Summer 2007

I’ve been promising myself and some of you to return to blogging for months now.  I think what finally made me sit down and write was the convergence of something which reminded me of memories I’ve shared with many of you and something about which a few of you are waiting to hear.

 

I’ve had many converstations (mostly jokingly) about how cool it would be if Ritter Field were host to a wedding, reception, or marriage proposal.  Well, yesterday I witnessed something as close to that as I’ve ever seen.  Minus any trace of wiffle ball, but on the island where Ritter Field truly belongs.

 

Yesterday was my friend Coicy’s wedding.  He has been waiting to get married until he could afford to build a second floor of his house so that he and his wife would have a place to live.  Currently he lives on the first floor where he selflessly takes care of his crippled uncle and elderly grandmother.

 

The first parallel between the wedding and Ritter Field was that invitations were entirely word of mouth.  In November, Coicy told me over the phone he was getting married and followed that with “I think you will be in Les Cayes.”  Although I had never been invited to a Haitian wedding before, I figured this was about as formal of an invitation as I would get, so I made plans to be there.  Just like Sunday night wiffle ball, there was no need to RSVP.  You could assume that it would happen like clockwork (well, maybe that’s not quite the best metaphor) and that you are welcome to come along with anyone else you wanted to bring.

 

In the middle of the day I arrived at Pere Ajax’s house, which is practically on the same back road as
American University of the Caribbean, where the wedding took place.  I wandered over to find Coicy leading a team of people who were setting up the outdoor area for the wedding.  I decided to lend a hand in an attempt to take a load off of Coicy, who in typical fashion was busy getting things done and serving when he had every right not to.

 

My first assignment was to set up folding chairs in a line, not unlike the “stands” at Ritter Field.  I then watched and learned from some guys who were cutting parts of the grass with scissors to make a smooth surface for writing “Welcome” with rocks in the grass, a bit like the turkey or American flag for special events at Ritter Field.  From my experience with taping bats, I taught my co-workers how to wrap ribbon in a spiral around two tree posts stuck in the ground, which functioned as the entryway for the wedding party.  Being the tallest person there I was tabbed to hang a line of paper palm trees strung on a rope from trees at each corner of the “stage,” reminding me a bit of the challenges of hanging banners on the 4^th of July.

 

What impressed me most about the whole set up was that it was done without duct tape.  I’ve always said that any random group of Haitians would tear up the competition at Odyssey of the Mind, a creative competition I participated in as a kid.  But building all of these things without duct tape and marshmallows officially put Haitians on another level in my mind.

 

I noticed two other parts of the set-up that bore striking resemblance to Ritter Field.  First was the couch that looked like it had been left behind at a college dorm and which would become the seat of honor for the bride and groom.  Again, I imagined the scene if only Haitians knew the joy of duct tape.  Second were the speakers, which in combination with a working generator and a CD player would become a blaring sound system.

 

The sound system started up at roughly 5:45pm for the procession.  This was only after Coicy and his bride and the 6 other members of the wedding party stood in plain view behind the entryway for a good 45 minutes.  Coicy had told me the wedding started at 5, and when I asked for clarification about the start time from one of his good friends, his friend said he didn’t really know but he thought it started at 6 because that’s about the time that things like this normally start.  I started my brief walk to the wedding at 5 and was second only to a large family that was seating themselves as I arrived.  The next 45 minutes were filled with people arriving on motos in their absolute best clothes (many gowns and suits, with a large share of guys wearing pink shirts).

 

Shortly after I arrived, an SUV decorated with paper wedding bells taped on the windows pulled in.  Out came Coicy, his wife Rosier, and the other members of the wedding party.  While Coicy spent his time calling people involved in the festivities to tell them to hurry up, I spent my time reading the program.  If it weren’t for the church I attended in Petionville last week, this would have been the first paper bulletin I had ever seen in a Haitian church setting.  I learned that the wedding was indeed scheduled to start at 5.  Although the late start was no surprise to me, what was surprising was seeing things like “5:02 to 5:04: Opening Prayer.”  Who was Coicy kidding when he planned his wedding down to the minute, at the correct hour no less?  Even though it may have taken us awhile to adapt at Ritter Field, we did come to the point when we would tell people to come at least an hour before our desired start time and we never seriously would have expected to follow all of our rituals down to the minute.

