in our slowly dying Ford van as we inched along traffic on 280, trying to get back to Sacred Heart before it closed.
Mack and I managed to find all the houses, even though some of them were houses in name only- more like converted garages and tool sheds. We‚d drop the gifts off, wish the people inside a merry Christmas, and rush to find the next house so we could finish and go get some food. We got lost finding a house, and we were driving around the same black for the third time until it was there, right in front of us, and not marked. So, I was a bit crabby.
We pull the boxes out of the back of the truck, and walk up to the house, which is dark and shabby. We knock. No one answers. We knock again, louder. Nothing. We push the bell. We wait. We decide to give up when a young woman answers the door, cradling a baby and with a 7-year old boy hiding behind her legs. Merry Christmas, we say, these are from Sacred Heart and they‚re for you. The woman must not have known we were coming, because she is speechless and just looks at us. So we lift the gifts into the entryway for her, and wish her a merry Christmas again, and we turn to go and the door closes behind us.
When we get to the curb, we hear the door open again and the little 7-year old boy pokes his head out, and he is so happy that he can hardly talk. He yells at us, "Hey- you guys! Hey- thanks! Merry Christmas!" and he closes the door again, running back into the house. He did it. He melted me- made me feel it. Christmas. I wasn’t cranky anymore; I wasn’t wasting my time trying to make sense of San Jose’s street system. It was Christmas, and a little boy who had nothing was happy because some people gave gifts to him, and I got to be the lucky one to see the look on his face when he received them. And it felt good. Mack and I drove back to Sacred Heart and we were happy- jovial- it was Christmas.
And this week we got to recapture that feeling. With money you donated, we bought two turkeys. Big, ugly, delicious-looking turkeys. One of the turkeys will be used tomorrow for Christmas dinner at Timoun Kontan, the round-the-clock clinic for malnourished kids. This morning we went to the market and picked up carrots, beets, potatoes, lettuce, cabbage and all the fixings for a great feast. We also got some plaintains to make banann peze, a delicious fried banana dish. While the kids eat we get to set up the presents in the other room- little plastic things for the little kids who enjoy throwing them across the room, and balls for the bigger kids who enjoy throwing them at the little kids. For the moms we have nail polish and things-girls-put-in-their-hair, which are always a hit. We will set up the TV and VCR and watch Toy Story, and we’ll break out the Haitian Christmas music and do a little dancing until our diapers fall off. It’ll be fun- and we get to do it because of you.
And the other turkey? I’d like to say we gave the doomed guy a reprieve, but instead we thought we’d let someone else eat him. If you remember the Jacques family, they are the family whom Christy worked with their daughter, Celine. Born normal, at 4 years old she started having seizures, and by the time she was nine she had a grand mal seizure that left her totally incapacitated. Christy worked with Celine each week, as Celine was incredibly spastic and bed-ridden. Little by little, Celine would get better. She had TB, so we had to get her diagnosed and then on medication for that. In September, one of Christy’s PT confreres came down with a special wheelchair (thanks Rob!) and Celine was able to be rolled out into the tiny dirt yard and sit in the shade for the first time in years.
Celine’s mom, Mitha, sells charcoal in the market. The charcoal vendors are kind of the bottom of the marchann pecking order. They are habitually dirty, and they squat among the fetid water the flows out of the market and into the nasty bay of Aquin. She takes excellent care of Celine and her other children. They are very poor.
So we gave them the turkey, and a bag of good things- clothes, flashlights, hats, toys for the girls. They were overjoyed. The turkey will feed their extended family and their neighbors. (We’ll maintain the holiday cheer as I omit just how they will dispatch said turkey.) And we were able to give Mitha enough money to send her other children to school next year. She was very, very happy.
But that’s not all you did this Christmas season.
Jakeeno and Ti Zo are two young boys that hang around the clinic in Ste Helene. Everyone knows them. They are always, always dirty, and most of the time Ti Zo has a runny nose. Jakeeno is the butt of other kid’s jokes because he has cerebral palsy, so his legs are seriously malaligned and he walks with a very large limp. They don’t go to school. Instead, they sit by the clinic and ask people to give them food. They live with their grandmother, who is seriously handicapped, her back bent in an "L" and she lies on the floor of their dirt hut all day. The small shack they live in was falling apart, and rain blew in through the walls and water dripped through the thatch roof.
