Dishes are Therapy: Thank God for Food

Madame Missoule told me she could wash the dishes.

The students were all gone; she’d finished serving and could resume her dish-washing duties. I could return to class. I was a teacher, after all.

But if I returned to class the tears would come.

Washing dishes was therapy. It kept the tears at bay and gave me some extra minutes to pray, to thank God for what He’d given us and disregard the lack.

Lentz started it.

The first time I remember was in Recreation.

Michelet sent him out because he was crying. He didn’t want to play because his stomach hurt.

 “What’s the matter? Poukisa ou kriye? Sa ou gen, bebe?” I asked.

« Vent fè mal, » he confirmed. « My stomach hurts . »

As we don’t treat stomachaches I told him automatically to drink water. “Bwe dlo.”

But as this is a school of children unable to afford school, full of children who walk from shack wood and tin homes, who sleep with their families in one cramped room, who have never used a toilet before attending—as this is Haiti, the land of preventable tragedy—I also asked the necessary question.

“Did you eat today? Ou te mange nan kay ou? Ou te mange maten-an ? »

Lentz said no.

« Eske ou grangou ? Are you hungry ?”

He nodded his head, gazing at me with those large eyes fringed by beautiful thick lashes, then dripping with tears.

“Ou vle mange? Do you want to eat?”

He nodded again.

So I bade him sit down on one of the benches around the kitchen and fetched him a plate of rice. Our class eats after Recreation so he wouldn’t have had long to wait, but I couldn’t ignore hunger that caused a stomachache that overcame the desire to play.

Lentz ate quietly on the bench then returned to Recreation in the next room.

When I next checked in he was laughing and playing with all the rest.

After Recreation was finished the class lined up to wash hands, sweating and panting and inevitably pushing. Lentz washed and received his allotted food and ate his plate of rice and beans in class.

From then on I kept an eye on Lentz. If he began to cry in class, putting his head down on the desk, my first assumption was discomfort from hunger.

I took to sending he and Shemaly to the office in the morning for extra crackers.

Beverly told me Maman Lentz doesn’t have food at home. Actually, they don’t really have a home. They stay where they can when they can.

Manman is young.

Every morning she is at the gate, lingering on the neighboring store’s porch, chatting with Michelet and Manman Shemaly. I wonder how she spends her days.

Shemaly is one of the brightest students in the class. She can read well in all three languages and is dependable. She works more slowly than the two leading girls, but she is good-natured and sweet and tries her best. She is good about self-correcting.

Her manman doesn’t have food at home, either.

For a few weeks I called Lentz and Shemaly out after the morning cracker with peanut butter. I sent them down to the office to ask for more, after confirming that they’d had no food at home that morning.

They’d return after a few minutes and settle back down at their desks.

Madame Alice noticed and one day commented.

“Ou renmen Lentz!” she said as I handed one of the precious extra peanut-butter dolloped crackers to Lentz before waving the empty plate before the class (it’s finished!)

I smiled and answered her in a low voice with a shrug.

“Li pa gen manje nan kay li. Li e Shemaly toujou grangou.”

She nodded and gave her customary “Dako, okay” response.

She didn’t comment on favoritism again.

Usually we have a few extra crackers on the plate.

From my experience of “making” the crackers—dolloping peanut butter—I know keeping track of the numbers is difficult.

I would have to restart my count several times and still be unsure of the number of crackers layering the tin plate. The largest class is 28 students, and ours is smallest with only 19. But we have the oldest students: students who should require more food.

Giving out those extra crackers is one of the worst parts of the job.

I hate to choose who will be blessed and who goes without.

Some of the children bring snacks from home. Some come with juice or milk boxes. Some come with plastic containers of macaroni, meat, paté, or fried banana. Many come with snack crackers “bonbon” which they pour directly into their mouths as the crackers have crumbled.

Some of them, like Lentz and Shemaly, do not bring anything from home. There is nothing to bring.

Last week we couldn’t teach. Many students couldn’t focus. They were too hungry.

Thanks to Madame Beverly’s daily question of “Are you hungry?” and required response of “Yes, I am hungry,” or “No, I am not hungry,” before they exit the kitchen with their allotted plate, the students can tell us in English their bellies are empty.

