No interpreter needed . . .

For the past few days I have spent all but a few hours in a relatively small area. The guest house where I sleep is a nice concrete block structure where work teams can stay and where artisans work at their crafts on the first floor.

Then about a half-mile up the road is the house where we have been doing some work. Not repair work, generally, but work to assist the ministry of the missionaries that live there. Among other things, we built a chicken coop from start to finish, including fencing in part of the small back yard. It is such a fine chicken coop that we already have several on a waiting list just to get in. No, not really. It was a fowl joke.

Anyway, we have walked that road now a million times, it seems like. So we have quickly come to know some of the folks in the neighborhood. For instance there's Edward. Edward is a small, upper middle age man who salvages scrap metal and makes it into useful things. Like bedsteads and flower pot holders and huge gates. Right there on the gravel and rut road. There are always younger men helping him, running a grinder or a torch. Edward enjoys helping us with our Creole. When we pass him we throw up our hand and yell "Bonjour." If it is close to noon he yells back, "No, bon soir," shoots us an ear to ear grin and laughs. Sure he is laughing at us, but in a good way, the way I would do if I were him. As it turns out, almost any Haitian is glad to help out with learning the language, and they really love hearing an American butcher it up good. Broad smiles and unrestrained laughing. No matter how tired or nasty I've been on my way home down that road, I always feel better after meeting a few folks like Edward on the way.

I wanted to write more but I am suddenly tired. We are going to church tomorrow, probably the one in the big tent that serves the tent city in our neighborhood. It starts at 7:00 a.m., ends about 11:00 a.m.

Better get some rest.

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