a great learning curve

Somewhere, buried deep, I have the strength to throw off this newfound, pressing weight. New friends (young and younger) with terminal illnesses, sick babies, middle-aged women with cancerous lumps, obviously troubled and needy children, a ridiculously bureaucratic and dysfunctional government, stubborn artisans with attitudes, heat, psychotic traffic and biting bugs comprise this weight. My wide-screen TV (the large opening above the quad through which I can see every star in heaven, even some falling ones) provides a some comfort. Yet, with my willing it or no, life continues here at a sometimes plodding and sometimes grueling pace.

Yesterday afternoon, some of us walked over to the new clinic to drop off supplies. A few kids followed us but soon came a small onslaught. Suddenly I found myself sitting outside in the setting sun, surrounded by loud, touchy and pushy boys who wanted to braid my hair, pick my mosquito bites, try on my bracelets and generally maul me. One tough guy decided he wanted to test my French so he handed me a French for beginners reading workbook. So I read allowed some little stories about “Ronaldo” and “Mariam.” Next, they threw an intermediate workbook my way and I read them Cinderella (in French). Finally, the advanced book: the history of slaves, masters and mulattos in the colony of St. Domingo. Oh – and I passed with excellence. Thank you Mme. Spittler!

This weekend I’m invited to play pool and have some beers with a few UN guys. They hail from Uruguay and have, in the past, done some humanitarian work for us. After another friend, also UN staff, helped me wine and dine them last night at the Bay Klub, we determined that there will be another soccer game between their boys and ours and they’ll come out to test our water again. On a purely selfish level, I’m just glad to chat with some Spanish speakers.

Standing outside this morning after breakfast, enjoying the warm breeze in the shade gave me a great sense of peace. Haiti’s beauty, with all its flaws, still tugs my heartstrings. Though I knew that somewhere around the next tree or corner laid the next great challenge, I felt momentary comfort.