This day, several did.

Sometimes they look sad, mouths turned down and faces hidden on crossed arms, like Lentz and Ludgie. Sometimes they’re vacant, staring idly or unable to read the work before them, like Saloubens and John Theodore. Sometimes they’re angry or cranky, saying “Don’t touch me,” like Tchialensky and Gilberto.

That morning I kept repeating the mandate of “Drink water, bwe dlo” attempting to explain, in Creole, that water helps an empty stomach. Water can help to appease that demanding stomach. But even the ones who heeded me, believing those ludicrous words, couldn’t overcome the hunger to work well.

Students who normally work just fine through the morning, who don’t complain of hunger pangs, even those were pleading.

“I’m very, very hungry,” Ludgie said.

“I want a cracker, please,” Gilberto said, then amended to “I want some rice, please.”

The time crept toward 11:00 and I was at a loss. I was spending an inordinate amount of time repeating the command to drink water, encouraging with backrubs, and not enough time teaching.

At 10:50 I went downstairs with the empty cracker plate, entered the office and took the cracker container off the shelf. Then I stood in the middle of the floor, lost.

What should I do? Spread peanut butter on fifteen crackers and bring them upstairs?

I turned for the hallway and met Beverly coming out of the Recreation room.

“I don’t know what to do,” I confessed, lifting my helpless hands in the air. “There are so many of them who are hungry and just can’t work today. So many. Many more than usual.”

Beverly nodded. “You know what that means? They’re about to go through a growth-spurt.”

“What do we do?” I asked.

Beverly turned and called Madame Rose, who was supervising the feeding of the five-year old class who’d just left Recreation. Beverly explained that the children in second grade were hungry because they were growing, grandi.

“Do we give them more crackers? Or do we give them piti diri a little rice?”

Rose was decisive. “Rice. And later, more.”

Beverly nodded. “Yes, and we explain that this is a snack. They’ll eat more after Recreation.”

Madame Rose then made an about-face into the kitchen and commenced scooping a ladle of rice on eleven plates. Adrianna and I balanced the stacks and toted them upstairs.

Outside the classroom I peered around the doorframe. We had 11 plates and 19 students. Not all of them needed this offering.

I summoned Madame Alice from her surveilling.

“Ki moun bezwen manje kounya?” I asked. “Who needs food now?”

We looked into the classroom.

“Shemaly. Theodore. Lentz. Lovenita….” She shrugged. “Tout moun bezwen. Everyone needs it.”

“Okay,” I said, and we entered with the plates.

It was the first time since before the cholera scare we didn’t wash hands before eating. We just set plates down before children and let them scoop up rice as rapidly as possible.

We had to return for perhaps two more plates but a few students rejected the plate. A few opted to eat snacks from their bags, under instruction they should not eat much now.

“Manje piti paske nou ale recreacion. Pa bon pou manje two e fè exercise! It’s not good to eat too much before exercise!” I instructed, helping Shawn choose a few morsels from his lunch container and then stow it back in his bag.

It was rapid fire—that pre-Recreation “snack.”

We stacked the scraped plates and the students resumed their Creole grammar work.

By this time it was 11:15 and they had fifteen minutes to digest that bit before jumping and running and dancing with that unlimited youthful verve.

For most of them the food interfered not at all with their ability to leap and frolic—because it was the first food of the day and was immediately devoured by needy metabolisms.

Dancing commenced in Recreation a short while later to cheery students. They love dancing.

Before they began, Madame Beverly called upon those who had been hungry to stand in a line.

“Gade, Madame Rose,” she said. “Look and see who it is who’s hungry.”

The majority of the class formed a line, wondering why they were on display.

“You see?” Beverly nudged Rose. “See who it is?”

Madame Rose nodded. “Yes, I know.”

Many of the students standing on that line were ones whose homes Madame Beverly and Madame Rose knew well: the kind of homes that make Madame Rose shake her head and Madame Beverly turn to God in anger. The kind of homes that might have been acceptable in the 19^th century. The kind of homes like forts children build of scraps, before returning to their solid, insulated, secure homes of loving comfort.

