Glenda's Reflections

Sadhana Forest

Sevah means service and that is exactly what we provided at Sadhana, like all the other volunteers from all over the world.

Sadhana Forest is a reforestation community located in Haiti at the border with the Dominican Republic. On our first day at Sadhana Forest, which was the start of the second session for that day, we were greeted by Marie, a French national who gave us a tour and shared her vast knowledge of the community and how it operates. After the introduction by Marie we were assigned jobs, and were placed in groups of 3 or 4. Some of the jobs assigned were: planting trees in the nursery, bathroom duty using sawdust (I will not go into the details here), water duty, kitchen duty, to name a few.

Our group chose kitchen duty for that day. The menu for the day was beans and rice with coconut milk. We made salad that comprised cabbage, beets, peppers, tomatoes, cucumbers, onions and lettuce. Before we started to prepare the food the surface of the counter was cleaned with vinegar (not any of the usual kitchen cleaning products), then we washed the vegetables with water then with vinegar.

Rony, a young Haitian native, volunteers at Sadhana on a regular basis and pointed out what we needed to do and where to find the ingredients needed. Phuong and Daniel cleaned the beans of pebbles etc. while I proceeded to wash the vegetables. Coconuts had to be grated to add to the rice and beans. The graters Rony gave to them to start the grating job were in very bad shape, all twisted and bent, they had seen better days. Daniel and Phuong, novices to grating, had some problems and eventually Rony took over the job of grating the coconuts.

Rony placed pieces of wood into the opening of the coal pot style stove and proceeded to light it. The beans were washed and put into a large enamel pot. In a short while, one could smell the beans, which evoked an aroma of food cooking in a place far from home.

When lunch was finished I sounded the gong, knocking a metal hanging from a tree, and everyone gathered in the eating area. The eating area is a wide open space with a mosquito net in the center, with pillows placed around the edge of the net for sitting. When everyone was seated, a moment of silence was observed and then the eating began.

On my second day at Sadhana I chose to clean the water system. There is a water filtration system and every day large water bottles are cleaned with sand, rocks and vinegar. Firstly, clear white sand and small rocks are placed in the bottle with a small amount of water, it is then vigorously shaken, washed with water and rinsed with vinegar. Each bottle is filled by a hose connected to the filtration system, it takes about one and a half hours to full one 5-gallon bottle.

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The Refugee Camp

We were very excited to go to the refugee camp. We travelled for about fifteen minutes from Sadhana Forest in the back of a pickup truck to get there. We were determined to see the children and the reckless way the drivers drove did not deter us.

At the camp the children joined us in a tent which is the church. Rev. Kara provided them with coloring books and crayons. At first they appeared shy, but before long most of them were engaged in coloring. A few young mothers came with their babies and Sterling (Rev. Kara’s dad) held one of the babies in his arms and sang “Summertime”.

Going to the refugee camp was heartbreaking. Words could not truly have explained what I was witnessing, here families were existing on the bare minimum: no bathrooms, no running water, no electricity, no trees or other vegetation. These families were just living in a waste land. Was this really happening? In the year 2016 we still have human beings living under these conditions. Who do we turn to for help? We are all children of God.

May God, help, protect and bless the people in Haiti.

Sermon: "Too Many to Name"

Scripture: Luke 8:26-39

Today's gospel reading is quite a story,
not one you'll find in many children’s Bible coloring books.
It’s right in the middle of some more straightforward stories in Luke:
Before this, Jesus tells--and even explains!--some parables.
Then he gets into a boat
and calms the sea during a storm.
After the episode we heard today,
he heals a sick woman and brings a little girl back to life.
But here in the middle of all of this,
not quite as neat and beloved as the others,
we have today’s story of a chained-up man who lives in a tomb.
A legion of demons is driven out of him
and transferred into a herd of pigs,
who, in turn, face an untimely end in some water.
It's not immediately apparent what we do with all of this.

