Grandpa Cook

I don't know that I've ever written this story down. I've told relatively few people. When I was in Haiti recently, I told the story in the back of an army truck on our second Sunday there because we had just blessed and passed the Sacrament, it seemed like a spiritual thought was in order and the actual event had occurred no more than 20 miles away; although in October or November of 1986.

It was a mission transfer day. In the Haiti Port-au-Prince Mission, that meant that the North Zone Leaders in Gonaives (pronounced go-nah-eve) would bring the missionaries being transferred out of the north and the South Zone Leaders would bring the missionaries being transferred out of the south in to Port-au-Prince. A meeting would be held at the mission home to bid farewell to the departing missionaries and to welcome the new arrivals. The process would then be reversed with the zone leaders taking the missionaries to the north and south respectively to the places they were being transferred to.

This day turned out to be quite different. There had been a shooting in the town of Pont L'Estere which had caused quite an uproar. The shooter, a policeman, had been led to St. Marc, I believe for his own safety. There were massive demonstrations in Pont L'Estere, St. Marc and other parts of the north to protest the situation. As a result, the North Zone Leaders had a difficult time making their way down to Port-au-Prince. All traffic was being stopped in St. Marc and if it wasn't for Elder Armand knowing the right people, the North Zone Leaders probably would not have made it down, at least until late at night when the demonstrators went to bed.

The zone leaders did make it. However, they brought with them an Elder G. from Gonaives who was NOT being transferred. He asked to speak with President King, who then asked my companion, Elder Zoolakis, and myself, to rearrange transfers to allow this elder to be transferred out of Gonaives and another sent in his place.

After presenting President King with some options, he decided on the transfer changes. This meant the elder in Gonaives would be transferred into the Port-au-Prince area. However, all of his belongings were in Gonaives still and so plans were made to take him back to Gonaives so that he could pack up and we could bring him back to Port-au-Prince.

Because of the demonstrations in the north that day, plans were made to leave P-au-P at about 11:00 p.m. This was because the later we left, the more likely it was that the demonstrators would have gone to bed, making it easier to get through the several road blocks that typically occurred on days like this.

After about a half hour of sleep we left. We were stopped at road blocks just south of St. Marc and in Pont L'Estere. In St. Marc alone we drove around 13 abandoned road blocks. The road blocks were made of trees, branches, tires, rocks and in the first instance this night, a car chassis. When stopped at a road block, the demonstrators would typically come up to the car to see who we were and complain about the situation. We would typically listen sympathetically and then explain that we were missionaries doing the Lord's work and then be allowed to pass.

We made it to Gonaives at about 2:00 in the morning. It took about a half hour longer than usual. The elder packed up in about a half hour and at 2:30 or so we were back on the road south, the elder, Elder Zoolakis and myself. Because I usually did a better job of staying awake, Elder Zoolakis handled the drive up to Gonaives and I was driving on the return trip south.

At about 5:15 a.m., we were about 15 miles north of Port-au-Prince. We were coming around a long, gradual turn to the right (south) on the two lane National Highway No. 1. Trees lined both sides of the narrow road. I fell asleep at the wheel. The next thing I remember was my eyes popping open and looking at the speedometer which read 65 miles per hour. They popped open because while they were shut, I saw, out of the corner of my right eye, a hand reaching forward to touch me on the arm. The peculiar thing about this arm is that it had a long, white sleeve on it. We missionaries in Haiti never wore long-sleeved shirts because of the heat and humidity. I looked over to Elder Zoolakis in the passenger seat and back to the elder in the middle of the backseat. Both were asleep.

I instantly felt the presence of my Grandpa Cook who had died when I was just under seven years old. The feeling was literally as real as if he were in the car with me.

Grandpa Cook was a convert to the church, thanks in large part to my grandmother. He was born on the 1st of April, 1913 the son of (as I would later learn) an Irish bartender named Tom Fallon and a divorced or separated Swedish girl named Hilda Sjoden. I remember calling him as a boy to wish him Happy Birthday! and he would reply with something like "Oh, I get it, April Fools joke, right Danny?" and I would insist with all the seriousness of birthdays to a six year old that it really was his birthday. He died of a heart attack at the age of 59 on August 13, 1972, my older sister's 12th birthday. I remember giving him a final kiss on the cheek as he lay in his casket, just prior to his funeral.

I had no trouble staying awake for the remainder of the trip. I know Grandpa saved my life and those of Elder Zoolakis and Elder G. that day in 1986 on a two-lane highway north of Port-au-Prince.

Avenue Jean-Jacques Dessalines

To use a Salt Lake City comparison, Avenue Jean-Jacques Dessalines is the State Street of Port-au-Prince. It is the main drag if you will. While on my mission, you didn't go to P-au-P without going down this Avenue. It considered part of the National Highway.

