The generator is still running at 5 when I get up.
It’s cool so I turn off the fan as I tie back the mosquito
net. But sit down at the desk to open the Bible and the sweat starts oozing so
turn it back on.
The generator cuts off by 6. Begin sweating now.
Sweat while getting dressed. Sweat while pulling hair back
into a braid that will be tugged on by children all day. Sweat while sipping
coffee to greet the week and perhaps kick the remnants of nite-time cold
medicine and dizzying dreams.
Hand off the first money-packet at 7:00: that’s this week’s
cooking supplies. The one who takes it will drive the moto-wagon to fill up the
55-gallon drums with water for the day. The source is down the National Road
two miles. A natural mountain spring fills a concrete basin, flooded with women
washing laundry, children filling jugs, and young men bathing. Our driver will
wait his turn and fill up the drums bucket by 5-gallon bucket. Then he’ll drive
slowly and carefully those two miles back up through school commuter traffic to
park in front of the school. And bucket by 5-gallon bucket that water will be
transferred to the counterpart drums inside.
After the water is finished, one drum upstairs in the
kitchen, the other under the stairs by the bathrooms, he will drive the
moto-wagon into the market area to purchase the cooking supplies. He’ll look
for oil, butter, garlic, maybe onions, carrots, and beans. He’ll look, haggle,
and then drive the goods back to the house, delivering them to the two ladies
ready to start cooking.
They’ll prepare the rice and beans to feed the 200 school
members and household hungry.
But this morning the moto won’t start. The water has to
wait. Alternative means of transportation get him to the market to deliver
cooking supplies. Then he’ll have to look harder for what he needs for he doesn’t
have as much money as he should. The cash supply is low. At the house the
ladies start to cook.
Meanwhile, school has begun. We arrive rather later than our
typical late arrival. The teachers have already gathered to sing and pray. Blow
kisses in the air as we’re all grippe with runny noses and coughs and the idea
of kissing cheek to cheek makes me wheeze. Unlock the office, tote the speaker
and microphone and flags down to the front doors. The children line up,
straggly with grippe and Monday confusion, a small bunch. Twice this many will
arrive late but many will not come at all—colds and fevers are gripping us,
staff and students alike.
Sing with scratchy throat and blocked ears. Rejoice when
brother and sister missing for weeks enter, sister with scabies sores oozing on
her hands. Hug the kids and greet them with names but again no kisses. Direct a
large proportion to the office for medical attention.
Greet the group of tardy arrivals, say we’re not marking
names this morning for there are too many sick.
Head to the office. Rooms and hallway are dark because the
generator isn’t turned on. It needs gasoline. Gasoline needs to be purchased.
The one who buys gas needs to stay and help treat all these sick children. A
line of boys needs their heads washed with the blue shampoo to fight the
fungus. One needs antibiotic ointment then spread on the scabbing sores.
Classes begin with singing, prayer, then recitation, many
kids saying their head aches, their stomach aches, or they are simply hungry,
but those are problems reparable with breakfast. Morning peanut butter crackers
are coming. Soon.
The same one who buys gas makes crackers each morning. Or I
do it. Both of us have our hands full now.
He washes heads. I line up the minute medicine cups and
dispense cold syrup. Sniffles abound. The stack of used cups grows and the
number of patients decreases. But this one has a spinning head and an obvious
fever. This one has a stomach ache and needs his daily meds for his broken arm.
This one and that one have wounds that need cleaning.
Madame Rose fixes speedy peanut butter remedies for the two who
need medicine and they’re sent off to class.
The head fungus group is hastily towel-dried and the second
money packet is handed off. Today we need gasoline and oil. Remember the
receipts. Squat down on the floor, fit one hand with a glove and start nudging
at the weeks-old wound on the third grader’s foot. It could have been healed by
now if it were consistently cared for. But each day he goes home with a bandage
and returns without one. After two days of weekend the spot is black-rimmed
with dirt and hosting flies.
Start probing at it with antibiotic wash; he winces but
doesn’t say a word. Talk to him with that reassuring, rather apologetic tone.