 

After nearly 45 minutes of standing at the entryway, the DJ cranked up Celine Dion’s “The Power of Love” and the procession began.  The aisle couldn’t have been more than the distance from home plate to the left field foul pole at Ritter Field (about 50 feet), but it took the entire song for everyone to arrive at the podium and couch.  While the last people were still trickling in on motos, the first woman in the procession danced down the aisle throwing paper confetti, which was the only thing between the party’s shoes and the grass.  Behind her were two boys and a girl, probably about 3 or 4 years old, dressed to the nines and holding hands.  Ironically these little ones had the most difficulty in making believe that the space between the two sections of chairs was like an aisle in church, and they proceeded to move down the aisle like bowling balls in a bumper bowling lane.  Coicy’s face alternated between nervous horror and true pleasure as people on all sides of the kids put them back on track.

 

The ceremony was beautiful, and filled with ritual just like a typical Haitian church service.  Most of it was in French, apart from the Celine Dion songs in English, which I suppose were similar to salsa and merengue at Ritter Field which set the right mood even though most people didn’t understand the words.  Unlike many weddings I’ve attended in the states, the pastor actually asked if there was anyone who objected to these two being joined.  He also sounded a bit like a play-by-play announcer when he relayed that both the bride and groom had both given “positive” responses to the questions posed to them.  This seemed very formal to me, although I suppose that was partially due to the lack of a second microphone, which prevented the congregation from being able to hear much of what the bride and groom said.  Other noises contributing to this may have been the cell phones going off during the ceremony and the roosters, which caused much annoyance and made me want to cut down their roosting tree just like we often wanted to cut down the pine tree in left center field.

 

The ceremony was captured on digital camera by a guy whose partner followed him with an extension cord and halogen lamps on a stand.  It wouldn’t have been quite the same without these two roaming around the whole time, just like day games were never quite the same as playing under the lights.

 

After the ceremony, Coicy and Rosier got rushed by people from all sides, kind of like a post-game celebration on the mound.  I waited in the line that more closely resembled a mob to congratulate and thank them.  When this died down, the mystery man who walked Rosier down the aisle (her father was present but did not do so) gave an eloquent speech in a French/Creole mix and then announced that servers would bring food to everyone in their seats.  Each person received a small Styrofoam plate with a piece of cake and three neatly arranged cheese curls along with your choice of King Cola or Toro, the Haitian versions of generic Coke and Red Bull.  As I watched plates being served without napkins or silverware, I was reminded of Matt McCready, the little red-headed boy who had a habit of taking as much food during inning breaks as he was allowed to get away with.  But watching people take multiple plates did not bother me like seeing a large empty bowl of popcorn in Matt McCready’s lap because unlike most people at the wedding, Matt McCready would do so after having eaten several times that day.

 

Of all the images from the wedding, I think the two that stick out the most to me are Coicy’s beaming smile, as always, and that Styrofoam plate with three cheese curls.  Poverty met by hope, creativity, and an attitude of sharing the best you have to offer, no matter how much or how little that is.  Beauty, tragedy, and joy.  All at once.  These are themes that play themselves out before my eyes every day in Haiti but were perhaps best put into images for me at Coicy’s wedding.

I’ve been drinking a lot less water since I’ve been here in Port-de-Paix without access to my cooler of Gadyen-Dlo-treated water. I’ve been feeling a little dehydrated, so today I decided to do something about that.

