Haiti is the first country I have been to where a true short term missions experience could happen for me. As a child I grew up in the developing world. I’d like to say that I’m half latin, but that would be a lie. I guess you could consider me a wanna be latin from the way I love the culture and the language. Haiti on the other hand is so different than anything I’ve known growing up. For the first time I don’t understand the words spoken around me. Every time someone says something I find the spanish words to ask them what they’re saying on the tip of my tongue. I soon remember that these words that have served me so well all my life serve no purpose here. I finally understand and feel for those who have spoken louder or slower in hopes that the natives would by some miracle be able to understand their feeble attempt to communicate. I’ve resorted to lots of smiles and attempts at sign language. It always helps when they laugh at my attempts. Their contagious laughter always makes me feel more at ease when I just look so silly trying to communicate with them. Patience is key.
But beyond the language barrier, Haiti is such a different environment as well.The feeling of unease never really goes away… Even in this peaceful place I am blessed to call home for this month, the sadness in the air reaches my spirit. Driving through the capital city of Port-a-Prince, the heaviness was almost a physical weight. The dust that chocked the air made it difficult to breath at times and the stench of who knows what would catch our noses every few miles.
The darkness brought on by lack of electricity was also a shocker. Even in the capital there are hardly any lights. When night falls the venders break out their candles in attempts to light their baskets of local goodies. Occasional generators aluminate a few buildings here and there, but the majority of light by which the masses of people walk the streets, comes from the head lights of the chaotic stream of cars that would be hard to classify as traffic. I’m not really sure there are really even lanes… the cars seemed to switch which side of the road they want to use depending on the availability of space. All the while people are dogging in and out trying to get some where.
The structure of the city itself was dismaying as well. A good majority of the buildings are still unfinished, showing raw cinder blocks and rhubarb. The streets are covered with ruble, as if construction had happened and never been finished or cleaned up. Side walks and medians are barely able to hold to their names. And tent city after city are passed as we slowly trudge through the mess of chaos.
Its hard not to find this kind of place dismaying, but even in the midst of all this God spoke to me. As we were stopped in a jam of cars in the middle of the city I looked up and saw my first form of wild life, a white bird. It gracefully drifted above our heads and out of site. As I watched its purity in this filthy place God reminded me of His presence even there. Taking my eyes off of the bird I looked at my surroundings once again and noticed a huge church right below were I had first seen the bird. I don’t know if this was a christian church or some other kind, but there was a huge white cross perched on the top of the building. At that moment I felt reassured that even though we couldn’t see Him on the surface of this place. He was still here. Yes we bring his presence with us, but we aren't the single source of where His light comes from. He is already here. His works may not be evident at first glance, but if you pay attention, He will show you. Wether it be a white bird or the head lights of a vehicle in the darkness, His glory shines, even in Haiti.
