HUN Update, January 31, 2007

Hey HUN!

Let me tell you, I was not prepared for the way that Haitians eat. When I came, I was under the assumption that it could be a very long trip indeed if I didn't like Haitian food, so when I found that rice, beans, and cornmeal mush are actually entirely edible here, I was thrilled. I knew that, at least most of the time, I would be fine. Oh, how young and foolish I was (three weeks ago)! In truth, the things that eats away at me (pun very much intended) is the monotony. Would you like my menu for the next week? I can give it to you right now: five days of rice and beans, one day of cornmeal mush, and one day of cornmeal with with beans. All seven dishes served with some vegetables (onions, green peppers, the occasional tomato) in a beef or goat broth.

Now, I like the food here. I enjoy eating it, and I don't think I'll ever really get sick of it. But my entire body goes up in a frenzy when it even thinks of anything else. Chocolate? Cheese cake? Chocolate? Ice cream? Chocolate? My mouth waters like mad and my brain feels detached from my skull. I think I'm having a withdrawal from refined sugar. All this time, I thought staying away from coffee made me better than everybody else, but now I know that I was just as hooked as anybody.

But not for long!

One surprising result of my new diet is that I've lost weight. The complete lack of sugar and minimal fat content has combined with the fact that Haitians don't believe in snacks to nibble at my waistline. I found this out rather suddenly when Matthew, Jean's youngest son, informed me in his broken English that I should pull down my shirt. Oh. Good thing I brought belts.

I was, however, prepared for the driving here. A New York taxi cab seems tame compared to these drivers, and intersections (lacking stop lights, stop signs, etc) all look a moment away from a tragic accident, but it seems that the zen approach to driving that I developed in the States is serving me well. I figure if somebody is still alive after driving for a decade, they must be reasonably competent, so I should just buckle my seatbelt and go. The former part I have to omit, because Haitians don't believe in seat belts.

They do, however, believe in insect extermination. I have become a high-ranking hero--I'm sure I would be low-ranking deity by now if they were Hindu instead of Christian...thrice-accursed monotheism...--after discovering a particularly effective way to kill the local CODs (Cockroaches of Death). These two-inch monsters don't respond well to conventional methods such as insecticide or bricks; they outlive any normal attack and have a terrifying habit of playing dead so that when you pick them up (there aren't rubber gloves here, but a liberal amount of toilet paper works just as well) they suddenly squirm and fly away, leaving you in convulsions for as long as it takes you to remember that Men in Black was just a movie.

There isn't time for a night dining experience de jure after working all day, so instead we all have peanut butter sandwiches and go to bed. Because I have a habit of reading while I eat, a book I found called The Household Encyclopedia or something like that has become my supper companion. Reading cover to cover, it wasn't long before I stumbled upon the topic of "cockroaches." "To kill," it said, "put rubbing alcohol in a spray bottle and spray the cockroach. They will die quickly."

Now, The Household Encyclopedia was published some time in the 1800's--well, long enough ago that it uses drawings instead of photographs, anyway--but I didn't think cockroaches had changed much in the recent past so I dumped my bug spray that I never use anyway (apparently using DEET on Haitians bugs is the equivalent of using a water pistol for game hunting) into a water bottle (no comments please; I labeled it with a sticky note) and dumped a liberal amount of isopropyl into the spray bottle. Thus armed, I hunted for a cockroach.

It didn't take long. The little bugger (no pun intended) was in my bathtub--that's right, the one that doesn't have running water--and in my eyes it was as good as dead. I sprayed it twice for good measure and sat back to watch. It squirmed around and wiggled its legs and died just as it (and this is ironic) attempted to escape its unknown attacker by rolling over to play dead. Its tiny open circulatory system passed its last sensory input to its nerve bundle of a brain, and the tiny legs retracted in defeat, all hydrostatic pressure disappearing into the ether. It was touching.

I'll move on, since I'm sure most of you have a life outside of reading these updates. It's time for today's Haitian Creole!

Where is Beatrice Boulevard? : Ki kote via bulva Beatris yi? (key-kote-ay-wvee-ah-bool-vah-bay-ah-tris-yee?) Literally, this is translated as "what place the street Boulevard Beatrice be?" The word for street, "vi," gains its article from the "a" attached to the end. Other words gain articles (the word "the") in similar but slightly different fashions; for example, "door" is "port" and "the door" is "portla."

