Our visit, continued

Thursday, November 24th Thanksgiving day:

There is much to be thankful for in this time and place.

The landscape is breathtaking, the Sisters are kind and the food is great (it's all relative.)

We look at photos of Grant and Addie on our phones and I miss them. 

After a very long ride, we arrive at the guest house in Port-au-Prince, Alby a passenger for the last 30 minutes. The novices all swoon over him, joking about how many of them are his wives.

He falls asleep during the trip.

We are left with Alby for several hours while Sister Carmelle escorts the novices to "camp." We practice our Creole, play with ma-cheenes (cars), watch video of Grant and Addison, and share English words over the game of Memory.

We are given his birth certificate as well. There is no relinquishment paperwork for either child, but Sister Carmelle tells us not to worry, she can contact Alby's mom and Dimitry's dad to sign without difficulty.

The original story from February changed ... or then it was not be remembered correctly. Alby's story is the same, but apparently Dimitry's parents are not deceased. Makes no difference; he is mine.

We are tired. Ready for a temperature controlled night's sleep on a decent mattress. I miss my blow dryer and Jose Peppers. In a few more days, I'd be past wanting those things, but not yet.


Friday:

At home, it is a shopper's frenzy. Here, it is another day of life and survival.

As in February, I am saddened by the differences between Fondwa and Port-au-Prince. The poverty remains and is immense, but without the beauty of the landscape.  Even at this early hour, the streets are crowded with vehicles and people. There is dust in the humid air and smoke from burning trash and cooking fires. The white of the school uniform shirts is outstanding - I wouldn't dare wear white in this country.
Our Alby came in wearing Grant's Lightning McQueen jacket and nothing else this morning. He is happy - singing, hopping and dancing.

He and Dimitry have known different lives. Dimitry is an institutionalized orphan. He knows only hunger, shared belongings, baths from a bucket and barracks living. Alby has electricity, individualized attention from the Sisters, even TV. Two different versions of being an orphan in Haiti.

I wish I could bring them both home in my pockets.