Getting There (Haiti Part I)

The drive to Salt Lake City brought back a lot of memories. I thought of high school snowboarding trips and the time my two best friends and I slept in a truck in a Park City church parking lot waiting for the shopping outlet to open. I arrived at the airport and paid the fee for two overweight bags. In Dallas, I met a couple from Virginia. The husband's name was Bruce, he noticed me praying before I ate and came to ask me about it. We exchanged a few sentences of small talk before he left the food court area and came back with a book about prayer. It's a small book, one you would probably overlook if you were looking for one on the subject. I took it appreciatively but thought it was probably going to read like some of E. M. Bounds' books. C'mon, how relative could a book, which was written in the thirties by a Norwegian prisoner be? What I found in just the first chapter changed my mind. I have yet to discover a more transparent and honest author:

"Now and then you must ask yourself the question, 'Do I really desire to be set free from the lukewarmness of my heart and my worldly life? Is not my Christian life always lukewarm and half-hearted for the simple reason that deep down in my heart I desire it that way?'"
Prayer O. Hallesby

I thought, 'Wow, thanks Bruce.' I found myself underlining nearly every-other paragraph as I read further.

I met up with the rest of the crew there in Dallas. Nick, Ashley and our leader Nicole. I had told Nicole before how nice it was going to be as a member of the group as opposed to the leader. I was still recovering from Africa. We continued on to Ft. Lauderdale and stayed the night in the terminal. I think I'm the only one who got any sleep that night. Which was surprising considering the oddly shaped, vinyl couches we slept on, the air conditioning on full blast, my backpack being tied to my belt loop with my shoelace (in case someone decided to walk off with it) and the service announcements which blared through the terminal every eleven minutes.

As we flew into Port-a-Prince the next day I think I was less interested in my own impression of Haiti and more interested in Ashley's reaction as it was her first time out of the country. It's funny how quickly you forget things that are altogether foreign to the American yet universally similar in third world countries. The same short-haired dogs roam around quietly, their ears open and bloody, their ribs and hip bones clearly visible. Trash covers the ground, bars are on the windows and it's just as commonplace to see a man carrying an AK-47 as it is a briefcase.

Transportation had been arranged to take us to another airport where we would catch a flight to Port-a-Paix on the north coast. We waited for several hours before we were issued our boarding passes, laminated cards with the numbers 1-15 written on them. One number for each passenger. I was surprised to see the number of missionary groups that came through the airport. One group was on their way to the island of Gonave to host a medical clinic. Other's were visiting orphanages in the north or working with schools. I met a writer for Lonely Planet who said the majority of travelers to Haiti come on business or missions trips. Considering Haiti's reputation I'm sure it will stay that way for years to come.

When it was our time to board, we gave our boarding passes to the agent at the door and walked out on the runway to our plane. Haiti is home to the highest mountains in the Caribbean, and we had a wonderful view as we flew directly over them. The country is green and small houses congregate in river valleys next to fields of manioc and sugarcane. Nearly all of Haiti's tropical rainforest has been cut down. Now green fields of grass and shrubs remain where tall teak and mahogany trees must have stood several years ago. Rivers carry silt into the ocean where a dull brown cuts through the brilliant blue sea.

I don't remember falling asleep on that flight, just the bumps as we landed. It wasn't a rough landing, just bumpy like we were on a dirt runway. In fact we were on a dirt runway. We taxied to a gate which led to a small building with people waiting for us. We had arrived.