Wonder how nurses find that line between compassion and severity, for they must
be empathetic but also stern. Sometimes they’ve got to cause pain to bring
healing. It’s a discouraging amount of time before the sponges stop coming away
brown from his wound. Wrap it up once again, instruct him to bring a sock
tomorrow with which to cover over the new bandage. Kiss the white patch on his
brown foot and wonder if anyone has valued him yet today.
Put on a new glove. Start probing at the scabies-sprung
wound on the first-grade girl. She twitches and hisses. The yellow ooze around
the edges is concerning. Don’t really know what to do with this one. She needs
more treatment anyway. Wash it, slather it with ointment, cover it, send her
off. Hope she can keep the bandaids on until tomorrow.
Stand up from the squat. Clear the table of all the medical
wrappings. Accept the change and receipts from the gasoline and send him off to
start the morning’s crackers. Lean my head on Rose’s shoulder. “Whew. I’m
tired. Let’s be finished.”
She laughs. It’s 9:00 in the morning.
Two more girls need medicine for fever. They need chewables
which should be taken with water. They don’t have water bottles. Take them up
to the kitchen. Recycled bottles in the kitchen need washing. There’s just
water scraping the bottom of the barrel up there because the water hasn’t been
filled yet. Problem with the motorcycle, remember? Pour just enough water in
with the detergent in the first wash tub, shake out the two bottles and get
just enough water to rinse out the bubbles. Hand them off with the chewables to
the waiting girls.
“Okay, go to class, girls.”
Start making crackers because the two men are now putting
the new gas and oil into the generator. First they have to move the heavy thing
from its sleeping place here in the kitchen to the front roof. The wheels have
long been broken so they lift it, over thresholds and down some uneven steps. Make
two plates of crackers spread with peanut butter at a time and deliver them to
classes. Down the stairs, down the hall, over the half-door, turn around and
return. Start over.
Get through six plates. Miss teaching 2nd grade English
class entirely as now it’s 9:30 on Monday. Time for church! One more plate of
crackers to go.
“Go ahead and start church,” I call to Madame Rose down the
hallway. “I’m coming!”
Children start pushing through the doors, flooding the
hallway, heading up the stairs front and back. Back upstairs to the kitchen.
He’s finished with the generator so I tell him the last plate that needs
making. Grab a cracker for myself and trip down the stairs. Wash the peanut
butter off to the sounds of stomping feet. Flit into the office, get out phone and
notebook. They’re singing “Jesus Loves Me” upstairs. We still don’t have an Old
Testament Creole Bible so for this Judges reading we use the Creole Bib La app
on my phone. Check the passages in the notebook, find the place, stack notebook
and phone atop speaker, clutch the microphone, traipse down the hall out the
front door and up the uneven front steps. Enter the Recreation/Assembly space
where they are praying: lines of students and dotted teachers. We pledge
allegiance to the Bible, recite our school motto and the last weeks’ verses,
then switch on the microphone and start speaking with a prayer to the Spirit
for help.
Read from Judges, preach with Mesdames Maude and Samanne:
Jesus is the only Perfect One, even the powerful Samson fell into temptation.
Promise we’ll talk more about that on Friday. Dismiss. Head down to
Kindergarten to start 10:00 English class a trifle late. Right on Island Time.
So many are sick! Change the typical “How are you today, Class?” response from “I
am well” to “I am sick” in honor of the occasion. We continue to practice
shapes and colors. Now their phonics include the tricky “C-circle-kkk” and “S-square-sss.”
Kindergarten is finished at 11 and it’s back to the office
to get some medicine for some of those heads-down sick ones. A cluster of third
graders blocks the doorway, all of them at once babbling to Madame Rose. Two
seem to be crying.
“Do you need all these kids?” I ask Rose, suspicious.
“No, I need only two,” she says, and grabs a pencil and
paper. “I’m going to write all your names down to call your parents!” she
threatens to the busybodies in the doorway. They scatter, leaving us with two
sobbing students. The boy won’t stop talking, a stream of excuses blubbering
out. The girl mumbles under her breath in the corner. Over and over I tell them
to be quiet. A second grader comes in with a stomachache. Says he’s not hungry.
