Lockdown

This week, life has once again ground to a halt as the country is turned upside down by violent protests.  Here at our place, we’ve tried to keep some semblance of normalcy.  However, over the past few days, we’ve eventually gotten to the point of total lockdown.  We stay connected with others living across Haiti through expat Facebook pages and WhatsApp groups, and the stories that are emerging are so difficult to hear.  Every single person on this island is suffering.  While it has been stressful for our family, we praise God for His protection and provision for us.  Here’s part of our story. 

Wednesday

2:00 a.m.  Our family sleeps while the president of Haiti, Jovenel Moise, releases a pre-recorded message to his hurting people.  The people had been crying out to know how he plans to address the economic crisis, the month-long fuel shortage, the growing opposition to his presidency, and the mounting suffering of the population.  While the country needed to hear the reassuring words of their leader and a bold plan to tackle the pressing needs, the president seemed to passively skirt the issue, making lame remarks about unity and not throwing your trash in the street.    And furthermore, he seemed to avoid the people by broadcasting it in the middle of the night, over TV and social media, when few people have electricity or a device on which they can watch or listen.  He is seen as weak and this enflames the people even more. 

7:10 a.m.  I went out to load the car with milk, eggs, baby formula and rice packets for our weekly home visits with 12 nutrition patients.  The kids are busy getting ready to leave for school.  I discover that the car battery is dead for no other reason than just to ruin my day even before it began.  Now I have to tell Jeremy...sigh.  He is understandably frustrated by the chronic plaguing vehicle breakdowns that take up too much time and money.  Car problems have been unrelenting this year.

7:30 a.m. After 15 really hot and tense minutes of trying to jump the battery, the kids and I and my translator were crammed into our RAV 4, the much smaller car, along with all the supplies and we were on the way to drop kids off at school before seeing patients.  School doesn’t start until 8:00, but for the last week or so, we have been leaving early to go the long way since there have been threats against “blans” (white people) in the neighborhood we have to pass through to go the regular way to school.  So, off we go, headed towards the long way, seven people, five backpacks, five lunchboxes, and four totes of supplies stuffed in a five seater.  Now, if roads were rivers, the street from our house to the main road would be considered Class 5 Rapids.  We are bumping along Entrée Carina Beach, at least enjoying the cool air from the air conditioning, when suddenly there is a clank and a roar coming from the back end of the car.  I cussed in front of my cherubs and the wide-eyed translator.

Rewinding time to the great evacuation of Valentine’s Day 2019:  the tail pipe on this car (which was purchased a mere 2 weeks prior and was still “new” to us) was pinched while coming quickly down a steep mountain, causing it to stall and coast lifeless into the middle of the main thoroughfare, carrying several friends who were highly stressed and fearful, like us, as we raced towards the helicopter that was coming to whisk us to safety.  In that brief moment of madness, we pushed the useless vehicle to the side of the road and abandoned it there, loading all the extra people into our second getaway vehicle, some standing on the back bumper and holding on to dear life while our friend Parker lounged in the roof rack on top.  The scene was like a Bourne movie, only none of us were as cool and composed as Matt Damon.  Anyway, I digress to old trauma points.  The car ended up getting rescued and the troublesome tail pipe was welded by an incredible mechanic while we were gone to the good ole U S of A.

But there we were again…the back end of the dinky little RAV 4, burdened by all our bodies and bags and supplies, bruised by the brutal rapids, once again finding ourselves with a tail pipe trouble.  I feared stalling along the main road, but I feared telling my husband more, so we chugged along towards school and our friend the mechanic.  “If I can just get there!”  I thought….and then I realized that this hunk of junk probably wouldn’t make it the “long way”.  I’m going to have to take my chances and go the regular way…the threatening way.  I locked the doors and the car was completely silent, ‘cept for the roaring muffler, because mama had just cursed.

Chug, chug, chug, along we went, around tap taps, dodging motos, passing La Coline, and finally we turn onto Entrée Reserve, across the street from Laferonnay, the place where it was rumored that Americans would be targeted and robbed.  Jesus, be before us, behind us and all around us I prayed as I glanced down at the baseball bat on the floorboard next to me.  I’m hypervigilant, assessing the intentions of every person we pass, planning how I would bash the heads of anyone who attempts to threaten my car full of kids. Fear can make you think kind of crazy. (Side note:  this is the EXACT same spot where the ball joint broke 2 weeks ago).    

