Play Ball!

One of the challenges of this trip was language. Spanish is spoken in the Dominican Republic (DR) where we slept at night, while Creole is the national language of Haiti where we worked during the day.

So every morning as we crossed the border into Haiti from the DR, our brains had to shift from one language to another. We went from wishing people "Buenos dias" in the DR to "Bonjou" after passing through an opening in the fence that separated the two countries.  

Foreign languages ​​have never been my strong suit. While I know a smattering of Spanish, my Creole vocabulary is basically zero. Rev. Kara gave us a sheet of "Helpful Creole Phrases" before the trip, which I promptly tossed into my carry-on bag and never looked at again.

After working a couple of hours under the searing Haitian sun, my language difficulties became even more pronounced. The two languages ​​became a jumble in my baked brain, so after about the third day I resorted to a friendly wave rather than risk a greeting butchered.

And that's when an impromptu game of baseball saved the day. We had brought a few tennis balls and Frisbees to throw around with the older children at the refugee camp in Haiti. One day a kid wearing a St. Louis Cardinals shirt showed up with a stick and within minutes it was "Play ball!" The Frisbees served as bases and an empty bag of fertilizer was designated home plate.

Shortly after the game started, I began hearing my DR-born teammates using a familiar language: English. I was told English is commonly used in Spanish-speaking countries to describe baseball terms, so I was delighted to hear cries of "foul," "out" and "home run." Finally, words I could understand--the international language of baseball.

Standing on that dusty field suddenly feeling confident to add my two cents to an argument about a ball hit "fair" or "foul," I was overwhelmed with the feeling of oneness with my Haitian brothers and sisters. Though I lived in a spacious home with more bathrooms than occupants and they resided in huts built with sticks and old clothes, we exchanged laughter and high-fives like old friends.  

So thank you God for the opportunity to share the love of a game with new friends and to help me see that we truly are all God's children.

Wednesday: Brave

Travel is always tiring, but rarely is it as exhausting as it has been this week.  Emotions have been intense and I have felt the toll on  my  body and spirit.  

Daily trips to the refugee camp (if you can even call it that) have left me with  different perspectives every day.  In more normal times, there might have been a more gradual evolution in my thinking.  But these have not been normal times, and my mind has struggled  to understand the immensity of the  experience.  

The first day obviously was shock.  I have visited and lived in refugee camps before, but not like this.  No UNHCR, no host country protection, no daily food distribution, no local community awareness, and no international orgranizations to provide other basics of everyday life.  Nothing but too many scared and lonely  (I suppose) people on a parched piece of land trying to survive far from any other signs of life.

In response to this scene, I think the whole group attempted to go into action mode.  The children touched our hearts and we wanted (still want) to fix this.  But what could we do?  Erect a shade net?  Donate clothing since they seemed to have nothing?  Bring in food that we purchased outside?  Mobilize our home communities to build a wáter filtration system?  The list is long, but In the end, all we feel  is overwhelmed because the needs are so great and we are so small.

Today was yet another emotion.  Today I remembered many of the tiny faces from the two previous days.  We were actually starting to KNOW these childen.  Like I knew my own childrens´friends when they were little.   Or maybe even like a parent knows his or her own kids. 

One little boy in particular sticks in my mind.  He "adopted" me.  He showed me his handiwork and wanted my praise.  For some reason he had to leave for a moment, and he made sure I knew he was going.  After a few minutes, he rushed back up to me as if to say, "Hey, I´m back!"

But this story isn´t about me, or our group.  It is about this group of Haitian parents, children, friends, and individuals alone in the world whose jouney here, I suspect, is as long as our time with them has been short.  When they were undocumented Haitians living in the Dominican Republic, they must have known for a long time that their status was precarious.  They knew they were considered undesirable there, and that the day was coming soon when they would be forced to leave.  To a country that may have been the place of their birth –or maybe their parents´birth – but that they knew little about.  

Yet however dire their predicament, they smiled when we came.  They clapped along with the music.  They handed us their babies.  They offered us chairs to sit in when they had none.  …I wonder if I could be so brave and hospitable.

So tomorrow is our last day there.  I wonder how that will feel –for us and them.  I hope they don´t think we are abandoning them.  I hope they will know that we have been deeply touched by their accepting us in their midst.  I hope they will know that we will continue to think of them and the humanity that we share.  I hope they will know that we will keep them in our prayers and look for ways, no matter how distant, to be their friends.

-By Jeanine Greene