Tour de Portoprens (Day 28)

Today I was taken on a 6 hour tour of the city. It was a wonderful way to pass the last day—a sort of reminiscence coupled with a looking-ahead to next time. It provided a complete contrast to yesterday’s funk.

We traveled the familiar Route de Delmas to the National Palace, but from a side street that allowed us to view the Palace and the sea together. We walked around the square and toured the neighboring statues and monuments. After maneuvering around the government center, we drove by the Cathedral, passing the Episcopal St. Trinite Church on the way. We were heading towards the dangerous area of Bel Air, coming within a block before heading down to the port area. We passed through Croix des Bossales, the market area where slaves were first unloaded in Haiti, passing La Saline, a slum area second only to the precarious Cite Soleil, the poorest place in the western hemisphere. The majority of the market road we discussed the smell: rotting and fresh vegetables, the sea and trash. We began arriving within a block of Cite Soleil, perilous shantytown, viewing the water tower on the kidnapping road, Route Nationale #1, before turning around—too dangerous. We returned through downtown past the crowded Marche de Feu, viewing the old St. John Bosco Church where Aristide began as a priest—his fiery rhetoric was met with a firebomb inside the church sometime in the early 90’s. We also heard of the Cow’s Head Market which was burned last fall, with people inside of it, by bandits and gang members in protest of the interim government. Heading up to the affluent Petionville suburbs, we continued into the spectacular mountains and foggy, crisp air of Kenscoff, closer to the views and clime of Scotland than what one thinks of Haiti. From there we could see the whole of Port-au-Prince below us, the sea, airport, and city in miniature, while basking in the sun and crisp breeze. We took a quick stop at the Baptist Mission founded by Wally Turnbull—a complex of beautiful buildings, a church, and a nice museum. Part of the museum was an exhibit on vodoun, which was strange, both that the Baptist museum held these artifacts (though in order to condemn them) and also because we had been having a tutorial in vodoun on the way up the mountainside (we talked about it, not did it). After visiting the house of Riccardo, our chauffeur for the day, we returned home.

I talked about buying some of this mountainside property near his house—I am pretty sure it is relatively cheap. Riccardo seemed to think this is a distinct possibility, even offering to make the deal for me. It would be well worth the effort of saving and taking a loan here or there in order to put a house in this prime spot. As the Haitians say, "Si BonDye vle"—"If God wishes."

A lot of the trip was spent discussing heavy thoughts with Jason, the photojournalist for whom the trip was made. He reminded me that I was already where I needed to be, as well as giving me suggestions on how to reclaim power lost to guilt, church life, and other issues that I have been confronting, very often in these writings. He suggested that I start in some aggressive martial arts or other type of physical discipline—what my spiritual advisers and shrinks have been saying for several years—in order to return more fully to my body, to grounding, to the earth. Our conversation completely locked in with Richard Rohr’s book, which I started on the way here and will finish on the way out. It is time for me to return to my masculinity without fear, with integration, with powerful powerlessness and powerless power.

To be and experience.

Outside people are singing. Church hymns, I think. Clapping in complementary rhythms. Repeating joy. This is Haiti. Port-au-Prince. City by la mer. Mountains cascading. Slum villages. Fetid trash piles. Markets of fresh vegetables. Panoramic vistas. Traffic jams of tap-taps. Where ocean fights the horizon in constant struggle. Where people live fully in themselves and not just in their heads, without the worries and trappings of an affluent society—this, there spiritual wealth: to trust in the earth, the spirits, The Spirit, God, Christ Roi. They are provided what they need, which seems like nothing to our jaded desires. But it is everything.

Today’s nostalgia may seem strange after yesterday’s ill humor. But the people are singing, I am sweating, hungry, tired, settled. It has been a journey without my constant analysis; one day I will live in myself like they do, incarnated but not incarcerated, without the need for thinking ahead or behind, to be truly in the moment, without a filter.
Haiti: the place where nothing works, but it always works out.
God bless Ayiti.

EDH: 6PM-8PM, 9:15PM-10:30PM