THE ROOSTER CROWS
by George Pat McDonald DVM
12-Feb-2017. The following presentation is an edit from my Journal Entries, remembrances and bringing forward some past experiences and stories before taking my mission trip to Haiti with Christian Veterinary Missions. No names or facts have been changed, only slight rearrangements of other content.
CVM 2016 Logo (TM)
From webiste: http://cvmusa.org/
Saturday 9/19/1987
The morning trip from Castroville Texas to San Antonio International Airport was uneventful other than with some apprehension, at least on my part. I checked my personal bags to Miami, Florida. The supply bag was tagged all the way to Port Au Prince, Haiti. The camera and microscope were carried on. How these would be used in the field by Christian Veterinary Missions was yet to be seen. Barbara, my wife, and our children Shannon, Christi, Conor and Makenzie delivered me and were there to see me off. Ardra remained behind to board the team bus for a cross country meet in Seguin, Texas. I think we all secretly wondered if this was our last looks at each other.
The departure and flight to Miami was without a hitch, even the switch in Houston. Memories returned of my last flight from Houston to Lubbock in 1970, missing the flight and catching the next. Country boys can get confused in the big city. I was hoping to make uneventful connections in Miami. Our arrival was at 12:20 PM.
I was to meet Dr. Charles Payton from Oneonta, Alabama, at the Miami airport. I had no idea what he looked like but decided that since he was a large animal Veterinarian I would check for green stains on his fingernails. I had several conversations by phone with a general description so maybe we could connect without too much difficulty. He said he was six feet tall, lanky, dark haired and looked country, so look for that combination at the Eastern Departure gate. I had also visited with CVM officials and Gloria Loyer who was with her family on missionary furlough in the states while some civil unrest blew over in Haiti. They were helpful in formulating a list of personal and supply items for the trip, and said that Haitian unrest was aimed at and between locals and foreigners were usually safe.
Arrival in Miami was like entering a zoo compared to the quietness of Castroville. There was a blend and also pockets of cultures milling around as I approached the Eastern Air Lines check in point.
I was advised to check everything but the microscope and camera. I was more apprehensive about the possibility of losing my shave kit and underwear than the scope and camera. The young lady assured me that those treasures would arrive on the same plane as I. The microscope case zipped through the X-ray without even opening it. Shucks, I was sure they would think they had discovered a bomb.
At gate B6 I hoped to make an easy spotting of Dr. Payton. I had forgotten to remove the CVM cap from my bag but had assured him to look for someone confused and a bit shy. At the departure gate I was about the only white folk and so figured that should narrow the spotting of Dr. Payton. He never mentioned skin color so I just assumed we both would visibly stand out in the crowd. I started looking for a DVM type, if wearing glasses the bent frame or ear pieces might make them sit cock eyed, jeans or khakis, boots, plain shirt. I spotted a likely suspect so decided to prop my boot up on the microscope case to offer a different stance from those about me. Sure enough he saw my stance and my own bent glasses frame so got out of his seat and walked straight toward me. That was as easy as his smile was as he approached and introduced himself as Charlie, Dr. Charles Payton. He looked like a dark headed Dr. Greg Bogard, slightly freckled, squinting wide smile, and medium slim build. Rough hands and firm grips shook in the clasp of trust and camaraderie. The boarding announcement came so we had no time to visit.
The gate informed us that we could only have one carry on. Having only a camera and the hand carried case was not a problem. Charlie had one very small bag that was allowed. Some of the Haitians were not so lucky. They and the gate attendants were involved in a running battle of words that I could understand little to nothing of. Charlie looked at me and shrugged his shoulders as explanation of non-understanding the exchanges. Firmness from the attendants won out and there was a pile of bags at the entrance to the boarding ramp with what appeared to be assurances that all would be delivered and could be claimed at destination customs. Charlie and I were just a few seats apart in separate aisle rows.
I sat next to a man named Alfredo who worked for the U.N. (UNICRF); Reeked of gin and cigarettes; Camels. As he opened his briefcase I tried not to appear nosey.
He inquired as to the nature of my trip to which I replied veterinary mission work, which satisfied him. Nothing else was exchanged as he slipped into nap time. The flight was smooth as we flew east of the Cuban coast then sighted Haiti in 15-20 minutes.
Haiti is about the size of the Texas Hill Country and 1/5th the size of Alabama. (Google map is handy when reading the following account).
As we flew over the northwest Haitian peninsula I was shocked to see land surface that looked like dry southwest Utah. There were scattered patches of dense and sparse vegetation. The erosion was all too evident from the air and the Caribbean was discolored brown at the point where a river flowed into the muddied blue water. I could not help but wonder what it would have looked like from this height 300-400 years ago, and even in the 1400’s as Columbus first sighted it from his ship deck. My heart was saddened at the evidence of land mismanagement (if any), as the land and its use were foundational in our veterinary profession. I would ask Charlie what his initial reaction was when we got a first chance to visit.
