Bonswa,

Today was a great day!  I slept better even though I still feel like I’m sleeping on a backboard.  Breakfast was uneventful, egg, fruit, toast and the blood of life, coffee.  No coffee, no function.  That’s my motto.

After walking the kids to school, we thought we would walk around the block the other way.  It stinks there are no street signs, but then again these are not even real streets.  We got a little turned around and I kept thinking, act like we live here.  Then I thought, that’s stupid, we’re white in a black neighborhood.  The good thing is, the orphanage we are, the woman who runs it is very well respected and known in the community which helps.

I cracked out one of the sewing machines I brought down.  The first one was brand new that I bought.  It was rather jenky (slang for junk).  It can run on batteries which down here will be a welcome sight.  It could not sew through the terrycloth towels I was trying to sew.  After breaking a needle and a loss of patience, it caused me to have to get out my cousin Janet’s, Brother.  Janet, it worked great!  My first prototype of an adaptive splint did not go as planned, mostly because I was sewing in haste.  The other towels I spent a lot of time pinning with safety pins so they it wouldn’t slip.  I forgot straight pins at home.  At this point I was reliving a high school sewing project gone horribly wrong.  A royal blue velour sweat suit.  My friend Karla and I were screwing around in class (as usual) and I chopped the sweatpants off at the wrong place and they turned into what today would be considered by today’s fashion standards, Capri’s.  After spending (doing) time after school with my displeased teacher, they eventually had to be made into shorts.  I feared living the humiliation of that traumatic event again and I chose to rise above my short comings and get this right.  Ok, I was never really humiliated but I think my teacher may have felt like a failure for having me in class that semester.  I also knew I would be highly scrutinized by my cousin Janet and my mother, who are anal sewing perfectionists.  I don’t blame them, I’m good a lot of things too.  Some of us have the gift.  I’m hoping Martha Stewart sees my handiwork and hires me as a consultant.

I was making splints for the kids who prefer to suck on their hands all day and keep their arms tucked in.  The first one (the junky one) is still working so far) my other ones are going to be great once we get the Velcro on.

We also spent a lot of time making eating utensils for the kid’s hands.  They mostly worked and were made out of the inners of a draft stopper and a T shaped plumbing fitting and a wing nut screw.  It was a messy ordeal and those kids like to still sneak up and grab a handful of food unannounced.  I turned off the nice Rhonda (yes, there really is one, just like Margaret asking if there was a God).  It was a book, I’m referring to not just making something up.

After lunch we were looking for something to do.  We took three of the regular kids who live here at the St. Joe’s orphanage as well.  Notre Maison is the name of the one for the disabled kids.  We took about 15 hygiene kits with the three kids out into the hood.  Lesson here is: don’t linger, steer clear of crowds and keep walking.  Otherwise, you will get mobbed.  It was ironic watching the kids give away something which never happens down here with locals.  When the kids had the last one, they really didn’t want to give it away.  It was quite an iron icy.  The kids here are doing better than most.  They still suffer from a lot of anxiety and fear of abandonment and the fear of not eating. 

Ok, I’m starting to go into a Jack Handy “Deep Thoughts” moment.  I digress.

We ran out of beer so we had to get more.  Since I was the cheap child labor, I should be paid in beer.  Since there aren’t a lot of choices when it comes to alcohol, it’s either Prestige or diesel.

Tonight, one of the groups, “Rays of Hope” out of Michigan, found a Haitian band to play.  We had to find extension cords for them to plug in the speaker.  The generator has been running most of the day and I’ve been living my day with the drone of the generator.  I feel like I’m at a…I don’t know where I feel like I am.  Oz of Haiti???

Tomorrow is horse therapy for the kids.  I might try to get a session in as well.

                                                                                                            Ovewa (Goodbye)

cornmeal breakfast that the kids eat.

Playing Mother Theresa

Touchy feely stuff

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Where goat meat comes from

 

These are the kids who live at the St. Joe's orphanage which is also a part of Notre Maison.