The Madames nodded their understanding, nods of regrettable acceptance. Then the students broke up into mingled lines and the music began to play. With the usual buoyancy and contagious laughter they danced, showing off their progress in the Chicken Dance and Macarena.

I laughed and smiled and danced too, knowing that this physical therapy was a daily necessity, as is the dawn devotion on the rooftop, watching the sun rise while reading the Bible and praying—but as I frolicked, watching Ludgie swing her hips and sway with brilliant diamond smile alighting her ebony dark face, watching Saloubens kick his pointy-shoed feet with vigor, I couldn’t help but think of what they were missing.

“Thank you, God, for their ignorance. Thank you that this is all they know,” I said in my crumbling heart. “Thank you for their joy.”

After one dance I exited Recreation and stepped into the kitchen to wash the dishes my class had made. Madame Missoule, the cook, was occupied scooping portions onto first graders’ plates, and I began washing.

Dishes are therapy.

In days past I would retreat to the woods to walk off emotions—to appease stress, release anger, to sob out sadness under comforting, sheltering branches. I would pour out my heart among the roots and stay out until I’d exhausted body and eased the heartache.

Even in Korea I could walk or run out those emotions, barreling down a sidewalk with headphones in or following the river, or trekking into the woods, losing myself on a dirt path passing azalea bushes and memorials.

Here in Haiti life is more confined. Often I have no option to venture out, walking or running in solitude. I can retreat to my room or the roof, and I can work.

Dishes are constant here, with so many folks in the house. Dishes are simple. They’re predictable, mindless and sometimes tiring. Do enough dishes, certainly scrub enough pots, and you’ll be worn out.

That morning I washed all the plates for my class, all the spoons, too. Then I started washing the first graders’ dishes as they returned to the kitchen, smiling wanly at my students as they entered, sweaty and glowing from Recreation.

They got their second serving and marched out eager to eat again. I kept washing.

When the crowd had gone, the line diminished and all students back to their classrooms, Missoule sat herself down on a bench by the door and called to me.

Jonas helped her communicate with my faulty Creole.

“You can stop now. All the students are gone and she can wash,” Jonas said.

“I want to wash,” I answered, dunking plates into the bleach water. “If I wash I won’t cry.”

You’re probably able to figure out why I was repressing tears. You’re probably sitting there in your comfortable home, well-fed and enjoying certain holiday gluttonies like gingerbread men, pecan pie, whoopee pies, eggnog, a Starbucks peppermint latte, Grandma’s fudge…we all have our food vices.

The children in our school don’t have those. Sure, they enjoy candy and cookies. They’ll ask for lollipops when they see Madame Beverly has given them as rewards for English class or Recreation competition. They’ll try to share a friend’s bonbon. Most of them probably love pate.

But they don’t know homemade cookies. Some of them know nothing homemade, save rice and beans on a good day.

They know hunger. They know fatigue from empty bellies. They know eating that first serving quickly so they can return to the kitchen first and secure the second helping before the food runs out.

Second grade is the last class served, and by the time they’ve eaten once, the pot is nearly empty. There’s usually a race to return and offer the plate again—and then an exercise in scraping the bottom of the pot for the remnants of rice and beans.

Gilberto is quite small. He’s petite all around, including his baby teeth that smile so charmingly. Beneche is bigger with a round, dark head and secretive smile. Both of them always request large servings, and both usually return for seconds.

That midday meal may be the only one for the day.

Watching these seven-year olds undertake heaping plates of rice, you wonder where they can fit so much food. But then you remember how much food other seven-year olds you know eat through the day. They eat before school, they eat snacks in the morning, they eat lunch, they eat another snack in the afternoon, they eat dinner, and they probably eat a snack before bedtime. They drink water, juice and milk all day. They may not like to but they have fruit and vegetables to eat. They have meat and cheese and yogurt. They get protein, calcium, vitamins, and minerals.

They have regular doctors’ appointments, school nurses, guidance counselors, and worrisome grandparents who fuss after their health, who insist they eat more. Their families celebrate holidays featuring traditional food. They attend parties stocked with treats.

