Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 3

• Part 1
• Part 2
• Part 3

My night at the Livesay's came and went without a hitch. I woke early without setting my alarm, not because I was well rested but because I got an early morning phone call. If I had been at home I would have risen at the same time, only instead of a phone call it would have been a child knocking at my door. Part of me wanted to wait around for the Livesay's to get up, see them one more time, and give them a proper thank you, but the other part of me knew that with as much uncertainty awaited that day, an earlier start gave me a much better chance af success. I had to find my car, transfer money, get the car out of impound, buy some tile, buy some tools, then meet someone at the airport at 1pm. I usually try to keep my Port au Prince todo lists to no more than 2 item.

When I saw that Isaac Livesay was the first to rise, I had him let me out of the house and began walking in the right direction. They don't allow motorcycles in that neighborhood (because, apparantly they are dangerous) so it was a bit of a hike to find a group of taxi drivers that were willing to take me to the impound lot. I approached the group slowly, sizing up each driver, trying to figure out which would get me where I wanted to go safest and fastest. I was looking for a clean, well maintained bike. A helmet was a must. I wanted the driver to be edgy enough that they could quickly get me through Port au Prince traffic, but not so edgy that I feared for my safety. In the end, I hired the first guy that yelled "hey blanco!" It's just easier that way.

This driver did a pretty good job getting me where I needed to go, and as he wove through traffic I realized that motos in Port au Prince, while something I had always said I wanted to avoid, were actually a great mode of transportation. Sitting in an air-conditioned truck, it's easy to look at the people going by you on the back of a moto and only think about how hot, dusty, and dangerous it seems. But as you SIT in your truck, you should also notice that those motos are GOING BY you. And the people on the back of them are getting where they're going much faster than you are getting where you are. I got off that moto, paid the driver the $6.25 I owed him and actually started to consider parking my truck outside Port au Prince the next time I came in and just riding a moto around town. I could get a lot more done. But then I'd also have to park the truck legally.

I had him drop me at a place called "circulation". It's a police station that deals with license plates, licenses, inspection, transfers, titles, etc. I guess you could call it the DMV of Haiti. It's also, I was being told, the impound lot. I got there early. Almost an hour before I expected it to open. But I've learned from experience that this can actually be a very helpful thing. As I entered the lot, there sitting in front of me in all it's glory (what of it there is) was my truck. I let out half a sigh of relief. Really more like a third. The next third was reserved for when I could actually drive the truck away. And the other third was waiting on something I had actually been more worried about than the truck-- it's contents. I had left a computer, a kindle, a modem, and a few other things in the truck the morning before. And while I have the utmost respect for the police in Haiti. I also know they aren't very well paid. And as in any profession, there are some bad apples. And so, even with the truck in hand, I wasn't sure I was going to see any of the expensive stuff inside it again. I glanced around, nobody seemed to be paying me much mind, and hopped over to the truck, peaking in the back window I saw everything as I had left it the day before. A win all around. Confidant that I was going to (eventually) get everything back, I began asking around to see if I could figure out how. People pointed me toward the correct office and I worked my way over there. I knocked on the door but didn't expect to find anyone as I was still about 45 minutes early.

The door wasn't actually shut, so my knocking pushed it open. I peeked inside and saw someone sitting at the desk. As I had done with the all the people that pointed me to this office, I explained my situation. He knew exactly what I was talking about. He even knew which car was mine. As we talked he booted up a computer in front of us. The computer contained pictures of all the vehicles that had been impounded IN THERE INFRINGING POSITIONS-- so there was no arguing with the man. It was like getting a picture of you car running a red light in the mail. Pretty hard to get out of that. He explained to me exactly what I had been told the day before. I was parked legally, but facing the wrong direction. For that reason the truck had been towed and I would have to pay a fine before getting it out.

"How much?" I asked, hoping the number would be less than the cash I had in my hand.

"3000 Gourdes." Ugh.

"This is all I have right now," as I showed him the 2000 Gourdes I had left from the day before. He just shrugged and told me to come back with the money. I had located my truck. Now I just had to get it back.

Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 2

• Part 1
• Part 2 
• Part 3

It was getting late as I approached three men unloading a small truck at their funeral home (or night club, I can never tell the difference, there might not be one). I knew my car was gone, but was still trying to figure out to where. My hope (It sounds strange to put it that way) was that my truck had gotten towed because a stolen vehicle would probably never reappear. I questioned the first man, who seemed to be in charge:

"Did you see a green truck parked here earlier in the day?" Their truck had backed in exactly where I had been parked. He seemed to take some offense at my initial query.

"No I have no idea what you're talking about." The curtness of his reply made me realize that perhaps he thought I was accusing him of something. I pressed the issue, but couldn't seem to make him understand that I wasn't upset with him in any way. I was actually hoping he had turned me into the police. I was getting nowhere with him when the third man who was pulling boxes out of the truck to hand to the second interrupted.

"Was it here all day?" He asked.

"I parked it here in the morning, but I don't know how long before it disappeared. Did you guys call the police because it was parked in the front of the gate."

"No." Crap. "But it was facing that way, right." He pointed behind him, up the hill.

"Yes, that was my truck."

"Right, well it was supposed to be facing down." He seemed to be putting things together in his mind. But I wasn't quite yet.

"What?"

"Your truck was facing up, but you should have parked it facing down. You needed to turn it around before parking on this side of the road. It probably got towed." I don't remember if he had explained things that clearly. But whatever he said got me to put things together in my mind. All the cars I had seen parked on that road were facing the same direction as traffic. But I had crossed over traffic, parking on the left side of the road, and hence, was facing the wrong direction. Do they tow for that? I could only hope.

I thanked the men for their help-- even the one that wasn't helpful and the one that didn't say anything-- and I left them to the boxes of liquor they were unlisding at the funeral home. It was getting late. I felt satisfied that my truck had probably been towed. I was also sure that if it hadn't been towed, there was nothing I could do anyway. So my focus turned from the truck to own precarious situation.

I needed food (I was still waiting to celebrate). I needed a place to sleep. And in the morning, I was going to need some money. Food was the most pressing, and easiest solved. So I hopped over to the restaurant I've been raving about and ordered a chicken sandwich and a Tampico. I also order french fries, but they never came. So maybe the woman didn't hear me. Or maybe they didn't have them. I don't know. I didn't get a receipt, so I hope she didn't charge me for them. As I sat to wait for my food I contemplated my next step. I needed to get in contact with people but, to add another problem to my every-growing pile, my phone had recently died and I was using a temporary one. It only had two numbers in it: Mike and Gwenn. Now if you're thinking "phone numbers" should be something that gets added to my list of things to prepare for PAP, you're right. But in my defense I had brought a computer with an internet connection so that I could look up any numbers that I needed-- it was in the car.

I called Gwenn and she agreed to stop at one of those newfangled McDonald's that have wireless so she could look up numbers for me. I call Mike and began to discuss my money troubles. He agreed to transfer money in the morning and I agreed to run the errands he was supposed to do the next day (seeing that I had just lost the car he was planning on using, that only seemed fair).

In the meantime my food came. Don't picture a chicken patty for the sandwich. It's more of a pulled chicken sub. Very good. And the Tampico was, of course, great. If you have never tried Tampico you should. It's like Sunny Delight, but with more sugar. And every time I drink Sunny Delight I think "what this needs is more sugar." Don't you?

Gwenn, because it's who she is, went above and beyond the call of duty. She informed people beck at the house that I would be returning that night and she set me up with a room at a friends house for the night. She had called the Livesays. It would my first choice to call as well. Because I like them, yes, and I knew I would enjoy my evening. But also because the Livesays are the only long-term missionaries I know who haven't developed healthy bouderies. And I mean that in the best possible way. I have never heard of them turning down a request for a place to stay. They basically ran a hotel after the earthquake. And even after they left the country their house was home base for dozens of short and long term workers. My point is this, I would have called them because I knew they would say yes :)

They did say yes. Mike and I finalized plans for the money transfer in the morning and I headed to the Livesay's. A short walk and a $6 taxi ride brought me to their home behind the airport. But not before I discovered a shop that sells pigeons, parrots, geese, and peacocks-- awesome.

Troy and Tara were great short-notice hosts. I hung out with them and their kids for awhile before crashing into bed. I had done everything possible, but still I didn't know if I would find the truck at the impound lot the next morning. I could only hope.

