Tuesday

We passed a funeral procession on the way to the hospital Tuesday morning. It was a be-flowered hearse followed by taptap and car after taptap and SUV, all full of people dressed in their best black and white attire. The whole procession seemed odd because it was so sunny and because all of the life around the procession continued unaffected. It was not the procession you see in films, with somber music and light drizzle. It was rather humbling, as reminders of mortality often are.

The day continued and I passed the morning sitting in on a presentation in the nursing school on communication and how to act during interviews. It was all in French and I had a rare feeling of linguistic competency. I even made a few jokes to the people around me and the class as a whole at one point. I returned to the hospital not long after being "hired" during an interview simulation and felt particularly joyful.

The hospital did not feel the same joy. I was still trying to track down a few nurses for my sole task of making new badges for the staff and every time I searched one out, I was given the same answer: "l'ap nan sal doperasyon" --she is in the operating room. I knew Dr. Morquette had left for the surgery early in the morning but I was nevertheless surprised at its duration.

I only found out later that the little boy who had the operation passed away on the table.

I did not know him, nor his story. But I saw it all on the faces of his family as they packed their suitcase after hours of waiting, talking, and crying and left the hospital.

The day continued, as days are wont to do, and everything felt odd. Too much "c'est la vie" not enough anger at the tragedy. I am tempted to rant at the injustices of the world and the likelihood that this boy would never have died so young had he not been born into a society with limited access to health care and basic nutrition. But this was just my impression based on stereotypical statistics and I was admittedly very removed. So I will spare you the tirade you've all likely heard me make before and tell you more of this unbelievably long day.

After an afternoon trip past the American embassy (next to the UN headquarters, next to the Philippine Armed Forces headquarters, next to the hospital St. Dominique - all large expansive properties with large fences) to search out some beautiful Haitian metalworks, that night there was a "guitar soiree" at the Morquettes. It was a BBQ/going-away party for Valerie and her beau, Laurent. There was music and laughter and dancing and amazing food and adorable children with whom I played. The most amazing part of it all was not the incredible banann frit or the acoustics of 4 guitarists playing in a concrete courtyard but the fact that Dr. Morquette was the one who did the BBQing, passed around the hors d'oeuvre, served everyone ice cream and cleared the bowls. After a day of surgery and consoling the bewildered and anguished family of a little boy who won't be going home with them.

To end it all, despite my feelings of linguistic competency (I even debated with Dr. Junie the detriments of drinking Coca-Cola in French) and my joy (i.e. pride) at socially surviving the fête, I fell asleep feeling very humbled, hoping to someday have the humility to serve others tirelessly, even at my own party.