I'm not in Warrenton Anymore....

As I sit in the Hodelpa Central Plaza here in Santiago, Dominican Republic and pull up my blog, my initial reaction is one of horror ... it's all in Spanish. The instructions, the pages, the tabs, all of it unintelligible to my simple English speaking self. I am no longer at home. On the short walk to dinner (at 11:00 at night) the hotel clerk strictly told me "Do not go alone!" He of course thought differently after I showed him my "guns" (as my 12 year old would speak of his bulging biceps.) Alas, on our walk to dinner we encountered more real "guns" than we want to acknowledge, reminding me once again that these are not the nice quiet streets of Warrenton, Virginia. We are not home, but we are safe and ready to do whatever the good Lord puts before us.

But let me jump back a few hours to my plane ride from Miami where I had the distinct pleasure of sitting next to a very interesting gentleman. He was very suave - said "God Bless You" when I sneezed and lightly tapped my knee to acknowledge me. He slept peacefully and kept to his seat, no offensive body odor or blaring rap music from his headphones... I had scored the perfect seatmate... until he chose to speak.

It turns out he is a native of Port au Prince having left in a mass exodus in 1986..curiously at the same time that the notorious Baby Doc was forced out of power. This was the tip of an extremely one sided conversation in row 34 on my way to the Dominican.

In short, my seatmate was clear to state that the only hope for Haiti was a total regime takeover by a dictator with an iron fist. The people were clearly not educated nor motivated to make Haiti beyond the trash dump that it is and a heavy hand was needed to clear the way and build a new reality in its' place. He was clear to say that bloodshed was the only answer. He was clear to tell me that people that can't read, write or support themselves must die in order for Haiti to be saved. He was bluntly clear that the only way of progress was to clear the way of the "least" (his word, not mine) and make way for the "elite" (my word, not his.) He spoke of mission trips, such as the one I was about to begin, as a means of just "fattening the Haitians up for the kill"...offering them false hope, filling the bellies with temporary food and giving them little more than a drop of water to quench an unquenchable thirst.

I began to think to myself that this gentleman sitting next to me escaped as Baby Doc was "relieved" of his power and has only started to return to his country now, years later after Baby Doc has returned to Haiti with his millions. Just who was this man sitting next to me? And what exactly is his connection to the Haiti that I don't want to know?

What a way to start a trip! No, I'm not home anymore. The constant honks of the horns on the street, the flashing lights from the casinos, the stilletoes on steroids, the necessity for ammunition on every street corner, the mangy looking dogs rifling through the trash on the streets... and of course the language reminds me that I am not home. Most of all I am reminded that I'm not home because we have this wonderful thing called free speech and freedome of religion and all of those opportunities for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness that comes with a democracy. For all that we have, as twisted and broken as it often might seem coming from Washington, I am still thankful.

So the question will constantly be... just how can Haiti survive and what can we do to make it better... I guess we'll have to just wait and see what God has in store for us.

"Dear children, let us not love with words or with tongue, but with actions and with truth"
1 John 3:18

Now... it is 1 AM and I've forgotten my Benadryl, (and my toothbrush, but Tony hooked me up...)so wish me luck. Night All.