Our students do not.

I don’t want you to feel sorry for them. Do not harbor pity in your hearts. Do not consider them the world’s lowly unfortunates.

God has blessed these children with joy abundant.

Of one, Madame Beverly says, “God has given him the gift of not recognizing his reality.”

I agree. Blissful ignorance is personified in many of our students.

But you should be angry. You should be outraged that in a fertile world where crops of all kinds are cultivated, where fruits of immeasurable value and exquisite taste flourish, where restaurants and school cafeterias and overfed children toss away uneaten food en masse—you should be outraged that there are children going hungry.

That there are children who come to school with naught in their stomachs, who cry at their desk from stomach pain, who nod off during lesson, who race for second helpings to tide them over until tomorrow.

You should cry for the children who dread school vacation because it removes them from the only safe environment they have ever known, keeps them from toilets, clean water, hugs, affection, praise, and food.

I do.

Yes, I know hunger is a world epidemic. I know that near your own neighborhood are folks struggling and deciding between electricity and groceries. I thank God for Feed My Starving Children which enables us to have food. While washing dishes and blinking back tears I praised God again that we had food to give these hungry children.

Let us be continuously grateful every time we sit down to eat. Whether the food is your favorite, that special homemade tradition, or whether the food is merely for survival, lacking taste or appeal. Let us be grateful, and let us never feel entitled.

Sure, everyone should be guaranteed food. Everyone should be guaranteed nourishment and nurturing, a safe place to sleep and a hygienic bathroom.

But not everyone is.

Maybe you need to take a break now. Go for a walk. Put on your headphones. Take a drive. Wash some dishes. As you do, pray. Pray for wisdom to help feed the starving children. And say thank you for what you’ve eaten today.

And it’s okay, you can let the tears come. 

December Newsletter from Petit Goave

Dear Friends,

Joyeaux Noël! Merry Christmas!

We are blessed more than ever here at Christian Light School Petit Goâve.

Ti Goâve is a beautiful place year round, but come November the weather takes a most pleasant turn. Even inside the school building the air is better.

In Recreation we have been learning a new dance every week, commencing with an instant favorite: The Chicken Dance. From the three year olds to the second graders, every class has enjoyed wiggling down and turning around. Even the staff took an instant liking to this silly dance.

As the year draws to a close we are also focusing upon Christmas: the celebration of Jesus’ Birth. Every week we introduce and study a story from The Jesus Storybook Bible: the three weeks in December permit three stories of Christmas, from Jesus’ arrival to the shepherds’ attendance to the wise men’s journey. The children are perfecting the French lyrics of “Away in a Manger.” Each class prepares to perform 2 songs at the annual Birthday Party for Jesus on December 20^th.

Madame Beverly and Madame Rachelle continue to teach concentrated English in the afternoon, while teaching English and new methods of teaching for benefit of teachers and students alike throughout the day.

With the first grade class Beverly motivates with stickers and lollipops: the children compete to recall sight-words. They’ve been focusing on essential objects, colors, months and days.

With second grade, Rachelle is focusing on classroom phrases and introductory conversation. Students are now forming sentences to identify and describe objects, and can answer and ask questions about name, age, birthday, and family.

In Recreation, everyone practices English counting and alphabet, the weekly Bible verse and song, and action verbs. Students love shouting out “I can run!” as they run along the spray-painted black line and clap.

In this Fall Semester we have been overjoyed to witness progress in all classes and students, and in our teachers’ lives. Madame Eunide, the three-year-olds’ teacher, gave birth to twin baby girls in August. Every few weeks we visit her home to deliver formula and hold the babies: Olarm Ifanuella and Olarm Ellael. The girls are growing rapidly and display increasing individualistic features.

Eunide is a woman of great faith and powerful prayers. Three years ago she was a married woman with no children and no job. She began praying earnestly for both of those things, despite her husband’s advice against so doing. He warned her that with children she would not be able to work. Nevertheless, Eunide prayed. She was soon pregnant with Raphaella.