It is not here. : Se pa la. (Say-pah-lah) This literally means "is not here." The subject is implied,

I can see that : M'ka we sa. (mm-kah-way-sah) As you may recall, the "M" is a contraction of "mwen," meaning, "I." "Ka" is the verb for "can" ("kapab" is a longer form that means the same thing), and "sa" is a word meaning both "this" and "that."

If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates. Here is my contact information:

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

God Bless,

Dan

HUN Update, January 28, 2007

Hey HUN,

Psalm 46:10 says: "Be still, and know that I am God."

That verse has meant a lot of things to me throughout my life as a Christian. Most of the time, it means, "stop worrying, you're not in control anyway." I'm a low-grade control freak, so that's necessary for me to hear now and then. But last night, that verse meant something different: "shut up and start listening."

I talk a lot when I pray, and I don't think I'm alone in that. Now, I have some non-Christian friends on this mailing list, and I think that they would all concur with me when I say that a relationship with only one person talking really isn't much of a relationship. It doesn't take a doctorate in psychology to know that you have to listen if you have any desire to learn. Actually, it's a bit of a paradox: if God knows everything and I know (basically) nothing, why should I be the one doing all the talking? Like I said a couple of updates ago, Matthew says "[the] Father knows what you need before you ask him."

You didn't sign up to this list for the religious content, so I'll cut to the chase. Having taken a little time to listen, God has really started to give me focus. Do you ever feel like you get lost in the moment-by-moment emergencies of your life? Sometimes it seems that "step-by-step" is the only feasible way to get through life; and yet, big-time financial planners will tell you that if you don't keep your long-term goals in mind all the time, they probably won't be realized. That's because everyday decisions can be powerful when each one is consistent with where we want to be in the long run.

It's really changed how I look at things, and it's allowed me to minister in a whole new way to the people here. I don't have a lot of business experience, but I have some, and most people don't have any. With 70% unemployment, that's not much of a surprise! I've been absolutely amazed by how blessed Haitians are to be taught fundamental economic principles. One guy came to me today and said he had a business idea that he felt was wonderful but he couldn't make any money. I asked him if the people to whom he was marketing his product (he was a tailor) had the money to pay him--because if you want to be rich, there has to be enough money in your targeted demography to make you rich. Lights went on everywhere. This guy is twenty and wants to start mass producing clothing because right now it's cheaper to buy imported clothes than to buy the custom made clothing they create here. I can only imagine how many great ideas have foundered because of a simple lack of information. This guy took off like he expected to be rich within the week after extracting a promise from me to teach him more if he had questions. My objections about my limited personal experience... completely ignored.

I grew up in a country surrounded by people that are making it in life. As a result, I know the skills necessary to make it. I am familiar with them; they are a part of my culture. I don't want to bring my culture to Haiti; that would be a crime. But I do want to be a part of making success a Haitian cultural norm.

On a lighter note: I misplaced my camera yesterday. I panicked. I looked in every single office, throughout the sanctuary, under and above and below and beside (plus additional prepositions if you like) every orifice and piece of furniture that I've used in the last week. It was nowhere. I was beside (those prepositions again) myself.

You guessed it. I left it on my bedside table. *sigh*

Your Haitian for the day:
I : mwen (Mway, with a nasal "n")
You : ou (oo)
We : nou (noo)
He/She: Li (lee)

The order is SVO (subject, verb, object) just like French and English, so most simple statements are direct translations.

I see you : Mwen we ou (Mwen-way-oo)

But, like French, everything is contacted, so "I see you" would actually be...

I see you : M'we'w (mm-way-oo) - but the last "oo" is barely pronounced. Creole is phonetic, which is why the "ou" changes to a "w." In fact, if you say use the present progressive ("You will eat him"/"you are going to eat him"), it becomes a regular old consonant.

You will eat him: Wap manje'l (Wap-mahn-zhay-l) - the "l" at the end is the contracted form of "li" which is he/she.

That's probably way too much for one day, but I got carried away. So... happy Sunday! Here's the contact information as usual.

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

Bondje beni'w,

Dan

HUN Update, January 25, 2007

Hey HUN,

I had a defining experience today. I believe I mentioned in an earlier update that spaghetti is served here with ketchup instead of tomato sauce. Interestingly enough, it's also traditionally accompanied by a hot dog ( sans bun). My method of coping has been to use the hot dog to use up most of the ketchup, then mix around the ketchup to minimize the ketchup-y effect.