I suppose knowing things about water in Haiti helped the situation, but in some ways it made things more difficult. For the first day, Blond and I just purchased bottled water at the restaurant on the ground floor of the hotel. But the clean water economist in me couldn’t help but think, “you know, if I wanted to supply an average-sized Haitian family with safe water, buying individual bottles of water for all of their drinking needs could cost me over $10,000 in a year.” (Which, ironically, would probably exceed my average annual income as a graduate student by a greater amount than it would for a lot of families living around the city here). Even though each bottle still cost around $0.40, that is still much more expensive than other options which still provide safe water, so it just didn’t make sense to me keep doing this. (Kind of like purchasing bottled water in the US instead of drinking tap water…but anyways…).

I suppose that one of my other options would have been to chlorinate water like I have been doing most of the summer. But this would have required breaking into the samples of various chlorine-based water treatment products that I have been collecting this trip with the intent of bringing them back home in good condition to keep and/or test. And the microbiologist in me couldn’t help but think about the microorganisms that chlorine does not kill, much more so when the water I would treat comes from the municipal system of the city of Port-de-Paix rather than from the sky.

So I went looking to buy some Culligan water (or Koo-lee-gun as they say here). The first two shops in which I stopped only sold individual bottles rather than the 5-gallon tanks for which I was looking. As soon as I turned back, thinking that I would just ask the Alexanders rather than go on a moto ride in search of water, I saw a big Culligan truck in the middle of the street that I had just walked down. I must have walked right past it but I’m not sure how.

It looked like they were collecting people’s empty tanks to refill at the factory and bring back, but I asked if they had any full tanks I could buy. The first guy said yes but quoted me a price that I took to be much higher than the figures I had collected for 5-gallon Culligan tanks. The clean water economist in me wouldn’t let me accept the price so I asked him if he could give it to me for less.

He went to get the “boss.” When the boss returned the first question he asked was whether I spoke Kreyol. Feeling more confident talking about water and prices of water than other subjects in Kreyol and hoping that speaking Kreyol would increase my chances of successful haggling, I went with “yes.” The boss immediately quoted me nearly half of what the first guy had quoted me. The new price was roughly $5 for a 5-gallon tank, so I agreed and walked back to the hotel with my purchase in hands (not on my head, so I can’t claim to have gotten the full urban Haitian water experience).

It turns out that my memory of the price of a 5-gallon Culligan container wasn’t quite accurate, and the first guy’s price was actually pretty reasonable. So either Culligan is cheaper here than it is in the other places I’ve asked or they give price breaks to blans who speak Kreyol, which I find rather hard to believe.

I have had to make some decisions about sanitation too. The hotel rooms have flush toilets, but the tank on mine wasn’t refilling after a flush. After some investigation I realized I had two options. The first was just to open the valve that allowed water into the tank, but the downside of this option (and probably the reason it was shut off when I arrived) is that it leaks water onto the floor when it is open. The other option was to fill up the garbage can with water from the shower to pour into the tank. I have normally been going with option 2, unless I’m not willing to wait for the bucket to fill up but know that I’ll be around to shut off the valve when the tank is full.

The water supply to the shower intrigued me too. Every place I’ve stayed in Haiti has hot and cold knobs at the sinks and showers, but this is the first place I’ve stayed where they actually do different things when you open them. The two types of water that come out of the 1/2 inch PVC pipe that sticks out of the wall are probably better labeled “slightly-warmer-than-lukewarm” and “slightly-cooler-than-lukewarm” rather than “hot” and “cold,” but nonetheless I was surprised to find a difference. Given the rest of this hotel, I find it hard to believe that they invested in a hot water heater or a water cooler. My suspicion is that the two knobs are hooked up to different tanks, one in the shade and one in the sun, but I’m not really sure. I kind of want to test my hypothesis by taking showers at different times in the day and comparing the relative temperatures of the “hot” and “cold” water.

 

Here starts the second journey of my summer in Haiti. Or through Haiti, I should say.