We had an opportunity to travel down Avenue Jean-Jacques Dessalines and the destruction was almost beyond comprehension. You saw it but couldn't quite wrap your head around it. It reminded you of the destruction in old black and white film clips of post-war Europe.

It was dusty and relatively uncrowded for a typical Port-au-Prince street. Many of the buildings still standing were unsafe because of damage. The street was dirty partly because no one was occupying the buildings, afraid that an aftershock would cause the remaining standing buildings to fall and crush them; just as others already had to their family and friends.

Fear of being in or next to buildings and walls that could fall was pervasive. Several times I was warned by a Haitian not to stand or walk next ones that were damaged. Many still slept outside, afraid to sleep in their homes.

The video only gives you a sense of the additional destruction in the middle of blocks and on cross streets.

The Girls in "The Forest"

One thing I had always regretted when I finished my mission in Haiti was the fact that I hadn't learned any of the children's songs. I became friends with several people in "The Forest" at HUEH (State University Hospital). This included the girls Whitline (pronounced wheat-leen) and Lamartina. I got them to sing three children's songs for me as shown on this video.

The first song tells you when and how to wash your hands. The second is a song of hope called "Woule woch la" or "Roll the rock" about trusting in God when times are tough because he doesn't start anything without finishing it. The third is song called "Ti Zwazo" about a little bird and is often sung by mothers to their children.

The Children

I think one of the best things about Haiti are the children. They are so quick to smile, love and trust you. They aren't used to seeing caucasians and the curious children will stoke the skin and hair on your arm and run their fingers through your hair. I miss it already. The boys look proud and the girls look beautiful with their hair all done up, often with barrettes. Their smiles are unforgettable. Here are a few of my favorite pictures of the children.

The National Palace

The devastation the earthquake had caused really hit home when I saw a picture of the National Palace on the news. I think it was the most beautiful building in Port-au-Prince; two stories, a bright white, manicured grounds with palm trees.
The National Palace had been in my area of responsibility as a missionary for four months. I walked by it nearly every day. I was in the area in February, 1986 when the revolution ousted the dictator "Baby Doc" Jean-Claude Duvalier.

The palace now lay in ruins. The second floor completely crushed along with much of the first floor. To see it was an emotional blow. As Haitians say "Dlo tap koule nan je'm" or "water was leaking from my eyes".

Another example of Haitian Generosity

While visiting a group of people living about 50 kilometers northwest of Port-au-Prince, I received another reminder of the kindness and generosity of the Haitian people.

Our group had set up a clinic to give medical assistance to a group of about 250 people displaced when their homes were destroyed in the Lower Delmas neighborhood of Port-au-Prince.

I noticed two lines of at least 50 people each had formed on the north side of a building so I asked a few of them what they were standing in line for. They said they were waiting for prepared food to be brought out of the building. I then started talking about how wonderful Haitian food is. I love the rice and beans, fried plantains and fritters, chicken, pork and vegetables in sauce, and the fruit.

They insisted that I stay and eat. I said I didn't want to eat until everyone there had eaten first. They said there would be plenty for everyone. I said I really wanted everyone there to get what the needed first. I even pointed out how fat I was. I got a good laugh out of this but further insistence that I stay and eat. They then decided "So you want to eat WITH us". A few minutes later, large laundry type tubs of rice, bean sauce and vegetables with pork in a sauce were brought out. I ended up with one of the first plates and a chair. They loved the fact that I liked their food.


A few of the doctors and nurses couldn't believe I would take a chance on eating the local food. I couldn't have turned them down without offending them. Because I had had no trouble with Haitian food I had eaten earlier in our trip, I one in our group compliment me by saying I had "lestomak cabrit" or "the stomach of a goat". I think its one of the best compliments I've ever received.

Deforestation

It is estimated that 98% of Haiti has been deforested. Almost everyone uses charcoal to cook their food. I'm not talking about Kingsford Barbecue briquettes. Haitians burn trees and bushes to create burnt pieces of wood used as charcoal. A satellite picture of the Haitian/Dominican Republic border shows the desertification of the Haitian side.
I couldn't believe how much worse the problem had become in 23 years. The beautiful green mountains had become mostly brown. Haiti, or Ayiti in Creole (pronounced aye-ee-tee) is a Taino (native) word meaning "land of high places". In a land of mountains, the deforestation is particularly devastating. The rain has washed away much of the top soil, making the ground poor for farming and adding to the food shortages. It is over simplifying the problem to say that they just plant trees and shrubs to replace the ones burnt down. Once again, most are poor and fighting to survive day to day. The 1% richest people in Haiti control almost half of the wealth and they're not interested in planting trees. The government is so inefficient, it makes only token efforts to work on the problem.