By Sister Eileen Eppig, SSND
Several years ago, I had the great privilege of accompanying Sister Limeteze Pierre-Gilles on a home visit to Haiti. This is my journal from that trip.
Thursday
After two days of traveling in snow and having our flight cancelled, Limeteze teaches me a Haitian Proverb. “Beyond mountains there are mountains.” I discover this proverb has many meanings, as we experience a bit of powerlessness in our attempts to get to Haiti.
Friday
While we wait for our flight, I read the book on Haiti that Limeteze lent me, Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder, about the work of Dr. Paul Farmer in Haiti. He says "[some people] think all the world’s problems can be fixed without any cost to themselves…There’s a lot to be said for sacrifice…it’s what separates us from the roaches.”
Saturday
We land in Port-au-Prince, the nation’s capital, at Toussaint L’ouverture International Airport. We need to call the Sisters of Saint Joseph but our phones do not work here. A Haitian man offers me the use of his phone. Since I speak neither French nor Creole, I indicate that he should give the phone to Limeteze, but he will not do so. I take the phone while Limeteze reads the number to me. She says I should tip the man, so I give him $2.00 and he smiles broadly. Limeteze tells me he would give the phone only to me because he sees me as a rich white woman. White privilege.
The sisters drive us to their convent in the town of Saint-Marc, north of Port-au-Prince. The roads near the airport are not paved. For an hour and a half, we pass hundreds of small humble shacks, tiny cinderblock homes and makeshift stands where people are selling their wares.
We share the road with cows and goats, as well as people on foot and the occasional horse, donkey or rooster. We pass a person lying in the road covered by cardboard and branches, hit by a car and killed. I wonder how people learn their worth here. We pass many pick-up trucks, motorbikes and motorcycles that give people rides for cash.
We arrive at the convent in Saint-Marc, in the Department of Aribonite. The Haitian Sisters are very gracious and welcome us warmly. I learn that Saint-Marc used to be a beautiful prosperous town, but then there was a serious flood in Gonaives, and later an earthquake in Port-au-Prince. People from both places fled with practically nothing to Saint-Marc. Within a few short years, Saint-Marc became a settlement of scarcity.
Sunday
On Sunday morning, Myola, a friend of Limeteze, picks us up in a van for 7am Mass in Jean Denis. We leave while the moon is still high in the sky. Traveling on the paved National Road that runs through the country, we see many trucks crowded with people, some hanging onto the sides of the truck. In the background, there are stunning mountains. We pass a wide expanse of rice paddies, white herons and egrets dotting the green fields. The workers are standing in water, bent in half, planting rice, the main crop of Aribonite.
We arrive at Our Lady of the Rosary Church, Limeteze’ home parish, where she was baptized and made her first communion. People are very friendly, dressed in their finery for Mass. The little girls have pretty hair bows that match their dresses. Everyone is delighted to see Limeteze. We sit on wooden benches with no backs. For the offertory collection, ushers hold sturdy wooden boxes with a slit in the top. Mostly bills go in, very few coins; the people are generous. The reader begins the intentions, “Prayer is our strength. Our strength is God’s weakness.” I’m silenced by such faith.
After Mass we visit Limeteze’ Aunt Maxsia, her mother’s sister, and find her sick in bed. Her two daughters are caring for her. We have a brief visit. We then visit Limeteze’s friends Saint-Hubert and Yolanda, who have eight children. The large painted words on the door of their home read, “Jesus, I have confidence in you.”
Monday
After breakfast, we take a walk with Marc Antione, one of Limeteze’ friends, through the nearby neighborhood. At the Church of Saint Marc, we visit the tomb of Fr. Clarence, a champion of the poor and of justice. We also see the church radio station that broadcasts both Sunday and daily Mass, as well as religious songs. In the rectory, people are requesting Masses to be said on certain days of the New Year. Next to the church, there is a prison. Square holes in the wall serve as windows. Limeteze tells me that in the time of a past oppressive government, the military murdered people at night and clandestinely buried them in the churchyard.
