Here is a little story I wrote a couple of years ago. Maybe you will find a smile there.
A Stroll in the Countryside
The destination was Kafilipe, I hope I spelled it right. In reality it is the “other gardens” that Mr. Leonard refers to so often. I had visited there once before and saw the beautiful sweet potatoes, beans, and zucchini growing on the rocky hillside. He told me it was all food he was growing for the children’s home.
Today was different. We had hired 4 Haitian peasants to clear about another half acre and stack the loose rocks in an adjoining area to plant more crops. That was 4 weeks ago and since that time I had suffered a bout of dengue fever or something and was just now feeling pretty good. I wasn’t looking forward to a 3 mile hike out into the Haitian country side in the afternoon heat. But Mr. Leonard was right on time and asked if I was ready to “mache lot jaden.” (walk out to the other garden) .
The initial mile or so was slowed by constant greetings from others on the road or people in their homes; it seems that everyone knows Mr. Leonard. Out here a white American is still a novelty but is considered an honored guest not a source for a handout. Since I had broken my partial dental plate before the trip, I seemed to fit right in, since few Haitians have more than a few teeth. One particular lady with only one top tooth was quite disturbing when she kissed my cheek and that one tooth sort of raked down my cheek. But I digress.
The jeep path gave way to a foot path which gave way to a trail thru the brush. All along the way people shouted their greetings and if they were close enough reached out to shake my hand. One elderly lady was digging peanuts by hand, scooting along the ground and putting them in a plastic jug that had been cut to form a sort of bucket. There was no begging or pitiful story just a “Bondye bini ou” or God bless you. Farther along, we came to the hut of Leonard’s uncle. He was a white haired gentleman of some 86 years who lived alone in a thatched hut. The entire building was thatched, not even mud walls. He had a warm smile, gentle handshake, and a sparkle in his eye that reminded me of the stories of the old Haiti. I am so sorry that I will not get to know him here on earth but perhaps one day in Heaven we can have that long conversation that I so badly want to have with him.
Walking along the foot trail thru menacing brush and tall grass the air was filled with the singing of birds, bleating of goats and an occasional cow. Two in particular that had been gifted with tremendous horns dared us to make them move off the path but when they saw and smelled this strange white creature they couldn’t move fast enough. Finally we came to a sort of clearing with a few large avocado and orange trees. This area belonged to Leonard and he assured me the garden was only a short distance ahead. Sure enough about another half mile brought us to a clearing in the brush and a hillside planted with sweet potatoes, beans, and corn. It bordered the older garden which was a mass of vines of all sorts of root crops, beans, and squash. He pointed out the different beans planted in the new area as well as the new sweet potato slips which would be ready for harvest in April of next year. Here was a simple peasant man bursting with pride over what he and his friends had accomplished. He kept repeating Bondye bini tout travay, Bondye bini tout jaden. (God blesses all work and God blesses this garden.) Here was an acre and a half that in America would be considered totally useless. Laced with ridges of coral and piles of rock it looked a total waste. But Leonard knew that between those rocks were pockets of rich soil that would bear food. A man of less intestinal fortitude with little respect for hard work would have fainted long ago but not this man. He sees in every patch of soil an opportunity to receive God’s blessings and a good return on his labor in freshly grown food. So that nothing be wasted, the larger brush that had been cut was carefully cut into pieces, stacked, and burned into charcoal. I listened to lecture after lecture on the goodness of God and the reward of hard work as I looked over this rocky hillside garden. A place of seeming waste was going to produce over 1500 pounds of sweet potatoes, beans, and squash.
As we returned past the grove of avocado and fruit trees some little boys were busy filling a bag with avocadoes that had fallen to the ground. I asked Leonard why he didn’t gather all the avocadoes and sell them at the market and he simply answered, “ Ti moun bezwen manje tou.” Or “little people need to eat also”. How often my heart has been humbled by the kindness and wisdom of this little man.
About half mile from the main road we stopped at the home of a cousin of Leonard. The yard was filled with 7 or 8 little kids and 3 adult women. The lady of the house gave us a fresh coconut to drink. As I lifted the coconut to my mouth which had been skillfully hacked open by a machete, I couldn’t help but consider what else that machete had chopped up that day. Oh well, too late now, it was delicious and very refreshing to a now overheated and tired fat old man. She also fixed us some pates to take with us to eat. A pate is a piece of fried dough often filled with various things, the most popular being pikliz. These were filled with pikliz and herring or “ah rahn” as they call it. It is a small fish from somewhere, possibly on this planet, that has been smoked, salted, and dried and has been dead for a very long long time. It makes sardines smell good. Pikliz is a relish made of shredded cabbage, carrots, a little onion, and habanera peppers. It is salted and packed in white vinegar to preserve it. It is wonderful, hot, and leaves you wondering how much abuse your stomach can take. Heat depends on whether the pepper is left whole which makes it fairly hot or if the pepper is split open to obtain maximum heat. I figure that anything coming out of 350 degree oil and filled with Habanera peppers should be germ free.
As I reflect on this afternoon’s activity, I am drawn back to this great man. What a wonderful place Haiti could be if there were more people like him. No, in fact what a wonderful world it would be if there were more men like him in it. You probably won’t get to meet Leonard on this side of the River, but you are going to love him when you meet him in heaven. He’ll be the little black guy in the ragged pants with a shovel in one hand, an arm load of vegetables in the other and a smile that lights up Heaven itself.
