Two-thirds of the way into my last trip, I decided I hated Haiti. For a brief moment, I told myself I would never come back. I took a deep breath, exhaled the hate, and kept on loving.
It had been a challenging morning. I had a lot of work to complete before the rains came. Once the rains hit, the children would pour indoors, along with the mosquitoes, a chicken or two and a lot of mud.
My simple breakfast of tree-fruit, black Haitian coffee and an egg hit the spot. Breakfast was eaten in usual fashion - in silence - as is Haitian custom. The only sounds were the children’s spoons dipping into metal bowls of Dominican farina and the incessant meowing of the kitten.
I had taken a liking to the new kitten. It was an orange on white calico, though slightly grayed from living in the dirt. We were all a bit dingy, in fact. The dogs, puppies, chickens, goats, children, me. We were dirty.
But the kitten was cute and fluffy and represented to me a purity and innocence that I couldn’t find elsewhere in Haiti.
Haiti is hard. Haiti is dark. Haiti is poor. Haiti is rough.
Holding this small, soft, purring kitten was therapeutic for me. It soothed my emotions that tended to get a little raw after a day of ministering in one of the most devastated countries on the planet.
I ate my breakfast, savoring the fresh abricot and bananas from the yard. I scooped a bit of the egg yolk onto my finger to give to the kitten meowing at my feet. He was excited and eagerly licked off the egg. I was pleased to see this little creature so satisfied when - CHOMP! - in his hunger and excitement, he bit my finger, it’s fang piercing through flesh. By the time I pried his jaws off my finger I was gushing blood.
I ran to the sink. I reached to turn on the water and remembered that we HAD no running water and I hadn’t yet made my morning trip to the well. I let the finger drip blood and I watched the sink turn red. I can’t believe my fuzzy little kitten is so...vicious! I hate Haiti! I exhaled.
I wrapped my finger in a baby-wipe and returned to the breakfast table. The eyes of all 25 children were glued on me, waiting to see my response to the attack. I did not want to assimilate into Haitian culture that was cruel to animals. I did not want to kick the cat or throw stones at it or worse. I sat down, smiled and said to the children, “Li grangou!” He is hungry. Then, looking down at the kitten, once again at my feet, I said, “Ti chat, tanpri pa manje mwen!” Little cat, please don’t eat me! ...in as loving a tone as I could muster. I went back to silently eating my abricot. The children returned to their farina.
I wanted to hate that cat. I wanted to kick it and throw stones at it. But the cat was poor. It was hungry. It was only doing what it needed to do to survive.
“God did not say the poor will always be good, kind, or thankful, and yet, He always calls us to love them.” ~Heidi Baker
This is what I’ve realized about Haiti: Haiti is not a nice culture. The people are not very warm and kind. They don’t always smile. They don’t embrace. They can be complicated and deceiving and edgy. They don’t like each other and they certainly don’t like you. You are not necessarily welcome. Whatever is in your suitcase or backpack or pockets is all you’re good for. Give it out and go home, blan. Or give your phone number so we can contact America in hopes of getting OUT of this God forsaken country you CHOSE to come to!
And yet we must counteract this mentality with love. We must be the first to smile. We must give hugs. We must love in the face of hate. We must give until it hurts. We are called to love and to serve the poor, the unchurched, the unlovable and unlovely. In a country where people are in survival mode - where they fight every day just to live - we do what we can to introduce them to real Life. What we have to offer is Life more abundant, a Drink that will never leave you thirsty, Food that will satiate forever.
“People are not always nice, but Jesus is always wonderful. As I focus on the grace of God, the joy eventually returns.” ~Heidi Baker
This is what I’ve also realized about Haiti: The only thing really wonderful about a typical day ministering in Haiti is...Jesus. Anything else you want or need will not be satisfied in Haiti. No matter how much you want to help Haiti or how much you want to serve the poor, Haiti will NEVER love you back. Haiti will only hurt you. How wonderful to meditate on Jesus all day long, when everything around you seems bleak and hopeless and cruel. How wonderful to know Jesus who always satisfies. How wonderful to be in a place that forces you to conclude that God is always good.
It is this truth that helps you go the extra mile, give your cloak, turn the other cheek, lend without hope of repayment, prefer others before yourself, lay down your life for your friends, love not your life until the death.
Exhale all the hurt, the pain, the blood, the tears...and inhale love. Let your suffering produce perseverance, your perseverance character, your character hope. Then the love of God shed abroad in your heart will shine as bright as the noonday sun and the light of Christ will be a beacon in a dark place. Even a place as vicious as Haiti.
“You love until there is pain; you love through the pain, until all that remains is love.” ~Mother Theresa