Despite the perplexing scripture reading, though,
I think that the part of today's worship service
that was the most difficult to prepare
was the prayer time.
Every Sunday, but especially today,
there was so much to pray for,
it was hard to know where to begin.
What can we say, God?
It's as if we're in layers of hatred and fear, injustice and grief.
Last Sunday night, our team of 8 was in in a remote village on the Haitian/Dominican border,
a place with horrors of its own,
and we learned about what happened at Pulse, in Orlando.
The heaviness that took over the air, our hearts,
made it hard to move or speak.
We were overwhelmed.
Now, demon-possessed isn’t a term I usually use to describe myself
or anyone else,
But
my heart goes out to the man in this Gospel story.
I feel for his sense of being overwhelmed.
There are so many demons in his world
that they’ve stolen his name and called themselves “Legion.”
which, in Roman army terms,
was about 6000 soldiers.
This guy was dealing with a lot.
And that's pretty much all we know about him:
His problems.
You see, when people are tortured or held captive,
either by personal demons,
like addiction or fear or depression.
or by demons that plague societies--
poverty, prejudice, violence--
When those afflictions are the ones pulling the strings,
that’s all that we--
folks on the outside--
can see.
Instead of seeing a person, we see the demons.
The problem becomes the identifier.
He's a drug addict.
She's a bigot.
“Homeless guy” becomes the only name we have for somebody.
Or we say, “that’s a gang-riddled neighborhood.”
Or a ”corrupt country.”
That is a demon-possessed man.
Now, let me be clear,
we all have our demons.
We are all, personally and collectively,
struggling under the thumb of forces or systems that bring harm
and tear apart.
They call this man “unclean,”
but none of us is clean.
Granted, some demons are more socially acceptable,
or more easily quieted, than others.
This guy in the scripture, though,
he's one of the ones who’s got unacceptable, noisy demons.
Other people in his community,
tortured by their own prejudice and fear,
have made this man an “other” and an outcast.
Luke writes that they physically bound him with chains and shackles,
isolated him and kept him under guard.
To his neighbors, this man was not human.
He was his demons;
his overwhelming, too-many-to-name,
Legion.

Who are the people,
where are the places,
who have become that dehumanized,
that isolated in our time?
Who is known only by what is wrong with them?
Who is kept at arm's distance,
so we need not notice them?

Certainly we don't have to go all the way to Haiti to find examples,
but it is one of those places that is frequently overwhelmed.
Known as the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
Famous for poverty, for corruption.
People ask me all the time,
"What's the matter with Haiti?"
"Why can't they get themselves together?"
Anywhere we go,
especially when we're in this mindset that we need to fix things,
it's so easy to slip into the habit of looking at people or looking at a place,
and seeing only problems--
Seeing only the demons.
How about this photo from the Washington Post article on Haiti this weekend?
It fits right in with what we expect.
Or these, that we took this week?
It’s so easy to just see what is wrong;
to go to Haiti looking for abject poverty,
looking for trash on the side of a dirt road,
looking for kids without clothes
and houses made of mud,
and to find it all.
Demons are everywhere.
And remember, everyone has them.
Just as we look at this kid,
or this country,
and see desolation,
people in Haiti watching us come into their country
can easily look for the stereotypes of Americans
and find them written all over us.
Maybe they see representatives of the racism and elitism that has oppressed them for generations.
Maybe they see opportunistic tourists.
Maybe they see the learned prejudice that still lives in us.
As we walk back and forth every day,
across a border that people who “look Haitian” can’t cross,
we sure seem accustomed to privilege.

Demons are everywhere.
I’ve got them.
Our communities have them.
And, when we come across each other,
how often it is that only our demons connect.
I smell the alcohol on a person asking for money,
and my prejudice grows stronger.
We visit a community in Haiti where there’s relentless heat, hunger and thirst,
and our fear of failure,
or reluctance to be uncomfortable,
makes us want to turn away.
It makes me think of that bubble soccer concept--
I think our youth have played it--
where you roll around in these protective Inflatable bubbles,
so that your physical person
never comes into contact with another.
You just kind of bounce off of each other.
Fun for soccer,
not great for living in holy community with one another.

