Hey HUN,
The clock struck midnight; March 23rd arrived like the black sheep in a family of holidays. All around the nation of Haiti, children turned in their beds. It was Friday, the last day of mid-term exams in hundreds of schools throughout the nation. I was aware of this fact, but oblivious to the fact that I was to be tested as well. In my naivety, I had thought that, perhaps, the fact that it was my departure date from the United States would preserve me. How very, very wrong I was.
I had returned home late, and stopped in the house only long enough to get water and a peanut butter sandwich before heading over to my apartment. It was another day without electricity--just one such day among many that week--so my door opened into darkness. I stepped in and set my things down on the table, the location of which I have learned by memory from similar dark days. I lit a candle and set it by my bed side, then read from my T.S. Elliot book. The Wasteland: a poem every bit as comforting as The Exorcist alone in the dark. At one point I remembered my peanut butter sandwich and went to get it. I continued reading while I ate.
It wasn't crunchy peanut butter, and yet it crunched. What could it mean? I hardly had to look at my sandwich to see the swarms of ants crawling in and out; the moment of testing had finally come. But experience is a good teacher, and I cast the ants a scornful glance, shook the sandwich slightly to dislodge a few, and continued eating. I needed the extra protein, anyway.
Twelve hours later, I was in the states; I'll be here until I return to Haiti on the 29th. It sounds so easy when I say it that way, doesn't it? Words have a strange ability to make stretches of time appear irrelevant, as if to say, "time passed, but nothing happened." Well, things have happened. For instance: I was waiting for my Mother to come pick me up from the airport when I realized that I could use the time to sort out some issues with my future plane tickets. I went to do so and meanwhile asked a nice British lady next to me to watch my bags. She was very friendly and agreed to do so, despite the intercom's warning against such things. When I returned, the poor woman was quite undone; I was so busy pitying her for whatever had happened that I didn't notice that my bags were gone. "The police took them!" she said. "I tried to stop them, but I couldn't!" She couldn't have been more distressed if she had been a murder witness. "Don't worry," I told her, "I'll take care of it. Thank you so much." I took off running down the hall.
I quickly reached the conclusion that, given that the airport had at least ten miles of public corridors, my random search would probably fail to produce results. I asked a security guard who directed me to the correct area. The "correct area" was a desk. Behind the desk was a woman. Perched atop the nose of that woman, like a small animal peering down from her face, were her glasses. Thick, leopard-patterned glasses with lenses as round and small as a silver dollar. I approached her and explained the situation as simply as I could: "ma'am, a police officer stole my bags, and I'll be needing them back, now." She asked me why a police officer would have stolen my bags, and I told her that it was probably because he had thought them unattended. Which, I explained, was the furthest thing from the truth. A nice British lady was watching them quite carefully.
But after this I was quite meek, and after some gently scolding they released my items into my custody. I got my cell phone out and saw three missed calls. Uh oh: my Mother was supposed to call when she arrived at the airport. I began running toward the exit, knocking down children and old people in my path. I met my mother without further mishap, and thus began our adventures, which belong, I suppose, to a different newsletter.
And maybe to a different life. I am frequently asked: was it difficult to adapt to Haitian life? And in all honesty, for the most part the answer has been "no." Aspects that have been difficult to deal with might have happened in Spain or Russia or Missouri. Very little about Haiti itself caused me significant distress. Going back to America may prove more difficult. Maybe it's because I'm used to the fact that the simple virtue of my location means that every day carries value to my resume, my relationship, and my religion. Have I grown to depend on that? It's hard to tell.
Now, I am no longer a policeman/soldier/fireman/missionary. My occupation no longer comes with a badge. I find myself worrying: is this the only meaningful thing I have ever done? Is this the only meaningful thing I will ever do? It is time to accept a new commission. And what that commission will be, only God knows, and only time can tell.
---------------------------------------
View blog archives.
Attention: I will be starting a new newsletter, if any of you are interested. In honor of my new location and in recognition of the irony of my change in circumstance, it will be named FUN - the Floridan Update Network. I will not be moving anybody over to this new list automatically, so if you'd like to be added, please let me know.
Effective March 23rd, I will be reachable at the same old number: 231-631-3016.
God Bless,
Dan
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
HUN Update, March 20, 2007
Hey HUN,
Month one: There's an ant in this loaf of bread. Umm... I'll wait for lunch.
Month two: This peanut butter is swarming with ants. I'll have to buy more tomorrow.
Month three: If I don't turn on the light, I won't be able to tell if there are ants until it's too late to care.
The guy who drives me to and from the airport (or the U.S. consulate) used to be a pimp. He managed two dozen prostitutes before God slapped him on the face and he decided to become a preacher. The guy I eat lunch with every day was arrested for armed robbery and deported to Haiti. He wandered aimlessly on the streets until he found a job teaching kindergarten. A good solid quarter of our church women have been prostitutes for some portion of their lives. Significantly more than a quarter of the men have at one time or another availed themselves of such services.
But my pimp driver is willing to leave work and spend hours out of his day to be a driver for an American he hardly knows. And my thug lunch mate is a philosophical guru who muses about physical manifestations of spiritual visions. And one of those ex-prostitutes makes my lunch every day. And one of those men preached a sermon last Sunday on sexual immorality.
You don't need to leave the States to see that God changes people's lives, but what has amazed me here is that people are willing to accept those changes. What would the public reaction in Traverse City be to a ex-con kindergarten teacher? He wouldn't just be an ex-con; he would be an ex-living ex-con. (Did I mention that he also sold heroine and cocaine, too? I must have forgotten.) But here, people are proud of their six-foot-four heavy-built gangster-talkin' teacher. Because you know what? He's great with kids. They learn really well with him despite crappy home situations and a lack of school supplies.
I've been reading a book on business policy, and it has stressed that the United States is a place where you can fail at business many times but still come back to succeed. Haiti doesn't really have that. If you can raise capital for one venture, you've done really well. But when it comes to giving people second chances, this nation wins hands down.
