It all started with the rain - all day yesterday and all last night. Heavy rains. Enough rain to send up a small forest of mushrooms outside our house overnight.
Enough to cancel school for the day. Our kids were so excited to have a "Haitian snow day" off from classes. Melissa and I went with our principal, Angie, to intercept any parents and students who did not get the text message in time. Many of our teachers and students had called in to say they could not pass flooded streets to get to Cowman.
The photo below is Melissa and the kindergarten teacher, Djouly, on the sidewalks out in front of the preschool building.
We couldn't blame people for not being able to get to school. Some make an hour long trip even in the best of conditions.
So Melissa and I headed back home around 8:00 to enjoy a quiet day of "bonus time" with the kids. I worked on cutting up some onions and peppers for a big pot of chili (which the cooler, damp air made more appealing than usual) and Melissa started a card game with the kids. Heck, we were halfway tempted to drag out the Christmas decorations!
But then Daniel called.
He was at school - he's a student now at the OMS Emmaus Biblical Seminary - and he had seen on Facebook that we were out of school today. He was out as well - the Emmaus community had woken to a fallen property wall, flooding in a classroom building, and - like Cowman - teachers who couldn't get to their classrooms.
He was worried about his neighborhood kids - the ones he feeds each weekend (when he has the funds to do so). He was especially worried about three particular families living on the edge of the river. Rising waters in the past had been known to sweep children away. At the very least, he knew that the houses there had leaky roofs - and not the drip, drip, drip you probably envision - more like multiple streams of water, soaking everything and everyone and making sleep impossible.
He was having trouble finding a tap-tap to bring him into town and wondered if I would come get him and then accompany him to check on the families.
I really should have known better. Daniel's heart is definitely with "the least of these".
Caleb wanted to tag along and so we both pulled on some high-water boots, I grabbed Melissa's phone for pictures and we jumped in the pickup to go get Daniel. By the time he and Caleb and I reached his neighborhood, the rain had let up and life seemed to be pretty normal for most folks out on the streets. But as we walked back to the houses on the river, we found the path still completely flooded.
We saw this poor thing hanging around the neighborhood. The dogs in Haiti are often pretty scraggly and thin, surviving on leftovers tossed by their human companions, but when you see one looking this bad, you know there's NOTHING to spare.
The river was well beyond its normal banks.
And the houses of Daniel's neighbors were islands, barely keeping their noses above water - brown with mud and sewage.
We met with the first family - a man and woman with two sons and two daughters.
Daniel explained to Caleb and me the plight of this man, Jak, and his family. Heavy rains are in the forecast for several more days. Jak fears for the safety of his children. Ideally, he would find some other place to live and move his family far away from the river. But there's NO steady work and NO money.
But it's even more complicated. There's an impending deadline. The government has told them that these houses are due for demolition within the next two to three months. "The government will break their houses," Daniel tells me.
And nobody doubts the government's threat. Not currently, as authorities have recently torn down dozens of houses and businesses near the airport in the interest of beautifying the area to lure the tourist trade dollars. And right outside our own front gate in Vaudreuil a dozen businesses have been razed in the past few weeks in preparation for a road-widening project.
In those cases, landowners were duly compensated (I have heard). Daniel says there will be no money for these families. I suspect that's because they don't actually own title to the land. (After all, it hardly even qualifies as land.)
Utter helplessness - I can't tell you how many times I have felt this way since we have moved to Haiti. And it's usually in Daniel's presence. (Hmmmm.)
I asked how much a modest house might cost in rent per year a bit further from the river and Daniel suggests they might be able to find something for 25,000 goudes. I do the math on Melissa's phone: that's about $555.
Per year. Not a bad deal all things considered, but outside my budget, especially when multiplied by three. But Daniel's still looking at me. We try to think of short-term solutions. A couple of hotel rooms for a few nights, until the rains pass?
Still too expensive and also too far away. Then Daniel's face brightens as he remembers a friend who has a place to rent. Maybe he'd rent it for a week or two.
We head back towards Daniel's house and several of the boys follow us. While Daniel locates his friend, Caleb and the boys kick around a tennis ball beside our truck. One of the boys saddles up next to me and asks if he can have my wedding ring.
Daniel's got a grin on his face when he returns and soon we're unlocking a door (just a block away) which leads to a hallway connecting three small, dark rooms. The owner, a fellow believer, says we can have the three rooms for one week for $33 US.
It's a deal. The kids and their parents will be safe and dry here over the next few nights.
We hurry back to the families, eager to show them what God has provided to help them weather the storms.
This second family is happy to hear the news, but as we move on to tell the others, the tall woman in the crocheted hat catches up with us ...
... and seems to be half pleading and half complaining to Daniel in Creole. Daniel translates for me: She has come to say that she is concerned about having to return after the week is over.
"When she leaves, she wants to never come back."
All we can do is tell her that we will work on it and seek God's guidance and help. I say, "Bondye konnen" - "God knows", a Haitian expression I have grown to love because it seems to acknowledge both our limited knowledge of the future and our trust in a good God.
Soon, folks have gathered up a few belongings for the "move" and they follow Daniel, Caleb and me to check out their (temporary) shelter from the rain.
Here's the front door ... and the only window in the entire space.
I had to use a flash to get any sort of inside pictures:
Except for this one of three of the boys standing in a bit of daylight streaming through that one window.
I must admit that I've spent most of my life sheltered from these kinds of troubles. Sometimes working hard to avoid them! But in reality, this is a dark and troubled world ... and it does my heart good to be stretched a bit, even when it's painful.
And I've got a sneaking suspicion that Daniel rather enjoys leading me into trouble. He knows what he's doing."But the man wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, 'And who is my neighbor?'"
- Luke 10:29
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