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.

1. 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.
2. 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.
3. 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.

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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...

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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

Record Eagle Post, February 26, 2007

I woke up this morning to gun shots. This was not terribly unusual but the sounds had worked their way into my dream and made my waking experience more unpleasant than it had to be. It was already 5:26, just a few minutes before I had to be up, so I got out of bed and flipped the light switch. No electricity. Shucks.

I retrieved my flashlight and waddled over to my bathroom, then took a flashlight shower. I grabbed my towel and began drying and actually feeling a little pleased at the lack of mishaps thus far, electricity notwithstanding.

It seems I judged too soon. I noticed that I felt a little itchy, but in a weird way as if I was being bitten in a dozen placed at once. I looked at one such place--and found an ant. I shook out my towel and they fell to the floor like rain--like tropical rain, thick and hard.

It seems that some peanut butter from the night before had found its way onto my towel. A little peanut butter is no problem, but hundreds of ants were. In addition to those crawling on the floor, I was covered from head to toe with them, and they were happily chewing whatever piece of real estate they happened to have access to.

When uncomfortable things happen to me, I do my best to learn from the experience. But this time, all that came to mind was clichés, like "sometimes small mistakes can lead to big problems." As Dane Cook would say, "forging some new territory there, Socrates." I think we've all got that one under our belt.

After throwing out "if it looks to good to be true, it probably is" and "it's not always possible to determine the correct course of action," I realized that, in the midst of my cognition, my tiny attackers had not been idle. Already dozens of tiny bumps were erupting from my skin like baby volcanoes, ready to be scratched until blood flowed like lava.

Stupid ants. I brushed them off irritably (and resisted the urge to develop a "there will always be a bigger fish" thought). I realized that, in my determination to make the right decision, I had frozen during the opportune moment: before they had finished biting.

As a missionary, I face that dilemma constantly. I'm representing my home and my God and... well, me. So when somebody asks me a question of any significant depth, I'm prone to over-clarifying the question and over-developing the answer. Meanwhile, the time during which he or she is actually interested in what I have to say has long since passed.

In all honesty, for all my love of communication, I struggle with it a great deal. Sometimes it seems the only way to communicate effectively is to make sure you're intimately acquainted with the conventions of communications of every person you meet. I hate the gnawing hunger of poor communication, and even worse the bitter sickness of miscommunication. What's a foreigner to do?

...Smile. I smile, they smile back. Answer simply, nod encouragingly, and keep smiling. What a relief to know that there are one or two things that extend across cultures. What a relief to know I needn't rely on my imperfect tongue.

Today is laundry day. Time to wash that towel.

Dan

For more about me and my adventures in Haiti, visit my newsletter archive.

HUN Update, February 25, 2007

Hey HUN,

I am twenty years old, and, for the first time since I became a free-thinking human being, my age doesn't end with that loaded syllable: "teen." I've never put much stock in age, but sometimes I can't help but glance backward and wonder: When did I become this person? When did I begin thinking the way I do?

I was talking with Jason (Jean's older son) today, and he was musing about how much he wanted "superpowers." He wanted to fly and be a human torch and be super strong. He finally settled on playing the system--he wanted the power to have any power he wanted. That's Jason; he's the kid who asks the genie for more wishes. Seeing as it wasn't so many years ago that my musings ran along the same lines, you would think I'd be just the person to talk to.

Nope. I said I didn't want any superpowers, but that if I could have anything I wanted, it would probably be a medium pizza. With bacon. Not willing (unfortunately) to indulge my culinary fantasies, Jason asked why I didn't want any superpowers. And then, I said something frighteningly... adult.

In my experience, power is the flashy press agent of a somewhat less glamorous pair: responsibility and limitation. All power implies the responsibility to use that power to cultivate the people or things over which you have power, and further introduces a new set of laws that were usually in the fine print and certainly weren't what you expected when you called the number at the bottom of the ad. The bible says, "to whom much is given, much is required." Spiderman said, "with great power comes great responsibility. I hardly need express how grateful I am that those two are in agreement.

For example. Let's say I'm elected president of the United States by a spontaneous and unanimous vote (I can dream, right?). Some would say I have just become the single most powerful man in the world. But power has a sour taste when it's served with a stack of paperwork every morning, and the bitter addition of futility makes for a singularly unappetizing meal. Because that's what happens when humans with power oppose each other: they arrange the whole system into deadlocks so that if they can't get anything done, at least nobody else can either.

To complicate matters, it seems Mr. President isn't allowed a moment to himself without a couple shady characters with dark sunglasses and expensive suits watching him like hawks. Sure, they nod respectfully and say, "yes, Mr. President, yes," but who is a slave to whom, really? You'll notice that nobody says they "own" power. Because nobody does. They "have" power. Like a horse "has" a rider.