As we walk through a street market, everyone is purchasing ingredients for the special New Year’s soup to eat on January 1, Independence Day. They also purchase new clothing to wear on January 2, a day for visiting and for commemorating the ancestors who died in the battles for independence. We enter a crowded shop and feel the press of bodies around us. Merchandise is stacked on the floor as well as the shelves, leaving little room to move. Outside, people are selling “Kennedys,” a Haitian term for American trinkets or kitsch.
Back in the van, we head north, bouncing up and down on the metal seats for about an hour. We arrive in Gonaives, the capital of Artibonite, also affectionately called “the mosquito capital of Haiti.” We meet the bishop - a very gentle, humble man - and tour the minor seminary. There are ten seminarians, ages 18-20. We eat dinner outside and a black cat begs me for food. I give her some turkey.
Tuesday
Bon Ane! On New Year’s day, we celebrate morning Mass at the Cathedral of St. Charles Borromeo. The Bishop presides. The Haitian President and his wife, many ambassadors, and government workers attend. The Mass is primarily in French and Latin, which means those who are poor and speak only Creole cannot understand.
As we drive southeast to the commune of Saint Michel de l'Attalaye the scenery gets greener and greener. With the mountains in the distance, the beauty is stunning. The main crop in Saint Michel is sugar cane. On the journey there, we zigzag over the same river several times, sometimes on a partially submerged cement bridge and sometimes right through the river.
I ask Myola if there is such a thing a right of way on the road. He says, yes, the right of way belongs to the swiftest, the most skilled, or the one with loudest horn. We all laugh and I realize that everyone we meet has a great sense of humor. We stop for gasoline; guards with rifles protect the station. Life here is hard. Later the bishop tells us that in Haiti humor is a survival skill, and hope is an absolute necessity.
We meet Fr. Jeannot and spend the night in the guest room of the rectory. It is a cold night in a bed with springs coming through the mattress. The priests share the hardship of the people. The plumbing is not working, so no running water. This is also our first night without electricity. We get ready for bed in the dark, and notice the night is clear and we can see every star. Wow! Pure gift.
Wednesday
After 6:30am Mass, many people wait in the courtyard to see Fr. Jeannot. The electricity and water come back on during breakfast. Myola receives word that someone broke into his house in Gonaives and stole the food for the seminarians. We decide to drive back after breakfast, since Myola is anxious about his house, but Fr. Jeannot says the cook has already started preparing the noon meal. So, of course, we stay; I am moved by such graciousness.
The pastor takes us to see the school. The church and school were recently repaired after the earthquake, and four classrooms are being added. We visit what looks like a ghost town with perhaps 200 cinder block houses built by the Taiwanese people after the earthquake. Unfortunately, this habitation is in the middle of nowhere, far from town. There is no water, no electricity, no plumbing, and no school. The only thing the people complained about, however, was not having a church. You can’t have a village, they said, without a church.
We pass many “tap-taps,” buses or pick-up trucks that are so called because you can let the driver know you want a ride by tapping on the vehicle. Each tap-tap has a religious phrase painted on it: Jesus is the way; Glory to God; Thank you, Jesus. Pedestrians, animals, and drivers are very skillful at gauging the speed and path of the others. I thank Myola for his service of driving us with ongoing commentary and explanation. He says it’s more than a service; it’s a responsibility. I realize that the true beauty of Haiti is its people, with their warmth, strength, generosity, humor, and hospitality—all wrapped in their profound, unfathomable faith. More tap-taps: Praise God; Guide me, Lord; Christ is capable.
Faith beyond faith. Goodness beyond goodness. Grace beyond grace.
Thursday
Today is our last day in Haiti. As we near the airport, we pass the Cathedral of Port-au-Prince destroyed in the earthquake. It looks like an ancient ruin, with partial walls standing. All those inside at the time of the earthquake, including the Archbishop, were killed.
We stop at a roadside stand to buy some gifts. I purchase a hand-carved wooden goblet or chalice, symbol of sacrifice, and a stone figure of a woman, standing straight and tall, symbol of the people’s beauty, character and endurance. I recall the bishop’s words: The mountains represent strength, hope, perseverance, and the ability to weather the storms that come. Between the mountains and the ocean the people live, love, pray, raise their children, and survive. As we enter the airport, we pass one last tap-tap: With Jesus, everything is all right.