Then Madame Beverly followed God’s call to Ti Goave, began the school, and Eunide was recruited as a teacher. She was soon pregnant again, but this time the doctor revealed dangerous news: Eunide’s cervix was open. There was no way she could keep the baby without surgery, and even then delivery was unlikely. However, Eunide refused surgery. She insisted that God had given her this baby and He would deliver her.

Beverly implored all to pray, month by month, that Eunide would keep her baby for those four more weeks. She did.

And in mid-August Eunide delivered two beautiful, full-term little girls.

The incredulous doctor said that he would never forget Eunide and her faith. She answered that she serves a big, big, big, big God. After the twins’ birth, a Sunday School class in Kentucky that had been praying for a safe delivery began sending money every month to purchase formula.

Last month Eunide woke to a man robbing their home. The house is two rooms—she and the babies were sleeping on the bed and her husband on the floor in their bedroom, and the intruder came in around midnight. He fled when she woke, taking phones and a computer but touching no one.

For weeks afterward Eunide had trouble sleeping, but her husband insisted she should have no fear. He told her her faith encourages him, and she ought not give up now.

More recently, Eunide came to school in pain. Beverly looked at her teeth and saw severe cavities. The dental work would cost 300 USD. Teachers earn a monthly salary of 9000 HGD (Haitian Gourdes), about 140 USD (U.S. Dollars). [The Haitian Gourde is continuing to decrease: in September there were 63 HGD to 1 USD, now there are 65 HGD/1 USD.] Beverly sent out messages presenting Eunide’s need and inquiring if anyone was interested in helping Eunide. Within two days 300 USD had been pledged.

Eunide teaches her class of – three year olds and her toddler daughter Raphaella with Bible stories and songs. A sure way to get Raphaella to smile through her fear of strangers is to dance a doll before her chanting “Mesi, Jezi! Thank you, Jesus!” and lift your hands saying, “Le sang de Jesus! The blood of Jesus!”

Although she cannot speak much English, Eunide understands and communicates well. She speaks purposefully and slowly, pausing for translation. She laughs often.

We see Madame Eunide and shake our heads, thanking God for this woman of faith. And when we want prayers answered, we ask her to pray. God listens to all prayers, but He is particularly responsive to Eunide. We are so blessed to have her at the school and in our lives.

Please pray for God’s continued blessing on His servant and amazing witness Eunide. Pray that she receives more help as the babies grow and her husband will have ample work to support their family.

Second quarter exams will be from December 12 to 16. December 19 will be the final day of class, and December 20 will be the Birthday Party for Jesus with parents and visitors. The children will perform and receive gifts and their report cards. The next day the Americans will depart for the United States and everyone commence Christmas vacation.

On January 9 school should recommence. Madame Rachelle should be present, scheduled to return to Haiti January 6, but Madame Beverly should remain in Texas with her husband. He is in poor health.

While she is absent Madame Rose, Haitian director, and Madame Rachelle will continue English classes with the first grade and Michelet will manage Recreation.

Please pray that much can be accomplished in the remaining weeks: that momentum will build and carry over into the New Year. Pray for continued unity and increased relationships for teachers and students and parents. Pray for wisdom for all of us as to how to teach and love better.

Pray for safe travels for Beverly, Rachelle, and Adrianna as depart for the United States this month and campaign for God’s work in Ti Goave. Pray rapid healing for Beverly’s husband Wally and smooth operation of the school in her absence.

And thank God with us for every child in the school who every day can enjoy a safe, loving environment, receive medicine, attention, food, and education of academics and Jesus’ love.

Thank God for His constant amazing provision and protection of us and the family.

Most of all, join us in rejoicing this Christmas Season, when we pay particular attention to the miracle of God becoming human and condescending to the lowliest of birthplaces, to prepare for the lowliest and most excruciating of deaths on the Cross.

God bless you and thank you for your prayers and support in all ways.

From Ti Goave, Haiti, we wish you Joyeaux Noel and Peace.

Love and God’s blessings,

Beverly Burton “Madame Beverly”

Rachel Collins “Madame Rachelle”

A Day in the Life

Wake up call is between 5 and 6.

During the week I don’t set an alarm but usually God awakens us before the sunrise.

