chicken fried wagon wheels

Waking up, it was almost comfortable - almost. In the United States, I have always hated taking morning showers, but in Haiti they are a gift from above. After that, coffee was as much a necessity to get into our hands as air was to breathe. The Haitian coffee is different but definitely not distasteful. It is stronger and has a little bit of a bite to it, which is fine because it is what is needed to make it through these long days. Coming together and sitting down to breakfast we were met with a meal of freshly picked bananas, pineapple,  oatmeal (which is much more salty and watery than what most of us are used to in the US), fried eggs, and bread.

As the day wore on, we remembered how we had gotten spoiled in the night by having the luxuries of a fans and water that worked due to our friend electricity. But that luxury did not last as the power once again died on us at midday and we got hotter and hotter and....  Our midday was spent teaching ourselves the games we would be giving the students at St. Marc's and playing with Father Walin's two children. The two periods of relaxation from the terrible heat was separated by one big event that we went to immerse ourselves in the Saturday Market of Hinche.

Recall the scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade where Dr. Jones says that his friend and colleague Marcus Brody knows countless languages and customs and can blend in to any surrounding that he chooses - the Nazis searching for the map that marked the resting place of the Holy Grail would never find it in his "capable" hands. ----------- Then the camera shifts to a bumbling Marcus walking more than awkwardly through a market doing the exact opposite of what Dr. Jones had stated. At least for me, that scene = exactly how I felt. Without Michele's fluent French and ever growing fluency in Kreyol and without our three Haitian guardians guiding us through the market, we may still have been in the confusing web of  stands and vendor's booths searching for a way out.

The market is large and as you approach its center, gets crowded with more and more people. At some points, the booths of the vendors coupled with the volume of potential buyers gets so heavy that the whole market seems to move and shift as one gigantic beast - crawling - crawling - crawling. You are bombarded with armies of different smells - some known and unknown. Just like the smells, the produce and meats were unlike anything I have ever seen. Having no health codes or standards, the latter are piled up on the streets, on tarps, or on the surfaces of their booths. Meat is sometimes kept in the shade but never refrigerated or kept on ice. It is fanned on occasion to attempt to keep the bugs and flies off. All manner of items are sold - from unique trinkets and fruits to many items you could easily find in a normal grocery or hardware store in the States. Returning to St. Andre's hot, sweaty, and tired we were met with a delicious lunch where a homemade stew took center stage.

After more preparing for the children of St. Marc's and playing with Walin's children, we readied ourselves for a hike up to the summit of the Bassim Zim falls. It had been clouding over and had been becoming colder rather quickly however and the threat of rain soon became a reality as it started to sprinkle down on us. We almost had to cancel the trip but the rain gods smiled upon us and we were granted a brief reprieve and zoomed out to the falls. Making a quick stop (literally right outside of the gate and to the right) at a vendor to buy candy and crackers for the kids that would surely chase us down as we neared the falls for a bon-bon. Then we were on our way - traversing down roads that were in no way fit for an automobile. We were constantly reminded that the roads however, were not nearly as rough as those we would be experiencing on the way to Cerca-la-Source. I didn't understand at that time how that was possible but I would find out the truth of that statement within twenty four hours. As we wound our way out of Hinche and through the surrounding countryside, I was struck by the intense poverty levels in this area of the region. Shacks, trash heaps and smaller piles, goats, and all manner of heartache littered the land. Men and women stared at us as we passed by - some with beaming smiles and waves - others with empty, hollow eyes. We offered up a "Bonswa" to all nonetheless. Children, too, stared hopefully at us and then moved on as we passed. Though for that moment, their faces were brighter than the most radiant sun - exposing mostly brilliant white teeth. As we got closer to the falls, children squealed in delight and raced behind our truck with hands outstretched hoping for some kind of gift.

The kids, somehow my means of a shortcut, made it to the falls before us - and the falls were majestic. They towered high above our heads and crashed in the pool below in a thunderous force of white foam. But with all the good the reminders of hardships in Haiti came swirling through on one side of the pool beneath the falls where beautiful bluish teal water was replaced with filthy trash.

The squeals of kids brought us back into reality as Father Walin taught his son (only four) the beautiful selfless act of giving and taught him to pass out candy and crackers to the large line of children that had formed - most all more than twice his son's age. That moment will be one of the most defining moments I will take back from this journey into Haiti. As we jumped back into the truck, our trip obviously being cut short as we never even made it to the trailhead that led to the summit because of the renewed threat of a downpour, it began to spit rain and we hurried back. Yet even in our hurriedness, Walin was never too rushed not to forget a group of children or even a single one beside the road and gave out the remaining treats we had until not one remained.

Beating the full force of the shower, we came home and had the best - so far - meal that had come before us in Haiti - guinea fowl, rice and beans, fried akra, fried plantains, bread, real Coke, and Prestige. Our last night before making the arduous trek to Cerca-la-Source was only made better by the discovery of Father Walin's guitar. In the cool night air on the deck of the rectory, will all of downtown Hinche out below us, we raised the songs of the American South into the Haitian air - Wagon Wheel, Chicken Fried, Dixie, and many others. Sleep came fast and well that night.

PICTURES TO FOLLOW SOON

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