Jaques Paul gives the sidewalk at theMC retreat center in Haiti a
good morning sweep
Reporting from Port-au-Prince, Haiti, from a retreat for about 30 Missionaries of Charity. The sisters run an orphanage for 110 children, which American and European couples adopt on a continuous basis. Last week a husband and wife from Minnesota were finishing up a three-year process to adopt “Evanston,” a boy of about ten, black as coal with a flashing white smile. People drop orphans off at the convent gate all the time, and sometimes just bring their sick children if they can’t find a doctor. Yesterday Sr. Mahrte (a French sister who has been in the Caribbean for 25 years) showed me the orphans, tiny little ones reaching up from their cribs to clutch a finger, and bigger ones who all wanted the big white man (in a black shirt) to hoist them into the air for an airplane ride. The sisters go about the City as well, bringing food, helping the MC Brothers at their home for the dying, picking dead and dying people off the streets, and managing a small hospital of their own. Sr. Joie, another French MC, whose name precisely describes her buoyant spirit, excitedly showed me the little Montessori school for the orphans. They also use the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, with a toy church, altar, sheep pen, and of course a Noah’s Ark. “Oui, mon Pere,” she gesticulated excitedly, “we teach les petits all about La Sainte Messe with pictures, before they can even read!”
The compound is quite large, perched on the edge of a foul stream whose maliferous odors, thanks be to God, never seem to overcome the convent buildings. It is quite a garden inside the convent walls, with abundant banana trees, shady grape arbors, spreading coconut palms, ponderous mangos, fiery acacias, citrus, rhododendron, various flowering shrubs, and luxuriant ferns. A menagerie of domesticated animals wanders the grounds as well: two hounds, about a dozen noisy turkeys, skinny cats beyond number, roosters and hens, clicking-clacking geckos, and bunches of white rabbits (the latter confined to warrens, and taken out occasionally for lunches and dinners). It is quite a little community of flora and fauna!
With so much animal and plant life, and the MC love of order and cleanliness, the sisters and their three or four Haitian helpers sweep down the entire place every day. That means someone is sweeping somewhere at any given time. I wake up at 6am to the sound of the old gardener quietly sweeping the patio outside my room. During Mass at 7am one of the ladies sweeps around the chapel. From where I give my retreat conferences I can see one of the drivers sweeping around the magnolia trees. During holy hour I can hear the sweep sweep coming from somewhere. They always sweep in silence, patiently, almost as an act of prayer.
And you know what I have not heard in Port-au-Prince yet? The garrulous growl of a leaf blower. I suppose they can’t afford them, or don’t like them, or prefer to quietly, methodically sweep sweep away. As I write this I can see the old gardener loping past my window, a broom and basket in hand. This is something I love about Haiti, and most “less developed” cultures. They love cleanliness and order as much as we do, but they enjoy the act cleaning, naturally, the way a cat takes time to lick itself down, or a bird arranges its nest, or a bee colony carefully puts everything in order.
Leaf blowers, as I have always said, are from the devil!
The compound is quite large, perched on the edge of a foul stream whose maliferous odors, thanks be to God, never seem to overcome the convent buildings. It is quite a garden inside the convent walls, with abundant banana trees, shady grape arbors, spreading coconut palms, ponderous mangos, fiery acacias, citrus, rhododendron, various flowering shrubs, and luxuriant ferns. A menagerie of domesticated animals wanders the grounds as well: two hounds, about a dozen noisy turkeys, skinny cats beyond number, roosters and hens, clicking-clacking geckos, and bunches of white rabbits (the latter confined to warrens, and taken out occasionally for lunches and dinners). It is quite a little community of flora and fauna!
With so much animal and plant life, and the MC love of order and cleanliness, the sisters and their three or four Haitian helpers sweep down the entire place every day. That means someone is sweeping somewhere at any given time. I wake up at 6am to the sound of the old gardener quietly sweeping the patio outside my room. During Mass at 7am one of the ladies sweeps around the chapel. From where I give my retreat conferences I can see one of the drivers sweeping around the magnolia trees. During holy hour I can hear the sweep sweep coming from somewhere. They always sweep in silence, patiently, almost as an act of prayer.
And you know what I have not heard in Port-au-Prince yet? The garrulous growl of a leaf blower. I suppose they can’t afford them, or don’t like them, or prefer to quietly, methodically sweep sweep away. As I write this I can see the old gardener loping past my window, a broom and basket in hand. This is something I love about Haiti, and most “less developed” cultures. They love cleanliness and order as much as we do, but they enjoy the act cleaning, naturally, the way a cat takes time to lick itself down, or a bird arranges its nest, or a bee colony carefully puts everything in order.
Leaf blowers, as I have always said, are from the devil!
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