The Jesus we read about in Scripture, here in Luke 8,
he’s not so into staying in a protective bubble,
so he gets into a boat on a stormy sea.
He’s not so into lines that divide people,
so he crosses that stormy sea,
from his familiar home in Galilee
to the unfriendly territory of the Gerasenes,
opposite his home.
This Jesus,
he’s got a problem with chains.
He’s always standing with the ones who are forced outside
and so the first person he sees
is the person who’s invisible to everyone else.
Jesus crosses over where he’s not supposed to go,
and where everyone else just sees demons,
where everyone else is too overwhelmed by what is not right,
Jesus sees a human being.
Under 6,000 demons,
demons that speak for the man,
who take away his name.
Jesus sees a child of God of sacred worth.
and values him.
He loves that child of God so much,
that, with a love beyond our comprehension,
Jesus casts out every demon.
He blows them out of the water.
and brings healing.
Now, your guess as to what that looked like
is as good as mine.
Because it’s hard to imagine.
This man had no words to ask for healing,
no concept of what it would look like.
We too, overwhelmed by our demons,
personal and global,
don’t have words.
We can’t fathom the kind of healing that God’s love makes possible.
It’s hard to imagine, in the throes of an addiction,
that it can ever be overcome,
It's hard to imagine, in the midst of an epidemic of violence--
--violence against women, violence targeted at people
because of their race, or their religion,
their sexual orientation or gender identity,
Political or random violence--
It’s hard to imagine what peace could possibly look like.
And yet, there’s this hope.
There’s this hope that God’s love made human in Jesus
Is actually powerful enough to do something.
And with that is a hope
that the people who believe in this God,
will live differently because of it.
Right?
Believing that God has power that we don’t have
 does not give us a free pass
to sit back and say,
“well, God will clean up this mess one day.”
It should change us to follow a God whose business
 is breaking physical chains,
giving spiritual healing,
driving out the demons that threaten to destroy.
It’s no small thing to say we follow this sort of God.
Earlier this month, 17 confirmands professed their faith right here.
and that same day, 3 more people took baptismal vows in the Potomac River.
And I don’t know how many,
but a great number of us here today,
have also taken vows of baptism or confirmation.
And when people are baptized or confirmed,
the United Methodist Liturgy--look for it on page 34 of the hymnal
 asks this question:
“Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you
to resist evil, injustice, and oppression
in whatever forms they present themselves?”
And, again, I don’t know exactly how many,
but a great number of us here today,
have responded to this question.
Affirmatively.
Even if the words weren't exactly the same,
we have said, yes.
We accept freedom and power from God.
Freedom and power to resist evil, injustice, and oppression.
That means that the power of Jesus lives in us.
That means that we stay on the boat, even when it storms.
That we cross over to communities opposite our own.
It means that we walk with Jesus to the outskirts,
to the places where people are kept in chains
or told they are less than human.
We have accepted a power to see like Jesus,
to see and connect with the person,
and not the demons.
It's not our job to cast out all of the evil from this, or any place.
but it is our job to resist it.
It is our job to unbind where we can,
to witness and follow.
It is our job to recognize people for who they were created to be,
to allow them to reach their full potential.
Notice how the Gerasenes in this story respond to Jesus’ action.
They can’t deal with it
Once the man is healed, sitting at the feet of Jesus,
and wanting to be a part of their community,
the people, who only saw the demons,
want nothing to do with the person.
No photo opportunity or news story there,
just a man with a different perspective,
whose very presence shakes what they thought they knew for sure
about clean and unclean,
about the power of God.
It turns their world upside down,
and no one knows what to do next.
The pigs fall off the cliff.
The swineherds run away.
The people ask Jesus to leave.
And the healed man begs Jesus,
“Let me come with you.”
It seems he has nowhere else to go.
But Jesus says,
“No.
Return to your home.”
Jesus heals and transforms us, casts out our demons,
and sends us back where maybe we’re not welcome anymore.
Jesus sends us back as a challenge to people who won’t believe in change.
“Return to your home and declare all that God has done for you.”
That is witness.
Witness is saying to our community, saying to the world,
That the power of God in Jesus Christ has cast out of us
demons of fear and prejudice.
It is affirming that, at our baptisms, we accepted power
to resist evil, injustice, and oppression,
in whatever forms they present themselves;
In whatever demons, too many to name,
cover up individuals’ or communities’ humanity.
It can be overwhelming.
But when we don’t know where to start,
we can always start with somebody’s name.
Somebody’s story.
How many chances do you think you'll have today,
or this week, or this year, to connect with a child of God and learn their story?
Whether you are called to go far away,
Or to the person on the outskirts of your own family,
We are called, today, this week,
And every day of our lives as baptized people,
To connect with God’s light in each person,
To love them.
Jesus calls us out from under every demon,
To bear witness to the light that shines in and through us.
The light that shines in the darkness,
And was never overcome.

