The Magic School Bus

On Wednesday morning, I gratefully accepted Actionnel's invitation to accompany the Florence delegation to Port Au Prince to bid them farewell at the airport. Although the flight was not until Thursday morning, we left a day in advance just in case of any unforeseen obstacles. The guesthouse where we stayed on Wednesday night was symbolic for two reasons: one, it had been run by Chris's (the pastor's) mother many years ago; and two, I had stayed there on my first trip to Haiti nearly eight years ago. Around 8:30am the next morning, we dropped the seven passengers off next to a heavily armed UN tank (we were not allowed to enter the airport in the school bus) to give hugs and say goodbyes. I did not realize how much I had enjoyed their company until returning to the compound this weekend sans Anglos.


The ride home was anything but direct! After what seemed like forty years of driving around a deserted part of Port Au Prince, our driver, Moses, finally led us towards the promised land. I was left alone aboard the old Charlotte-Mecklenburg school bus for what seemed like hours at a time, contemplating which would be a worse fate, heat exhaustion or kidnapping. In the end, I suffered no injuries (except for a minor case of whiplash) and we got on the road around 1:30pm. The return voyage saw us stop multiple times to check the internal pressure (to urinate) and to pick up some necessary provisions at the one supermarket. I spent Thursday night at Actionnel's house (spaghetti for dinner again) and rode to Bayonnais with the teachers on Friday. After 36 hours of travel I was glad to be home! There are no broken springs like the broken springs of your own bed!