I'll be moving to Florida in a couple weeks. I'm flying there the 23rd and returning on the 29th with a load of equipment; then, on April 7th, I'll be moving to Tampa, Fl for an indefinite period of time. That's when I get my second chance. Of course, some people may ask why I need a second chance. I've never been in jail...well, not because I deserved it, anyway...and my legal record is clear of anything that would keep me from being nominated for local government.
But I've burned my share of bridges. I've under-committed and I've over-committed and I've had good things but managed them poorly. I've had money and lost money and the same goes for friends. In short, my home is full of mistakes and successes and I don't want that to become the context for the next segment of my life. I've learned a lot here, but to cement what I've learned I need to stay away from the old ruts. Does this make sense? I hope so, because I've spent plenty of time thinking about it.
It's been wonderful writing to all of you. Knowing that my major decisions would end up in a newsletter has motivated me to put a lot more thought into my reasoning, and sometimes to choose a different, better course. Because of that, and also because I want to keep in touch with people, my first FUN (Florida Update Network) newsletter will be sent out while I'm visiting Florida from the 23rd and the 29th. After that, there will be one more HUN, and then it will be done.
Rhyme intentional.
------------------------------
View blog archives.
Attention: I will be starting a new newsletter, if any of you are interested. In honor of my new location and in recognition of the irony of my change in circumstance, it will be named FUN - the Floridan Update Network. I will not be moving anybody over to this new list automatically, so if you'd like to be added, please let me know.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. Please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough to reach me. This is my current contact information:
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
Effective March 23rd, I will be reachable at the same old number: 231-631-3016.
God Bless,
Dan
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Record Eagle Post, March 18, 2007
The Last Episode
Posted on March 18th, 2007 by Dan Kaschel in Away From HomeAs a human, I’m permanently stuck in the present. Sure, I can remember things… but generally only as they relate to the present. The future yields its secrets one moment at a time.
That said, I don’t know if I would say that “time flies.” Provided that I have enough variety in my life, I tend to amble forward with enough time to enjoy the scenery, but without the waiting-for-a-page-to-load-with-dial-up-internet-access ennui. Still, after three months in Haiti, my inability to access the four-dimensionality of my past makes it seem almost instantaneous.
I’m leaving in under a week. Leaving for a new home and a new job; leaving for new opportunities and new ideas. I feel as if all the people from back home were little dots on my map; and now, I have zoomed out and the world looms large and every single person reading this in Traverse City looks like home. I’m excited to be away, but even twenty-year-olds deserve a certain amount of nostalgia.
This will be my last Away From Home entry, as I will no longer be in Haiti doing missions work. For those of you who are interested, I am beginning a newsletter for my Floridan Experiences. If you wish to be included, add a comment to this article with your e-mail address.
It has been a pleasure. Bondje beni’w (God bless you),
Dan
Visit the archives.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
HUN Update, March 14, 2007
Hey HUN,
This is going to be a short one. I just wanted to keep you updated on my life and plans. Big things are afoot!
After quite a bit of prayer and lots of helpful advice (my favorite piece: "ask your mom"), the Lord has led me to stay in Florida when I leave Haiti. That's right, my dear friends, family, neighbors, and brothers and sisters in Christ: our little group is about to be disbanded. While I have struggled a great deal with the pressure I felt to live according to human expectations, God has given me a lot of peace about this course of action, and I am confident that I am pursuing the correct path.
But my work is not nearly over. Jean has some plans for me while I'm in Florida to continue my work on his behalf, and the work for the next week or so has intensified immensely. I've been working on finding a pair of projectors for Jean's church; they are very high-quality, and are difficult to find for under four thousand dollars. I just found a pair of refurbished projectors of the precise model with brand new lamps for $1500 each. That is, both of them together will be less than a pretty good deal on one of them. This comes at a very fortunate time, because I can use my return ticket to Haiti to ship things over here more safely and with less risk.
Personally, I am setting about the formidable task of searching for a job and a place to live in Florida. I am very excited about the next chapter of my life, and I am eager to make the most of it. My goal is to establish a lifestyle with sufficient income to make a significant contribution to Jean's ministry. We'll see how that goes.
Naturally, these updates will cease by March 23rd. You've been a fantastic, encouraging group of people and have brought countless smiles into my life. Smiles are worth their weight in gold.
------------------------------
View blog archives.
Attention: I will be starting a new newsletter, if any of you are interested. In honor of my new location and in recognition of the irony in my change in circumstance, it will be named FUN - the Floridan Update Network. I will not be moving anybody over to this new list automatically, so if you'd like to be added, please let me know.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. Please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough to reach me. This is my current contact information:
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
Effective March 23rd, I will be reachable at the same old number: 231-631-3016.
God Bless,
Dan
This is going to be a short one. I just wanted to keep you updated on my life and plans. Big things are afoot!
After quite a bit of prayer and lots of helpful advice (my favorite piece: "ask your mom"), the Lord has led me to stay in Florida when I leave Haiti. That's right, my dear friends, family, neighbors, and brothers and sisters in Christ: our little group is about to be disbanded. While I have struggled a great deal with the pressure I felt to live according to human expectations, God has given me a lot of peace about this course of action, and I am confident that I am pursuing the correct path.
But my work is not nearly over. Jean has some plans for me while I'm in Florida to continue my work on his behalf, and the work for the next week or so has intensified immensely. I've been working on finding a pair of projectors for Jean's church; they are very high-quality, and are difficult to find for under four thousand dollars. I just found a pair of refurbished projectors of the precise model with brand new lamps for $1500 each. That is, both of them together will be less than a pretty good deal on one of them. This comes at a very fortunate time, because I can use my return ticket to Haiti to ship things over here more safely and with less risk.
Personally, I am setting about the formidable task of searching for a job and a place to live in Florida. I am very excited about the next chapter of my life, and I am eager to make the most of it. My goal is to establish a lifestyle with sufficient income to make a significant contribution to Jean's ministry. We'll see how that goes.
Naturally, these updates will cease by March 23rd. You've been a fantastic, encouraging group of people and have brought countless smiles into my life. Smiles are worth their weight in gold.
------------------------------
View blog archives.
