Blog Post Four

It’s 5:30am, someone’s alarm is chiming incessantly. No one stirs. I hear roosters—we have been sleeping through that too. The falling rain drums rhythmically on the tin roof. Despite being near the center of the pavilion, mist sprinkles my face—a refreshingly cool start to a morning I know will be a scorcher quite soon. Reluctantly I get up and pull on my soggy shoes which haven’t dried from yesterday’s river adventure.

As daylight breaks, we encounter one delay after the next. These delays are part of daily life here. We are an hour late leaving for breakfast. We request breakfast to be brought to us: boiled white sweet potatoes, avocado, and bread.

More delays.

Our plan is to go back up the mountain we climbed yesterday. As we load up, Dr. Chateau tells us she’s not feeling well and we need to make a last-minute adjustment to the team list. Always one to step up, Dr. Stephanie Devilmar jumps in to join us even though she wasn’t prepared to hike today. Finally we are underway.

There is a ministry of health clinic just beyond the mayor’s property where we are staying. It was damaged in the earthquake and has been closed ever since. Hundreds of people line up in front of it. The line snakes across the road to a building where another NGO must be holding a clinic. We navigate our truck through the sea of people and then find we are blocked in by a huge truck. The truck has some trouble backing out, but at last we make it to the main road.

The team divides in two again, one group is staying to host a clinic in Solon and I am with the mountain crew climbing to the community of Kayplasón where we had three patients airlifted a few weeks ago.

Sweat pours down in a steady stream. I add more sunscreen in a futile attempt to avoid the sun. “Want to know where we are headed?” Leo asks “See that palm tree across the valley? No, not that one, the one way in the distance. That’s where we are headed.” Looks like we still have a ways to go. Plant-powered energy propels me up the mountainside and we stop to rest periodically for other team members to catch up.

With a scuffle, Something I presume to be lizards tumble down the hill beside me. Confirmed. After a pause I see a small, tan, bearded creature puff its throat out and lick the air. Then a tiny iridescent frame shimmers purple in the sun, while displacing more loose dirt than one would expect to be possible. Another has a very long blue tail, scampering lengthwise along the hill, he drags a trail of brilliant cyan in his wake.

We pass a construction project where workers interrupt their labor to assess this unexpected sight. I wave bonjour and an elderly man, leaning on a shovel, gives me a toothy grin. The ladies working just beyond him clamor for me to greet them too. Such wholesome exchanges I’ve had with the residents of this remote area.

A solitary bugle plays a salute in the distance, echoing down to the valley floor. Delice asks Leo if he’s tried to lift my backpack then crumples under the imaginary weight of it. Leo tries to convince me that he needs to carry my bag lest he float away. I assure him that’s not how physics works. Daphne, one of the medical students, keeps pace even though she hasn’t hiked before. She’s excited to be on the mountain team today and is eager to prove herself in all areas.

Obenson runs ahead to herald our arrival, accomplishing the task with dispatch he runs back down the trail to meet us—flashing his signature bright smile, love this kid.

I arrive ahead of the doctors and there is already a line of people waiting in the shade of a large mango tree. Just past this group is another shady spot on the trail, here I find reprieve from the relentless sun in the shadow of the jungle foliage. The crowd moves over to join me. A row of curious eyes observe me as I open a hydration pack and add it to my Nalgene bottle. I am as much a point of interest to them as they are to me. I wonder how often I create space and priority to see as I have this week—to slow down and take it all in—observing my environment, to be present, to see and be seen with no need for words to be exchanged.

The rest of the medical team arrives at 1pm. We are an hour behind schedule already, but we will serve as many as we can. Medical care in this area is not available and after experiencing the climb to get here we understand why.

We decide to hold clinic right where everyone is standing, which also happens to be in the middle of the trail. Here the dense tropical plants offer the most shade around. The students bring benches salvaged from the rubble and we set up our jungle clinic. Leo provides instructions to the waiting crowd and organizes them.

In an open space at the entrance to the village is a church that was completely destroyed by the earthquake, nothing is left of it except for piles of rubble, a couple broken benches, and a section of the roof. Justin flys the drone above us to survey the area and captures some beautiful images of a large waterfall, he almost loses the drone in a tree. I sit down in the prickly scrub grass to take some notes and Obenson sits next to me brimming with questions. Whenever I step away to work on something, our local guides find me and ask what I’m doing. One of our porters, Davidson, is originally from the Dominican Republic, so I am able to speak most easily with him. I ask him in Spanish to translate Creole words and tell him a little about my family. All of our porters take a swig of water from my bottle, suddenly I am less motivated to stay hydrated.

Justin and I decide to go up the trail to assess the community better and the needs it represents. Upon returning to clinic, we find someone has brought a gunnysack of coconuts for us. In the center of the trail, surrounded by onlookers waiting for their number to be called, Obenson grabs a machete and hacks the tough, fibrous exterior away, handing one over to me. I jam my thumb into the exposed flesh of the coconut and it sprays the woman having a consult next to me. I apologize and the woman behind her giggles. Holding up another one, Leo does the same thing, causing a spray of coconut water to shower around him. Everyone laughs.

