It's Sunday and Haiti is eerily subdued. The roads are quieter, (the UN vehicles are hiding) the street markets are almost empty and even the weather seems shy. It wasn't that way last night mind you; we had one of those extreme electrical storms, accompanied by floods of rain, that I have come to associate with hot, humid, tropical countries. It was an awesome display of light and sound, an extreme power event that had the man made electrical supplies quivering in their circuits. Even my bedroom windows bowed in submission to the fury of the heavenly torrent and had me relocating my bed so as not to be showered (although the coolness of the rain made it tempting to stay where I was).
But as awesome as the display was, it was not what the Million or so people living under canvas needed last night. As we head into the middle of the hurricane season, this rain brings new challenges for us, but new misery for people that have already experienced so much. Despite this, as we check the camp, most people are restoring their reality; they are smiling and laughing as they sweep the viscous milk chocolate brown fluid out of their shacks and resettle their worlds, and their meager belongings.
As we walk we notice again that despite the confined and depersonalising conditions people have created homes. Some have laid concrete footings to keep the waters out whilst others have raised wooden beds and furniture on concrete blocks to allow the water free flow access, whilst they remain aloof and oblivious. Many, if not most have electricity, thanks to some ingenious (and illegal) wire tapping and from many come the strains of familiar tunes even though the words are sung in a language not understood by me.
It's Sunday - it's Church day - and it's serious. Those that can't go to church are listening to songs that for centuries have brought comfort and hope to others disempowered, homeless, voiceless and marginalised. Some of the songs, sung by the enslaved of years past provoke questions and emotions that find their genesis in the reality of the Haitian context. Here, in a country built on slavery and then their freedom the songs have new and evocative meanings.
It's Sunday and it's a day to be at home, to be with family, and to intentionally look to a Creator that is beyond the circumstances of their reality and beyond their understanding. But not beyond their faith to believe that somehow, because they exist and God is present (as evidenced in the awesome display of nature last night) that HOPE exists. So, the roads are quieter, the weather subdued and the people? They loudly and enthusiastically worship the God who is present – and wait and hope that the world will not forget.