The idea to help them wasn’t ours. The staff at the clinic brought it up. Sure, giving them food and money once in a while helped them, and every day the staff brought over a hot meal from the kitchen. But the children slept on the dirt floor, they were naked most of the time for lack of clothes, and if they had clothes, they had nowhere to keep them. The staff suggested we provide them with two beds for the kids, and repair their house.
So- guess what you did? You paid for a man to repair the walls and roof, and another man to plaster the house and paint it white. You bought two sturdy beds and two mattresses, and sheets and blankets. You decked out the boys in clothes, and provided a sturdy, plastic case for their clothes. You cleaned their house and arranged everything in it. And, for the grandmother who lays on the ground all day, you provided her with a genuine physical-therapist approved back rest so she has something to sit against. Then, to top it all off, you gave them each a brand new soccer ball.
You should have seen Jakeeno and Ti Zo as they helped carry the mattresses you gave them. Everyone said Jakeeno couldn‚t carry them because he can‚t walk right, but he grabbed a corner and led the way, with Christy providing a little help. Jakeeno was proud that he was carrying his bed, and he was happy that you provided it for him.
So- there’s our Christmas. Thanks for giving it to us. They say it is in giving that we receive, and after this year, I know it to be true. Thank you for giving us the opportunity to give on behalf of you.
Have a wonderful Christmas-
Tim and Christy
Posted by Christy and Tim at 09:38 AM on December 24, 2003 :: Permanent link
Letters Home
Today's update is taken verbatim from a letter Christy sent to her parents recently. She says she can't write to all of you, and when she tries, it doesn't work. As you can see, when she writes a letter just to her parents, it works quite well.
All the best-
Christy and Tim
Hi Mom and Dad,
Glad to hear that dad's BP is lower but that is with the medication? You really need to check on your cholesterol and triglycerides especially with your Atkin's diet!!!! God, do I need to take care of my parents or what?
There is no official news from Sister Marie Claire after her trip to the states. Actually there is news— Sister Martha will not be coming and they have no one in mind for the moment. This is where I will bite my tongue and say nothing.
Things are going okay here. I pray everyday and ask God for patience and guidance. Everyday is a struggle with many obstacles but everyday God gives me something or someone that gives me a light of hope to continue the work that needs to be done.
There is no official news from Sister Marie Claire after her trip to the states. Actually there is news— Sister Martha will not be coming and they have no one in mind for the moment.
Exactly one week ago from today my biggest fear became a reality. On Thursday the 4th of December a child died at the center. The child's name was Gerald and he was only 2 months old. I will never forget his face, he was truly in pain and agony and I will forever hold the image of the mother's face of complete despair when the nurse told her she was negligent and there was nothing we could do for her child. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my own body when I heard those words and when I saw the despair on the mother's face.
What happened was the mother came with her child and went to the outpatient clinic. The nurse who was doing the consultation called me over. I walked into the office and saw this 2 month old child who was swollen twice his normal size with open sores all over his legs and skin that was just sloughing off. He was pale and having difficulty breathing. I asked Nicole how I could help her and she said in front of the mother, "This mother came here too late with her child and there is nothing we can do for her. She needs to go to the hospital for a doctor to see the child.”
She mentioned something about the mother being negligent and coming now to abandon the baby to die. I kindly asked the nurse to step out of the room and I explained that we do not have a right to speak like that in front of the mother. I asked her why she felt that there was nothing for us to do. She said because it was too late. I asked how she knew that and wanted to see the results of the lab work. She said she didn’t do any lab work for the child. I told her to do all the lab work for us to see exactly what was going on before we made a decision.
We went back in the room and I told the mother we were going to run some tests and then I asked her if she would be willing to go to the hospital if need be. The mother said, "No, I want to stay here with my baby." I asked her why and she said that 2 days ago she brought her child to the hospital and all they did was give her some pedialyte and sent her home. I do not in any way doubt this. Hospitals here do not treat malnutrition. In fact, if she were to hospitalize her child the hospitals do not provide milk or food. Obviously this mother is not able to provide adequately for the child and I knew that if she went to the hospital the child would surely die. Hospitals here do not take children with severe malnutrition because they do not want the child to die in their hospital to ruin their mortality statistics.
As I was quickly examining the child I realized the child was hypothermic and probably hypoglycemic and was in fact dying. I took the mother into Timoun Kontan and asked the nurses to start a chart for the child. I am sure that God was there working with me. At first I was reluctant to make a decision but then in the next second I was graced with confidence and did not at all waver in my decision. I just knew that we had to take this child and do all that we could. I knew the child was dying and did not want the child to die in the mother’s arms while walking home. I knew that we had to try. I asked the nurses to quickly give the child some milk and then help the mother to clean the child up. Gerald was wrapped up in a towel full of vomit and feces. The results of the lab work came back and they were not that bad which gave me some hope.