7:58 a.m.  We made it 3.2 miles in 28 minutes, and thank goodness I wasn’t required to bash any heads.   Ahead, I see our mechanic friend Phito, and with great relief, I finally parked the car.  I made quick plans with my interpreter to take a moto to visit patients while I dealt with the car, and off he went to pick up our nurse Shela.  For a moment, I was alone in that damned chariot, and the stress of the past 48 minutes finally hits.  It all bursts forth in a Mount Saint Helens eruption of emotion.  Whether real or perceived, the danger of just taking my kids to school felt overwhelming to me.  

8:06 a.m.  I compose myself and try to hide my blotchy eyes with my sunglasses.  I step out of the car and choke out the words out before I start to cry again.  “I think (cough) I have (gag) a broken (gasp) tail (sniff) pipe (snort).”  Poor Phito.  I’m a wreck.  And seriously, it’s JUST A CAR.  (reference my last post for  further explanation of why this messes me up so bad)

8:08 a.m.  I put my big girl panties on and call the man who always comes to my rescue, my husband.  He used his usual sarcasm, saying “oh really?  That’s great news”, but the reality is that two of our vehicles had tried to die and I had contemplated manslaughter/self-defense all before 8 a.m. and it actually really sucks.  These are not normal Wednesday morning on-the-way-to-school thoughts.  But he still agreed to come get me (since thankfully he was finally able to get the Sequoia started), and I said, “give me a little bit of time.  I’m going to sit here and cry for a while.”  He respected that because honestly, he probably couldn’t handle one more breakdown that morning.

9:44 a.m. A 4.6 magnitude earthquake is recorded off the south coast of Haiti and I’m pretty sure that Jesus is coming back.  I’m okay with that.

1:24 p.m.  Our translator, on moto, sends a message:  “Laferronay and La Coline are blocked.  Be careful guys if you go out.”  This is the exact route we had putted through in the ailing RAV 4 just a few hours earlier.  The trouble in our city had just begun.  By 3:00 that afternoon, Jeremy had to take back roads to pick up the kids from school because it was getting “hot” along that stretch of Route National #2.

Thursday

2:54 a.m.  I awaken to my phone dinging.  A missionary friend who lives nearby (and can see our house down the mountain from hers) heard gunshots, and looking out her window, saw the flash of the blast very near our home.  Her texts said:

“That was really close to your house.”

“The gun shots, like four in a row”

“Y’all ok?”

Thankfully we had our fan on full blast and didn’t hear a thing.  But now, of course, I can’t go back to sleep.

7:30 a.m.  Jeremy is volunteering to take kids to school today since yesterday about put me in the grave.  Every time he pulls out of the gate with the kids in the car, not knowing what they will face on their way, I pray pray pray.  The tension is rising in our city and has already reached a boiling point in Port au Prince.

7:46 a.m.  Julie texted to let me know that they got to school on time, but “saw a block right after La Coline.”  Simultaneously, I discovered a left-behind lunch box, knowing that someone was going to be really upset about it.  Julie sweetly offered to share her lunch so dad wouldn’t have to come back, since that trip had become kind of risky.

8:03 a.m.   Jeremy pulls in and I finally can breathe.  He tells me the whole truth:  there was a large and very well organized burning barricade erected along our usual route to school, right in front of the little restaurant where we stop for cold drinks almost every day.  This alarmed him because usually thugs don’t get around to anything productive until later in the day.  This definitely had some thought and planning—not the usual MO of ragamuffin street gangs and trouble makers.  He had to make a quick decision to turn off onto a side road, and told the kids to be ready to get down low if necessary.  Our 5^th grader was crying a little bit after seeing the fire, but really started sobbing when she realized she had left her lunch box at home.

11:40 a.m.  Jeremy, aka Dad of the Year, couldn’t stand the thought of his baby girl not having her lunch, so he and his side kick Parker decided to brave the madness to make the meal-time delivery on their motos.  Jeremy strapped the sparkly pink lunch box to the back of his bike, and Parker secured two baseball bats to his, and the two courageous cowboys roared off, blaring “Country Boy Can Survive” on their speakers.    Jesus go before them, come behind them, and surround them on every side. 

2:09 p.m.  A trusted, experienced leader with inside knowledge in Haiti posted that the UN had authorized a “foreign occupation” and that peacekeeping troops would be arriving in mass within hours.  She recommended that we all “pray that gang members will get saved” because the troops were coming in to bring justice. 

2:23 p.m.  Once again, Jeremy and Parker can’t sit still in one place with all that nervous energy, and take off in the car to pick up the kids from school.  Shortly after leaving, a message came through on our community WhatsApp group from Parker:

“Police shooting tear gas around La Coline.”

