I’ve been home now in the US for almost two weeks. Each day has held its own adventures, joys and surprises. Even getting across the mountains of Haiti and catching the plane in Port-au-Prince was an epic journey within itself. What follows is a fantastic and humbling serious of events that had to be experienced before I could return home. A personal “Odyssey” and classical “Comedy” in the great Greek tradition; the day is Tuesday, March 8, 2011. Enjoy.
I had planned on leaving the Cloud Forest Medical Clinic a little after noon and enjoying a nice hike over the mountains to Port-au-Prince. This plan was not to be and ultimately I did not depart from the clinic till 4:30pm. No worries except for the fact that I have almost 100 lbs of gear and it will be getting dark in 1 ½ hrs. After the most uncomfortable motorcycle ride of my life we arrived at the Cayjacques Mountain Pass. The large and incredibly awkward three pieces of luggage grind me into the earth with their oppressive weight and leave little excitement for the mountain trek ahead. “Lighter is better” and “The more you know the less you need” are travel and outdoor adventure mottos that I attempt to live by. However these rules do not apply when you are acting as a human mule for original hand crafted paintings, sculptures and jewelry which will be sold at an upcoming Haitian Art Auction Fundraiser (www.wherethestarsstillshine.org). Throw in my oversized labtop along with all the clothes and outdoor gear I will need for the next two months during the Humanity First (www.usa.humanityfirst.org) Fundraiser “Bisiklet for Haiti” Cross Country Bike Tour (www.bisiklethaiti.com) and you can imagine the load.
At the mountain pass the clouds rolled in and darkness spread throughout the land, an ominous sign for the impending journey ahead. The Michigan State Medical Team rolls in on motos as I briefly play tour guide and wish they could have seen the horizon earlier when the Sun was still shining. On a clear day the eyes are swept away by mountaintop vistas which forever etch themselves as cornerstones of beauty in the memory’s limbic system. Luckily the Michigan Team was full of amazing spirits and they were truly enjoying traveling through one of the last two remaining National Parks in Haiti and being engulfed in the belly of a cloud. I made a wise decision that trying to hike over with all my gear in the darkness for the next several hours was not a good idea so I decided to take the hour moto ride back to the clinic then make the 6 hr voyage to PaP via truck. When we arrived at the mountain pass crest ready to depart I made the sickening discovery that there were only 3 motos instead of 4. The other chauffeurs explained that my driver had gone ahead to Seguin and would return afterwards. Ahhhhh! Waiting 2 hours in the darkness is not an option; I screamed a bit before composing myself and sending the team back to the clinic.
“Nothing in Haiti goes like you want it to, but everything goes exactly like it is supposed to.” -Haitian Proverb
Fine, it appears fate would have me hike over these mountains in the darkness. I will definitely need to swallow my pride and request some help for this epic journey. Quickly I find a strong young man (about my age) who is happy to help me carry my bags for a few bucks. He is grossly unprepared though as he has no flashlight and somehow thinks he will make it back tonight with no light. He asks for my headlamp which I fully intend on giving him after our hike is complete, but for the time being I tell him no so that he will appreciate it as a gift when the time is right. His kid brother comes along too and helps carry the hand woven Haitian saddlebags which will be a very special birthday gift for my Mom. As the Sun falls behind the last mountain and darkness overtakes the land we stop for a brief respite and enjoy some manba & pen (peanut butter & bread).
We begin walking again with only the fading light from my dying headlamp, soon enough it will be no more and we can only hope the clouds clear and the moonlight chooses to be our guide.
After the first mountain pass my porter informs me that his feet hurt and he wants to return home. “I don’t think so” I say, “I’ve already paid you (1/2 the money) and we have a deal”. He continues to whine and I take the heavy bag to lesson his load. I tell him that if needs to return home then he better give me my money back first. He doesn’t like this idea and trudges forward. Not two minutes later he begins complaining that his stomach hurts and he needs to use the restroom. “Fine” I say and hand him toilet paper as he walks into the darkness. “Dumb Blan” me, I should have known something was up when his little brother went to the bathroom with him as well. Waiting in the shadows the epiphany floated by and it became so painfully obvious: “They are not coming back”. I yelled in the darkness that he was a thief and a liar and that I would tell his mother and father as soon as I returned. No answer and the white man stands alone in the Haitian darkness amid threatening clouds with three bags of luggage, a dying headlamp, little food and a long way to go.
