How to eat an elephant

Do you know that old joke, "How do you eat an elephant?"  The answer: "One spoonful at a time."  That old bit of wisdom has been running through my head since the first day we arrived in Mizak.   

The people of this village needed to fix a terrible road outside of the Shalom Zone.  It was a rugged volcanic trail about the length of a city block.   Most of us would have looked at that huge job and waited until we could rent a bulldozer.  Not here.  HAPI arranged for 30 people to volunteer for a few days.  From the construction site, about a quarter mile from the road, men filled 5 gallon buckets by hand. Then, the women put these buckets of rocks (yes rocks) on their heads and began the steady walk to the road site.   After the buckets were emptied, teenage girls raked them into place.  That is how you build a road in Mizak. One bucket at a time. That is how you do everything in Mizak.

This morning, we met with a group of community leaders.  We sat in a circle with a wonderful mix of ecumenical pastors, business leaders, HAPI staff, even a real-for-real local witch doctor.  Our free-wheeling conversation centered on what Mizak leaders felt the area needed to move forward. These leaders all talked of elephant-sized projects.   Schools, hospitals, trade-centers and more.   What they did not discuss was if they could get a hand-out.

On this mountain leaders have learned to seek out those who will walk beside them offering guidance and the exchange of knowledge.  That has been the gift of HAPI.  The re-education of aid.  That is not to say they would not appreciate receiving a free ambulance, or some building supplies.  They appreciate practical donations that provide a means to an end.  They have a deep pride and dignity. They want to build up their own community one spoonful at a time.  All we have to do is guide them in the best direction.   But that is not the case everywhere.

After our meeting and lunch, 19 of us crawled into a small van. Our van carried our six-member team, the mission intern and the staff of HAPI.  We headed to Jacmel, a city of about 100,000 people that sits at the base of the mountain.  The poverty there is palatable. Our driver took us to a magnificent public beach. Shortly after arriving, we began to feel like light bulbs glowing in a community of moths.  The sight of our team immediately brought out swarms of vendors and beggars.  They quickly surrounded us on the beach.  Locals loudly argued over who would take our food order as tables of crafts began springing up around us.  Boys with machetes and coconuts pulled at our sleeves. 

Understandably, the tranquil water called to us. It was amazing!  After baking in 90+ temps every day this week, the ocean water provided a soothing float.  Soon, we were approached by five boys floating on plastic milk jugs.  They offered us beautiful conch shells. Cost $1.  We declined.  Two for $1. No thank you.  Three for $1.  Really, no thank you!   Finally, I had to ask the mission intern, Ash, the Creole words for “I have no money on me!”  Those words changed the equation.  First, the boys teased me and patiently helped me correct my Creole.  Then they began to ask questions.  After a few minutes, a 7 year old boy placed a shell in my hand and said something I could not understand.  Ash translated for me, “It’s a gift. He wants you to have it. No cost.”  Something changed in that moment.  I was the recipient of a friendship gift.  These boys quickly joined our group of happy swimmers, splashing in the water. 

Back on the beach, lunch arrived.  An amazing grilled lobster meal for $5.  As we ate, looking out to the ocean, other kids sat and watched us take every bite.  Frequently, one would approach and try to sell us a shell, or beg for food. Let me tell you, nothing tastes very good when you are under the hungry gaze of beautiful kids.  After our meal, we left the beach and headed back up the mountain to our guest house.  When we arrived, the HAPI staff had prepared yet another meal for us.  None of us had much of an appetite thinking about those kids on the beach.  Out of respect for our gracious and hard-working hosts, we ate some of the food.

After our meal, we sat together and talked through our day.  We had such complicated feelings of guilt.  What did God want us to do in those situations.  Were we "puppy kickers" as one put it?  Everything on the beach felt like a lose-lose situation.  If we gave in to the temptation and handed over food or money, we would find ourselves complicit in a life of begging in these young children. That is a life not sustainable over time.   But, by not giving in, those kids went hungry tonight.  Either path did not feel very Christ-like.  

Thankfully, as we sat mulling over these difficult thoughts, 18-year old Mackendy (see photo) and his 16-year old sister Fabie stopped by.  What awesome kids they are.  Smart, funny, polite and filled with confidence.  Every night, they are a joy to be around and are such a superb example of how HAPI has helped empower this community.  These kids build roads one bucket at a time. I have seen it. They came to the porch to hang out with us, practice their English and ask questions about Michigan.  They have done nothing but give of themselves. I was able to set up a quick Skype video chat with my family and it was so awesome to watch as my wonderful wife Barb and our daughters chatted with these two terrific kids from Haiti. I could not tell who enjoyed the conversation more.

In my heart, I know that handing Mackendy and his sister a fistful of cash on my way down the mountain might make me feel a bit less guilty, but it won't really help them reach their total potential. Instead, we will need to figure out how to walk with this community and help build a school on this mountain top.  That's an elephant sized job. Somebody hand me a spoon.