Tuesday, Thoughts versus Action

Our group was tasked with listening for direction on how to best help the refugees and greater Anse-pit-re population when working in Haiti today.  Several of the people we have encountered this week have big ideas and have begun small projects to move toward the larger goal of improving the lives of those living in this remote part of Haiti.  As a group we have asked ourselves, and each other, how can we help an area with so many problems with little understanding of the history, social structures, and political climate of this area?  I have been reading about refugee camps for a class I took last semester as part of my Master's program, but it was entirely different to visit one in-person.  I felt overwhelmed reading about refugees' problems and this feeling intensified when seeing the faces of these often forgotten people.  Our group came together during dinner to continue our conversation on how we as individuals and as a church can best help the people of Anse-pit-re.  We all wished for better understanding of the problem and a clear way to move forward, but God does not present answers in a neat package with easy to understand instructions.  A common thread in our discussions was a wish to increase the unity of those doing good works in this community and finding a more formal role for our church.  Up to this point, Kara and the groups she has brought have been "walking the path" with the Haitian people, but we all agree that we have reached a turning point and more action is needed.  We are all still trying to decide how to best move forward and will continue to listen for God's call.  Please pray for our understanding and the ability to continue making connections in this community that will exceeded our greatest expectations.

-Sarah

Monday

The border moved today to allow for Haitians to go to the twice weekly market on the DR side!  A simple fence with 2 sleepy looking guards surrounds that market. We walk through without as much as a question having paid facilitation fees on the first day).   It is 7 am in Haiti (8am in DR) and there is already a crowd of people on foot and motorbikes and considerable quantities of bananas and used clothes getting arranged.

We walk to the home of Santhonax, one of Kara's (or Carla as she is generally called here) many friends in Anses-a-Pitre, who has a goal of planting 10,000 trees. It is hard work. You need to make the top soil first since there is almost none. Just parched stony ground  following decades of deforestation.  It takes a long time to dig a big hole put in alternating layers of dried leaves maybe fruit scraps and the existing poor soil. Then you put a PVC pipe down to channel water to the hole three times a week. And then you wait a few months before you mix it up and plant a seedling of a type of tree (mayanut) that provides shade and also helps establish the soil around it.   We learn all this as we take baby steps: Collecting mulch and peeling seeds out of fruits for planting. Turns out they turn your hands dark brown kind of like henna - oops it does not come off!