My mind immediately assumes that Jeremy and Parker are stuck in the middle of it, eyes stinging and coughing and gagging.  I panic.   Pray pray pray.  Jesus go before them, come behind them and surround them on every side.

3:07 p.m.  Lizzy texts, “They are here.”  The brave chauffeurs had arrived safely to school, having only witnessed the tear gassing, but not actually being exposed….now we just needed to get them home and I didn’t care if we ever left the house again.

3:26 p.m.  Another WhatsApp message from Parker, who is riding shotgun in the car with my kids, “road is blocked by the DNC”—which is where we turn off the national road to get to our house.  They are so close but now they are blocked from the entrance!  Lord, HELP!

3:33 p.m.  I hear the gate open and all my people are home.  I hug and kiss each of them and my heart starts beating again.  Jeremy privately gives me the scoop:  just as they were nearing the turn off to our house, a large group of people came running toward them.  He made a quick 180 and whipped the car around to take a side street.  He speculates that after the police tear gassed the crowd at the block up the road, they moved on down to the next roadblock to do the same.  I realized at that moment what incredible lengths the father of my children had gone to protect our babies.  My heart is full of love and gratitude.  But now LOCK THAT FREAKING GATE BECAUSE WE ARE NEVER GOING OUT AGAIN.

3:35 p.m.  The UN report is revealed to be a rumor.  No one is coming to help. 

Friday (in a nutshell): 

School is canceled.  We sleep in and make a late breakfast and play classical music and do school work in pajamas, trying everything we can to make our home a peaceful and safe place that day. 

Because outside of these walls, all hell is breaking loose.   The country is descending into total anarchy as he opposition to the president has launched an attempted coup d’état.  Throughout Port au Prince and extending into every major city across the country, violence erupted.  Multiple businesses were burned, including all the vehicles at the Avis rental car office by the airport.  A police station was breached, looted, and then set on fire.  Moto gangs were sent out to shoot indiscriminately.  An orphanage was attacked, security guard’s guns stolen, Americans workers and children held hostage.  Police clashed with angry mobs.  Street vendors were robbed then their booths set ablaze.  Gas stations were ransacked, gas pumps toppled then set on fire.  Transportation was crippled by hundreds and hundreds of roadblocks made from trees, burning tires, giant boulders, extended chains—some even as sophisticated as doors welded together across the entire span of the road.  WhatsApp groups are blowing up with real-time updates from across the region.  Some people offer advice on how to boil water if the clean water supply dries up.  Some instruct on using a vinegar-soaked rag across the mouth and nose in case of tear gas exposure.  Others suggest to stock up on charcoal because propane is now scarce.  Armored car companies and helicopter evac options are discussed.  Smoke can be seen rising across the entire landscape of this country.  We stayed on lockdown and made the best of the day by playing games, baking brownies, and drinking Coke with real sugar cane.  But in our minds, we are beginning to question:  how much longer will this go on?  And how much time do we have before our resources (water, food, fuel) run out?  We are safe, but we are scared.

port au prince

horizon over Cite Soleil

remnants of roadblocks along Rte National #2 between Gressier and Leogane

(photos from expat groups)

This is just our story.  It feels very familiar to all of us, because it happened already once this year, and that time we chose to evacuate.  The decision then was made because of lack of resources, but this time we are better supplied.    Others around us are suffering far more than we are, and a lot is on the line.  Hospitals are closing because of lack of power.  People die because they can’t get to the hospital, and the hospital couldn’t treat them anyway.  Other ministries are sharing about the dead bodies piling up, no power in the morgue to keep them preserved.  Kids can’t go to school.  People can’t work to support their family.  Food is running low because supply trucks can’t make deliveries down the ONE road that spans the entire length of the island.  Banks have been closed, causing many organizations to miss payroll, which means less money in the pockets of the working poor.    The list of grievances goes on and on and on and the victims are piling up.  Meanwhile the international community turns a blind eye and the US Embassy is largely silent.

So, I can’t wrap up this blog in a neat little bow or a catchy little phrase.  This story is still being written, the ending unsure.   The politically-motivated conflict is likely to continue at least a few more weeks and some speculate it could stretch even into the New Year.  We all long to have a regular day with people coming and going from the community center, freely moving around without fear.  But until then...

Jesus, for every single person whose feet stand on this battleground,

go before—be the forerunner!

come behind—be our rear guard!

and surround on every side—you are our Shield, oh Lord!