Attention: I will be starting a new newsletter, if any of you are interested. In honor of my new location and in recognition of the irony in my change in circumstance, it will be named FUN - the Floridan Update Network. I will not be moving anybody over to this new list automatically, so if you'd like to be added, please let me know.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. Please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough to reach me. This is my current contact information:
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
Effective March 23rd, I will be reachable at the same old number: 231-631-3016.
God Bless,
Dan
Record Eagle Post, March 12, 2007
An Unexpected Change in Plans
Posted on March 12th, 2007 by Dan Kaschel in Away From Home
Posted on March 12th, 2007 by Dan Kaschel in Away From Home
I know Christopher Columbus is no longer in vogue — “but he didn’t really discover America” — but even so, what would you do if you were planning to sail to India for some good old-fashioned profitable trade and instead you ended up on some continent that wasn’t even on the maps? All things considered, I think good ol’ C.C. did rather well for himself. I mean, sometimes life just blindsides you, and you can either wilt or flower.
I had a talk with Jean, my host, who said the things I do for him are no longer things that I need to be local to do and that it’s an unjustified drain on his and my resources — he’s always very diplomatic — to keep me here. And, after moving past my initial feelings of rejection and disappointment, I suppose I agree.
But it sure does put me in an awkward situation. Jean knew I was visiting my mother and grandfather in Florida from March 23rd through the 29th, so I imagine that, in his eyes, I can follow the same plane without returning. It’s not that simple, though; first of all, my plane ticket goes to Florida, not Michigan, which means a plane ride I can’t afford or a very long walk. And frankly, I’m not ready to go back home, yet.
So I’m weighing my options — which, at this point, are limited to finding another ministry to work with in Haiti or staying in Florida where I can get a job and figure things out from there — and sitting tight and praying and just generally hoping that things will turn out fine.
And that’s my life today. Heaven knows what tomorrow will bring.
Dan
Monday, March 12, 2007
HUN Update, March 12, 2007
Hey HUN!
My first Haitian friend was Vilner, Jean and Marcia's eighteen-year-old cook. What was I to him? I was an extra mouth to feed. I was an extra dish to wash. I was the one who left sandals by the door step that he tripped on day after day after day. He spoke not a word of English, but thanks to his emphatic gestures and gentle nature, he managed to communicate somewhat.
I've never met anyone who reminded me more of a puppy. He was--and is--incredibly eager to please. One day I was filling my water bucket so my toilet would work, and, while I was waiting, he called, "cheve la!" "Sit over here!" I came over, and he picked a banana off the tree and gave it to me. It was green as a lime, but I opened it and behold! it was perfect. I ate it with obvious pleasure. He liked me for the simple reason that I was appreciative of the work he did.
I tried teaching him some Spanish. I have never met anyone with such a completely absent faculty for language. He can say two things now: "buenos dias" (good day), and "veinty-ocho" (twenty-eight). That's right. He knows how to say twenty-eight. It is beyond me how this managed to lodge in his head, but he now regularly hails me down and says with great enthusiasm: "veinty ocho!"
I remember sitting outside of the church during the evening service. I was reading a book when a little girl came up and took it from me. It was a thick, small-print book on business policy, and of course it was all Greek to her. "Eske sa ou'li pou mwen, supli?" she asked. "Will you read this to me, please?" I hardly knew what to say. Well, what the heck.
And so I read. And, to my great surprise, she paid attention. For several pages of case studies and financial evaluations--none of which would have made sense to her in Creole, much less English--she sat attentively. We were interrupted by another little girl who thought my nose was just about the strangest thing in the universe. She would touch it and squeeze it until I was forced to cover my face with my hands.
The some eight-year-old-ish boys joined us. They wanted to play a game: the one where you hold your hands palm-up underneath theirs (which are palm down) and try to slap the top of their hands. It is a game of reflex. We played for quite some time, and the girls would occasionally jump in.
Then some older girls, probably my age or a year or two younger, came and joined us. At this point I had moved on to faux-juggling. I would pretend to attempt easy feats--throwing up a rock and catching it, for instance, or juggling two rocks at a time--and fail miserably. To them, it was hilarious. Easy crowds!
Crowds, indeed. That group got bigger and bigger until I was entertaining ten or twelve people. I was starting to run out of ideas when boom! church ended and the group dissolved like smoke in a wind-storm except for one little boy who had (apparently) decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life sitting next to me as if he were my manager. Or my little brother.
There are a lot of things I have done here. I have built and I have repaired and I have ordered and I have written. But the people , the experience of communication sans language, has been the most powerful part of my journey.
A man approached me yesterday. He spoke as best he could in English: "I want you know... if you sad you will call me and I pray for you so you can look up." God has been asking some difficult things of me lately, and I've had some really difficult decisions to make. What better prayer could there possibly be?
So that I can look up.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole, Goodbye Edition
How're you doing? : Sa pase (sahk-pahs-eh) (Colloquial)
We're burning (aflame, ablaze). : N'ap boule (nahp-boo-leh) (Colloquial)
Goodbye : A revwa (ah-rev-wah) Derived from the French "au revoir"
See you later : M'we'w pita (mm-way-oo-pee-tah)
I love you : Mwen reme'w (mwehN-ray-may-oo)
------------------------------
If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. After that, I will not be staying with Jean, so please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough at Jean's address to reach me. I am still not entirely sure of my direction from then on, but I have some options in mind and will keep you all informed.
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
God Bless,
Dan
My first Haitian friend was Vilner, Jean and Marcia's eighteen-year-old cook. What was I to him? I was an extra mouth to feed. I was an extra dish to wash. I was the one who left sandals by the door step that he tripped on day after day after day. He spoke not a word of English, but thanks to his emphatic gestures and gentle nature, he managed to communicate somewhat.
I've never met anyone who reminded me more of a puppy. He was--and is--incredibly eager to please. One day I was filling my water bucket so my toilet would work, and, while I was waiting, he called, "cheve la!" "Sit over here!" I came over, and he picked a banana off the tree and gave it to me. It was green as a lime, but I opened it and behold! it was perfect. I ate it with obvious pleasure. He liked me for the simple reason that I was appreciative of the work he did.