The presidency, of course, is outside of my experience, but something as common as being a parent operates under the same principles. Parents have dictatorial power over their children, but with that power is bundled the responsibility of raising and caring for those children, not to mention a heavily restricted lifestyle.

I have hand-chosen a couple examples, but this model can be applied anywhere. We have power over ourselves; we have power over our environment; at times we are placed in positions of power over other people. Everything that we do, think, and say effects other people, and that is power. It is a universal dynamic in human existence.

What startled me was an implication of my own thinking. I have the power to affect changes in my life. Don't I thereby have a responsibility to do so consistently and in a way that yields positive results? And doesn't that mean I'm limited by maturity to those actions which my principles allow? I suppose I had always considered self-improvement the "correct"option, when in fact it seems it is mandated by my own belief!

Dear friends, family and acquaintances: sometimes philosophy seems like paint; just a colorful veneer that makes the truth more attractive and belies the labor of reality. When have I ever failed to feel unbearably confined? When have I felt unburdened by responsibility? Power is like a mountain side: no matter how high you are, every upward movement is arduous, and downward movement is sudden and dizzyingly rapid.

But there is, if you'll excuse the mixed metaphors, a silver lining to that cloud. Maybe that mountain is steep, but at least I can tell which way is up. How can I improve? I can be more productive at work. I can be more gracious to the people around me. I can manage my time according to my priorities. I can take care of my body. How can I defy gravity (kudos to those who catch the reference)? I can let go of my pet lies--"my time is my own" and "I'm only human" and "I deserve this"--and take responsibility for my actions. I can lay aside personal grievances and forgive and refuse to indulge my childish sense of retribution.

Easier said than done, of course; but it is encouraging to clarify my life's sense of direction, and to grow in my understanding of why I do the things I do. Now, if only I can manage to suspend reality long enough to enjoy another round of "pick the super power."

Haitian Creole Time!
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

I was browsing some creole resources online and found a new way to indicate nasal vowels. As you may remember, when "a," "e," "i," or "o" are followed by an "n," the "n" is silent and the vowel is nasal. For instance, the Creole word for "time" is "tan," and the word is pronounced "tah" except with a nasal "a." Henceforth this will be indicated with a capital "N," so the pronunciation for "tan" will look like this: tahN.

Today we'll learn a couple useful phrases to boost vocabulary and get a feel for the language. It's important to recognize that Haitians tend to throw out tenses--the past tense, especially. For instance, a Haitian will not ask, "when were you born?" He or she will ask you, "when are you born?" The past tense when used with the verb "to be born" is pretty much only used for famous dead people.

I haven't spoken with them in a while : M'pa pale avek yo pandan yon bon ti tan. (mm-pah-pah-leh-ahv-ehk-yo-paN

-daN-yoN-boN-tee-taN) The literal translation reads: "I not speak with them in a good little time."

She wants to send her love to her friends at home : Li vlé bay remen'li pou moun-li yo lokay-li. (lee-vleh-bai-ray-meN-poo-moon-lee-yo-lah-kai-lee) The literal translation reads: "She/he/it wants to give love (hers) for people (hers) (plural) house (hers).

Oh good fun. If you're tempted to skip over that bit, remember these important words:

With : Avek (ah-vek)
For : pou (poo)
Them : yo (yo) This can also be added to a noun to indicate a plural.
Speak : pale (pah-lay)

Plenty for today.

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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

HUN Update, February 22, 2007

Hey HUN,

Last night, I stumbled into my apartment after about twelve hours of everything except eating. I was terrifically hungry, and couldn't have differentiated between a peanut butter sandwich and the Holy Grail. I noticed ants on the table and flicked them away.

I unscrewed the peanut butter lid and got a bit of a shock. Hundreds and hundreds of ants were swarming in my peanut butter jar, mostly in the cap. I slammed the cap on the table and out fell a couple hundred ants. I brushed them off the table and crunched them with bare feet. I don't know that I've ever been so furious at a living creature. That was MY peanut butter!

I then proceeded to take my knife and scoop out every single ant into the toilet. Twenty minutes later, I was able to convince myself that my peanut butter was ant free. I cleaned my knife like wiping blood from a sword, and returned to the table where I brushed off the rest of the ants. My bread was untouched, and I quickly resisted the urge to wonder what that meant about my bread. The sandwiches were quickly made, a water bottle quickly grabbed; with my book and my food and my water, I was in paradise, ants already forgotten.

