Has it been three weeks already? Apparently it has, cause we are leaving Haiti on Saturday. I can’t believe it, I don’t want to leave.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
I love this ocean breeze sweeping up the shore to where I sleep on the pavilion every night when it isn’t raining. I love playing the guitar and singing worship on the pebble beach with the waves rolling onto the rocks. I love chilling in the hammock with the palm trees above my head.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
I love Marieve and Carol, who cook amazing food, teach us how to make heavenly passion fruit juice and dance like crazy people with us in the cool summer evenings. Marieve, the crazy lady who makes us laugh without ever speaking a word of english, with a personality that constantly seems about to explode into insanity.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
I love the children at the orphanage: Fa-fa, Ketia, Naomi, Immanuel, Joel and the many others whose names I can’t remember or can’t pronounce. I love chasing them and tickling them and hugging them and spinning them in circles. Snuggling with a sleeping infant on my lap in church, praying and prophesying over her the entire service, blessing my entire day.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
I love getting my butt kicked in soccer with all the Haitian soccer prodigies, falling in the dust after tripping over my own feet. I love being picked up and dusted off by 13-year-old Romi, who checks my wounds and tells me I’m doing good. I love that I seemed to have made it into his cool club and that he tells me I speak a lot of Creole.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
Haiti does indeed have a special place in my heart. And though I won’t be back for at least a year, I don’t think it can keep me away for long.
M’ reme Ayiti. I love Haiti.
