For A Lack of Words
otherwise entitled: two weeks of randomness
Almost two weeks ago, a plane landed the runway strip and Haiti's heat near suffocated my 70-degree-summer-accustomed self. In that amount of time, I've finally learned their names, I can successfully sleep through barking dogs and crazy chickens, and I know two new Creole phrases. The kids have become quite entranced with Pick-Up sticks-- the game that brings me back to my childhood. It's more a borderline obsession at this point with their consistent asking to 'go get the game upstairs', almost making me wish I had left the game back in Chicago. While I speak little-to-no Creole, sitting with the grandmouns has become my favorite pastime. Mostly it's me speaking poor sentences composed of some Creole and some English, and the ladies saying, "Wi, wi, wi!" to anything and everything I say. haha. But two weeks ago, I didn't know their names from their faces, and now I know both that and the Creole word for glasses. Progress. Slowly but surely.
Bonnie and Ray came back two days after I got here. They also brought along their daughter, and it was such fun to meet "The Vanessa" after hearing so many stories. She took me on some 4-wheeler adventures around Limbe and shared fun stories from when she lived here in Haiti with the kids. Having them back made everything feel settled and complete once more. It's funny how you can forget how much you miss people until you see their faces and hear their voices, and this flood of memories come rushing back. However the settled feeling was short-lived, as Nikki and Jason have left for their time out in the States. They will be gone until October, road-tripping and speaking and enjoying all that the good ole United States have to offer (which, let's get real, consists of constant electric and restaurants and this incredible store called Target. It should be a good month for them).
The kids and I peeked into the classroom a few days ago-- desks disheveled, papers and chairs strewn every which direction, and charcoal boxes stacked in the corner. But the red-yellow-green stoplight chart still hangs on the wall, and after such a long summer, the cabinet still holds quite a few of the things I left back in May. I think my mind was in a bit of denial about coming back to Haiti, and so I'm currently feeling very ill-prepared for another round of school. But the teachers who were here working with the kids this summer did a great job, the kids are reading and sounding out so much more than a few months ago which is so exciting to see. Vanessa and I cleaned out the classroom last week, restacking chairs and sweeping floors and doing an overall clean. Later I went through and organized books and papers and the-like, hanging new posters and the cork squares and other fun classroom-y things.
Being that Nikki and Jason have left the compound and are in the States, Bonnie and Ray have been the sweetest and are letting me unpack by bags at their place in the meantime. They also bought me a battery so that I could run a fan during the night after the power went out, so I'm feeling incredibly spoiled by such kind people. Let's just say that fan at 2 a.m. is something I would give up all the dark chocolate covered acai berries I packed in my bags for. Priorities people. But in all realness, it's sweet people doing unexpected things for you that make the crazy of this country a little less insane and mean so incredibly much. Daily I'm reminded of how blessed I am by the friendships here, and I'm praying to never take any of it for granted.
I'm struggling to find the right words for this little blog. It's as though they're a jumbled mess in my insides and I can't get them out right. I've done lots of reflecting on the past summer-- the insanity and the busyness. Although when I left here in May I was fully confident, the decision to come back was not an easy one. And I've second-guessed that decision every step of the way. Even now, with my brave friend Finn in the hospital (for the third time this summer) and wanting so badly to help there, or hearing little details from the day-to-day back at home and what Ellie is cooking for supper, or focusing on the fact that my ankles itch so bad I could scratch until I draw blood and yesterday's shampoo won't entirely wash out of my hair. But I'm beginning to believe this tearing and longing to be two places at once is a feeling that doesn't go away with time. And that's ok.
Because the beauty of it catches me in the chest-- while corn chips sizzle in the pan and their small fingers roll the dough, when his laughter erupts and echoes loudly through the house, as kites soar high and fingers point, after the knock on the door for the hundredth time. I almost missed this. Every fiber of my flesh whispered of a hundred reasons this too hard, too much-- too many goodbyes, too many mosquito bites, too much loneliness. too much heat.. it's. all. too. much. Every voice of reason said stay, stay where you can really make a difference and see it. Yet somehow despite it all, I end up here. Where his oatmeal gets spit on my shirt. Where I watch them give and give and give more of themselves, and stand awed. Where the dogs bark late and the sleep is terrible but somehow it's more than worth it. Where they laugh loud and run the compound and the laundry doesn't get fully cleaned and they play wild in the kitty-pool outside.
On this Sunday morning it's where I find myself, despite it all. Daily I'm thankful for His grace and His grace alone, for it keeps us where we should be. And now, standing in the midst of it all, I know I could choose nothing less.
And to leave you with another fun photo, here's Nana from yesterday morning. I thought it was a decision to roam the compound this way. But as the story goes, apparently the water went out on her mid-shower. Another day in the life...
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