yesterday morning, anne-ruth and i road up to goyavier (gwa-vee-ay) avec wayne to pick up a team that had spent 4/3 there. i've heard rumors of the beauty, and the chill, of this quaint mountain town, so i was eager to get out of my st. marc bubble and explore une autre petite piece d'ayiti.
and boy, am i thankful that we did.
it was about a 45-60 minute drive down a make-shift road lined with these magnificent red-flower pod trees, known as a flamboyant, a spicy-red tropical relative to the jacaranda. fortunately the scenery was nicer than the road, which got more narrow and rough the higher we climbed. but most magnificent of all: the view. as we gained altitude, it was like God was slowly raising the curtain on a divine set, one that we could never create with even the most skilled stagehands present. the trees and brush gave way to a fantastic view over the cliffs and mountainside, of the lush green valleys coming into view in the east; the cerulean-turquoise of the caribbean as it met with the shores of st. marc; the visibly barren dessert to the north, marking the 5me arrondisment. once the road plateaued for more then 10 yards, we stopped and took a moment to breathe in the view, and to thank God for creating it for us to enjoy. as we passed lookout point after lookout, i felt as if the Lord spoke to my heart, reminding me that we are never out of the infinite reach of His hand.
as we got back in the car to continue the drive, my heart was pounding, as if God Himself were breathing life into me. and He was. i closed my eyes as they involuntarily filled with tears of contentment, and let the cool breeze blow in the window and kiss my forehead and cheeks. i felt so at peace in this new world. i feel as if when my eyes are opened to new images, when a place goes from foreign to explored before my very eyes, that part of my soul is opened up. something within me comes to life, a life i don't want to stifle; one i can't get enough of. it's as if the nouveaux visual stimulation placates a hunger left on my palate from consuming only manna. seeing this side of haiti left me feeling refreshed, even physically by the cool; hopeful.
as we crested the first mountain, we began ascending and descending through small, remote villages amidst the banana trees and immature corn fields. every now-and-then, we would pass a group of people, toting their goods to market atop their heads. wayne would slow down and great them in creole:
"bonju bonju! èske w te wè yon ti gwoup moun blan yo ki te la depi Samdi?" i heard him say. i actually understood that he was asking them if they have seen the group of blancs that have been in the town since Saturday. a few of the groups had not seen them, and a few others pointed us in the right direction. i thought how comical: we've come this far up a mountain, and we are relying on people we see on the streets to point us to where our group is, based on the color of their skin! only in Haiti.
as the brown dirt slowly changed to red clay, which continued to deepen in color and in moisture, the vegetation became more lush and green. the overcast skies provided a cool canopy to the life beneath. the fog lingering between the valleys and the mountain tops as the clouds rolled in reminded me of the mountains in carolina, and made me eager to get back there this summer.
by the time we made it to the quaint property where we were going to pick up the team, we had 3 kids in the back of the nissan. and boy, did it make their day. blancs in these parts are probably pretty rare, and we attracted quite the following once we parked.
i felt as if i were back in ethiopia; the rolling hills, the mud homes, the darker skin. calloused feet and hopeful eyes. torn, ill-fitting clothing. the warmest smiles you'll ever see.
that is one thing i love about traveling: smiling is universal. whether a meek child, or a weathered working man; draw your lips upward, and it is always returned. there is no language barrier to smiling. the same for waving. whomever decided to show the underside of your hand as a greeting? why does it make us feel more welcome? why does it make us feel like we have acknowledged others; a simple gesture when thought about, reminds you how silly it is, but how boldly it speaks when words won't suffice.
the man whom hosted the team (i wish i had thought to ask his name!) invited wayne, anne-ruth and i in for coffee; not just any coffee, but coffee he had homegrown, roasted and brewed (another similarity to life in ethiopia!). reluctant at first because i simply don't drink that thick liquid, i accepted the invitation remembering it is polite to never turn down an offer of gratitude, especially in a third-world (or in our case, forth world) country. purely expecting to have to suck it down without tasting, i was wonderfully surprised when the cafe noir was pre-sweetened and actually had a pretty rich and sugary taste. okay, so it may have been without cream, and slightly luke-warm, but it wasn't half bad. even for coffee!
we stood and talked for a little bit, meaning i listened, intent on understand at least a portion of the french-creole blend the others were able to speak. i feel like i am earnestly trying to understand more, but without seeing written language, i will never fully grasp it.
we loaded up the team into the back of the nissan extended cab and headed back down the mountain chain, leaving the serenity and chill in our dust. as we hugged the mountainside intimately, careful even not to lose traction lest we perish over the cliffs, i was reminded of how whether in the mountains, valleys, deserts or coast, we are never out of the infinite reach of His hand. nothing, no nothing, could separate us from our Creator. we passed the lone flamboyant, as its roots held on tightly to the dry edge, as the trunk hovered over the cliff. its branches extended in a beautiful umbrella, offering shade in a place where the dirt was more like dust, and the heat more like a sauna. i found a comforting symbolism in this image: "Come to me, all who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest." (Matthew 11:28)
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