I tried teaching him some Spanish. I have never met anyone with such a completely absent faculty for language. He can say two things now: "buenos dias" (good day), and "veinty-ocho" (twenty-eight). That's right. He knows how to say twenty-eight. It is beyond me how this managed to lodge in his head, but he now regularly hails me down and says with great enthusiasm: "veinty ocho!"
I remember sitting outside of the church during the evening service. I was reading a book when a little girl came up and took it from me. It was a thick, small-print book on business policy, and of course it was all Greek to her. "Eske sa ou'li pou mwen, supli?" she asked. "Will you read this to me, please?" I hardly knew what to say. Well, what the heck.
And so I read. And, to my great surprise, she paid attention. For several pages of case studies and financial evaluations--none of which would have made sense to her in Creole, much less English--she sat attentively. We were interrupted by another little girl who thought my nose was just about the strangest thing in the universe. She would touch it and squeeze it until I was forced to cover my face with my hands.
The some eight-year-old-ish boys joined us. They wanted to play a game: the one where you hold your hands palm-up underneath theirs (which are palm down) and try to slap the top of their hands. It is a game of reflex. We played for quite some time, and the girls would occasionally jump in.
Then some older girls, probably my age or a year or two younger, came and joined us. At this point I had moved on to faux-juggling. I would pretend to attempt easy feats--throwing up a rock and catching it, for instance, or juggling two rocks at a time--and fail miserably. To them, it was hilarious. Easy crowds!
Crowds, indeed. That group got bigger and bigger until I was entertaining ten or twelve people. I was starting to run out of ideas when boom! church ended and the group dissolved like smoke in a wind-storm except for one little boy who had (apparently) decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life sitting next to me as if he were my manager. Or my little brother.
There are a lot of things I have done here. I have built and I have repaired and I have ordered and I have written. But the people , the experience of communication sans language, has been the most powerful part of my journey.
A man approached me yesterday. He spoke as best he could in English: "I want you know... if you sad you will call me and I pray for you so you can look up." God has been asking some difficult things of me lately, and I've had some really difficult decisions to make. What better prayer could there possibly be?
So that I can look up.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole, Goodbye Edition
How're you doing? : Sa pase (sahk-pahs-eh) (Colloquial)
We're burning (aflame, ablaze). : N'ap boule (nahp-boo-leh) (Colloquial)
Goodbye : A revwa (ah-rev-wah) Derived from the French "au revoir"
See you later : M'we'w pita (mm-way-oo-pee-tah)
I love you : Mwen reme'w (mwehN-ray-may-oo)
------------------------------
If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. After that, I will not be staying with Jean, so please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough at Jean's address to reach me. I am still not entirely sure of my direction from then on, but I have some options in mind and will keep you all informed.
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
God Bless,
Dan
HUN Update, March 12, 2007
Hey HUN!
My first Haitian friend was Vilner, Jean and Marcia's eighteen-year-old cook. What was I to him? I was an extra mouth to feed. I was an extra dish to wash. I was the one who left sandals by the door step that he tripped on day after day after day. He spoke not a word of English, but thanks to his emphatic gestures and gentle nature, he managed to communicate somewhat.
I've never met anyone who reminded me more of a puppy. He was--and is--incredibly eager to please. One day I was filling my water bucket so my toilet would work, and, while I was waiting, he called, "cheve la!" "Sit over here!" I came over, and he picked a banana off the tree and gave it to me. It was green as a lime, but I opened it and behold! it was perfect. I ate it with obvious pleasure. He liked me for the simple reason that I was appreciative of the work he did.
I tried teaching him some Spanish. I have never met anyone with such a completely absent faculty for language. He can say two things now: "buenos dias" (good day), and "veinty-ocho" (twenty-eight). That's right. He knows how to say twenty-eight. It is beyond me how this managed to lodge in his head, but he now regularly hails me down and says with great enthusiasm: "veinty ocho!"
I remember sitting outside of the church during the evening service. I was reading a book when a little girl came up and took it from me. It was a thick, small-print book on business policy, and of course it was all Greek to her. "Eske sa ou'li pou mwen, supli?" she asked. "Will you read this to me, please?" I hardly knew what to say. Well, what the heck.
And so I read. And, to my great surprise, she paid attention. For several pages of case studies and financial evaluations--none of which would have made sense to her in Creole, much less English--she sat attentively. We were interrupted by another little girl who thought my nose was just about the strangest thing in the universe. She would touch it and squeeze it until I was forced to cover my face with my hands.
Then some eight-year-old-ish boys joined us. They wanted to play a game: the one where you hold your hands palm-up underneath theirs (which are palm down) and try to slap the top of their hands. It is a game of reflex. We played for quite some time, and the girls would occasionally jump in.
Then some older girls, probably my age or a year or two younger, came and joined us. At this point I had moved on to faux-juggling. I would pretend to attempt easy feats--throwing up a rock and catching it, for instance, or juggling two rocks at a time--and fail miserably. To them, it was hilarious. Easy crowds!
Crowds, indeed. That group got bigger and bigger until I was entertaining ten or twelve people. I was starting to run out of ideas when boom! church ended and the group dissolved like smoke in a wind-storm except for one little boy who had (apparently) decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life sitting next to me as if he were my manager. Or my little brother.
There are a lot of things I have done here. I have built and I have repaired and I have ordered and I have written. But the people, the experience of communication sans language, has been the most powerful part of my journey.
A man approached me yesterday. He spoke as best he could in English: "I want you know... if you sad you will call me and I pray for you so you can look up." God has been asking some difficult things of me lately, and I've had some really difficult decisions to make. What better prayer could there possibly be?
So that I can look up.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole, Goodbye Edition
How're you doing? : Sa pase (sahk-pahs-eh) (Colloquial)
We're burning (aflame, ablaze). : N'ap boule (nahp-boo-leh) (Colloquial)
Goodbye : A revwa (ah-rev-wah) Derived from the French "au revoir"
See you later : M'we'w pita (mm-way-oo-pee-tah)
I love you : Mwen reme'w (mwehN-ray-may-oo)
------------------------------
If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. After that, I will not be staying with Jean, so please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough at Jean's address to reach me. I am still not entirely sure of my direction from then on, but I have some options in mind and will keep you all informed.