The destination was Kafilipe, I hope I spelled it right. In reality it is the “other gardens” that Mr. Leonard refers to so often. I had visited there once before and saw the beautiful sweet potatoes, beans, and zucchini growing on the rocky hillside. He told me it was all food he was growing for the children’s home.
Today was different. We had hired 4 Haitian peasants to clear about another half acre and stack the loose rocks in an adjoining area to plant more crops. That was 4 weeks ago and since that time I had suffered a bout of dengue fever or something and was just now feeling pretty good. I wasn’t looking forward to a 3 mile hike out into the Haitian country side in the afternoon heat. But Mr. Leonard was right on time and asked if I was ready to “mache lot jaden.” (walk out to the other garden) .
The initial mile or so was slowed by constant greetings from others on the road or people in their homes; it seems that everyone knows Mr. Leonard. Out here a white American is still a novelty but is considered an honored guest not a source for a handout. Since I had broken my partial dental plate before the trip, I seemed to fit right in, since few Haitians have more than a few teeth. One particular lady with only one top tooth was quite disturbing when she kissed my cheek and that one tooth sort of raked down my cheek. But I digress.
The jeep path gave way to a foot path which gave way to a trail thru the brush. All along the way people shouted their greetings and if they were close enough reached out to shake my hand. One elderly lady was digging peanuts by hand, scooting along the ground and putting them in a plastic jug that had been cut to form a sort of bucket. There was no begging or pitiful story just a “Bondye bini ou” or God bless you. Farther along, we came to the hut of Leonard’s uncle. He was a white haired gentleman of some 86 years who lived alone in a thatched hut. The entire building was thatched, not even mud walls. He had a warm smile, gentle handshake, and a sparkle in his eye that reminded me of the stories of the old Haiti. I am so sorry that I will not get to know him here on earth but perhaps one day in Heaven we can have that long conversation that I so badly want to have with him.
Walking along the foot trail thru menacing brush and tall grass the air was filled with the singing of birds, bleating of goats and an occasional cow. Two in particular that had been gifted with tremendous horns dared us to make them move off the path but when they saw and smelled this strange white creature they couldn’t move fast enough. Finally we came to a sort of clearing with a few large avocado and orange trees. This area belonged to Leonard and he assured me the garden was only a short distance ahead. Sure enough about another half mile brought us to a clearing in the brush and a hillside planted with sweet potatoes, beans, and corn. It bordered the older garden which was a mass of vines of all sorts of root crops, beans, and squash. He pointed out the different beans planted in the new area as well as the new sweet potato slips which would be ready for harvest in April of next year. Here was a simple peasant man bursting with pride over what he and his friends had accomplished. He kept repeating Bondye bini tout travay, Bondye bini tout jaden. (God blesses all work and God blesses this garden.) Here was an acre and a half that in America would be considered totally useless. Laced with ridges of coral and piles of rock it looked a total waste. But Leonard knew that between those rocks were pockets of rich soil that would bear food. A man of less intestinal fortitude with little respect for hard work would have fainted long ago but not this man. He sees in every patch of soil an opportunity to receive God’s blessings and a good return on his labor in freshly grown food. So that nothing be wasted, the larger brush that had been cut was carefully cut into pieces, stacked, and burned into charcoal. I listened to lecture after lecture on the goodness of God and the reward of hard work as I looked over this rocky hillside garden. A place of seeming waste was going to produce over 1500 pounds of sweet potatoes, beans, and squash.
As we returned past the grove of avocado and fruit trees some little boys were busy filling a bag with avocadoes that had fallen to the ground. I asked Leonard why he didn’t gather all the avocadoes and sell them at the market and he simply answered, “ Ti moun bezwen manje tou.” Or “little people need to eat also”. How often my heart has been humbled by the kindness and wisdom of this little man.
About half mile from the main road we stopped at the home of a cousin of Leonard. The yard was filled with 7 or 8 little kids and 3 adult women. The lady of the house gave us a fresh coconut to drink. As I lifted the coconut to my mouth which had been skillfully hacked open by a machete, I couldn’t help but consider what else that machete had chopped up that day. Oh well, too late now, it was delicious and very refreshing to a now overheated and tired fat old man. She also fixed us some pates to take with us to eat. A pate is a piece of fried dough often filled with various things, the most popular being pikliz. These were filled with pikliz and herring or “ah rahn” as they call it. It is a small fish from somewhere, possibly on this planet, that has been smoked, salted, and dried and has been dead for a very long long time. It makes sardines smell good. Pikliz is a relish made of shredded cabbage, carrots, a little onion, and habanera peppers. It is salted and packed in white vinegar to preserve it. It is wonderful, hot, and leaves you wondering how much abuse your stomach can take. Heat depends on whether the pepper is left whole which makes it fairly hot or if the pepper is split open to obtain maximum heat. I figure that anything coming out of 350 degree oil and filled with Habanera peppers should be germ free.
As I reflect on this afternoon’s activity, I am drawn back to this great man. What a wonderful place Haiti could be if there were more people like him. No, in fact what a wonderful world it would be if there were more men like him in it. You probably won’t get to meet Leonard on this side of the River, but you are going to love him when you meet him in heaven. He’ll be the little black guy in the ragged pants with a shovel in one hand, an arm load of vegetables in the other and a smile that lights up Heaven itself.
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