Mr. Bénnet

Journal Entry - January 5th, 2014, Haiti

It finally happened.  I was brought down from "cloud nine."

I love it here in Haiti.  The land, the culture, the people.  They all have this way about them that is unlike anything I know in the United States.  At peace, yet not at rest.  Easy going, yet confrontational.  Hard working, yet playful.  This all blends together into the warm, yet cautious welcomes I get here: 

"Gade blan," all the little children say with joyful excitement.  

"Salut," the young adults say with a cautious happiness.  

"Bonjou," the elders say with pride.

While the welcome I receive here is unknown to those yet to experience it, the conditions in which people here live in, need to be known to all.

Unexpectedly, I was pulled down off of cloud nine.  For the past three days, I have been spending a lot of time at the house of a man named Bénnet (pronounced Ben-nay).  I have known Bénnet since my second trip to Haiti.  On the trip, Bénnet provided me, along with two first-time students, the chance to learn about and explore his community at length.  He pulled out chairs for us (a staple for any visit to someone's house), told us stories about his family and gave us the grand tour of his community (an experience I know myself and the two students will never forget).  

Chelsea and Mollie
(the first two students)

Bénnet and his wife

On our two trips since that first visit, I have only seen Bénnet for brief moments.  However, as fate would have it, on my second day here this time, I crossed paths with him as he was returning from his work.  Upon seeing me (which wasn't exactly hard to do considering I was the only white person around), he immediately stopped his "moto" (the creole word for motorcycle/dirtbike) and with a big grin on his face, said, "Kevens!" (the way most people in Haiti pronounce my name...which is impossible not to like.)  And since that exchange, I have visited his house on a daily basis - making multiple trips per day (he only lives two houses down from the Project Medishare guest house).  Meeting his wife and relatives.  Learning about the store they operate at the front of their "property."  Playing dominoes.  Even buying some crackers from him this morning - receiving my first ever Haitian Gourdes.  And up until this evening when I was once again at his house, sitting around enjoying people's company, I was on cloud nine - simply loving the fact that I was in Haiti.

I was talking one-on-one with Bénnet's wife when she asked, "Do you know people for our schools here in Thomonde?"  At first, I didn't understand.  But after working through the translation...it hit me.  What she was really asking , "Do you know people who can help our schools here in Thomonde?"  

Up until this point, nothing I had seen or heard had struck me like this question did.  Not the absolute poverty, or the unimaginable contrast in living conditions, or the the many kids shouting, "Giv me one dolla."  It was a harsh reminder of why I am here.  Why them?  Why us?  What fate decided that I would be born in the 'land of opportunity' and Bénnet would be born into a life of struggle?  A life that consists of...

...continued in journal entry from January 21st, 2014 (soon to come)