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
God Bless,
Dan
My first Haitian friend was Vilner, Jean and Marcia's eighteen-year-old cook. What was I to him? I was an extra mouth to feed. I was an extra dish to wash. I was the one who left sandals by the door step that he tripped on day after day after day. He spoke not a word of English, but thanks to his emphatic gestures and gentle nature, he managed to communicate somewhat.
I've never met anyone who reminded me more of a puppy. He was--and is--incredibly eager to please. One day I was filling my water bucket so my toilet would work, and, while I was waiting, he called, "cheve la!" "Sit over here!" I came over, and he picked a banana off the tree and gave it to me. It was green as a lime, but I opened it and behold! it was perfect. I ate it with obvious pleasure. He liked me for the simple reason that I was appreciative of the work he did.
I tried teaching him some Spanish. I have never met anyone with such a completely absent faculty for language. He can say two things now: "buenos dias" (good day), and "veinty-ocho" (twenty-eight). That's right. He knows how to say twenty-eight. It is beyond me how this managed to lodge in his head, but he now regularly hails me down and says with great enthusiasm: "veinty ocho!"
I remember sitting outside of the church during the evening service. I was reading a book when a little girl came up and took it from me. It was a thick, small-print book on business policy, and of course it was all Greek to her. "Eske sa ou'li pou mwen, supli?" she asked. "Will you read this to me, please?" I hardly knew what to say. Well, what the heck.
And so I read. And, to my great surprise, she paid attention. For several pages of case studies and financial evaluations--none of which would have made sense to her in Creole, much less English--she sat attentively. We were interrupted by another little girl who thought my nose was just about the strangest thing in the universe. She would touch it and squeeze it until I was forced to cover my face with my hands.
Then some eight-year-old-ish boys joined us. They wanted to play a game: the one where you hold your hands palm-up underneath theirs (which are palm down) and try to slap the top of their hands. It is a game of reflex. We played for quite some time, and the girls would occasionally jump in.
Then some older girls, probably my age or a year or two younger, came and joined us. At this point I had moved on to faux-juggling. I would pretend to attempt easy feats--throwing up a rock and catching it, for instance, or juggling two rocks at a time--and fail miserably. To them, it was hilarious. Easy crowds!
Crowds, indeed. That group got bigger and bigger until I was entertaining ten or twelve people. I was starting to run out of ideas when boom! church ended and the group dissolved like smoke in a wind-storm except for one little boy who had (apparently) decided that he wanted to spend the rest of his life sitting next to me as if he were my manager. Or my little brother.
There are a lot of things I have done here. I have built and I have repaired and I have ordered and I have written. But the people, the experience of communication sans language, has been the most powerful part of my journey.
A man approached me yesterday. He spoke as best he could in English: "I want you know... if you sad you will call me and I pray for you so you can look up." God has been asking some difficult things of me lately, and I've had some really difficult decisions to make. What better prayer could there possibly be?
So that I can look up.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole, Goodbye Edition
How're you doing? : Sa pase (sahk-pahs-eh) (Colloquial)
We're burning (aflame, ablaze). : N'ap boule (nahp-boo-leh) (Colloquial)
Goodbye : A revwa (ah-rev-wah) Derived from the French "au revoir"
See you later : M'we'w pita (mm-way-oo-pee-tah)
I love you : Mwen reme'w (mwehN-ray-may-oo)
------------------------------
If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates.
On March 23rd, I will travel to Florida to hang out with my mother and my Grandfather until the 29th. After that, I will not be staying with Jean, so please direct all packages and letters to my Grandfather's address so that I can pick them up when I get there. Nothing sent from now on will reach me fast enough at Jean's address to reach me. I am still not entirely sure of my direction from then on, but I have some options in mind and will keep you all informed.
Phone Number (cell): 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters & Packages (temporary): Dan Kaschel, c/o Jack Mendillo, 6746 Aliso Ave., West Palm Beach, Fl, 33413
God Bless,
Dan
HUN Update, March 9, 2007
Hey HUN,
There is just one person in this country that dislikes me. She is short and wears simple dresses with either white Adidas sneakers or her green off-brand sneakers, neither of which fit her. Her head is a perfect upright oval, and she wears a knit hat everywhere she goes. She smiles a lot, but doesn't talk very much. After all, she's a cook.
But I suppose I should have said that first. The church cook dislikes me. It all began a few weeks ago when Jean and Marci were on a trip to Jamaica, and that very same cook came to stay at our house to look after the children. I did my very best to stay out of her way because she always expects me to know more Creole than I really do and so I constantly have to ask her to repeat herself. But not in a mean way, because I liked her. I suppose I still do, whatever the circumstances.
Well, one night, she made this soupy stuff, the consistency of which reminds me a great deal of melted ice cream. It is yellow, contains cinnamon and bananas, and is sickeningly sweet. The first time I had it, a week or two into my stay, I came close to throwing up after just a few mouthfuls. It was a memorable experience and one I had no desire to repeat. I apologized profusely (in my broken Creole) and told her that I was sorry, but I wasn't hungry.
She said something. I blinked. It didn't sound like something that "yes" or "okay" would fix, so I waited and nodded a little and hoped she would be satisfied. She kept standing there. One of the children came to my aid, saying: "she says, while I'm in charge, you eat what I put in front of you."
I'd love to color myself perfect, but that got to me. First of all, ma'am, you're not in charge of me. You are in charge of them. The children. I've paid my dues. Secondly, nothing goes down my throat if I don't approve of it. Them's the rules. And thirdly, it is not possible for me to ingest this substance without generating a number of clean-up jobs for all of you. This isn't even a meal--it's just a snack! So get off my back.
I pretended that I still didn't understand, shrugged, and walked out to my apartment (this was soon after I had moved to the apartment). A couple weeks later, she protested to Jean that I had been rude and unmanageable. Jean was very upset and spoke to me about it. I apologized and assured him that it wouldn't happen again. What else could I do?