I head to the roof for the essential Quiet Time. Electricity shuts off between 5 and 6, usually, as well, and before too much is stirring the air is actually cool and quiet. You can hear the ocean.

From the roof I watch the sun come up as I read the Bible, pray and sing, usually preceded by a brief yoga routine to loosen muscles and circulate the blood. These days it’s so cool that exercise gets me comfortably warm.

The sun rises at about 6:40—cresting over the trees so the roof is lit and probably uncomfortably warm.

At 6:45 I should return to my room to prepare for the day : dressing in our purple and black, pulling back my hair, taking a vitamin and then heading downstairs.

I make coffee with an old style percolator—the kind which accepts no filter and boils on the gas stove (no electricity required!)

Breakfast is between 7 and 7:15 – many days it’s spaghetti, cooked with oil and diced hotdogs, often onions. We eat it with ketchup.

Sometimes Pastor returns from his daily Sport (exercise group) with a welcome bag of bananas, avocados, and fried paté (a treat of fried dough encasing shredded meat and egg)

We depart the house between 7:30 and 7:45, trying to arrive at school before 8.

Beverly is the common chauffer, driving one of Pastor’s vehicles, a 2014 Suzuki she was here to help purchase.

But if the vehicle is needed by one of many family or church members, or Pastor himself, Pastor will drop us off.

We stop at the shanty house beside Pastor’s to pick up Sandrina, one of the four year old class. Mama or Papa hoists her up to sit on a lap, as we’re always crowded in the backseat.

If Beverly drives, Adrianna and Saintilus (one of our 2^nd grade students who lives at the house), and I are in the backseat and Madame Rose is always riding shotgun.

Sometimes we drop the youngest son off at his school.

Always we crowd the hatchback with our “luggage” for the day

When we arrive the students are assembled—not usually in their proper lines but clumped, buzzing about the small courtyard. By this point with 122 of them the space is really too small.

They form an orange swarm.

Teachers gather at their arrival to sing and pray together in the first classroom. The children wait outside for however long it takes.

We sing in Creole or French and English, and then pray together. Everyone prays at the same time and then usually Madame Rose closes us in the “nom de Jezi.”

We then greet one another with the customary kisses on the cheek and the custom of our school: “Jezi renmen ou. Jesus loves you” and “Bondye beni ou. God bless you.” That’s ten women of faith praying together. There’s mighty power in that room.

After greeting we go to the children.

Together we sing the song of the week, are led in prayer by one of the teachers, sing the Haitian National Anthem to the flag, and finish with the Pledge to the Christian flag in English and French.

Students are dismissed to their classrooms, beginning with the oldest second grade and down to the tiny three year olds.

I accompany my class upstairs, usually diverging into the first floor office for whatever the day’s needs are.

Madame Alice usually begins the day with a warm-up assignment of math or grammar. By the end, when the slowest of students are almost finished, we usually have our morning crackers.

Each child receives a cracker with a dollop of peanut butter.

Some of them eat before school. Some do not. Some are sent down to the office to get a second cracker because there’s no food at home.

Before eating we must wash hands.

After crackers I take over for Bible time. Sometimes we focus on the weekly story, reviewing vocabulary and lessons, then coloring a page that includes the vocabulary and appropriate sentence, always in the three languages.

Coloring is one of the very few creative outlets the children have. Madame Alice, too. She enjoys taking a rest and sharing colored pencils with the students.

Sometimes this time is spent practicing the verse and then copying it into notebooks.

Sometimes we play the arrangement game, when each student is given one word on a strip of paper and they must arrange themselves in the proper order to complete the verse.

After Bible there should be a movement break.

Despite its rigidity and majority of rote and lecture, Haitian curriculum is full of songs. Haitians have amazing ability to remember not just words but melodies.

Madame Alice may start a song, or I may, and this includes parading around the room. A favorite is “Father Abraham,” where we march around the room and do the motions of right hand, left hand, right foot, left foot, et cetera.

Sometimes we do “Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes,” or “Mickey Mouse,” where the motions are simple but can be vigorous.

By this time it should be after 10 AM, and there’s only an hour and half left of our morning. Madame Alice usually teaches math, grammar, reading, and experimental or health sciences at this time. I generally circulate and aid those students who need coaching: we have several.