Just Another Day in Port au Prince - Part 1

• Part 1 
• Part 2
• Part 3

My Thursday started out like many others have over the past year. Keeping all your ducks in a row in Haiti is hard enough, but if you allow things to get de-arranged (there's a nice Creole-inspired word for you)-- if you allow things to get de-arranged, it can be nearly (if not actually) impossible to re-arrange them.

So dozens of times over the past year I have risen at a normal time but immediately started prepping for a Port au Prince trip to re-arrange paperwork that had been, unfortunately, de-arranged. This time it was a 6am departure with a 9am meeting at the other end. Prepping for Port au Prince is an involved process. You've got to think about all the possibilities-- everything that can go wrong-- and, if possible, mitigate those risks.

• You need a spare in case of a flat (I've learned that one the hard way).
• You need a jack to change the tire in case of a flat (I've learner that one the hard way).
• You need your phone (I've learner that one the hard way) .
• And a car charger for your phone (I've learner that one the hard way) .
• You need money.
• Money for gas.
• Money for food.
• Money for food for everyone that's coming with you.
• Money for a possible break down.
• Money for whatever errands you are running.
• Money in case you have problems with your errands.
• You need a lot of money (I usually just empty the safe and be done with it).
• You need paperwork.
• Paperwork for you.
• Paperwork for your car.
• Paperwork for the organization.
• You need a lot of paperwork (I usually just empty the file cabinet and be done with it).

Once prepped, I set out on my journey and began calling all the people I was supposed to meet on the other side. We were all coming from Jacmel, so it would have made sense to travel together, but strained personal relationships have made that impossible. Instead there was a delicate dance where each of us tried to arrive on-time, but last, so that we didn't have to wait for the others.

I arrived at the offices first (I've never been good at dancing) and began to get things in order. We had come to sign some paperwork that we had been assured was already prepared for us. By the time all of us were there they had begun preparing the paperwork (see what I did there) and we waited. 9 became 10 and then 11 and 12. But while the wait was excruciating, the outcome was more than I could have hoped for. By 3:30 the paperwork was done(ish) and I was planning my celebration! There is a restaurant I particularly enjoy just up the block from the offices and around the corner from where I had parked. The fact that I hadn't eaten all day was going to make the food even better. On top of that, I had my laptop and a USB modem in the car so that I would soon be surfing the web at 3G speeds while eating good food on an empty stomach.

But oh! Port au Prince, you have never been faithful to me. And this day would be no different. I have no eloquent or ironic way of putting this: My car was gone from where I had parked it. My first thoughts turned toward theft because our recent past, but I knew that would be a complete loss. So I pinned my hopes on towing. I knew the car was legal but maybe I had parked illegally?  I looked for signs. The was a no-parking sign (which looks very similar to the American "wrong way" sign incidentally) across the street, but I had seen that in the morning. Plus there were other cars currently parked just a few feet from where my truck had been. Maybe they were illegal too and the police hadn't passed by in awhile? I was beginning to doubt my own story.

Checking with the locals didn't help either. The merchant on the corner hadn't noticed anything unusual between sales of crackers, sleeping pills, and phone calls. And the police, normally out in force on this particular street, were no where to be found. I wandered the neighborhood looking for an officer, but all had gone home the moment the local offices had closed. Running out of ideas to retrieve my car, I approached the scene of the (hopefully not) crime again.

But as I approached, a small truck pulled up. A man got out of the cab and pull the fence (or what I had thought was a fence) aside to allow the truck enter his compound. I had parked in front a gate!  Could my luck possibly hold out?  Had these men called the police on me? I could only hope.

Strange Stories

If a story is not about the hearer he will not listen. And I here make a rule--a great and lasting story is about everyone or it will not last. The strange and foreign is not interesting--only the deeply personal and familiar.

- John Steinbeck

It seems that we are drawn to the strange and exotic. But they are only interesting to us in that they act to amplify our own story.

It is far too easy to miss the important truths that are communicated in our everyday lives simply because we see them everyday. "If there was anything to learn within my daily story," we reason, "I would have learned it long ago." The world around us ceases to be the amazing and varied creation of God because it is "the same old same old."

But in the strange and exotic. In the stories of the lives of those who live differently than us. We can see the truth of God more clearly than in our own. The deceptive smokescreen of familiarity is pulled away and we see that God is working everyday-- in their lives, yes, but also in our own.

Mankind is made in the image of God. When we know more stories of more men we see God more clearly.