Bite. Bite. Unscrew water cap. Bite. Swig. CHOKE! Because, as it happens, that was the bottle into which I dumped my bug spray when I filled the bug spray bottle with alcohol. After five minutes of rinsing my mouth and generally dwelling on the unhappy events of the evening, I returned to my sandwiches and my book. And a trustworthy bottle of water.

Skip forward nine hours. I woke and picked up the peanut butter (which I had tied up in a plastic bag) to make breakfast. Nope. The ants found a hole. I spent my shower time once again purging my peanut butter jar. Interestingly, until I thought to myself "WWAD"—"What Would an American Do?"—I never considered tossing the peanut butter. Disclaimer: that's certainly an unfair generalization, but I'm an American, so I get to generalize. So there. Anyways.

An hour later I arrived at the church, hungry but ready to be productive. There was an ant on my desk, and I squashed it out of residual resentment. Thanks to my clumsy finger and the ant's sturdy exoskeleton, I only succeeding in squishing a portion of it. It valiantly attempted to drag itself to safety. It made me think about degrees of problem severity.

1^st Degree, me at home, age 15: I'm bored.

2^nd Degree, me at work, age 19: I have too much work to do.

3^rd Degree, me in Haiti, age 20: I'm hungry and food may not be available in the next twelve hours.

10^th Degree, PB Scout Ant, age 25 days: Part of my body has been flattened into the ground, and my intestines are sticking to the table making it more difficult to drag myself away from this dangerous area.

Sure puts my problems in perspective. Still, I have yet to meet the man or woman who thinks, "well, at least it's not worse" and suddenly feels better about life. So how can this apply practically to me, and how can I allow this perspective to give me more grace and patience?

The answer lies in looking at how the ant deals with its problem. It's obviously in a pretty serious predicament, one from which it will almost certainly die. So how does it react? It puts one leg in front of the other. Instead of trying to fix the problem, it does its best to make the problem better.

I've never owned a car that was perfectly reliable, mostly because I've never spent enough on a car to warrant a dependable vehicle. As a result, I'm used to my car breaking down. My good friends know my most common reaction.

I start walking.

I know it will take hours to get home. I know I can probably get somebody to pick me up. But at least the problem is decreasing in magnitude instead of increasing (a psychological escalation in problem magnitude is called "panic"), and if everybody is occupied, I will have already put my solution into action.

I'm not arguing against efficiency. I'm sure the ant wouldn't have refused an ant-medic, if there is such a thing. I do think, though, that if a problem is unmanageably huge, sometimes the only thing to do is try to make it smaller.

I have a lot of duties here, so it's pretty easy for me to attend to the ones that are doable and ignore those that are intimidating to me. Jean wants to build a second level on his church to accommodate all the people who are attending, and he asked me to look into ways to raise money.

To raise nearly two million dollars. Gulp.

Maybe I ought to stop looking at the immensity of the problem, and start with the first hundred dollars. I can find that. And I can move on from there. I want to be in a place where I can say, "if I keep doing what I'm doing right now, the problem will eventually be solved."

So I'm going to go and raise some funds. And put that peanut butter jar somewhere out of reach.

Now, let's learn some Haitian Creole. I'm going to do some review today on basic tense changes.

Come : Vini (vee-nee)
You come : Ou'vini (oo-vee-nee)
I'm coming : M'ap vini (mop-vee-nee) Full form would be "mwen ap vini"
I am going to come (later) : M'pral vini (mm-pral-vee-nee)
I came : M'te vini (mm-tay-vee-nee)
You come here now! : Ou vini la kounya! (oo-vee-nee-lah-koon-yeh)
Later : Pita (pee-tah) Literally, "more late"
We are going to come later : Nou pral vini pita (noo-pral-vee-nee-pee-tah)

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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

Record Eagle Post, February 20, 2007

Colored Candy Shell

Posted on February 18th, 2007 by Dan Kaschel in Away From Home

It happened one morning that the sunrise was not so foreign to me. The morning air, thick with unshed dew, was a familiar friend beckoning me awake. The roosters hearkening the new day brought to mind other roosters on a continent far, far away, waking my friend in Africa.

The language still belies comprehension despite my efforts, but speech has patterned itself into discernible syllables that can be weighed and measured and studied instead of the fluid stream of sound that once slipped through the fingers of my mind. And though my vocabulary is small, any human can testify that knowing a few faces in the crowd makes all the difference.

Last night Matthew, the youngest child of my host, warned me of sitting too lightly in the back of the pick up truck. Squinting with the efforts of rallying his scattered English vocabulary, he said: “I know you be good climber an good piano when you grow up, but you just come a little while ago an I don’t want lost you.” I nearly cried. Instead, I promised I would sit down and be careful. How can one fail to be absorbed by such a people?