The first stop is Les Cayes where we are starting a program to help students start water treatment businesses. I remember coming here in January and thinking that the accommodations and everything were pretty decent for working in Haiti. Now that I have another Haiti experience with which to compare, I feel like the conditions are luxurious. I have electricity whenever I want it, three fans in my bedroom, and ice in drinks that can be consumed without waiting 30 minutes for the chlorine to take effect. At least these things make me feel better about the money I’m spending to stay here.

At breakfast the owner of the guest house told me about the upcoming party in Les Cayes. Apparently Haitians from all over the country and the US come here for a huge beach festival. I’m just going to miss it as the festivities don’t officially start until this weekend, when I’ll be heading to the north. The owner explained all of this and then said that Christians shouldn’t go there because of the things that people do there.

So I went this afternoon. Bernard, my translator who works for World Concern, our partner Christian organization, kept asking me if I wanted him to take me the beach to see the preparations for the party. He seemed to really want to go, so after awhile of having him work overtime and drive me around to track down water treatment products, I agreed to go.

There were lots of people preparing shops and building makeshift restaurants on or near the beach in preparation for the weekend. The beach was quite tropical looking if you ignored the grey skies and grey water. As I headed out into the water, a couple people kept asking me the same question which I didn’t understand. I could tell they were semi-joking but sensed that it probably wasn’t a wholesome question, so I just kind of nodded no. When Bernard came out he explained that they were asking if I wanted a girl to take out to the ocean with me. This made sense as I actually had noticed that I was just about the only male in the water who wasn’t clinging to a girl. Bernard was good enough to explain this to me but his presence didn’t do anything to help the mathematics of the situation as he even had a girl to cling to, albeit his 5-year old daughter that he had brought along for the trip.

One of the other big differences that I noticed from my experience during the first half of the summer was the temperature, which had to have been in the 70s. It felt even cooler when the breeze was hitting you while riding a moto at speeds that the drivers in the north only dream of given the lack of paved roads and large bikes.

After eating dinner by myself, the other guest at the guest house returned and sat down to talk. He is a Venezuelan missionary who works in a number of countries, one of them being Haiti. We ended up talking for nearly 2 hours. My ears and brain felt like it was a lot more than that and he thought that I understood a lot more than I actually did, but I enjoyed every minute of it. Our conversation ranged from prices of gas in our respective countries to what we want to be when we grow up to what public health is.

Eventually our conversation turned to baseball, one of the easiest things for me to talk about in Spanish (and English for that matter). How could I not talk beisbol with someone who is returning in several days to San Pedro de Macoris, the City of Shortstops? (Something which I must say made me slightly jealous). We traded stories about how his favorite team is from my hometown and mine is not. Apparently Dave Parker, an old Pirate, played in the Venezuelan league, which turned him into a Pirates fan for life. I followed this with the story of what turned me away from being a Pirate fan for life when I was 2 years old. We each pulled out names from back in the day, mine being favorite Mets and his being favorite Venezuelans. We found common ground in our love of Omar Vizquel and our sadness that Barry Bonds was the one to break the homerun record.

Hi again!  I apologize that it’s been awhile since I updated.  The combination of life, work, and rain have gotten in the way of blogging and emailing.  By the time I’m posting this (it has been a couple days since I’ve had internet), I have two short days before my time here is over.  Things here have continued to be amazingly rich, challenging, and enjoyable.  Not wanting to leave without taking some time to reflect and sharing with you all some of what has been going on, I collected a few experiences from the past couple weeks.  Hope you enjoy.

For those of you who are still reading along and want to know how you can pray, here are a few requests I wrote a few days ago, which may still apply by the time you read this and may not:

• That God would use the time this last week to help me get to know and minister to the two boys who have been spending some time at the guest house each night. I helped one write an email to a friend in the states, and since then we have spent some time each night trying to teach each other about our respective languages.
• That I would trust God in knowing how to handle the situations with people who have already asked for stuff or probably will before I leave. I was struck by reading Matthew 5:42 which says, “Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.” I need courage in not sugar coating that and actually acting on it, but I also find myself wanting guidance in knowing how to give responsibly and in the right way.
• That God would take the decision of how to spend the rest of the summer out of my hands and direct me where He wants me. We have decided not to move forward with our plans to start the project in southern Haiti in August, which I believe is a wise decision. This raises the question of what I will do after returning to PA for a wedding and some time with the family. My mind is racing with ways to fill it up, but I have a sense that God might have something big in mind and I need help in waiting to hear what that is.

