HUN Update, February 3, 2007

Hey HUN,

I got a request a while ago for a brief explanation of my day-to-day schedule. I promised I would do so when I had an established schedule. By that indication, one might suppose that my life was completely unpredictable and that I am simply unable to generalize. As it happens, nothing could be farther from the truth. I just forgot.

Every morning at six, the alarm goes off, and if necessary I set about dissipating whatever elements of my dream have refused to disappear. Does that happen to anybody else? A couple nights ago, I woke up and there was a man slumped against my bedside table, sleeping I suppose. What was I to do? My knife is never far from me, so I immediately whipped it out. My eyes tried desperately to resolve the shape more accurately; to pick details from the grainy pixelation of shadow. I tentatively reached out with my left hand to touch the man's shoulder, knife at the ready. Nothing. There wasn't even anything there from which to derive the shape of a man; only blackness, and my own yawning imagination.

Then I turn off the fan. The fan is necessary at night, when it's typically around eighty-five degrees, but less so in the morning when it's a pleasant sixty-five to seventy. The fan has its own stand and is located several feet from the bed, so my next course of action is to mentally chasten myself for, once again, neglecting to turn on the lamp first. So I feel my way around the fan and turn on the light (assuming there's electricity) and, while my vision scatters like light on oil-water, I consider to myself what it would be like to be blind.

I have my own bathroom, albeit without running water and a toilet that has to be fixed every time you flush, and I thank God every morning for it. Truly, it is my first pleasure every morning. I enter in, kill any marauding insects large enough to tickle my peripheral vision, and use my dipping bowl and five-gallon bucket to wash up. This requires more skill than one might think, and there's really quite a technique to it; but, all things considered, I'm going to hold on to that educational segment for some other time. I will say, however, that the first bowl-full feels very, very, cold.

I finish the various morning bathroom duties, make my bed (it makes Marcia happy to see my room all tidy, so I happily oblige), and put everything into my backpack that I took out the night before. I grab my sandals (I actually forget this step at least a couple times a week and regularly find myself running back to my room to get them) and make myself a peanut butter sandwich and we head out the door.

...Not really. The Petit-Frere family has a carefully engineered calendar that schedules who will be late each morning. As a result, we never actually leave the house on time, but it's never the same person that causes the hang-up. I found this frustrating until I realized that, as the hapless American, I was not in the least inconvenienced by this, nor was I badly reflected upon. Actually, the worst aspect of the situation is that, every couple weeks, somebody will miss their day and we'll all be ready at the right time. Then everybody looks around confusedly, pretending they do not know precisely whose fault it is, and everybody heads out the door feeling vaguely dissatisfied.

For those of you unused to my humor--no, they don't really use a calendar, and the last sentence is wholly fabricated. But it really does feel like this, most of the time.

We pray every morning before we leave. Such prayers you have never heard, unless you've had the pleasure of spending some time with Jean. Haiti is a dangerous nation, and there are lots of way to get hurt or killed or kidnapped or otherwise distracted from fulfilling your duties within the ministry. Jean has it all covered. He prays so fervently that I sometimes wonder why God doesn't pat him on the shoulder and say something like, "come now, I'll take care of it. Just get in the car and it'll be all right." In any case, the proof is in the pudding: Jean's family has indeed been protected. God may or may not agree with my perceived hyperbole, but either way, He listens. And I guess that's what matters.

The drive is always exciting. I have hypothesized on occasion that the purpose for leaving late is so that Jean can feel rushed; without that, he could not possibly justify some of the Knievel-esque stunts he pulls every morning. My youthful experiences with passing in front of an oncoming truck with only ten yards to spare seem flimsy and atrophied. This man thinks nothing of passing several cars on a crowded city road (creating his own lane in the process that gives him between one and two inches on either side, depending on how the side-view mirrors are adjusted), claiming the lane of opposing traffic for his own for a few seconds, and then nudging in to the four-inch space between a tank and a battering ram. Well, two big trucks, anyway. It's a good thing that I've developed the zen philosophy I spoke of in the last update. I look forward to every car ride.

We arrive at the church/school and assume our stations. Mine is an office next to Jean's, and from that moment on my schedule doesn't exist. I have things to do, of course, but they vary wildly according to day of the week, grass-length, and celestial alignment. Many people I don't know come into my office and ask for a repair on their computer, or for a brief lesson in programming, computer systems, English, or piano. And others, too; some that I didn't know that I knew enough about to teach. It's exciting and reaffirming to be able to enrich a person's life just by spending time with them. They are so grateful and so...in awe. I wish there was some way to make them understand that their day-by-day persistence, love, respect, and sincerity are worth far more than every paltry niche of my supposed knowledge. It is a rich culture, and it has a great future once it finds a footing.

At about twelve, I'm ready for a break, so I go up to a rooftop, spread out my towel, and read the bible or pray. It's extremely pressure-less, and, although I haven't fallen asleep yet, I find that it is very restoring. By the time I get up again, I am ready to face the afternoon. Beginning with lunch.

Afternoon is more of the same, and afterward comes and one of a dozen prayer meetings, outreaches, or special services that pepper the evenings. Every once in a while nothing is planned, and we get home as early as seven. I happily do some reading until ten-ish and then go to sleep.

That's about how it goes. And now, the moment you've all been waiting for: today's lesson in Haitian Creole!

For using two verbs together, one as an infinite, it is necessary to remember that there is no stem changing or conjugation as there is among the romance languages. So,

I sleep: M'domi (mm-dome-ee)
I want (it): M'vli (mm-vlee)
I want to sleep: M'vli domi (mm-vlee-dome-ee)

For negatives, add the word "pa" after the subject:

I don't want to sleep: M'pa vli domi (mm-pah-vlee-dome-ee)

As you see, the fact that verbs don't change forms simplifies the language immensely. All right, that's probably enough for now. If at some point people are thinking, "gee, I wish I didn't have this language crap at the bottom of the newsletter," let me know and I can kill it. I just thought it would be neat.

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


P.S. A thank you goes out for those that have already sent letters and packages. They mean a great deal to me. Especially those that contain food! :)