It was a hectic day and I had a million things going on at once. I had a mother with 3 very sick children who just left the outpatient clinic with 12 bottles of medicine for the 3 children. I stopped the mother and asked her to sit down with me. I took out all the medicines and asked her to explain each medicine and for which child it was for. She could not and I came to find out that she could not even read. One of her children could have easily died from overdose. While I worked for over one hour with this mother to color code all the bottles Sr. Uyen examined Gerald and put him in the baby incubator because of his hypothermia.
When we finished work for that day I remember saying good-bye to the mothers and quickly glancing at Gerald in the incubator. I did not see Gerald's mom which I regret. It’s amazing how we can look back at the past and wish we had taken the time to say good bye or give a hug or say I am sorry. How easily we take simple pleasures for granted. It is not until they are taken away from us that we realize what we have lost. Opportunities are lost everyday.
The following morning as Tim, Sr. Uyen and myself were eating breakfast Mandolin (night security at Timoun Kontan) came to inform us that Gerald died at 5pm on Thursday, the day that he came. My heart fell to the ground and my mind just went completely blank. I became numb on the inside. Sr. Uyen just looked across the table and said, "Christy you made the right decision, we did everything we could and the rest is up to God."
Not a day goes by that I don’t ask myself, "what if?" Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what else we could have done, what did I miss? Although it hurts me and I am sad and numb I know in my heart that I did all I could and that I gave my best. It is just unfortunate that my best was not good enough. I know that I made the right decision at the time. I take comfort in the fact that the mother knows I cared enough about her child to try even though others already gave up and I take comfort knowing that the child did not die on the road in a filthy towel. I know all this in my heart but the hard part is convincing my brain. Life is so hard. I so much regret not kissing Gerald good-bye before I left, for not taking the time to properly say good-bye to the mother and reassuring her that she was a good mother.
But as I struggle with this I keep reminding myself that as long as we do the best we can everyday that is all we can ask of ourselves. Our best is not always perfect but it is the best we can do at the time. When I worked in the states I don’t think that I could come home and say I truly gave 110% of myself. Here I can honestly say that everyday I give everything I have and then some. Everyday I come home from work and pray to God to give me more patience and understanding because I am upset with myself for how I reacted to something. But when I ask myself, "did you do the best you could today" in my heart I know I did the best I could. Even though I got inpatient or did not find time to say good-bye I did the best I could. All I can do is hope to do better with all the lessons that God sends my way. Everyday is a new day and every morning I have to tell myself that. We must begin every day fresh and new. Today is my only chance to do what needs to be done today.
For the past week I have felt like a robot just going through the actions, numb on the inside but a robot on the outside but everyday gets easier and everyday I see something good that gives me hope and renewed energy. Today was a good day. I guess what they say is true, "time heals all wounds."
I miss everybody more than words can say,
Christy
Posted by Christy and Tim at 03:43 PM on December 11, 2003 :: Permanent link
An Affair to Remember- In Diapers
It was time for her to go home. Not only had she been there for three and half months and was fully healed, but she needed the freedom to run around outside and expend some energy. Besides that, three-and-a-half year old Jacqueline had yet to master the art of using the toilet. It was time for her to go home. But, two things were stopping her from leaving- lack of family at the clinic, and her torrid, scandalous love affair with Edlin, a man not only one year her junior, but also a good four kilos her lesser.
He was an easy mark, Edlin was. When he first came to the clinic he was dehydrated and malnourished, and his masculine defenses were no match for the feminine wiles of the sultry Jackie. He had spent time at the clinic before, and was just back from a stint in the pediatric ward at the hospital in Les Cayes, fighting off kwashiorkor and a host of other maladies. Like Jackie, Edlin had been left at the clinic without his family; and like two other star-crossed lovers at odds with their families, their attraction was immediate and intense.
Edlin, vulnerable, lonely, and with a soft heart, was an easy mark
Jackie- Oh how she knew how to get her man…
Posted by Christy and Tim at 03:11 PM on November 15, 2003 :: Permanent link
March 2004
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Haitian RoshamonOrevwa, Aken
Haitian Christmas
Letters Home
An Affair to Remember- In Diapers
Blessed
Vacation’s All I Ever Wanted
Requiem
Sr. Althea Jonis, Born to Eternal Life 9/9/03
That Old Time Religion
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