When they’re finished students ask for a board or a book from the shelf. We don’t have many books: some French/English picture dictionaries, a set of “Dlo Sal” books that instruct against contaminated water, and the few books I’ve contributed, which are in English.

At 11:30 we go to Recreation, where Madame Beverly fills 30 minutes with as much amusing movement as possible. Recreation is also the first English lessons the children receive, from the baby three year olds up to the second graders. They practice counting and reciting the alphabet in French and English, doing simple movements to accompany the recitations. They also sing the weekly song and recite the memory verse. Then they pray before they commence the new exercise of that day or week.

The past weeks have introduced dance routines. The children now know and love the “Chicken Dance” and the “Macarena.”

After Recreation everyone lines up to wash hands and then collects their food. Even the students who bring food from home are required to eat “piti, piti,” a very little bit, to ensure they’re sharing in the vitamins packed into the manna-pack rice we receive from Feed My Starving Children.

If they’re dancing, I stay in Recreation. If they’re not, I probably stay for the introduction, reciting the verse, counting and alphabet and prayer, and then depart.

I collect my own food, the teachers eat what the students eat, sometimes purchasing a Malta for additional energy and nutrients, and usually browse news on my phone for a few minutes.

Haiti is a turbulent place, so there is often news to be seen. But lately, America has been turbulent as well.

After eating I usually talk with Madame Beverly or prepare for the upcoming English lesson.

We both do intensive English from 1 to 2, she with first grade and me with my class.

The class eats from 12 to 12:30 officially, but is usually finished before then. We copy homework into agenda books, Carnet de Leçon, and Madame Alice has each student recite for her what they ought to have studied the day before.

By 1 I have started teaching English.

Sometimes we do math, currently we’re working on addition and subtraction.

We review the alphabet with the Wilson Language alphabet chart that helps the students practice phonics sounds.

By now we have several sight words and sometimes practice spelling with the individual chalk boards. The children love this—to write and then proudly display their boards in the air for Madame Alice and I to see and approve. The competitive edge motivates them. Who can finish first? !

So far they have three books. One is already assembled—an alphabet book that features three words for each letter and corresponding images. I created and put these together, and we’ve been going through them, focusing on three pages at time. The children can color the pictures and we review the vocabulary, how to sound out the words, and their Creole translation.

We practice the word “have” and common vocabulary, including bottle, board, colors, floor, desk, shirt, skirt, pencil and notebook.

The other two books are growing. One is an “All About Me” book that lets the children fill in the spaces with their individual answers. I am --- years old. I live with --- and --. I have – brothers and sisters, et cetera. This helps them practice essential introductory conversation.

The third book is “In Class” and is phrases useful for the classroom. The phrases are typed in English and we have been going through writing the Creole translations.

Our class is quick to pick up and eager to perform.

We try to do something more low-key between 1:30 and 2, such as coloring or a movement break. At 2 we descend, the kids filing down to sit in a classroom awaiting dismissal.

Parents should pick-up at 2. Consistently there are students until 2:30. Sometimes there are students until 3. But if this happens more than once the parents are supposed to pay a fine.

After school we go home. If we have the car Beverly drives. If we don’t, we may walk.

Once I’ve taken a moto taxi home, behind two children and the driver. Madame Rose took another taxi holding onto the large cooking pot that we use to serve the meal.

School is very close to our house. We take the safest, best-maintained route, no more than five minutes on a normal day. Usually the biggest risk upon leaving is backing out from the space in front of the school gate.

Once home we unload. Saintilus carries the pot to the kitchen. The three year old who accompanies us from school toddles off to join her mama in the kitchen or yard where she cooks, washes dishes or clothes, and we ladies head inside.

We call out greetings to the vicinity. I often head upstairs immediately afterwards to deposit bags and change clothes.

Sometimes we have errands to do and purposely retain the uniform.

Food is usually on the table shortly after 2, so we can eat upon returning.