The team gave out 40 numbers explaining that we know we won’t be able to see everyone, but will do our best. However, we find that instead of giving out numbers to individuals, families end up coming together on one ticket. A mother with twin girls and her sister slips onto the bench where Eric and Joe are taking vitals. They greet each patient warmly and move with streamlined efficiency.

Leo buys some fresh bread and bananas from a woman who anticipated the market that hunger can create and set up shop along the line of patients waiting to be seen. Juggling two halves of a freshly split coconut, bananas, and bread, Justin cuts down a large leaf from the hillside to lay the bananas down and free up a hand or two. A grandmotherly figure comes over and tells us we can’t do that, eventually we understand that the leaf is poisonous to eat. Justin picks up the bananas and murmurs comprehension; we have much to learn from the locals

An elderly man having his vitals taken is asked his age, “twenty-three” he says. The jungle waiting room erupts in hoots and hollers, scoffing at his absurd answer. So many people we have seen in our clinics don’t know how old they are. Some know what year they were born and we need to calculate their age. Maybe he said he was born in 1923; either way no such thing as HIPPA here.

I hear someone in the jungle behind me cutting more coconuts, perhaps trying to keep up with our consumption. A woman in a polka dot dress holds a toddler dressed in a ruffled hand-me-down. The broken zipper is tied with a red string. Here, as well, the community is showing up in their best. They sits down and the little girl cries pointing at the food in my hand. I give her the rest of my bread.

A man waiting in line approaches us and asks if we would come see the church up the hill that was also destroyed. “Just a 7-minute walk”, he assures us. Skeptical that it will take less than 10 minutes, yet not remotely deterred and wanting to better understand the needs of the community, we set out up the steep clay path. As we climb, the gentle hum of the jungle becomes almost a deafening roar. No one knows the name of the invisible insect, but it reminds me of cicadas. I explain that they are the Rumplestiltskin of the insect kingdom, this produces some weird looks. What is this creature you speak of?

Surprisingly, we arrive in just 4 minutes and survey the compound. The church is indeed gone. Part of the cement frame still stands, and the large metal door hangs at an angle. Pigeons fly from the rafters, the roof only partially standing, drooping over the buckled wall. Twisted rebar juts out of the wreckage while a beautiful mango tree, on the edge of the property, stands unmoved by the earthquake.

I ask the man if he is the pastor of the church. He tells us yes and we find out that he is also the Cazek—the village elder. He introduces his wife who comes out of a hut holding a crying toddler. I hold out my arms for him and scoop him into my lap. Opening my backpack, I pull out a caramel stroopwafel, a snack from one of my flights, and hand it to him. The pastor tells us about the church, the community, and their needs in broken English before telling us he has an appointment with the doctors and must return.

Storm clouds gather ominously as the team scrambles to see the remaining patients. We have now closed triage, so Eric pulls out the drone and a flock of boys trail him up the hill. Their colorful shirts contrast to the jungle backdrop.

After packing up, we start the descent down the mountain which we know will now end in the dark. A woman with no teeth stops us on the path and asks if we are done with the clinic, at least that’s what I think she asked. Cannot be sure. Joseph and Eric discuss their wishlist for living here: a house with a view and a chicken, of course.

We pass a dry riverbed and Leo points out that this is where we stopped to filter water on the way up and now it’s gone. Further down we cross a path that was dry on the way up and now a river runs through it. I suppose this is the nature of Haiti—constantly shifting and we need to be agile to operate here. At the first river crossing on our return, I kneel down letting the cool water wash over me. Nothing quite as refreshing as a body of water or as soothing as a rover.

A man comes up the path from the river leading two sheep; seven more ewes and a ram emerge from a ticket and follow him, continuing down the path in front of me. The setting sun paints a pastel sky behind the mountains creating layers of purple silhouettes above the shepherd leading his flock home along the river.

The fading light turns to dusk as we make our way down. The path has leveled out now and we are getting closer. We pass a a house woven from palm fronds. A child stands in the dirt yard and blows a slide whistle. We pass children collecting water along the river and I stop to watch them help each other hoist the jugs onto their heads.

The trail passes through trees and a father and his two girls stand in front of their home playing music on a speaker creating an impromptu dance party in the dark.

The white stones are bright on our path, yet we almost trip over a goat sleeping in the middle of the trail. As the darkness deepens I have a harder time distinguishing between mud puddles and cow pies. We are almost there.

On the last river crossing I involuntarily begin singing Wade in the Water, this African American spiritual hits me differently today—I feel it. Some of the same roots share this land also having endured so much.

Everything looks so different in the dark, but we eventually find our way back. I sneak up on the porters who are waiting by our truck and the guys exclaim that I made it to them without a light—I guess I just eat plenty of carrots.

Our headlights illuminate the palm trees along the river as we navigate the rough river road and stars frame the distant Milky Way. I think today might actually be my favorite.