Day 2

Up at 6 am, dressed, packed, eat breakfast and load the truck. Donette yells at us several times because she doesn't want us to miss the bus to Port Au Prince. This was the drive we were waiting for on one hand, and dreading on the other. What does death smell like anyway? Do we even want to know? Will we cry or will our stomach wrench with anxiety? The truck begins it's journey into the heart of PaP. We watch with horror.

(pause)

It is hard to see entire buildings collapsed on themselves and not think of the people underneath the rubble. Mothers and grandmothers, brothers and uncles, teens and little children...all gone. One half hour of driving in the city and the landscape repeats itself over and over. Finally we speak what is on everyone's mind. It is not as bad as we anticipated, if you can believe that. Don't get me wrong. Thousands of buildings are damaged or destroyed...but inbetween are standing buildings...and people are sweeping the streets and carrying large chunks of concrete by wheelbarrow to piles of debris that line the streets. Death is in the air, but so is hope.

Tap Taps (small busses covered in brightly painted sheet metal...like professional graphitti on the go!) scurry by at a constant rate with phrases about Jesus everywhere. "Jesus Seoul Savioure" is repeated over and again. Jesus only saves. Others just say "Jesus Seoul" (Jesus only), "Moi Jesus" (my Jesus), or "Merci Jesus" (Thank you Jesus). It is painted permanently on windshields, back windows, or doors of the Tap Taps with prominence.

Produce lines the streets with bananas, mangos, papaya, and sugar cane. Products from used tires, to clothing, to packaged foods, to sunglasses and purses are also there. A band of more than 100 come marching by the bus station with instruments in hand, as we wait for our bus to Les Cayes. They are playing gay music and carrying flowers. At first we think it is a funeral, but all have matching white shirts with Creole printed across the chest. We have not yet met up with our interpreter, so we do not know what it says. I think it was just a band of hope, a band of cheer, a band of joy for everyone on the streets. I smiled.

Just then the bus loads and an over 4 hour journey to Les Cayes begins. We are pleasantly surprised that the bus has air conditioning! Another new amenity since our last trip in 2008. With temps well over 90, it is a nice surpise. Pastor Depestre said the epicenter of the quake was about 25 kilometers south of PaP. We found it.

(pause)

Gut wrenching. Block after block after block flattened, literally...nothing but concrete rubble...and lost lives...for miles.

(pause)

The military is here digging a well, setting up tent cities for refuge to mourning survivors. The next hour of the trip is the worst. So many homeless. So many lives lost. It feels like we are in a war zone. I suppose we are. A war between man and nature. Nature thinks it can declare itself the winner. The people of Haiti disagree.

Once arriving in Les Cayes, only half our luggage would fit in our shuttle car from the bus to the boat at the dock. We regretfully had to split the team and leave half our luggage, and team, behind. We have never been put in that position before. But two trips later we were all reunited at the dock. The dock was just as I had remembered it, full of filth, waste, pollution and people. Sheer chaos.

Soon we loaded up into our small wooden boat and headed across the ocean for an hour long trip. Our interpreter never showed, so we left with anxiety of how we would communicate once we arrived. The ocean was much more fierce than usual, and the boat violently smacked the waves over and over again across the hour plus ride to the island. It surely felt as though the small boat lined with fiberglass would split in half. Newbies were amazed a simple blue tarp would be all that stood between us, our luggage, and the ocean's splashing waves.

Anticipation arose as the shore was in sight. Friends gathered, men, women, and children. Familiar faces: Jean Gary, Pastor Mascary, Dino, Ralph, just a few. We settled in for a deliscious dinner, comfortable cots, and small talk with those gathered. We couldn't communicate more than nicities such as "a-lo" (hello), "bonswa" (good afternoon), "pase bon we" (good night) and the like. We pray our interpreter will show early the next day. As for now, no more boats are coming across the ocean today.

The goats are crying in the night. The rooster is already practicing his wake up call. Chickens are in and out of our rooms. And the first Haitian size spider has already been spotted on our bedroom wall. Ahhhh...paradise.

Settling in our room, the roosters and chickens began welcoming us, as well. This one jumped in the window to say "Hello!"