Nothing else to do but let him lie down. He takes up one of the three benches.
On the second Rose sits, soon joined by Pastor, dropped by to say hello and now
another witness to the weeping.
Rose and Levy talk to the kids, I weave around them
sharpening pencils, drop a towel over the boy’s head to calm him. It’s time for
fourth grade English so I gather things up. The towel has muffled the tirade.
The boy would rather Pastor whack him with a ruler here and now than have to
call his papa to report himself. Pastor laughs. I twitch the smile off my face.
“You know we don’t hit kids,” I remind everyone in the room.
Across the hall to fourth grade. We practice the song, “I’m
Trading my Sorrows,” reviewing the verses and chorus and introducing the
bridge. Lots of tricky words in there to challenge these guys. We talk about
some antonyms. My brain function is dwindling severely by now, 12:30. The hour
is up and it’s back to the office for one more in-between before third grade.
At 12:45 it’s up the stairs, into the room greeted by the
usual cheer. Yes, they love me. Yes, I love them. No, they don’t behave better
for me. We’ve been practicing past tense. Last week we made Bingo Boards with
past tense verbs. I call out words for them to cover, writing the words on the
board as we go. They are dreadful listeners. There are several false Bingoes
when I compare their covered words to those right there visible on the board
and knock off the “chips” (we’re using tiny silly band elastics that tumble
about but don’t break nor quickly run out.) Lots of time is wasted on
discipline, repeating again and again, “You are not the boss!” to one busybody
tattletale to the next. We wrap up the set at 1:55 and they’ve still got to
copy their homework. Whoops. I apologize to Madame Marjorie for the tardiness,
scoop up my stuff, and nip back downstairs to the office.
Time to wrap up this school day. 2:00 is dismissal for the
elementary grades. Kids are buzzing in and out of classrooms. I’m tidying up
the office, sharpening pencils, turning away last-minute requests for medicine,
saying “goodbye” and “see you tomorrow.”
Gather up stuff to go home, stuff to prepare for tomorrow. Jot down a few notes for lesson plans and
records to remember. The unwritten is probably the forgotten.
By 2:30 all the kids have been picked up or taken themselves
home by foot, except two. Put them in the car with Rose, Saintilus, the food
pot and our bags. Drive home, through the gate and into our courtyard. Direct
the kids out and sit them down under the shade of the trees. The kindergartener
has a fever and won’t eat. The third grader accepts the plate of food brought
to him. Up to my room where I shower and change clothes, rinsing out my uniform
shirt and skirt in the shower to wear again tomorrow. Start sweating through
this set of clothes. Grab the attendance book and phone and trip down the
stairs. Give Madame Rose the phone numbers to call on the school phone because
mine won’t connect. Bring the two boys inside so the sick one can lie on the
couch in the salon. Unlock the medicine cabinet in Beverly’s room to pour
cold/fever medicine for our little friend. Give him the dose with water, pull
off his shoes and watch him curl up on the couch. The third grader sits in the
glider and drinks his water. I wash my hands and sit down to eat. The third
grader is picked up. The kindergartener is quiet on the couch.
I finish my meal and climb back up the stairs to my room. I
fall asleep, too. Thank God for the pleasant breeze coming in through the
windows. For perhaps 30 minutes I doze, then get up at 5. The kindergartener is
stirring, too, alert from the couch. Medicine is amazing! Outside I gather
laundry from the line and tote it up to re-hang on the roof overnight. It’s not
dry yet but the dogs will tear down and maybe shred anything left hanging outside.
Back down those two flights of stairs I look for Madame Rose
outside, wondering what we should do with this student who’s now four hours
overdue. He should have been picked up from school at 1:00. Rose says she’s
sent someone by the house to inform them in-person their charge is still with
us. They’ve not answered the phone. Okay. Well, that’s something. At least he’s
feeling better.
I ask him again if he’ll eat. He says no but I’m determined.
