Ti Men, Little Hands

I wrote this last night, in Word when we did not have electricity or internet, pasting and posting it about 24 hours after it was actually written.  

Krapo

As I write this, I can hear the pattering raindrops on the metal roof.   As the raindrops get quieter I will begin to hear a chorus of frogs.  It is inevitable.  The rainfall seems to bring them to life.  I find it amazing how there is no evidence that they even exist when it is dry and then suddenly they are numerous and boisterous after a storm.

 Ti Men

On Tuesday, my day off, I went to visit a ministry of the Sisters of Holy Cross called Petite Mains, (which is French for Ti Men, which is Creole for Little Hands.)  At 8:00 all who work there gathered for a brief prayer, welcomed me and then the work day began.  The workers were sewing school uniforms for local Catholic school children.  I told the two sisters who oversee the site to let me know if there was anything I could do to help since I would be there for the day.   I flattened newly sewn gym shorts into piles, tied tiny knots that will hopefully help to keep collars from falling off of school shirts (while doing this I was consciously trying not remember how as a child at Girl Scout camp knot tying was a least favorite and more difficulty activity for me), sorted, counted and boxed familiar looking shirts that will be worn during the next school year by children who attend the primary school here including most of the children at the orphanage.  Petite Mains is a small operation, which employs a hand full of people.  At 10:00 a woman rang a little hand bell and everyone stopped working to enjoy a 15 minute break.  There was a lunch break at noon, and the work day ended at 3:00. People were working very hard, concentrating on their tasks at the sewing machines, and yet there was a relaxed atmosphere as a pleasant breeze and blew through the big windows.  It was clearly a ministry and certainly not a sweatshop.   The workers and sisters were kind, seemed to appreciate the small tasks I assisted with and were patient with me, as I did not always tie perfect knots on my first try.  I had not given much thought to the number of steps involved in creating a simple garment, nor give any thought at all to how a shirt would come to have collar.  From now on I will probably look at clothing a bit differently, certainly with greater gratitude to all of the little hands whose hard work helped to make the things I wear, and I assume typically in conditions that are not comparable to what I experienced on Tuesday.   

Yes, now the rain is ending and I can hear the frogs singing.  It is time to go to bed.   Hopefully our electricity will be restored and we will have internet in the morning so I can post this and you can read it.        

Pentecost Sunday

Today seven of the oldest children who reside here at the orphanage were among the 410 high school students who received the sacrament of confirmation at the Cap-Haitian cathedral.  All of the Catholic high schools in the city have their confirmation candidates receive the sacrament at one mass.  Apparently there were considerably fewer confirmed this year than last.  I have come to expect liturgy at the cathedral to be primarily in French; but it was in a combination of French and Creole, a pleasant surprise.  The cathedral was full, and the liturgy long (nearly four hours,) nevertheless,  I was happy to attend and glad celebrate with our young people afterwards.  May each of them and all of us be guided by the Holy Spirit

Come Holy Spirit,
help me  to understand others when there are  linguistic, cultural differences, and especially when I encounter perspectives that simply don't make sense to me initially.  
Come Holy Spirit, help us all to understand one another.

Come Holy Spirit,
fill me with compassion, patience, and love, especially when I am tempted to criticize, dismiss, or judge.
Come Holy Spirit help us all to love one another.

Come Holy Spirit,
lead me, that I may go where you need me, teach me to see those who are often unseen or unloved in our world.  
Come Holy Spirit, inspire us all to seek the lost, to love the forgotten, and to heal the hurting.  

Come Holy Spirit,
speak your words of wisdom to me and through me, using not only my words but my actions as well, even when what I say may not be accepted, appreciated or understood.
Come Holy Spirit, teach us all to be prophetic and wise.    

Come Holy Spirit!



Happy Pentecost Sunday!

Nan Ayewopò An

Sometimes I go to the airport to get the orphanage mail that arrives on a plane from a small airline that provides mail services to missionary and church programs.  Sometimes I chat with the people who are also at the airport.  There are regulars who I see each time I go, others who also wait for mail to come for their organization or church, and people who trying to make a living by the benches under the metal shelter where we wait for the mail and others wait for their arriving family and friends.  There are people who exchange money, sell things, and a couple of people who ask for money from anyone they think might give them some.  I do not carry much money when I go to the airport and I do not as a rule give money to those who ask, in part because I fear that if I did it once then they would only come to always expect it and others would ask too.  It is difficult to know what is best in these situations.  On occasion I have explained that I am working at an orphanage and the little money I do have goes to the children there; some people seem satisfied with this explanation while others are understandably disappointed.   One man regularly asks if I can give him a job or know if anyone is hiring; unemployment is so high that many capable and willing people can’t find regular work.  