Mid-morning we move on to the Sadhana forest project ( the one we got to know yesterday) to help with their reforestation efforts. We join resident volunteers from around the world all in their 20s and work in 3 groups : 1 - scoping out sites in town where people would like us to plant a tree, have a fenced in space to protect it from animals and commit to watering. 2 - designing frames for signs to give a presentation on the mayanut tree, 3 - Cook food for everyone. On the food:  the place is strictly vegan and uses solar power only for the water pump. All work is manual. They use NO processed food. Everything is made from scratch and quite an undertaking. Glenda, Phuong and Daniel are on kitchen duty and a couple of hours later we all enjoy delicious  rice and beans with coconut and a huge salad of cabbage, tomatoes, broccoli, onions, peppers etc!  It's also a very organic farm where human waste is put to good use - the 'bathrooms' take getting used to!  The place tries to have no trash at all.  You live with the earth and try to improve it so it can nourish you. I am reminded of the Martian and think trying to make soil and reforest Haiti by using such sustainable farming may be good practice for colonizing less hospitable planets!

Our second trip to the refugee camp is by riding/standing on a bigger truck than before - hold on as the driver maneuvers the bad gravel road. It is either this or hopping on the back of some motor bike. There are only a handful of cars which are useless anyway given the road conditions and the fact that the only road out of town( other than across the border to DR if you have a visa) is in too bad condition for cars.

So we think we are roughing it until we remember where we are headed.   This is an unofficial camp of forgotten refugees. The ones who could have left and services seem to have stopped but there are still 49 families here who have nowhere  else to go. We don't know the full story clearly ( much remains lost in translation) but are told that a lot of them are of Haitian origin with no ties left in Haiti having lived in or even been born in he DR - when they were expelled they had neither Haitian not DR papers.  What can we do?  The kids loved singing songs with the camp pastor (one of Kara's  friends) and us, making bead necklaces and playing soccer. We will bring more supplies tomorrow. There is no structure or organization here other than what the pastor provides, so we are a welcome distraction!

The truck that brought us left unexpectedly and so we are temporarily stranded ... And very tired ... Until another one shows up magically a long while later and takes us back to the border crossing before it closes at 5pm. Just another mile or 2 to walk to the nice cold shower in our charming little hotel in Pedernales!  We wonder whether we have ever been dirtier and sweatier!

Number of steps in the 20 to 30,000 depending on the job you were assigned today !

--Heidi

Thoughts on Saturday, by Phuong the Novelist!

I could fill up a blog complaining about how hot, tired and dusty I was today; about the eight mosquito bites I've sustained despite multiple applications of insect repellent; and about how walking in the Haitian sun was like setting my oven on broil and searing my flesh in it. However, all these would only prove how good my life is, because for the people here, these are common everyday events that do not deserve consideration. It is as sure as the rising and setting sun.

At 8a.m., Rev. Kara already had breakfast set out for us: cold oatmeal (it is slightly better than it sounds), cut-up mangoes and sliced bananas. Tree-ripened fruits here, more "organic" than anything you could get in the States, are also more flavorful and sweeter than the mangoes and bananas we get at home. She gave each of us a plastic Chinese soup container, with our name written on the bottom, and a plastic spoon. This would serve as our breakfast bowl and eating utensil while we are here. No napkins. She is doing her part to minimize our trash impact, as the entire landscape here is marred with plastics, styrofoam and discarded clothes. Lots of discarded clothes!

After breakfast, we began our 30-minute trek to the Haitian border. The sun is high, and within minutes of walking, I could feel my shirt dampening and sweat trickling down my body, and the trickle would continue the rest of the day. I was wearing a wide-brim hat and sandals I recently purchased for this trip. Our hotel is in Dominican Republic (DR), and is relatively cleaner than anything else in this border region: a clean bed, trickling hot water shower, a wobbly ceiling fan and AC that comes on after 8 p.m. (I later discovered most rooms do not have hot water or AC). The border is separated by a long 10-foot high metal fence, not unlike the fences between properties in the States, except there are hundreds of people on either side, some wanting to cross from one side to the other, some peddling water and food, but most seem to be there with no particular purpose. I carry my backpack with my water bottle, snacks, passport and pesos, though I have not seen any touristy souvenirs to buy. Gasoline in recycled beer bottles, charcoal, food and used clothing are what's for sale--another reminder that basic human needs are the primary focus here.