Today, I was served spaghetti with no ketchup and no hot dog... but ketchup on the side. It was a diabolical, it was sinister; it was fiendishly clever of them. I could almost hear the voices in the background, though the house was empty: "how low, can you go; how low, can you go." Restraining my urge to stand and shout, "I can be Haitian too!" I wrenched the ketchup top off the bottle and squirted a glob atop my noodley strands. I braced myself for impact as the first forkful approached my mouth... and chew, and swallow...

You know, it wasn't that bad. Given the choice, I'm a tomato sauce man, but I can deal with ketchup. And if a man kills cockroaches and eats spaghetti with ketchup, isn't it about time to apply for Haitian citizenship? Yeah, that's what I thought. Maybe tomorrow, if I have time. All right, on to bigger better things:

I've been sick most of this week. A cold, of all things. Just your average, Northern Michigan cold. Foolish me, to suppose that I could escape cold season by fleeing a thousand miles south. I guess things just aren't that easy. However, thanks to the insight of my parents, I have plenty of FDA approved medicine with me (the only word for the pills they take here is: sketch) as well as several bottles of multivitamins. I never really appreciated the FDA until this trip.

Word came back from the embassy: I should have my passport within a couple days. That's a relief, since the Petit-Frere family was stopped by the police, and I almost got hauled off to jail because I didn't have my passport. I joke about it all the time, but Marcia is the only person who thinks it was funny. It must just be the Haitian sense of humor.

I know I'm a little late on this, but if anybody is interested in seeing some pictures, I have a few posted here. I'm still feeling a little under the weather, so I'm going to cut this update short. I promise I'll be back soon with something more substantial. Before I forgot, here's your Haitian Creole for the day:

I want food! : M'vli mange! (mm-vlee--man-zhay) --but remember, that n is silent and nasal!
I would like food. : Mwen ta reme mange. (Mway-tah-ray-may-man-zhay) Here, "ta" acts as "would," and "reme" is the verb "like."
Haitian Creole: Kreol ayisyen (Kray-ol-ah-ees-ee-yen)

Happy happy Haitian!

If you need to contact me, here's the info:

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

That's all, folks! (Spoken in a porky pig voice, of course)

Dan

HUN Update, January 21, 2007

Hey, HUN.

Dear friends, family, and brothers and sisters in Christ: greetings from Haiti on this fine Sunday morning; I pray that your blessing have been great and that the Lord has seen fit to bestow bountifully upon you his gifts and favors...

So. I was reading the bible today, a favored pastime of mine that I ought to indulge more dutifully, and I read this: "And when you pray, do not keep on babbling like the pagans, for they think they will be heard because of their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him" (Matthews 5:7-8, NIV). It made me think about prayer in church. It seems that men and women of spiritual prowess, whatever that means, signify their "status" using extended prayers, which apparently isn't a good idea. But that got me thinking: aren't we supposed to pray? Which made me chuckle at myself. Of course we are: and we're supposed to shut up and listen. And that's my spiritual thought for the morning. On to the update.

This week was extra hectic, as evidenced by the lack of updates between now and last Sunday. We've been holding a conference here, and so there's been church every night, all week. So this is my eighth day of church, and tonight's service will be my last for a whole week. Will I be struck down by lightning if I admit that I feel a little relieved? The conference went wonderfully. The topic was "Prosperity: managing your time and assets to become more effective," or something like that. Pastor Jean preached every night. Can you imagine? I'm tired from attending church, but tonight will be his tenth unique sermon in eight days. Unbelievable. I would say that the man is invincible, but I see him at night when he gets home and I think he's looking forward to not having church tomorrow as much or more than I am.

Having said that, I feel compelled to alter my implications. Every day here is hard work, but it's hard work toward something I believe in, and that makes all the difference. I think it would be difficult to go back to the States after six months here and work, say, screwing caps on toothpaste tubes. Almost anything would be anticlimactic

Admission: I borrowed the toothpaste cap thing from the original Charlie and the Chocolate Factory book. It's Charlie's father's occupation until he gets replaced by a robot that does it automatically, faster, and cheaper. That makes me sad every time I read it; poor Charlie's dad. Just trying to make a living, you know. It's not like anybody really has a passion for toothpaste caps.

Moving on:

The first man I met here that wasn't part of Jean's family is... and look at that, I've already forgotten the name. I'm terrible with names. Anyhow, he's a massive guy (black, of course, but here those goes without saying) that was deported from the United States for organized crime-related felonies. The church has changed his life rather dramatically. I met him because he translates sometimes for me. Because he is from the States, he speaks very good English, and speaks with an accent that is more familiar to me and hence easier to understand.