Haiti Location in Western Hemisphere
(from Wikipedia)
Haiti is about the size of the Texas Hill Country and 1/5th the size of Alabama. (Google map is handy when reading the following account).
Google Map: Haiti and Dominican Republic
As we flew over the northwest Haitian peninsula I was shocked to see land surface that looked like dry southwest Utah. There were scattered patches of dense and sparse vegetation. The erosion was all too evident from the air and the Caribbean was discolored brown at the point where a river flowed into the muddied blue water. I could not help but wonder what it would have looked like from this height 300-400 years ago, and even in the 1400’s as Columbus first sighted it from his ship deck. My heart was saddened at the evidence of land mismanagement (if any), as the land and its use were foundational in our veterinary profession. I would ask Charlie what his initial reaction was when we got a first chance to visit.
Port Au Prince from the air looked much like some of the Mexican border towns I have been in while traveling with my Father. I had made only 3 trips to the interior; Chihuahua City, Monterey and Mexico City. Haiti looked even worse from our plane’s altitude than Mexico’s dry country. There was also the brown colored water flowing from a nearby river, fanning out and smudging into the beautifully blue Caribbean.
It brought to mind what taxes do in our country and states for provisions of roads, utilities, sewage systems and the like. There were many unfinished buildings spotted with bleached appearing green crops and people, people, people. I imagined the valley as beautiful if the city were to disappear. I had traveled to Europe on a skin flint budget with a college teammate and friend in 1961 and we never saw anything like this. What was amazing, one could see the border with the Dominican Republic which did not have the evident stripped landscape.
Haiti's border with the Dominican Republic in 2002 (right)
shows the amount of deforestation on the Haitian side.
(from wikipedia)
It brought to mind what taxes do in our country and states for provisions of roads, utilities, sewage systems and the like. There were many unfinished buildings spotted with bleached appearing green crops and people, people, people. I imagined the valley as beautiful if the city were to disappear. I had traveled to Europe on a skin flint budget with a college teammate and friend in 1961 and we never saw anything like this. What was amazing, one could see the border with the Dominican Republic which did not have the evident stripped landscape.
We finally landed, deplaned and walked into a mass of people waiting to be processed through customs. There was a different kind of black people than those I had grown up and played with in west Texas. I could not put my finger on the difference but could sense it nonetheless.
There was one woman in front of us with a most beautiful nose, was fairly tall, stately, with a calm air about her. She was very black (bright as Eula Mae Pratt used to say; so and so is light or bright). I had never seen a lady as black, yet beautiful. I think it was her poise and grace of movement and speaking that accentuated her appearance. I had met Lena Horn as a teenager, introduced by her son, and she was also very beautiful but was light.
Skin color vs map latitude
There was one woman in front of us with a most beautiful nose, was fairly tall, stately, with a calm air about her. She was very black (bright as Eula Mae Pratt used to say; so and so is light or bright). I had never seen a lady as black, yet beautiful. I think it was her poise and grace of movement and speaking that accentuated her appearance. I had met Lena Horn as a teenager, introduced by her son, and she was also very beautiful but was light.
Finally we cleared customs as fast as two greased pigs. I think they passed Chuck and me through because they had as much trouble understanding both Alabama and west Texas drawls. Most of the Haitians slipped the officials a tip but they must have thought we were either poor or stingy because they sped us through and none even hinted at tipping them or looking into anything we carried. My first Haitian words understood were bonsoir (bone-swah) good morning, and bonjour (bone-zure) good evening. Sil vous plait (see-voo-play)please; Jevous remercie (zhay-voo-re=mirsee); phonetics for west Texans.
We both retrieved our CVM caps and exited the terminal to see a waving, husky, stubble faced man awaiting us.
The waving man was Ben Loyer and seemed to be a serious purposeful, direct fellow. Ben had wavy, sandy hair, sturdy build, hazel eyes and a set dimpled chin.
After brief introductions and surface questions we were whisked off to a blue Toyota Land Cruiser. My boots must have looked pretty dull because a “shine” hit me up during the fast pace toward the vehicle, bringing back memories of Dad taking me across the Mexican border as a kid. He might get his shoes shined several times in one day as well as having mine and my brother Mike’s shined. Dad loved those kids and would remark many times “that is free enterprise in a poor country boy! These kids are hustlers and will one day be great business men or land owners.” I know he wanted us to be thankful for our blessings as well as to share his pride in these little hustlers.