Thanks for keeping up!  I’m looking forward to seeing or talking with you guys soon!

Michael

I could and should write a whole essay about what it’s like to be the only white person here, but without something larger prepared I just had to share a tidbit from today. 

Today I made a kid cry. 

I’ve seen kids shy away and cuddle up to their parents when they see the color of my skin, but this kid was screaming, wailing, and running away in absolute terror.  I apologized to the rest of the older kids who served as this little dude’s protection, but even as I passed he was still crying.  I have to admit the rest of us got a kick out of it.  Interestingly enough, several minutes later I was greeted by a little one who had the complete opposite reaction.  Her mom brought her down to the road to see the blan, and all she wanted to do was touch my hand that I held out for her.  Ahh, being the blan.

Sunday we crossed the river to catch a service that marked the last day of a week-long revival at a little church.  We had been hearing the music late into the nights all week, and we made it over to see the grand finale.  Judging by the sound that reached the guest house, I was picturing a pretty big church.  However, it was a little one room building with a tin roof supported by 2×4’s.  Half the walls were mud, half were palm fronds, and the floor was the dirt.  I discovered that it was the generator, two really big speakers, and the voices of the people that accounted for the ability to project such sound across the river. 

They were celebrating the birthday of the church, and several Haitian pastors who now live in Florida were there to encourage them.  Lots of singing, praising, and celebrating a witch doctor who accepted Christ this week.  As I have become accustomed to, when the pastor asks if there are any visitors, I got a lot of looks from people waiting for me to go to the front and introduce myself.  This time, however, Christophe didn’t accompany me to the front.  I thought patting him on the back on my way up would signal him to come up, but when I made it to the front he was still sitting in the back.  I was slightly relieved when the pastor, a guy who lives in Florida, greeted me in English.  However, he followed this by saying “you know Creole, right?” and handing me the mic.  I did my best to explain where I came from, why I was here, and how I have been learning a lot about water and life.  After saying a word of encouragement in English, I handed over the mic and expected it to be translated, but I guess the pastor wasn’t in translating mode and kind of left me hanging, but oh well.

Sunday afternoon Christophe took me to a kindergarten graduation.  He had been invited by the director, and apparently it was the place to be.   There were probably 300+ people packed into a large 1-room school.   Being the blan, I was escorted to a seat near the front despite the fact that we arrived really late.  Later I traded places with a lady standing along the wall, a decision which I’m glad I made but which I began to regret once we started approaching the 4-hour mark.  The whole production was extremely disorganized and way too long, but what made it all worth it was watching the final act of the “cultural” portion of the presentation.  This consisted of about 20 kindergartners dressed in colorful outfits doing the bachata in a line.  A few had amazing hip-bumps while many were lucky to do a little hop and change directions every once in awhile.  A lady standing close to me caught me dancing in place and tried to explain something about dancing the Haitian compa.  I didn’t want to argue with her, but I know what side of the island the dance really came from.

Sony and Madame Evelyn aren’t getting along, which forced me to redo the schedule so that they never have to go to the same place.  Since many of the recent trips have been long ones, this means that I alternated who would come with me in the Land Cruiser.  Madame Evelyn days have tended to be the fun ones - I am the only English speaker in the group, which forces me to do things like speak Spanish (always fun), play with kids to keep them occupied while Madame Evelyn does surveys (always fun too), and conduct qualitative interviews in Creole (always an adventure - basically I just ask the questions, understand part of what was said, and play the tape later to Sony so that we can transcribe and I can understand what was really going on).