We showed our passports on both sides of the border, the DR agent stamped us out on one side and a Haitian agent manually filled out our entry visas on the other.

The landscape immediately changed on the Haitian side of the fence. Paved roads are replaced with brown dirt and gravel roads, and the air chokes with brown dust with every motorbike passing. Except for the two trucks packed full of donated clothes, presumably from the US, in a dry riverbed by the border fence, and a small pick-up truck we later rented to take us to the refugee camp, I do not recall seeing another car on the road. With the numerous dips and rises in the dirt roads, and treacherous potholes, motorbikes appear to be the only practical way of navigating this rough terrain. "The Wild Wild West" comes to mind.

We followed Rev Kara on unmarked roads and foot paths for about 45 minutes when a young man half-carrying, half-dragging a bag yelled out something unintelligible behind us. Rev Kara turned around and her face broke into a big smile. Hugs were exchanged and a conversation in Creole ensued. After he departed, Rev Kara proudly announced that her friend Jameson will arrange for transportation for us to the refugee camp at 11 a.m., which is 12 p.m. DR time.

We continued walking on the main road, lined with huts with pebbly stone walls and palm-leaf roofs. Occasionally an inhabitant or two would run out and greet Rev Kara, always with beaming, excited smiles and hugs. For Rev Kara, it seems like she was coming home, and for the people there, I imagine they are thrilled she has not forgotten them.

The road led to the ocean, and the water there was breathtaking: a baby blue strip in the shallow water which becomes deep turquoise farther from shore. Four young boys were splashing and laughing in the water, their very dark skin a startling contrast against the blue water. We were high five-ing and "Bonjour-ing" the children that came up to us, curious to see who these strangers are.

First, we walked to Rev Kara's friend Santhonax's home. Santhonax is a 24-year-old man that has built two cinder block raised beds under a shade structure to grow cedar and mango seedlings he plans to later plant at the desolate refugee camp. He was not at home but his mother graciously offered us fresh coconuts, which we eagerly accepted and greedily devoured, juice and flesh.

Then we walked to the project site of another friend of Rev Kara, Colbert (does Rev Kara know everybody in Haiti?!) Colbert is a young man who currently lives in Brooklyn, NY, but has a non-profit in Haiti. He wants to build a structure that can process breadfruit into pasta and flour. Even though breadfruit trees are plentiful in Haiti, the fruits are sent to DR to be processed, then sold back to Haitians at a premium. If the breadfruits are processed in Haiti, the money would stay in Haiti to benefit its people. Colbert has the walls erected but lacks the funding to continue the building process.

Jameson came back with a small, rickety truck as promised with the driver and another of Rev Kara's friend, Wood. Seven of us and Wood climbed into the back. The pickup bed has wooden planks on either side for passengers. The driver, Rev Kara and Jameson sat in the front, Rev Kara being squeezed in the middle on top of the parking brakes. I felt like a migrant worker riding into the fields, the hard seat and metal back unforgiving with every bump. The brown dust rose and formed a mini-dust storm around us as we jostled and bumped against each other. There does not seem to be any soil anywhere, only dust, gravel and rocks.

Eventually we came to the refugee camp. Tents were erected in haphazard fashion with stripped tree branches for its frame and bed sheets, cardboard, sewn-together clothes or plastic tarps of all colors to cover. The refugees are there because DR forced all Haitians to leave DR, even those that were born in DR. However, the Haitian government does not recognize those born in DR as Haitians. Thus, they are without documentation and without a country. These refugees want to build their houses at the refugee site, the land donated by a Jesuit. These refugees receive no financial support or services.

