Sanders Party of Five

The sun rises and we stretch ourselves long, finally free of another restless night. Our toes and fingertips brush the mosquito nets which surround us, and we hear the sounds of roosters crowing, donkeys braying, Miguel outside sweeping the dirt. Children scramble down the mountainside with the day’s wood, and the smell of cooking fires begins to waft through our windows.

We rise and begin our day in this rural Haitian village.

Eggs are gathered and cooked, coffee made, prayers said. We eat. Water is purified for dishwashing and we clean away our mess.

Children have begun to gather outside, and as the sun climbs higher I dip water from the cistern and begin washing the dirt from our clothes. Widly, a nine year old Haitian girl, comes to help, as she does every morning. After an hour or so, laundry hangs on the lines, the heat of this Caribbean July soaking up the moisture. As always, I have had an audience for my morning tasks, all these dark eyed children enthralled by even mundane chores. Many now begin to drift away, some to play soccer, or gather water for their own homes, others to work in the fields.

I sweep the dirt from the kitchen, the porch, the steps. This battle against filth, it is constant here. Everywhere really, I find myself thinking.

We prepare lunch, eat, clean away our mess. The sun now hangs high overhead, and the rest of the day will be spent outdoors, away from the stifling heat of these cement walls. The air is thick with heat and flies, almost unbearable at times. We stay in the shade, pray for rain to cool the air, and soon hear a rumble of thunder. We hold our breath with hope, but no rain comes. The thunder only teased. We will have no relief on this day, it seems.

We walk to the river, through fields of corn, rice, banana trees, and greet farmers as we go. The little ones splash in the water with the village children, the oldest skips rocks and aims for mangoes up high. Now refreshed, we journey back down the road, but are soaked with sweat before reaching halfway.

As we walk inside to begin preparing dinner, a sudden cool breeze blows and those once stingy clouds finally give up their treasure. It seems that we will survive this day.

Though the rain is cool and refreshing outside, I sweat over the stove as I cook our rice and beans and chop mango for the evening meal. We set up a table on the covered porch, eat, and enjoy the breeze as the sun finally sinks behind the mountain. We work together to clean away our mess, then open Scripture and read life giving words- those that tell of our real messes cleaned away so long ago. I am refreshed and in awe of my Lord.

We walk outside, the rain now gone, and stare up at a cloudless sky. Our breath catches in our throats as we behold more stars than we could have ever imagined, twinkling so many light years above us. A budding astronomer points out constellations.

We filter and purify water for tomorrow, take cold showers, settle down to rest for the night. As I tuck my children into bed and climb back under my own mosquito net, I am at peace. This day, it has been a good one.