Recently I heard the story of a young man at the airport, who I would have guessed had been born with a developmental disability, but from what he told me his problems are likely the result of an accident and (probable brain) injury.  Certainly in the United States he would qualify for Social Security Disability and at least be provided with the means to meet his most basic of needs.  In Haiti there are no such programs, so he comes to the airport to ask tourists and travelers and anyone he sees for money.  On a very hot afternoon when I had been waiting for an unusually long time, he told me he was thirsty.  I had consumed all of the water in the water bottle I carry with me, so it was easy to imagine that he was truly thirsty; there are not public drinking fountains available like one would typically find in at an American airport.  I gave him what I believed was enough money to purchase a couple of bags of water (drinking water here is commonly sold in small sealed plastic bags.) While I handed it to him, aware that I would likely encounter him again, I asked him please not to ask me for money every time I come to the airport.  He happily agreed and went to purchase drinking water.

  

This week, when the orphanage chauffeur pulled up in front of the airport waiting area to let me out of the truck, so that I could wait for the mail, the young man was standing there on the nearby sidewalk. His face lit up, as he put his hand out to shake mine, telling me he was happy to see me.  Seeing his wide smile, which has a child-like quality to it, brought me a sense of joy and I could not have been more sincere as I replied, “mwen kontan wè ou tou.”    We chatted for a few minutes as I asked how his week was and how is his family.  He did not ask me for money or anything other than a handshake, but gave me such a welcoming smile that I was glad to be at the airport, and grateful that (even if imperfectly) I can speak and understand his language.       

Premye kominyon

On Sunday several of the children at the orphanage received their first communion during a liturgy held in the chapel on our grounds.  After the mass we had a party.  Some of the relatives of children who received first communion attended.  We also celebrated the birthdays for children born in April.    
While I am not comfortable posting pictures of the children on my blog out of respect for confidentiality I will include some pictures of the delicious food and beautiful cake.  Warning: They may cause you to feel hungry or to regret that you missed the fèt!  

Ti vizit

On Sunday I took the bus from Cap Haitian to Port-au-Prince.  Although the ride is long, it is enjoyable. The scenery is beautiful  and I tend to encounter friendly individuals.  When my friend, an american sister from Ohio, picked me up at the bus station she mentioned that she need to stop at the grocery store.  Walking into the grocery store, I felt like I was walking into the US; if there are large grocery stores here in Cap, I have not seen one never mind shopped in one.   It was great to connect with friends at NPH, the organization I worked with previously.  The Sunday evening mass for volunteers was  in a combination of English and Creole, although I think we sang a song in Spanish; a few of the people present are native Spanish speakers. 

I spent Monday visiting the Father Wasson Angels of Light program.  It is wonderful to see how the children have grown! Monday was a good day to be there too, as I saw several workers who were off when I last visited on a Sunday afternoon in January.  I am surprised by the number of children who remember me, or at least the turtle puppet I used to use.   I regret that I honestly don't remember the names of all of the children; I do recognize their faces.  Since my last visit, several children with significant disabilities have moved into Kay St. Anne; this is likely a much better setting for them than the hospital, where many of them were abandoned by families not having the resources to care well for children with such severe special needs.  

On Monday evening we went to a restaurant, again I felt like I had briefly stepped out of Haiti.  The menu was entirely in English and prices in american dollars; although out of habit  when getting ready to pay I asked the waiter in Creole, if they accept american money; they did and actually most formally established businesses in Haiti do.  The vegetable fajitas I ordered were excellent!      

On both Monday and Tuesday morning, I attended the daily liturgy in the little chapel on the grounds of St. Damien hospital.  Both mornings there were funerals for those who had died in the (NPH and St. Luke) hospitals.  The frequent funerals during morning mass had started when I was working there and Cholera arrived.  The songs and routine were familiar.  Some of the people attending the mass were regulars four years ago, and there are new faces too.          

On Tuesday morning after mass I boarded the bus and returned to Cap Haitian around mid afternoon, grateful for my friends at NPH,  for conversations and connections, for the opportunity to see the children there, and grateful for a brief break.  Mesi Bondye!