The refugee camp has a church tent, with 5 rows of 4-inch wide planks nailed on 14-inch high wooden stakes, which are the pews, and a small wooden table in the front which serves as an altar. The pastor was not there but his father was. As Rev Kara tried to explain to him why we were there, he interrupted her, parted the canvas tarp entrance and said "This is God's house. You should come in."

We brought coloring books and crayons for the children. Initially they were bathing in the canal but eventually came, hesitatingly standing at the door until we waved them in. Soon all the pews were filled, everyone was coloring, even the teenage boys and an elderly woman. Rev Kara's father, Sterling, sang and held a baby so his mother could color. We put bunny, butterfly and flower stickers on the children's hands. Even though we were there for only an hour, in that hour, it seems their troubles were forgotten as they concentrate on making a beautiful picture.

We piled back into the truck and drove to the border to begin our 30-minute walk back to our hotel in DR. Glenda, Jacob and Sarah still had energy to go swimming. At dinner, Heidi led us in our daily devotion, quoting Mark Twain, "Travel is fatal to prejudice." How true!

As I drifted off to sleep,my last thoughts were of Santhonax and Colbert, marveling at their love and commitment to their fellow Haitians. Even though they have little themselves, they are determined to plant the seed of hope here, one mango or breadfruit tree at a time.

Time

Time is a word with many meanings.  What time am I supposed to be here?  Did you spend enough time with someone?  What time zone am I in?  Is this a hard time line, or can it slip?  Is it culturally expected to be exactly on time, or is it expected to be late?  As we have traveled from the US to both the Dominican Republic (DR) and Haiti, many of these time misunderstandings have arisen.  Throughout all of this, we have arrived in Pedernales and have traveled our second day to Anse-a-Pitre.

We started the morning out with a misunderstanding of both time zones and starting time for the Church service.  Haiti has decided not to participate in day light savings time this year, so it is currently in central time while the DR is in the eastern time zone.  Nevertheless, we made it to church, abet a few hours late, and were welcomed immediately into the family.  First Santonax, an Anse-a-Pitre resident met us at the border because he thought we would be there at 8:00 eastern time, but we didn't show up until 10ish.  As soon as he found us, he immediately ushered us to Church, and  ensured we had seats within the Sanctuary.  We missed most of the opening music, the first sermon, the scripture readings, opening prayers, but we made it for the second sermon, and closing songs.  Although this was a different experience for me in comparison to my trip two years ago, it was excellent to see the Spirit of Christ alive and well within this church.  

From there, we wondered through town, to make our way to Sadana Forest.  Throughout this journey, it was great to see so many people who knew Rev. Kara, or Karla as she is known to them.  For me, it was also excellent to see many people I hadn't seen in two years, and yet they still remembered me.  Every interaction in Haiti always boils down to how is your family, and when are you coming back.  For me, I had come back, and it was such a rewarding process to see how people had changed over the two years, yet they still remember who you are.  

As we continued our stroll to Sadana Forest, we stopped by the orphanage that I worked at two years ago.  Today is Sunday, and it was quite quiet, but it was great to see the shade structure we had all contributed to two years ago was still standing, even through the rough winds, hurricanes, droughts, and storms that have passed through this regions since I left.  

When we finally made it to Sadana, it was as if things haven't changed.  There were new faces, but the philosophy, mindset, and spirit of this community still thrived.  Again, we arrived at the wrong time, but Maria, the new site director, was welcoming to us anyways.  We spent the afternoon looking at some of the projects on the property, and admiring how many of the trees that were young saplings two years ago have been planted, and a few are starting to bear fruit.  We helped plant 5 new trees, and then we're off to meet with Colbert, a friend whose bread fruit milling project we visited yesterday, was having a business meeting, and we were going to discuss the viability of his endeavor.