At first I was very unhappy with her, but over a couple of days I acknowledged that what I had done was culturally very rude, and that I had to let go and forgive and forget. And let's face it: being mad at a cook isn't really something I can do. If you feed me long enough, I can forgive almost anything.
But she still dislikes me. She still gives me the same forced smiles no matter what I do. She makes off-handed comments about me to the kitchen staff that she thinks I don't understand. I smile as if I'm clueless and sit down to eat. She cooks well.
It is a melancholy fact, to know that there is somebody in Haiti who wouldn't be pleased to see me return. And as my mind searches for a lesson to be learned from this situation, I find that it feels complete unto itself, as if this particular story has no moral, and offers itself not to be learned, but to be realized. Do you realize, Dan, that sometimes you will do things that you never have the opportunity to fix?
I read in a children's devotional a while ago: "Everybody gets mad sometimes. It is especially easy for us to get mad at the people we love, like our family and our friends and even God, because we know they will keep loving us even if we are mean to them. But it is still important to do what is right." You never know when you will say something that sticks.
----------------------------
No Haitian Creole today. That was one day when I was happier not to know it. So in the name of symbolic consistency... the lesson is canceled for today. But hey, I've already collected several admissions of skipping it anyway, so I don't think I'll seriously upset anybody. :)
There is just one person in this country that dislikes me. She is short and wears simple dresses with either white Adidas sneakers or her green off-brand sneakers, neither of which fit her. Her head is a perfect upright oval, and she wears a knit hat everywhere she goes. She smiles a lot, but doesn't talk very much. After all, she's a cook.
But I suppose I should have said that first. The church cook dislikes me. It all began a few weeks ago when Jean and Marci were on a trip to Jamaica, and that very same cook came to stay at our house to look after the children. I did my very best to stay out of her way because she always expects me to know more Creole than I really do and so I constantly have to ask her to repeat herself. But not in a mean way, because I liked her. I suppose I still do, whatever the circumstances.
Well, one night, she made this soupy stuff, the consistency of which reminds me a great deal of melted ice cream. It is yellow, contains cinnamon and bananas, and is sickeningly sweet. The first time I had it, a week or two into my stay, I came close to throwing up after just a few mouthfuls. It was a memorable experience and one I had no desire to repeat. I apologized profusely (in my broken Creole) and told her that I was sorry, but I wasn't hungry.
She said something. I blinked. It didn't sound like something that "yes" or "okay" would fix, so I waited and nodded a little and hoped she would be satisfied. She kept standing there. One of the children came to my aid, saying: "she says, while I'm in charge, you eat what I put in front of you."
I'd love to color myself perfect, but that got to me. First of all, ma'am, you're not in charge of me. You are in charge of them. The children. I've paid my dues. Secondly, nothing goes down my throat if I don't approve of it. Them's the rules. And thirdly, it is not possible for me to ingest this substance without generating a number of clean-up jobs for all of you. This isn't even a meal--it's just a snack! So get off my back.
I pretended that I still didn't understand, shrugged, and walked out to my apartment (this was soon after I had moved to the apartment). A couple weeks later, she protested to Jean that I had been rude and unmanageable. Jean was very upset and spoke to me about it. I apologized and assured him that it wouldn't happen again. What else could I do?
At first I was very unhappy with her, but over a couple of days I acknowledged that what I had done was culturally very rude, and that I had to let go and forgive and forget. And let's face it: being mad at a cook isn't really something I can do. If you feed me long enough, I can forgive almost anything.
But she still dislikes me. She still gives me the same forced smiles no matter what I do. She makes off-handed comments about me to the kitchen staff that she thinks I don't understand. I smile as if I'm clueless and sit down to eat. She cooks well.
It is a melancholy fact, to know that there is somebody in Haiti who wouldn't be pleased to see me return. And as my mind searches for a lesson to be learned from this situation, I find that it feels complete unto itself, as if this particular story has no moral, and offers itself not to be learned, but to be realized. Do you realize, Dan, that sometimes you will do things that you never have the opportunity to fix?
I read in a children's devotional a while ago: "Everybody gets mad sometimes. It is especially easy for us to get mad at the people we love, like our family and our friends and even God, because we know they will keep loving us even if we are mean to them. But it is still important to do what is right." You never know when you will say something that sticks.
----------------------------
No Haitian Creole today. That was one day when I was happier not to know it. So in the name of symbolic consistency... the lesson is canceled for today. But hey, I've already collected several admissions of skipping it anyway, so I don't think I'll seriously upset anybody. :)
Tuesday, March 6, 2007
HUN Update, March 6, 2007
Hey HUN,
I woke up this morning with wool socks. They're probably the only pair in Haiti, but I doubt I could convince anybody to take them unless I paid them. "But they're warm, even when they're wet!" Yup... somehow not a selling point here. I was also wearing fleece pants and a gray hoodie. Basically I was the polar opposite of the Haitian that refuses to believe in snow. Get it? Polar opposite? Good one.
The story: I woke up at about four this morning from a lovely dream about kickboxing with jackrabbits and remembered quickly that my sheets were being washed and hence were not with me. I did not remember because I was cold, but because in the last several hours my feet had become an aerial view of the the Pacific Ring of Fire. I had so many bug bites that plunging a knife into my foot to scratch them was beginning to sound attractive. And so I decided to protect myself.
And it worked. No more bites. A little hot, but no more bites.
When those things happen, I like it. I'm the type of person that doesn't feel engaged by life unless he's doing something. Routines are like vitamins to me; they're necessary to keep me running, but they're not the part of my diet that I enjoy. That's an issue here, because in Haiti, routines are a luxury. Routines mean security and predictability and safety--real assets in a city with more per capita kidnapping than any other place in the world.
But I see walls topped with broken glass and razor wire and think, "how could I climb over that?" There's a locked metal door between me and a piano, and I spend fifteen minutes finding out that I could fit between two bars if I was stark naked. Jean wants to move his projectors off-center a few feet, and I spent the next two hours learning about keystoning. Frankly, if it's not a challenge, what's the point?