This is the large meal of the day: rice and beans or rice or corn—the meal centers around a carbohydrate which is accompanied by sauce. There’s black bean sauce, sos pwa; legim, a thick almost paste like sauce with shredded vegetables, bits of meat and usually crab; there’s red, soupy Creole sauce with onions and bits of beef or fish, et cetera.

We drink water.

“Lunch” is usually eaten quickly because there’s so much to do—and the table has a miraculous ability to collect the hot air from the house and retain it, and an understandable tendency to collect biting flies.

After eating we wash dishes. We wash with soap and water and rinse with bleach, klorox, and water.

Now we may leave for errands, take advantage of temporary electricity to communicate or research, take a rest, organize or plan.

Errands include walking to the copy shop to pick up or drop off. We go at least once a week to make Bible activity pages or our English classes.

We may go to the bookstore to purchase books for students who don’t have them. We may head to the pharmacy to buy inhalers for students with asthma or formula for Madame Eunide, our lovely three-year olds’ teacher with baby twins.

On any of these errands it’s probable we stop for a drink. If we are driving we almost certainly go to Black Star market, which is the surprisingly well-stocked convenience store in town. They carry Coke Zeros, Gatorade, Bongu “milk” shakes, the usual sodas in plastic bottles, Malta and juice in refrigerators! The store is good for a cold, refreshing beverage, and the manager speaks good English, and finds us highly amusing.

Beverly relishes Coke Zero for its caffeine. I appreciate Bongu for its milkiness. We both appreciate Malta for the energy.

If we’ve purchased formula we then deliver it to Madame Eunide’s house and hopefully spend some delightful time holding her twin little girls who were born at the end of July.

At least once a week we try to walk to our quiet place: a compound owned by the John Weslyan church just two blocks down from our road. Here we can sit under the mango, almond and coconut trees beside the ocean, enjoying the view and sounds of nature, and attempting to ignore the inevitable haranguing of passing locals who can’t resist calling up to foreign blan.

Sometimes our visits there are spent conversing with other visitors, usually high school students who come to study and enjoy engaging in English.

Sometimes these visitors will sing with us.

Sometimes we are left in peace, and can enjoy time in silence, interspersed with Bible reading, singing, praying and reflecting.

Our preferred visit time is between 4 and 5, so we can watch the sunset over the mountain before walking home.

Sometimes I meet with a church member, a pastor’s daughter who’s preparing to go to Florida for study. We talk and go over her English homework I’ve assigned and she departs before dark.

Sunset these days is about 5:15. We avoid being out after dark.

Usually electricity at the house turns on at 6 PM.

Shortly before sunset and until electricity is available, the roof is the best place to be. Air is moving up there.

I spend as much time as possible on the roof.

There I can work, study, read, or simply gaze at the stars in peace. Usually.

In the evening we do school work.

Between 6 and 7 I give Lhens, the eight year old son, English lesson. These are generally about 30 minutes, which may be productive or continuously distracted.

Around 7 there should be “supper.” This is usually labouie, which is creamy, sweetened oatmeal with cloves and ginger. It’s served with bread and peanut butter.

There are then more dishes to wash—always there are dishes.

At 8 the household gathers for “service.”

This is a roughly thirty-minute devotional time which everyone enjoys, even if they drift off. Everyone is tired from rising early and working hard, not sleeping enough and having very little time to relax, but everyone attends and everyone sings.

There is singing, praying, and usually Pastor speaks about a scripture.

We close with greetings of “God bless you,” and “good night.”

After this the house begins to wind down.

Most members do not go to sleep, although Lhens and Saintilus are sent to bed, because the students must study and the house be secured for the night.

I often retreat to the roof for a little more time under the stars in the cool night air, sometimes talking on the phone.

Possibly I meet with another household member who wants to practice English.

Sometimes Beverly and I meet to plan or discuss or share some work.

Usually around 10 I close my door for good—take my shower and wash the day’s clothes. Then there may be unwinding time browsing news on the internet and sending messages.

I may take the quiet time to finish off and post a blog or photos.

I may be utterly spent and drift off while reading my Kindle.

Bedtime is usually about 11 PM.

Sleep is always welcome to my fatigued body, and often mind, but most days also taken with a mite of wistfulness: another day is passed, and how very blessed it was.