I had a strange moment today when, as we were leaving, I patted him on the shoulder (Haitians hug and touch a lot--it's still weird for me, and I may never get completely used to it) and realized that he has massive shoulder muscles. He had just finished saying "it was good seeing you," and I blinked in surprise. He gave me a look of concern: "was I supposed to say something else?" I said something in Creole, which automatically excuses me from all inaccuracy, and left before I did anything else stupid.

Is that a weird story? But can you imagine patting a person on the should casually and feeling a muscle so large that it actually distracted you from your chain of thought? Well. I suppose this isn't getting me anywhere.

After all this time, I was thinking you should start learning Creole with me. So here's your Creole for the day:

How are you? : Como ou ye? (Coh-moh-ooh-yay)
I'm well! : Mwen bien! or M'bien! (Mway-bee-eh or mm-bee-eh, all silent "n"'s indicate a nasal vowel in the French manner.)
I'm blessed! : Mwen beni! or M'beni! (Mway-beh-nee or mm-beh-nee)

See? You're already practically a native speaker. And now it's time to wrap it up. Here's my contact information in case you've misplaced it:

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

God bless,

Dan

HUN Update, January 15, 2007

Hey HUN!

The first thing I noticed about Haiti was how much it looked like the satellite images I'd been looking at for the last couple months. Flying over I saw the expanse of Hispaniola, and the only thing missing was that giant yellow line that divides Haiti from the Dominican Republic. Where was it? I looked closer... but I guess it was erased or something. I did, however, see Port-Au-Prince, sitting right where it should be. I saw a loading dock that I'd zoomed in on a thousand times and--what do you know!--the same boat was still there. Maybe it's grounded or something, because I swear it's been there for a month.

And then the plane touched ground, and I saw a beautiful, beautiful thing. Grass. Looked just like the stuff at home. And from that point on I was continually comforted with the things that are universal about our earth, and also the things that are universal about humans. Now, a week later, I'm starting to reflect on the differences. Haiti often reminds me that I am far from home, but rarely in an expected manner.

For instance, the toiler paper is different. It's a thin, blue, recycled (I think) paper with random holes and black spots. Ink, I hope. I ignore it most of the time. And the animal life is different. Goats and stray dogs pepper the street, and it's not uncommon for a goat to be nabbed for dinner that night. Goat soup is a favorite here. Monstrous roaches abound, but they are not the king of the insects; ants are. Ants will swarm by the thousand atop an unsuspecting roach, and just begin eating it alive. Just this morning, I picked up a roach (hands gloved with blue, speckled toilet paper) that had clearly been the main course of an ant-meal for the last couple hours at least. I picked it up to throw it outside, and the thing starts wiggling! With ants crawling in and out of its head and abdomen, it still wiggles! For the first time since I came to Haiti, I had one of those uncontrollable "holy-crap-there's-a-spider-on

-my-neck" convulsions and dropped the cockroach. I got a hold of myself, picked it up again, and threw it outside. Creepy.

The food, at least for me, is very hit and miss. The rice--plain, white rice, I mean--is infinitely better here. It has a great flavor without butter or additive. The potatoes are regrettable; grainy and disappointing. The beans are fantastic. I don't really like beans in the states, but here, all sorts of beans are perfectly wonderful. The vegetables--mostly cucumbers and tomatoes--are heartbreakingly awful. I miss good tomatoes. I have not found a local drink that I like, so I stick to water, which is fine with me since I happen to love water. I thank God that I have yet to taste something that I cannot make myself eat. My mother gave me excellent advice before I came: taste a little first. I was incredibly grateful for that advice when I found that Haitian spaghetti replaces tomato sauce with ketchup.

The church? Is Mars Hill (Grand Rapids church--if you've never been there, visit, it's worth the time) minus a few million dollars. Instead of a shiny steel warehouse, it is a crumbling concrete parking garage with an elevated stage area. Over a thousand folding chairs and dozens of long wooden benches crowd every square inch, and the people in the back are so far away that there are two TVs hung in the back so that they can actually see the action. The whole place, in comparison to a State-side setup, is a marketing disaster. But every Sunday morning and night, thousands gather together to worship, hands raised and hips swaying (it's a Haitian thing) and "merci Bondje, merci Seignor!" -- "thank you God, thank you Lord!"-- echoed time and time again until I start to wonder why American churches spend so much money on comfortable chairs.

