Flying Things: I read before bed. Always. Here there is no lamp and the light in the ceiling does not allow me to see the pages well enough. So I use the ‘flashlight’ app on my phone to read. When I’m close to falling asleep last night I decide to turn off the main light and just read by iPhone in the bed. Within 1 minute of turning off the main light I’m besieged by wings. They’re flapping. On my face. In my hair. OMG! I scream, my book goes flying and I leap out of bed. I use the phone light to remove the damaged winged creatures (from me beating at myself) from my bed and decide that’s enough reading!
Crawling Things: By the end of the first evening, within 3 hours of unpacking, there was a swarm of what I thought were no-see-ums on the dresser and the bathroom sink. After they were still there on morning 2 I asked Mom about them. She came up and looked… it was ants. Teeny, tiny, little spec like ants. She showed me how they were marching across the wall, over the dresser top and into the drawer. Oh, that’s what’s happening, it’s not random, there’s a pattern, I see it now. She opened my dresser drawer. ULP. Hundreds of little specs swarming down and up the inside of the drawer. She DID warn me about food anywhere but in the kitchen. I did give the kids heck for eating in their tents. I also bought jumbo candy canes for the 18 kids in the children’s home and stored them in my dresser drawer… We quickly got those out of my drawer and into a sealed Rubbermaid container! I started pulling out my shirts and my mom is a mad woman spraying with her can of bug spray, on the wall, on the dresser top, into my drawer. “Ummmm, Mom, my underwear are in there still, I don’t think it’s a good idea to get Raid in my girly bits!!” Her reply? “well you won’t have to worry if you sit in an anthill”. LOL. Yup, that’s life in Haiti! And for those of you wondering, I was NOT storing food in the bathroom sink, alexa’s sweet toothpaste that wasn’t rinsed down well enough was what was calling the bathroom ants!
The babies. Oh my, they are sooo cute! Each Sunday my mom holds a church service in the school. Today about 80 people attended, so about 55 that were not from the compound, and only 4 of those were adults. Kids come from all over, wearing their best clothes and so excited to be able to sing and clap up a storm. Little Sandra was shaking a Maraca one minute and sound asleep the next despite the loud clapping right beside her. Anne is still afraid of me (all the blanc’s except my mom) although sat 2 places down from me in church so we’re making progress. Karena sat in front of me and LOVED my nails. She spent most of the service playing with my fingernails. Jonathon spend the service bouncing around in the Sling around my mom’s neck.
|Sandra fast asleep|
|Mom and Jonathon|
|Sandra, Leica and I|
|Kids singing at church|
Goats… 7 are still here. Where are those people? The goats are tied along the fence and they continually poke their heads through the fence and then get stuck because of their horns. Jared has become an awesome goat head wrangler! Between feeding them, watering them and saving them from the fence it’s almost a full time job.
Milking a goat: I’ve been informed that I need to milk a goat. Ya, thanks Uncle Dickie! The goats do have big teats, the people coming to get their goats have been checking out the number of teats and those with more teats were selected first. In English, we call them Teats. In Creale they are teetee’s. Say it out loud. Yup, you got it. The first time a new goat owner came over and looked at me and said something something teetee’s I felt self-conscious and then when he looked under the goat I felt very stupid. LOL Anyway, milking a goat. Anything for my Uncle Dickie! I asked Ronel to help me milk the Goat. His reply ‘Nope, I’ll stand at a distance and watch though and laugh’. Nice supportive kids I have! I’m off to go do that now!
Okay, I’m back. Uncle Dickie you are a VERY BAD MAN! As I’m in position, trying to get my hands under the poor goat which keeps jumping away, my mother laughs hysterically and tells me that goats are NEVER milked in Haiti. The poor goat has never experienced this and has no idea why this strange white woman is trying to grab it’s teetee’s. I think we’re both traumatized!
|Milking, sort of|