Ben took us on what I learned was a typical wild ride to the UFM (Unevangelized Fields Missions) compound on the side of a mountain, a little above the more densely populated city. The ride was an eye opener as we passed scads of people walking, pushing huge wheelbarrows, riding in multicolored pickups converted into buses with a rear entrance and semi opened sides and a sort of surrey top. All vehicles were packed with people plus those hanging onto the sides and on top of the frame attached to the sides and cab. There were also large trucks converted in the same way and a few actual buses, but nothing like the enclosed luxury U. S. buses with padded seats, lights and air conditioning. All of the Haitian transport vehicles were loaded to the hilt and overflowing.
Next we saw the rank poverty and filth of Cite Soleil (city of cartons). Off to our left as we rode the boulevard of potholes and people, we were narrowly missing the ones sitting on or in the streets or pushing carts in a street crowded with people and vehicles. We saw children and adults bathing in gutter water, actually their sewer system. The water had to be teeming with every bacterium, amoeba, parasite virus and every other organism known to medical science as well as those yet to be discovered. The smell was horrific.
I saw no sad faces; just folks and children busy living life by doing what they must to survive. Nearly every transport vehicle had “Jesus” or some reference to Him painted all over them. Ben said the Haitians were very showy with their religion, especially the Catholics and voodoo-an.
We turned off of the boulevard onto what first seemed to be an alley filled with people. Horns were a necessity and constantly tooting. The horns are used to warn the people that a maniac in a vehicle is fast approaching, pressing on the accelerator and horn at the same time----Not the brake! We approached a corner with horn beeping only to be drowned out by the horn blast from a dump truck coming downhill. There was much more respect for the roaring truck than dodging bodies. We came to an abrupt halt and into reverse gear so as to back into a place wide enough for the truck to bypass the “Blue Goose,” as was our vehicle’s moniker.
We finally entered the attended gate entrance to the missionary compound and were immediately absent the outer turmoil. The road past the gate was 1 vehicle narrow, concrete and steep. Past the sign “Maranatha College” the road turned left. Farther upward took us to a quad-plex affair and to a stop. WHEW! The rooms had names; ours was Gardenia. We were greeted by Gloria (Mrs. Loyer), daughters Hannah, Carmen and Lisa and son Timmy. Gloria appeared to be a very pleasant, fair complexioned, blond with bright blue eyes and a worker one could tell. She had the look of a pioneer woman, strong of body and character. The children were all fair, very pleasant and outgoing. Charlie and I were given the room with twin beds and a bath. I could not help but wonder about the water.
Supper would be served promptly by a resident missionary couple, so Charlie and I washed up and went to Dan and Donna Saliday’s to eat. Ben led the way and then left as he and his family was to go to another bungalow for their supper. Dan was from Pennsylvania and Donna from Indiana. They were running the bookstore and print shop for the mission. It served all denominations active in Haiti. The excellent meal was prepared by a Haitian woman. Haitian Pizza is very tasty with a dough top and bottom and plenty of filling between. Applesauce, salad, cheese and a mixed fruit drink were the complement. Dan added that the water used was filtered and safe to mix or to drink alone. All was topped off with chocolate chip cake and a frozen fruit mix. As usual I was willingly stuffed and sure to be polite as we finished.
There was a short visit with our hosts and as suggested we took a short tour of the grounds before the fast approaching dark fell upon us. Being here is not suffering yet. The grounds were at different levels, with steep connecting walks and driveways. The mission was started in 1943 outside of town, yet poverty had grown up around them by 1987. The seminary program is 5 years and said to be of excellent quality. Most of the instructors and administrators are from Canada and northeastern American states. The view was beautiful even with the inclusion of the dirty bay and the continuous turmoil outside the gates above and below.
I was beginning to sense Gardenia as we headed for our quarters. It was a welcome sight with the anticipated usual after meal sinking spell coming on with a rush. The conveniences were modern; a ceiling fan, electricity, hot running water, flushing toilet and twin beds, all of which Charlie and I were thankful. The surrounding turmoil and poverty crept into my mind. Twin beds were the ticket. I had not seen Charlie’s legs yet but I suspected to ole Rebel vet is bound to have hairy ones and I was not hankering to rub with them during the night. I will dream of Barbara in my bunk.
Of all places to have my glasses frame break was thousands of miles from home. That axed my bedtime reading. Ben and another feller (Jim) got right to it and did a fair job of soldering them sound, at least for the time being. Hindsight is 20/20 but mine is 20/200 and growing with age. Just as we were ready to spool up Ben informed us that we would leave for Passe Catabois at 9:00 A. M. sharp. He said it was about 120 to 150 miles depending on if we met detours or not. They were expecting student demonstrations and maybe some trouble here in Prince. I had a feeling we were seeing a hiatus in modern conveniences for 2 weeks to come. I slept like there was no tomorrow.