Colbert currently lives in NYC with his wife, but he still has family and friends in Anse-a-Pitre.  Through this tie, he is working to improve the Anse-a-Pitre region by opening a breadfruit mill that will be utilized by the locals.  Currently breadfruit is grown by the locals, given to the DR for milling, and then purchased as a processed grain back from the DR.  His hope is that he can make the proces local, giving the members of Anse-a-Pitre a local route to process their grain, without exporting and re-importing the material.  Through this meeting, it became evident that Colbert had a plan, but gaming the right resources and time was challenging.  Furthermore, it became evident that he would need additional help on marketing, and business management practices to make this proposition a success.  We discussed multiple strategies with him, and hope to have further collaboration to help in his endeavor.

As the day wound down, we were off to eat at King Crab, the local restaurant where we eat dinner every night.  Anna, the owner of King Crab, was finally in and came by to great us.  She recognized Kara, Sterling, Sarah, and I immediately, even though it had been between one and two year time since we had seen her.  She welcomed us immediately, and treated us like family.  

The lesson from all of this, is that we all come from various cultures, customs, and regions, but we all  can learn to continue our love between each of us.  Time may help strengthen or weaken the love, but through acceptance and love, we are all children of God who deserve to have love in our lives.   This trip has been a gental reminder that if we spend time with those who love us, we can strengthen these bonds for our own benefit, the benefit of others, and the benefit of all God's children.


-Jacob

Me entiendes? Comprends? Do you understand?

It takes a village to get our team of 8 people from Bethesda to this remote corner of Hispaniola, and we are grateful for all who have had a hand in getting us here.  We arrived at the Haitian-Dominican border yesterday, after 8ish hours of travel by car.  At every juncture, some sort of conversation in a language other than English was necessary:  "Where can I buy bananas for breakfast?" "How do I get onto this road if I can't turn left?" "Do you sell toothpaste?"  Some of these conversations have gone more smoothly than others, but I always feel as though I am straining to be understood. Every time, I break a sweat trying to explain myself in Spanish, with a bit of English, some words in French, and plenty of charades-like hand gestures.  My question at the end is desperate: "Me entiendes?? Do you understand??"

The need to be understood, it seems to me, is a fairly basic human need. It propels us to new heights of expression through music, language, and art. We tend to gravitate toward others who can understand our experience; who see where we're coming from; people who, at the very least, are good listeners.

And yet most of the time that I am in the Dominican Republic or Haiti, I carry a deep question within me: Are people understanding me? I wonder this constantly, both practically--does she understand that I want hotel rooms for 8 people?--and, more existentially--do they understand who I am, why I come here?  Do they understand that they are like family to me? And so the questions steep, and so I strive to be more clear, to explain more thoroughly, to articulate more precisely.

But yesterday, when we arrived in Pedernales, and the woman who owns the hostel where we stay greeted me, keys in hand, she said, "Our family is back."  And I was struck in that moment by a realization of all of the work that is done on the receiving end of my quest to be understood. For five or six years, the people in Pedernales and Anse a Pitre--not to mention all along the route from Santo DOmingo to the border--have been striving to understand me.  They have been the ones adjusting their perspective, leaning in, tuning their ears differently to this recurring visitor who comes with quirks and needs, guests and strangers.

The work of hospitality is the effort to understand rather than to be understood. It is the woman who, rather than explain to me for the fourth time how to get somewhere, grabs my arm and walks me the whole way.  It is the man who notices that I am cold on the airplane and hands me his blanket, no questions asked.  It is the milkshake-seller in Pedernales who always remembers that I am the  strange American who prefers a banana milkshake--hold the milk--in my own water bottle so I don't have to use a styrofoam cup.  Or the man who today, when I was struggling to explain who our group was and why we wanted to go into the church with our coloring books and supplies, graciously cut me off and said, "This is God's house. You should come in."

The prayer of Saint Francis asks, "grant that I may not so much seek to be understood as to understand." That is my prayer, too, for myself this week, and for all of us as we return to our homes, challenged to pass on the gifts we have received as guests in this place.

--Kara