On one of the Madame Evelyn days, we got stuck in a huge afternoon rainstorm.  After one of Madame Evelyn’s many friends invited us in for lunch, Madame Evelyn went off to find someone to interview.  In the mean time the driver waited with me while I played soccer with some boys in a little alley. 

Then it started pouring.  We didn’t know where to find Madame Evelyn, so we returned to the meeting place for the end of the day.  We were early, however, so only one of our interviewers was there. 

There was a big river between us and home.  The size and speed of the river grows by the minute in a rainstorm, which made the driver really concerned.  He decided we had to get the Land Cruiser on the other side of the river before we were forced to stay there for the night.

So I found myself with two Creole-speaking males separated by a big rushing river from the 3 females on our team for the day.  Apparently the driver’s plan was just to wait for things to clear up.  Pretty much everyone in our group had a cell phone, but somehow everyone only seemed to have the phone numbers of the people on the same side of the river as them.  Judging by the reactions of all the other Haitians, waiting it out appeared to be the only thing to do.  We watched the tap-taps (pickup trucks with Haitians in the back) accumulate on both sides of the river, and none of the drivers or people in the tap-taps seemed to think it was a good idea to try to cross.  After at least 45 minutes of waiting, things started to let up and a few brave guys got out and made it across the river. 

At this point our driver called one of the clinic directors to call another guy at the clinic to call Madame Evelyn to explain where we were.  After a bit without hearing anything back, I recommended that we send someone over to the other side to tell the ladies where we were.  The other two guys didn’t seem all that anxious to do anything.  It took me awhile to convince Bichener, the 18-year old interviewer to cross the river with me. 

So after a lot of convincing, I prepared for my second river crossing experience in Haiti.  This time there were no motos to get to the other side but a whole new set of challenges, not the least of which was the large crowd of Haitians that was standing at either side contemplating if and how to get across and laughing at the blan getting ready to go.  This time Bichener and I opted to leave all of our clothing, shoes, etc. in the car except for t-shirts and boxers.  We took lessons from those who had gone before about where to cross.  Just as we reached a dry spot halfway across, we saw the ladies being dropped off by the river.  Bichener seemed to think our job was over because apparently they had gotten the message about where we were.  I continued the rest of the way and met them at the river bank.  I helped two of them back across while Madame Evelyn opted to pay a guy a few cents to carry her on his shoulders to the other side.  This proved to be the biggest challenge of the day, although driving the rest of the way on rainy, muddy roads was no piece of cake.

Some times when things go wrong you just have to laugh.  Today (well, by the time you’re reading this, last Tuesday) it seemed like everything that could have gone wrong did, but by the end of it all I was kind of enjoying everything in some strange way.  So I thought I would recount some of today’s events.  Perhaps it will give you an appreciation for the things we take for granted in the states.  If nothing else, hopefully you’ll get some good laughs because that’s mostly what I was doing by the end of the day.

Monday night I had fallen asleep on the couch after a pretty frustrating day, and I barely made it up in time for our morning meeting.  All I wanted was for things to go smoothly today. 

I embarked with a team of four for Port-de-Paix, a city which is about a 1 hour drive.  Well, on our way there, the Haitian police stopped our car.  They were pulling over all of the cars that passed through.  No problem, because our driver reached over and got the registration papers from the glove compartment.

Well, apparently the papers had expired, and having a Kentucky license plate in the middle of Haiti didn’t help our case.  Sony claimed that if they didn’t resolve the issue they would arrest us and “put us all in jail.”  He likes to tell stories, so I’m not positive what really would have happened.  Nonetheless waiting to see if the Haitian police would let us pass was not the way we had planned to start the day.  No problem, because we paid the $15 to get the papers renewed and continued on our way.

To put the rest of the day’s challenges in context, we need to rewind a bit.  During the first week, we realized that we would need more surveys when we sorted the pages and found that we were missing at least 100 copies of one page.  No problem, because Daniele could send some more via DHL when she returned to Atlanta.