Things soon got worse as the ominous sound of drums began to make their way through the night and pierce my heart with a dagger of fear. It takes a lot to frighten me I will not lie, but the thought that my petty thieves might have alerted the Bizango to my presence was enough to rattle me to my depths. For almost all of you unfamiliar with the Voodoo faith, the Bizango is a secret society that represents the darker side of the religion. Members are said to walk in groups at night and many rumors circulate about their intentions (including turning into animals and even cannibalism). I believe neither of those ideas, but still have a healthy appreciation for the superstitions that many Haitians hold as truths in their respective reality. Many times I have heard that I should not go out at night because “Jeb” aka the devil might get me. I don’t personally believe in the devil and much darkness has left my life since I abandoned this fear several years ago. I grew up fearing this mythical creature and when I finally realized that the devil was my darker side instead of an external figure much light entered the world. All became illuminated by the presence of God and a freedom came into being that I had not previously experienced. During medical school we learned of the classical ego defense mechanisms people use to deal with stressors in one’s life. The devil is a textbook example of projection. By definition Projection = attributing one’s own unacknowledged unacceptable/unwanted thoughts and emotions to another. It makes perfect and logical sense that people would be more apt to project their darker desires, thoughts and actions on an external figure as opposed to accepting personal responsibility for said thought/action/emotion and acknowledging this unacceptable behavior or thought as part of our own animalistic nature.
I once read a Native American parable about the two wolves that live within us all. At the climax of the story the young child asks his grandfather which wolf shall win the fight: the wolf of light (representing goodness, virtue, God) or the wolf of darkness (evil, hate, sin, Devil). The wise old man looked at his pondering grandson and said, “It just depends on which wolf you feed.” We are not so different; all of us are capable of being saints or slayers, heroes or villains, love or hate, light or darkness. In our heart of hearts we all know that each of us has committed acts of treason against ourselves and against our fellow man. Tis much easier and more comforting to blame these actions and thoughts on an external force, i.e. devil, than to acknowledge that we all are capable of anything: be it perfectly beautiful or dark and unpleasant. A figurehead serves well for representing these unwanted ideas. Our minds understand objects and stimuli in our environment according to grouping and symbols, almost an automated Central Nervous System filing system if you will. Of course there is always the possibility that I’m wrong about all this, maybe there really is some demon with a pitchfork waiting to eternally torment our souls because we were not Catholic, Baptist, Church of Christ or even non-Christian. Lord forbid we give God enough credit to be bigger than our individual and collective belief systems. Oh the heresy, another integrated control mechanism self imposed and often imperceptive from the inside out. Misunderstand me not, I’ve dedicated my life, my entire existence to seeking unity with God, my fellow man, nature and life itself (when our eyes are truly opened do these not all become one, multiple expressions of the divine which we always seek through the ether and sometimes feel in our greatest moments of spirituality and ecstasy). To immerse ourselves in the eternal fountainhead of life as God shines down from above in eternal quadrants filling all space and with perfect love as time stands still and heaven descends on earth and saturates our hearts & minds alike. In this transcendent all is right and nothing can harm us. Even pain is for our own pruning and all shall appear as it truly is.
“When the doors of perception are cleansed all things shall appear as they truly are.” -William Blake
We slip into metaphysical streams and undercurrents of deeper thoughts, let us now return to the original story at hand. After hearing the drums in the darkness and allowing fear to swallow my courage, I gave myself over to God and asked for deliverance from the situation at hand. Knowing that I could not do this myself helped me to listen more and talk less, basically I just gave up control and put my faith in the divine spirit and prayed, “If I am to be robbed and pushed over the cliff then at least I lived my life to the fullest and although I personally desired to live longer maybe my life could best serve through death.” A broader perspective where one is not so biased towards their own physical perpetuation allows many worries to blow by as the wind caresses the face. After only a few minutes of hiking I soon came face to face with my fears and found the source of the drumming: a mountainside church service (Haitian night style). Oh needless fear hath I been imprisoned by you yet again; when shall I learn? I laugh at myself as my catecholamines excretion returns to normalcy. Alone I walk in the shadow of the mountains and although the way is steep and narrow I know that I am not alone.
Soon enough I receive a call from my Cloud Forest partner, Dokte Kyle. As fate would have it I’m right in front of my mountain friend’s home (the first place I ever slept in when we first explored these vast peaks over one year ago). They take me in as a Brother and give me food and a bed. I try to tell them that I am happy to sleep on the ground but they will have none of it. True “Haitian Hospitality”, it gets no better than this. I am truly blessed and call my sister and father to tell them how much I love them. During my phone call with my Dad I am meandering around in the darkness in front of the little mountain cabin. Mid sentence I feel the ground give way and begin to fall! The hole is relatively small (not much larger than a man) and almost 10′ deep. I reach for the top but cannot quite pull myself out. My friend runs up to help; he is more concerned than me. After emerging from the hole I realize what I just fell into: a latrine! I immediately begin to sniff my clothing and shoes but everything appears kosher. I’m told that yes indeed it was a latrine I just fell into, but thank God it was not yet completed and people had not starting using it yet.
I have to go catch a flight now. I’m heading to the UK for the Humanity First Medical Disaster Relief Course with Dr Ifti Ali (my mentor, friend, and the man who first took me to Haiti). This is my first ever trip to Europe and I’m very excited, thank you Humanity First for this incredible opportunity. When I get settled in I’ll finish the epic saga of “How I got to the airport” and give a brief day by day for the series of adventures which have ensued since. Just remember, “Love is all you need”. This Blog is dedicated to my Mom’s Horseback Riding Posse, especially to Colleen & Cindy. Happy Birthday Mom!