This was written on Wednesday, December 21, 2016. It has been edited a bit since then while I wait for an internet connection that is stable long enough for me to paste this into the blog and post it.
The flight from Port-au-Prince to Paris left Port-au-Prince approximately three hours later than scheduled. There was one stop in Santa Domingo, in the nearby Dominican Republic. I had assumed that this meant that more people would board the plane. It had not even occurred to me that everyone on the plane would need to exit the plane with all of our belongings, go through security and then wait an hour in the airport before boarding again. Before leaving Haiti I expressed to an airline employee my concern that I could miss my flight to Africa, because in addition to switching airplanes, and air lines, I had to take the bus from one major airport in Paris to the other. She assured me that she would talk with her supervisor and I would be given a paper stating that the plane was late and that costs would be covered if I missed my second flight. When I did not receive this paper, I asked again before boarding and was sure I would receive it once I boarded the plane. The airline hostesses on the plane knew nothing of such a paper but said they were switching crews in the DR and the next set of airline employees would help me. The next set of airlines employees suggested that an employee on the ground in Paris might be able to help me. When I found an employee in the airport, she suggested I go to the office. I quickly decided that if I took the time to locate the airline office I would increase my chances of missing the second flight, and by this time I was beginning to realize that there was probably no such paper. The plan was for me to meet a sister from my congregation in the second airport; she was returning to Burkina Faso after a few months of vacation in the US. Although I had tried to contact a sister who I hoped would get the message to her saying my first flight had been delayed I had no way of knowing if she had gotten the message. A very kind woman allowed me to go ahead of her in the passport line at the first airport in Paris. Next with a little help I located the bus which transports people directly from one Parisian airport to the other and waited about 20 minutes. When I arrived at the second Paris airport, I felt it was not necessary to ask to cut in line again though there was a long line for the passport check. Before I could get in the next line to go through the security check I was told by airline staff that my carry on size suitcase was too heavy; I needed to back track and check my carry-on bag. Then I had to resume waiting in the security line. It was already after the time that the plane was supposed to start boarding when my bag was rolling through the security check. When I finished in security I had only a few minutes until the scheduled take off, and was past the recommended time to arrive at the gate, so I did not even put my sneakers back on my feet. I walked very quickly towards the gate, where I was so elated to see the sister who was waiting for me. I was also very relieved to learn that there would be a slight delay; I actually had time to use the bathroom and fill my water bottle before the next flight; thanks be to God!
Two Marianites came to meet us at the airport in Ouagadogou, the capital of Burkina Faso. We spent the night at a Catholic hospitality house near the aiport. In the morning the two sisters who had come to meet us ran errands while the sister who was returning from her vacation and I slept late. Early the next afternoon, we started the final step of the journey to Yalgo. A very quick glance out the window of the pick-up truck while still in the capital, seeing various activities including numerous people selling things along the side of the roads, and billboards and road signs in French, it seemed like despite my long journey I might still be in Haiti. Looking more carefully, there were many differences in the details. One of the sisters pointed out that there are a lot of motoes in Burkina Faso; I had not noticed the number of motoes (there are many motoes in Haiti too) but I was surprised that there were only one or two people on each of them (as opposed to three or four or sometimes more in Haiti,) and that there were so many women driving motoes. The drive from the capital to Yalgo, the village where the sisters live and work, normally takes about four hours, if you don’t run any errands or stop to eat along the way, which we did. I was impressed by the quality of the national roads, had I come directly from the US, I would not have been. We arrived at the convent in the village of Yalgo Thursday evening.
There are four Marianite sisters who live and work here, one is a native of Burkina Faso, one a Canadian, and two Americans. There is a young parish here, and as part of the parish and diocesan ministries there is a developing medical center with a pharmacy, program for babies who are malnourished, maternity program, a doctor and some other basic medical services. Although our sisters are not directly responsible for them there is also a primary school and a new program for preschool aged children. I have visited all of these programs during the past several days. This new parish is really striving to meet the needs of the people of the area. Our sisters’ presence seems very much appreciated by the people. Although communication is challenging, the people seem so gracious and welcoming.
On Sunday I accompanied the local priest and a sister to a joyful ordination liturgy at the cathedral in the local dioceses of Kaya. The priests literally danced around the altar during the song of Thanksgiving towards the end of the liturgy. The mass was mostly in Morey, a language spoken by many (but not all) people in Burkina Faso; some of the mass parts were also in French, the official language, which is spoken by those who have been educated. Ironically, of the many languages typically spoken in Burkina Faso, the one I most understand is the very language I least understand in Haiti.
On one hand it does not seem like Christmas time. I am so far from all of the places I have called home. There are very few decorations around, no Santas, or sleigh bells, no well-lit pine trees. I reflected on this and I opened my eyes and looked around. In the gospel Christmas story there was never any mention of any those things. The first Christmas did not happen in an American shopping mall, or a comfortable living room. Mary and Joseph were far from home in a place that probably looked a lot like Yalgo. Here many people travel by donkey. On market day, some people come into town on the backs of camels. Since there is so little light pollution, the stars are very bright on a clear night. I look at the place here on the grounds of the convent where the animals are kept; certainly it could serve as a simple shelter for desperate travelers. This is exactly the kind of place where Jesus was born. Of course, it true that Jesus is present and Christmas happens everywhere and yet in the Gospel stories and when I reflect upon my own life, Jesus is frequently found in a special way at the margins. This year, here in this quiet little village (far from the places I call home, and the people I have usually celebrated with) on the edge of a desert in a country most Americans have never even heard of I cannot think of a better place to celebrate the birth of Jesus. May I recognize him in the people I meet each day, while I am here and everywhere I may travel during the New Year. I wish you peace and joy during these holy days. Merry Christmas!
Dear family, close friends, and community members,
Even if I do not get a chance to greet you personally or you don’t receive a card from me (which you won’t because I have not sent any out this year) please be assured of my love and prayers. Although I do believe that I am where I am supposed to be this Christmas, I do miss you. Many blessings! Love, Kathleen