The point is that I am here to be an asset to Jean in any way that I can, not to entertain myself. There are plenty of challenges to be had here, but I came here for a purpose and the purpose is not me. How natural it feels to focus on myself. How inevitable. I've taken to recalling my true focus every morning just to start off my day the right way.
We humans... no, I'll speak for myself. I, as a human, am capable of thinking about three or four things at once, and concentrating on about... one. That means that I remain precisely the same distance from my goal until I refocus. It's a chilling thought.
Makes me want to find those wool socks.
------------------------------
Haitian Creole, anyone? Me too. Today we'll just jump right in and pick up some new vocabulary and grammatical familiarity.
Is that the one you want? : Eske se sa-a ou vli? (ess-kay-say-sah-ah-oo-vlee) "Eske" turns any sentence into a question. "Sa-a" (a little tricky to pronounce) is equivalent to the English phrase "the one." Literally, it means "the this."
Other : Lot (loht)
The other book is really good. : Lot liv la bon anpil. (loht-leev-lah-boN-ahN-peel) Note the implied, but omitted, "to be"
------------------------------
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 write "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!
God Bless,
Dan
I woke up this morning with wool socks. They're probably the only pair in Haiti, but I doubt I could convince anybody to take them unless I paid them. "But they're warm, even when they're wet!" Yup... somehow not a selling point here. I was also wearing fleece pants and a gray hoodie. Basically I was the polar opposite of the Haitian that refuses to believe in snow. Get it? Polar opposite? Good one.
The story: I woke up at about four this morning from a lovely dream about kickboxing with jackrabbits and remembered quickly that my sheets were being washed and hence were not with me. I did not remember because I was cold, but because in the last several hours my feet had become an aerial view of the the Pacific Ring of Fire. I had so many bug bites that plunging a knife into my foot to scratch them was beginning to sound attractive. And so I decided to protect myself.
And it worked. No more bites. A little hot, but no more bites.
When those things happen, I like it. I'm the type of person that doesn't feel engaged by life unless he's doing something. Routines are like vitamins to me; they're necessary to keep me running, but they're not the part of my diet that I enjoy. That's an issue here, because in Haiti, routines are a luxury. Routines mean security and predictability and safety--real assets in a city with more per capita kidnapping than any other place in the world.
But I see walls topped with broken glass and razor wire and think, "how could I climb over that?" There's a locked metal door between me and a piano, and I spend fifteen minutes finding out that I could fit between two bars if I was stark naked. Jean wants to move his projectors off-center a few feet, and I spent the next two hours learning about keystoning. Frankly, if it's not a challenge, what's the point?
The point is that I am here to be an asset to Jean in any way that I can, not to entertain myself. There are plenty of challenges to be had here, but I came here for a purpose and the purpose is not me. How natural it feels to focus on myself. How inevitable. I've taken to recalling my true focus every morning just to start off my day the right way.
We humans... no, I'll speak for myself. I, as a human, am capable of thinking about three or four things at once, and concentrating on about... one. That means that I remain precisely the same distance from my goal until I refocus. It's a chilling thought.
Makes me want to find those wool socks.
------------------------------
Haitian Creole, anyone? Me too. Today we'll just jump right in and pick up some new vocabulary and grammatical familiarity.
Is that the one you want? : Eske se sa-a ou vli? (ess-kay-say-sah-ah-oo-vlee) "Eske" turns any sentence into a question. "Sa-a" (a little tricky to pronounce) is equivalent to the English phrase "the one." Literally, it means "the this."
Other : Lot (loht)
The other book is really good. : Lot liv la bon anpil. (loht-leev-lah-boN-ahN-peel) Note the implied, but omitted, "to be"
------------------------------
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 write "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!
God Bless,
Dan
Friday, March 2, 2007
Record Eagle Post, March 2, 2007
Haitian Culture: A Survival Guide
And now I present to you: Dan Kaschel, straight from the school of hard knocks!
Sure, you go to a new country, and you expect a new culture. What I didn't quite get is that Haitians aren't any more aware of their cultural idiosyncrasies than Americans are. So when I asked them if there were things I should look out for, their suggestions came pathetically short of truly informing me. So here are a few tips on how to avoid offending Haitians.
- Respect is everything. Among themselves, firstly--which means always referring to people by their titles (first names are very informal here, and most Haitians will introduce themselves by their last names) and always greeting people as they pass by--but especially among elders. It is considered rude to whistle around your elders, or to cross your legs. It is a sign of impertinence, and it is taken very offensively.
- Gender equality does not exist. Because of strictly enforced gender roles, it is pretty much unheard of for men and women to be close friend outside of a romantic relationship. When I visited a friend who was on a mission trip here at a hotel, it was a bit scandalous. Oops.
- Possessions are jealously guarded. Everything is under lock and key to keep it safe, and a sure way to make a Haitian enemy is to give him or her the idea that you have access to his or her possessions. So if you can pick locks, just don't tell anybody. It's better that way. Possessions--and privacy, similarly--border on sacred.
If I had known these things--or if somebody has been aware enough to tell me--I would have been much better off. But I didn't, and nobody was, so now I'm telling you. If you go to Haiti, be cautious.
But don't let that scare you off. Haitians are very complex, and understanding them wholly is the work of many rewarding lifetimes. If you ever happen to stop by, look me up and we can say hello.
If you're a man. Of course.
Dan
For more about me and my adventures here in Haiti, see my newsletter archive.
HUN Update, March 2, 2007
Hey HUN,
I came to Hotel Montana yesterday in Petitionville (pronounced pay-shoN-vi, and don't ask me where the silent syllables go) to meet my best friend from the States, who was here on a mission trip. I was here an hour or two before her, so I immediately made use of the most undervalued resource in the world: hot water. My first real shower in two months; it was a treat.