Well, we underestimated the number of copies that were missing, so we ran out of surveys much earlier than anticipated.  No problem, because Daniele was sending them right away and I could print out copies of the one missing page until then.

Well, eventually the printer got low on ink.  I knew that when we ran out of ink we would be sunk because the only hope to get the right kind of ink cartridge is to have someone bring it from the US.  There are no copy or printing places nearby, and by this point we’re going through almost 40 pages of the 13-page survey per day, so writing them out by hand wasn’t really an option either.  No problem, because I shifted to the draft setting so that we should be able to stretch out the ink, and because the surveys had arrived in Port-au-Prince so it shouldn’t be too difficult to get them here.

Well, there were some unforeseen difficulties with sending the package of surveys from Port-au-Prince to Port-de-Paix.  It is now Tuesday and the package that had arrived in Port-au-Prince in Friday had not made it again. I knew that the ink cartridge was getting a little tired of running on fumes for the past week.  No problem, because we could stop at a photocopy place while we were in Port-de-Paix to make copies of the missing page.

Well, I returned to find that we were nearly out of the other pages of the survey.  All of them.  In the blur of the morning, I wasn’t really thinking about tomorrow (and it was the second day I had been told that the surveys would be there for me to pick up).  So now I had to print a bunch more copies than the nightly average for the past week.  No problem, because I would just spend most of the nightly generator time printing and hope the ink holds up.

Well, there were actually some other important business items that needed my attention first.  The organization I’m involved with is trying to figure out our schedule for the second half of the summer and make some pretty important decisions that will affect our long-term direction.  No problem, because I could just use some of the limited number of phone minutes I had been saving to make an important call like this.

Well, the phone cut out due to a light drizzle outside.  No problem, because we could just shift to Skype since there still seemed to be a good internet connection.

Well, the drizzle turned to a downpour and the internet went down.  No problem, because we had already covered a lot of the key issues and I could use my CDC-sponsored emergency satellite phone to call back for a minute to end the conversation.  After donning my poncho and putting a plastic bag around the phone, I braved the storm to get a satellite connection.

Well, I think lightning struck somewhere on the hill we’re on.  I just know that I didn’t have time to think about counting the number of seconds between the lightning and thunder to figure out how far the storm was.  So the call was quick, but no problem, because now I could get printing. 

To diverge a bit, this blog and emails have been my major means of communication with family and friends, and to a certain extent, one of my major means of communication with people who speak English.  I was just starting to feel some of the effects of being alone for this long.  No problem, because some of you chose today to send emails and I was excited to read them all.

Well, when I sat back down at the computer, I realized I had opened my email but hadn’t downloaded any of them in my rush to make a call for which I was already late.  So now without the internet connection, I couldn’t read any of the emails that I was looking forward to.

To return to the survey saga, now I had to figure out how to get all of the necessary copies on extremely low ink.  And now we were also low on paper.  No problem, because I had already figured out that I only had to print about half of the pages.  I could salvage the rest by rooting through old surveys.  The surveys done with people not in the program only had writing on about half of the pages, so I could find some blank pages by finding the non-program surveys (which, of course, had to be found among the big pile in my room).

Well, the printer chose to act up during the middle of my master paper-and-ink-saving plan.  By this time, I was laughing out loud and some of the things it was doing.  No problem, I could just rearrange what it had spat out and print each individual page.

Well, I printed the necessary pages and salvaged the rest.  The task for the night was complete.  No problem, because it was time for an overdue shower and then bed.

Well, the water wasn’t working.  I could have just stood outside for a few minutes to get washed off, but I didn’t really have the energy to do that.  No problem, because I could probably fall asleep regardless of how much sweat had accumulated.

Well, by God’s grace, the internet came back for a few minutes before the generator went off, which was long enough to download emails.  So I ended the day laughing about it all and reading over emails. 

So, not exactly no problems.  Well, at least there are lots of laughs now.