La Gonave

Several weeks ago, Katharine and I traveled along with friends Sarah and Gina to La Gonave, an emerald island just off the coast of mainland Haiti. We went to participate in a youth conference put on by the Nazarene Church, the hosts for Katharine and her classmates' internships. This particular conference is a local tradition, where for the last 66 years youth have come from all over the island to the same remote village for a week of programming. It's grown steadily to the point that 300 participants turn out each year.

Something exciting: I had been asked to give a presentation on "children's rights" to the youth. I was excited for the opportunity, but found myself relying on my legal background less than expected. How to explain that kids are promised constitutional rights by their government when the audience already knows the same government has done little to protect them? Instead of fighting the uphill battle of getting chatty twelve-year old girls to care about the law, I tried to inspire the kids to grow into children's advocates; that they should prepare themselves for lives where they will step into the gap to protect the rights of vulnerable youth even when their governments may not. I've no clue whether this message was translated clearly, but several questions and statements from the youth in response to the lecture were heartening. It was a real privilege to be given the chance to share.

Something bizarre: The youth conference culminates each year with a highly anticipated event, the "Miss" competition. You may have guessed based on the name, but it's basically a beauty pageant. In a church. It was a . . . new . . . experience seeing three teenage girls awkwardly strut down the center aisle of a church sanctuary like it was a model's catwalk, while all the while several hundred people cheered them on. Slightly unsettling? Yes. But also priceless.

Something uniquely Haitian: To reach our return ferry that departed at 6am, we awoke at 2am to catch an old 4x4 pickup that would take us down the mountain. We started off with six people including the driver. By the time we reached the pier we had accumulated 16 passengers plus luggage in the truck bed, three people in the cab, and one person on top of the cab. There was something pretty wonderful in all this.
The only things piercing the thick darkness on our descent were our headlights and the beautiful sound of Kreyol hymns rising up from my fellow passengers. All at 2am.