It is a beautiful place, and I spent some time walking on the paths. One of the things I noticed was how American I felt. I have felt American all my life, so I never really knew any different, but two months in Haiti has caused a different perspective to filter into my mind. The internal switch was automatic. One moment I had an American-Haitian mentality cross, and the next I was a 100% full-blooded American. The change was palpable. I walked differently--I knew that I was important and entitled to respect. I resumed the American dynamic: you pay, you get served; you serve, you get payed. I was paying, so it was a fair assumption that the entire Hotel staff was at my disposal.
I'm not saying this ironically. I think that's an appropriate mindset in the United States, though of course everybody should be treated with courtesy and respect. I'm just saying that I never understood my own mindset until I had adopted a different one. I might even go so far as to say that I miss feeling like an American. The sense of self-evident self-worth that is so very cultural in the US is absent here, and as I slowly revert I feel almost as if my value is draining away from me. It is a strong indicator of the power of one's own sense of value.
The experience came at a good time for me. Jean has expressed an uncertainty as to whether the work he has for me merits six months of my time, since much of what I do (research, writing, correspondence) can be done from the States. I understand where he's coming from, but it's difficult not to feel rejected. So I have had some time to think, and some time to talk with somebody I trust. Actually, I didn't talk to my friend extensively about it, but sometimes it's encouraging just to tell someone about it.
"Plan one" is to make every effort to be an asset to Jean and thereby justify my time with him. But if that is impossible, my time here at the Hotel Montana has spawned some other possibilities as well. During the twenty-four hours of my stay, I gained two contacts, both of which would be grateful for my help in their ministries. It is possible that I may be able to distribute myself in that manner. It's just a fledgling idea at this point, but I'll begin praying about it immediately.
I had feared in coming to stay here that it would be like leaving American all over again. But it really wasn't. As American as I felt, there must be some part of my mind that has decided that this place--Haiti--is now my home. That is disconcerting to me. And exciting. And a little weighty.
After spending just one week, my best friend and her group members spoke of how one leaves a part of one's heart in Haiti upon leaving. After two months, my heart seems to have settled down here almost in its entirety. After four more months, I wonder how much I'll still have to bring back.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole today will be dedicated to the Raincatcher's mission group, which managed to learn one Creole phrase while here: "se pa piki" (say-pah-pee-kee), which means "it's not a shot."
Here's a few simple, useful Creole words that I use every day.
Thank you : Mesi (may-see) -- derived from the French "merci."
You're welcome : Derien (deh-ree-eN) -- Remember, the capital "N" is a nasal vowel indicator
Good morning : Bonjou (boN-zhoo)
Good evening : Bonswa (boN-swah)
Good night : Bon nuit (boN-noo-eet) -- Only used when you're going to sleep or leaving, not as a greeting
How are you? : Koman ou ye? (koh-maN-oo-yay)
I'm fine : M'bien (mm-bee-eN)
I may be a little late on this, but hey: better late than never, right? Right. Right...
------------------------------------------
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 write "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!
God Bless,
Dan
I came to Hotel Montana yesterday in Petitionville (pronounced pay-shoN-vi, and don't ask me where the silent syllables go) to meet my best friend from the States, who was here on a mission trip. I was here an hour or two before her, so I immediately made use of the most undervalued resource in the world: hot water. My first real shower in two months; it was a treat.
It is a beautiful place, and I spent some time walking on the paths. One of the things I noticed was how American I felt. I have felt American all my life, so I never really knew any different, but two months in Haiti has caused a different perspective to filter into my mind. The internal switch was automatic. One moment I had an American-Haitian mentality cross, and the next I was a 100% full-blooded American. The change was palpable. I walked differently--I knew that I was important and entitled to respect. I resumed the American dynamic: you pay, you get served; you serve, you get payed. I was paying, so it was a fair assumption that the entire Hotel staff was at my disposal.
I'm not saying this ironically. I think that's an appropriate mindset in the United States, though of course everybody should be treated with courtesy and respect. I'm just saying that I never understood my own mindset until I had adopted a different one. I might even go so far as to say that I miss feeling like an American. The sense of self-evident self-worth that is so very cultural in the US is absent here, and as I slowly revert I feel almost as if my value is draining away from me. It is a strong indicator of the power of one's own sense of value.
The experience came at a good time for me. Jean has expressed an uncertainty as to whether the work he has for me merits six months of my time, since much of what I do (research, writing, correspondence) can be done from the States. I understand where he's coming from, but it's difficult not to feel rejected. So I have had some time to think, and some time to talk with somebody I trust. Actually, I didn't talk to my friend extensively about it, but sometimes it's encouraging just to tell someone about it.
"Plan one" is to make every effort to be an asset to Jean and thereby justify my time with him. But if that is impossible, my time here at the Hotel Montana has spawned some other possibilities as well. During the twenty-four hours of my stay, I gained two contacts, both of which would be grateful for my help in their ministries. It is possible that I may be able to distribute myself in that manner. It's just a fledgling idea at this point, but I'll begin praying about it immediately.
I had feared in coming to stay here that it would be like leaving American all over again. But it really wasn't. As American as I felt, there must be some part of my mind that has decided that this place--Haiti--is now my home. That is disconcerting to me. And exciting. And a little weighty.
After spending just one week, my best friend and her group members spoke of how one leaves a part of one's heart in Haiti upon leaving. After two months, my heart seems to have settled down here almost in its entirety. After four more months, I wonder how much I'll still have to bring back.
-----------------------------
Haitian Creole today will be dedicated to the Raincatcher's mission group, which managed to learn one Creole phrase while here: "se pa piki" (say-pah-pee-kee), which means "it's not a shot."
Here's a few simple, useful Creole words that I use every day.
Thank you : Mesi (may-see) -- derived from the French "merci."
You're welcome : Derien (deh-ree-eN) -- Remember, the capital "N" is a nasal vowel indicator
Good morning : Bonjou (boN-zhoo)
Good evening : Bonswa (boN-swah)
Good night : Bon nuit (boN-noo-eet) -- Only used when you're going to sleep or leaving, not as a greeting
How are you? : Koman ou ye? (koh-maN-oo-yay)
I'm fine : M'bien (mm-bee-eN)
I may be a little late on this, but hey: better late than never, right? Right. Right...
------------------------------
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 write "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!
God Bless,
Dan
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