And how's this for stunning: Pastor Jean held an all-night prayer on Friday night/Saturday morning. And you know what? The church was full. The babies and younger children slept on blankets and benches in the back, and older kids attended them while the adults prayed. I joked about that with Jean before the service: "Jean," I said, "I don't even talk with my best friend for that long at once." And he looked at me with that irritating knowing look of his. As expected, he has this down to an art: he had a whole list of things to pray about so that the prayer was always directed. Considering the amount of seating, it was a bit of a logistics nightmare--when agitated black people pray, they walk back and forth (I do too, actually)-- but it worked, somehow.

In closing: I would like to publicly thank Sarah for giving me chap stick (Burt's Bees, of course) for Christmas. I didn't think it would be necessary, but it was. Okay, that's it. I'll be including my contact info with every update in case anybody loses it, so here's that fun stuff:

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

God bless,

Dan

HUN Update, January 12, 2007

Hey HUN!

For those of you who are either newly joined or don't remember my little joke a couple e-mails away, you, the receivers of this e-mail, are referred to as HUN (Haitian Update Network). Why? Because it's easy, short, and injects a small measure of silliness into our lives (and we need it, don't we?). I trust you are all doing splendidly. If perchance I have misplaced my trust, by all means send me an e-mail. I am not there in body, but I am more than happy to be there for you... electronically. For what its worth.

Things here are progressing swimmingly. I won't deny that there has been the occasional mishap--for instance, I haven't taken too easily to waking up every morning at six, since that is about the time I was accustomed to going to bed--but by and large things are quite excellent. Today, I will be converting the church computers into a domain-based network, which will be a bit of a challenge since the donated equipment that is being used varies incredibly in age and capability. Thankfully, I have yet to come across anything older than a 486DX, but I'm still wary.

Yesterday, I helped install some wiring in the church sanctuary. Actually, to be honest, the extent of my contribution was to hand the hammers and drills up the ladder to the ones that actually knew what they were doing. Still, we got to converse (mostly in Spanish, since it was our only overlapping language), and I always value my opportunities to meet new people. The Haitians are a wonderful people. There's something marvelously endearing about their honest answers and open passion. One man I met spoke rapturously about how his daughter would "touch his face" and "put her head on his stomach." I had never realized before that how terribly vulnerable one is when one admits to being happy.

One of the major purposes of this update is to affirm, consolidate, and add to existing contact information. So here it is:

Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frere, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frere, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340

Important: Remember to address it to Paster Jean Petit-Frere and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!

God bless you all,

Dan

Child of Hollywood

December 1, 2006

As a child of Hollywood, I know the signs of a life-changing experience. The camera angle shifts to capture the emotional struggle of the protagonist; the ambient noise drops to a non-intrusive murmur; key phrases are delivered sequentially and without overlap. Eyes sparkle with suppressed tears, and music gently beckons toward the appropriate response.

Such expectations are probably the reason that my own life-changing experience caught me off guard. One moment, I was conversing with Haitian pastor Jean Petit-Frère about the idiosyncrasies of international travel, and the next about when I would be coming and how long I should stay. The progression was exciting, of course, but so natural that it seemed to be the inevitable next step in my haphazard life.

Unlike Hollywood’s convenient connection between environment and circumstance, life seems to have a genuine respect for the laws of nature. Inertia in particular is held in high regard. My experience may have seemed linear thanks to my lack of perception, but contending with the reality of my sharp change in direction has been a challenge.

When I say, “a challenge,” what I mean is that my cell phone company wants to charge me two hundred dollars to cancel my plan. I mean that I will have to tell my boss, my one and only coworker for the majority of the last year, that I will be forcing her to find a replacement for me. Did I mention that my boss is pregnant and will be taking significant leave time in a few months? And most of all, I mean that for five months, I will place an ocean between myself and every person I have ever loved. Inertia, indeed.

I’m not having second thoughts. Starting January 5th, I’ll have the opportunity to share my life with people that I can help. Here in Traverse City, I’m a college student studying Linguistics and Computer Science. In Haiti, I’ll be teaching English and technology. I haven’t yet wrapped my head around how thrilled I am to be doing this.

Still, I prepare to leave knowing that Haiti will change me far more than I will change Haiti. I am fully anticipate that five months of missions work will equate to five months of intense personal growth. And I find myself hoping that, when I approach a crossroad, I will have the presence of mind to set aside my background and recognize my decision for what it is.

Hollywood has very little presence in Haiti, you see, and there will be a different music to guide me.

Introduction

This is the blog that will act as an archive for all my Haitian Update Network (HUN) e-mails. Contact information will be valid until June 1, 2007.

Dan