In short, my colored candy shell has been digested by the acid rigors of this beautiful country, and now I am chocolate, like everybody else.

Dan

For more about me and my travels, visit my Newsletter Archive.

This entry was posted on Sunday, February 18th, 2007 at 9:44 am and is filed under Away From Home. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.

HUN Update, February 18, 2007

Hey HUN,

It's been a wild and crazy weekend. Jean and Marcia, thanks to a particularly exuberant staff appreciation day, are on vacation until February 23rd. They'll be visiting Florida and Jamaica and a few other parties, but according to Jean, the best part will be chilling out in front of a movie with no redeeming qualities whatsoever and eating pizza, knowing that there is nothing but nothing to be done.

So, since they left two days ago, me and the boys have been club-hopping, hitting crazy parties, drinking, and generally developing our stati (cactus->cacti, status->stati) as moral degenerates. ...Well, not quite. As it happens, they have school off Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, so they have a five-day weekend (and since Jean isn't about, I do, too). Jean asked me to try to make it a productive time for them, so I've been giving piano, computer, and literature analysis lessons to Sarah and Jason. I'm also teaching typing, and have included Matthew in that endeavor. But there was still plenty of time for roller blading (in circles on the driveway), eating (a favorite pastime of mine), and playing games of Hide and Seek in-the-dark. Much fun was had by all.

Speaking of: It occurred to me as I was sitting under a fig tree (just kidding, and sorry to any Buddhists reading this) that, while C.S. Lewis wrote a whole book about The Problem of Pain (as in, if there is a benevolent God, how can there be pain?), there doesn't seem to be that many people squawking about the problem of pleasure. It seems to me that pleasure can be a powerful strike for or against religious ideas. To avoid spending too much on the topic, I'll condense: if an all-powerful god restricts pleasure for any other reason than to increase our pleasure in the future or keeping us safe, then that god is 1) willfully tempting us and 2) has a cruel sense of humor. Since I don't care to follow a god that fits in either of those two categories (and since I believe the god I do follow to be above both), I can thereby state, at least theoretically, that every pleasure not, in and of itself, harmful, has a rightful place in the Christian life .

That means that the church was justified when it finally let up and admitted out loud that sex was okay for married couples, and also when it decided that dancing (but "leave room for Jesus") was not a road to hell. But doesn't it also include pleasures that are under more scrutiny, like drinking and gambling? I don't condone alcoholism or being a poor steward of your money, but I do believe that the two pleasures can be handled responsibly and in a way that honors God.

I'll be very disappointed if I don't get a couple of argumentative responses to this e-mail.

Of course, pleasure is problematic on a very different front, too. The problem with pleasure is that it doesn't come equipped with the warning signs so common among accepted wrongdoing. Theft, murder, and deception all have personal and legal consequences that are painfully obvious. But laziness, tactile pleasure (I try to keep this newsletter family-friendly), and object fixation are all good things gone awry, and it's not hard to convince myself that what I want to do is perfectly okay.

For example. It was a bit of a luxury, but I haven't been spending money on myself, so I decided to treat myself to some grapefruit juice. It was wonderful--my first positive departure from water (dried milk doesn't fit in this category) in six weeks. Jason asked me yesterday if he could have some, and I started to say no. It's imperative to set strong boundaries here, and so I had plenty of moral justification. But that's not why I was refusing. It was because, dang it, this was something I bought for ME and it was my FIRST personal purchase and I DESERVED to reap the ENTIRE benefit of it. I told Jason that there wasn't much left, but that he could finish it.

There's so much to learn here--not just because I'm in a new culture, but also because with these new people my reasons for doing things is clearer to me. If I just keep my eyes open, I think I can really come out of this situation a better person. When I left the States, I was struggling with the fact that my attempts at morality were imploding into self-absorption. The words from Kiterunner rang in my ears as I left: "There is a way to be good again."

Thank God.

And now, let's lighten things up with some Creole. Today, we'll focus on time-related vocab.

Now : Kounya (koon-yeh)
Later : Pita (pee-tah) -- a compound word made of "pi," more, and "ta," late
Today : Jodia (zho-dee-ah)
Afternoon: Apre midi (ah-pray-mee-dee) -- literally, "after midday"
When are you coming? : Kile w'ap vini? (keel-ay-wop-vee-nee)
I am coming now. : M'ap vini kounya. (mop-vee-nee-koon-yah)

And here's a fun little tidbit. "Fe" is a verb that means "to make" or "to do," but it's very flexible within the Creole language. For instance, if you want to say "go away" or "don't bother me," you say "fe respe'w," which translates to something like, "go respect yourself." That made me laugh.

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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