A Visit to the Waterfall

Oh, what a trip! In the late afternoon Tuesday we pile again into two cars and head into through the outskirts of Hinche about thirty minutes out of town to a glorious spot: a waterfall that sheets over sheer rock, cascading into an aqua pool.

We cruise through very scenic rural lanes, planted for miles with catus fences, the Haitian homes set behind the fenceline. Nonetheless, people are congregated on the friendly side of the fenceline to take part in the grand parade of Haitian life: greet neighbors, watch the passing people and animals and the occasional motorcyclist, bicyclist, or driver. People (especially children, whose job it is to carry water), gather at the community spigots set every mile or so down the road. The roads are gravel and dirt, packed down hard  in what I guess are centuries of travel.

Behind the homes are glorious vistas of Haitian mountains, which rise and fall forever, it seems.

As the road becomes rockier and we approach the waterfall, we see many Haitian children gathered who jump up and down when they see the SUV. "You'll see those children again shortly," Pere Walin says. "They know my car well."

Then our little country jaunt becomes a theme park ride, as the roads grow pitted and rocky. We drive and drive, bumping in our seats, until Pere Walin exclaims, "Oh, there you can see the falls!" He drives the car to the top of what seems to be a cliff and pauses--I assume, falsely--to stop.

Then he just keeps going. He inches the SUV over the rim of the downward path and down we go. Now, in my opinion, navigating Lombard Street in San Francisco was fraught with terror, but this path makes Lombard look like child's play. Down we go, gripping onto our seatbelts, rocking and pitching. As we reach the falls, we see a small stampede of children racing toward the car from the distant right. Finally we arrive at the falls. What a sight! And after the hot day, it's surprisingly breezy, cool, and shaded.

The children gather eagerly around us, hopping and waving.  Up close they look less healthy than the town children we saw this morning at St. Andres:  some ae skinny, some wear tattered and oversized clothes, or few clothes, and their faces streaked with dirt. Pere Walin tells our kids to climb the path to enter the caves; James accompanies them, as well as Jorge and Jim, and off they go, trailing Haitian children with them.

Johnnny, Yvonne, and I stay behind. Father Walin has a little sack of almonds that he hands out to children.

One little pistol of a girl--who looks to be maybe six but is probably older--takes a snack, tucks it into her shirt top,steps back, then steps forward to innocently reach for another one. Pere Walin stops her and says, "No, no," waggling his finger. Her name is Angelique, and we will get to know her well over the next hour or so. Yvonne met Angelique a few years ago when she was a malnourished small child with the reddish hair and distended belly of kwashiorkor, and in fact has a photo of her in her St. Stephen's office.  Angelique is not much taller now, three years later, but she looks, according to Yvonne, somewhat healthier. Her hair is darker. Nonetheless, the distinctive reddish tinge of malnutrition is there.

According to Pere Walin, she is one of the many homeless children in the rural countryside. "They know  me well," he says, and his car is a signal that some diversion is about to happen or that Pere Walin will have food. Angelique wears a yellow shirt and underpants, her face is streaked with dirt, and her feet are bare. But she is one scrappy little character. When I take out my camera, Angelique shouts "Mwen! Mwen! Mwen!" (me, me, me) and waggles her hand in front of the camera. In almost every picture, Angelique pokes in her head or part of her hand, until an older girl shoves her back. When I show her her photos in the camera window, she gleefully cackles and stamps her feet in a little dance. Then she resumes her cries of "Mwen! Mwen!" and points to herself, hopping from foot to foot. This is one little girl with attitude.

When all the children have had their photos taken again and again, Yvonne and I switch to blowing bubbles. Again Angelique goes into fits of delight, laughing and dancing and smacking bubbles with wild abandon.

Then we see the St. Stephen's students return. Julian leads the way down the rocky path, hand in hand with a young Haitian boy, flanked by other children all around.  The come the rest of our gang, pumped up from the hike, the sights, and the companionship with the Haitian children.

Adam launches his patented balloons that rocket into the sky, and again children race and chase them. Ursula and Kelly blow bubbles, and Adam, Lydia, Philip, and Julian hang out with the kids.

Then it's time to go because the light is fading, and these are not roads to travel in the dark. As we retrace our path, the sky is coral and cobalt and gray. As the sky fades to black behind us, I wonder, What will become of little Angelique? This world needs sassy girls.

Our kids ranks this excursion as "most fun" thus far--and eye-opening, as well.