“You need to eat a little,” I say, and we troop back into
the house and get his hands washed in the bathroom. Ah, to have soap and
running water over a sink, even a towel! Such luxury.
“Mwen p’ap manje anpil,” he says, so I spoon him a small portion.
It’s rice and bean sauce, easy eating. He
eats, drinks his water, and puts up his plate where I tell him.
“Okay, now you can sit down inside or you can go out to
play.”
He opts to play outside with my young housemates. They are
soon kicking the soccer ball while I head upstairs to start mopping and
cleaning bathrooms. Mine was left undone this weekend as I was too ill, and
Beverly should arrive tomorrow so hers needs doing. While I’m scrubbing the
shower they call me.
“His parent is here!” In the courtyard a very young man is
standing with our friend. He’s already talked to Madame Rose so I simply say
goodbye. This is his uncle sent by the grandmother who was in charge today. She
forgot. The two walk out. It’s not far. My, he’s looking better after medicine,
food, and rest!
Back upstairs to continue with the mopping and cleaning. I
finish Beverly’s room and rapidly do mine. I’m now so covered in sweat I can’t
tell where the shower splashes begin and my own sweat ends. So I might as well
exercise. Get my laptop, towel, water, and head up to the roof to work out with
Jillian. (Jillian Michaels: Yoga Inferno.) I watch sweat drip to the concrete
as I fold into crescent pose. Whew, feel those muscles forgotten over the past
week of illness! We finish up, the DVD crew and I, feeling good. Shake off some
sweat then stare amazed at the colors of the sunsetting sky, mountains, ocean,
trees, those ever-astounding elegant coconut fronds.
Sit down in that fading light with the computer muted. Open
a Word document and start to type about the morning, while it’s fresh and
believable. At 7:30 I stop although I’m in the groove. I want to shower before
devotion at 8:00. We all gather in the salon to sing, pray, and study the Bible
every night. Before I quit the roof I breathe in the sky: gold, salmon, mauve,
slate blue—those colors exclusive to sunset. Down to my room I shower and
change (again) into blessed [momentarily] sweat-free clothes for devotion. But
at 8:00 Pastor leaves to get gasoline for the night’s generator. We’ve not had
city power since maybe Thursday. He’s been granting us generator from 10ish to
6ish, chance to charge all those devices and sleep with fans. In the meantime, I
want to enjoy being clean for a bit. I’ve only been sweating in these clothes
for a few minutes. So I join Madame Rose in her dark room where we just lie
quietly and chat until Pastor returns. 8:40 and we’re right on Island Time for
devotion.
I set the rechargeable lantern in the middle of the floor;
everyone’s got cell phones for further light. We sing and pray, all of us, with
heavy eyes. Pastor speaks about John 15, which is appropriate as we’ll start
learning verses one and two in school tomorrow. After the final prayer and
benediction we hug and say goodnight. Some of them set off to study, some to
wash dishes, some to prepare for sleeping.
Alone upstairs again I make Beverly’s bed with clean sheets
and put down the rugs taken up for mopping. Everything looks set for her
arrival. I lock the door behind me and get back to my room (one of the hottest
in the house.) I gather stuff for the trip to Port au Prince tomorrow: Pastor
and I will leave here late morning to pick Beverly up at the airport. You never
know how long the trip will take. I want to blog, get out about today, but
think about the exhaustion and the much-needed rest to be capable tomorrow and continue
to shake off this cold. Rose calls up to my open door if I’ve remembered the
mattress cover. With a sigh I unmake Beverly’s bed to yank off that cover so it
can be washed. Ah, well.
Shut my door this time, finish up the organizing and packing
for tomorrow. Keep the laptop closed on the desk. Brush teeth and spread
mosquito net. The generator comes on. It’s after 10:00. Ah, there’s the fan. I
might stop sweating now. Change clothes one last time into pajamas, plug in all
the devices, switch off the light. It’s about 10:30 when I climb into bed,
tucked in by mosquito net, sweat cooling under the fan.
Tomorrow is another day. But it’s not Monday.
