Goats

In just 25 days we will return home.

There will be some things I won't miss:  smells of bug spray, burning plastic garbage or rotting food; sounds of fans (constantly fans!) and car horns and young children saying "blan, give me dollar;"  and sights of excessive black exhaust from vehicles, glass and plastic and food waste all mixed in my garbage, children being swatted by their parents or keepers in broad daylight, women physically pushing off advances by sexual harassers, an incredible number of beautiful people with missing limbs, and sheer and abject chaos and poverty at every turn.

However, there are just as many things I will miss.  Maybe more.  Among them, I will miss the goats.

Yes, that's right:  I will miss the goats.

Allow me to explain.

As our family of seven rounds out our year of Haiti, of cross-cultural mission, we are taking stock of what we have seen, experienced, done, and how it has affected us.  Already three of us -- Meghan, Kristin, and Erin - are back to 'normal life' in Canada -- working, going to school, and reconnecting face to face with family and friends.  For them, their everyday is back to what was normal before they got here.  They are sharing bits and parts of their experience of what the experts call "re-entry" and Carol and I are getting a foretaste of what that will look and feel like for us post June 5th.

As I anticipate some of the same emotions and questions of that transition, I am taking stock of what is normal for me now.  Although adjusting to life in Haiti was a steep learning curve -- and we continue to learn everyday -- there are a number of things we have become accustomed to.  Some of them will be missed.  I will miss the goats.

Two stray goats just outside our office compound. 

One of my daily routines as I drive back and forth to the Sous Espwa office is taking regard for the goats.    They are ubiquitous -- everywhere!   The city of Port-au-Prince, though comparable in population numbers to Toronto, is a tightly packed city at the base of a mountain range bordering the sea.  Even though it is very much an urban place, it is packed to the rim with animals.  Mornings begin with the sounds of chickens clucking away; evenings end with the sounds of wild dogs, moving in packs throughout the city, barking at the moon or whatever dogs bark at at night.  We have seen rats as big as cats, regularly being taken in sport by our dogs -- one weekend they netted six!  We have seen horses and donkeys walking along the streets, sometimes with no owner in sight.  We have seen as many as 8 cattle at once.  I remember once when Clare Streutker was with us, him driving for one of the first times as I showed him a short-cut  between the CRC (Haiti) Ministry Centre and our home, and we rounded a corner and there coming right at our truck were 8 cattle, horns threatening but eventually avoiding our front grill.

And then there are goats.  Everywhere!  Goats will eat almost anything.  As scavengers, they are survivors.  We've seen -- and heard -- them countless times from our home.  In fact one game we can play here is "baby or goat" when we hear a cry, trying to determine which is which since their sounds are so eerily similar.  We have also seen them all over the city - in groups from one to a dozen usually though sometimes more - often making a meal out of the rotting piles of garbage left on sidewalks and gravel streets.  Often with ropes around their necks, long since chewed off from some past 'owner' who was living off their milk-producing labour and fattening them up for an eventual kill to supply a feast of 'Cabrit' (goat meat), they travel from meal to meal, from shade to shade, from water source to water source, eeking out an existence.

Again, just outside our office, it is not uncommon to see one dozen or more goats making their way between meals and shade spots. 

Goats using our vehicles for shade from the hot afternoon sun.

As I encounter these goats -- either seeing them, smelling them, hearing them, or needing to warn them before driving away when they are under my vehicle -- I cannot help but smirk inside.  My inner child plays with their names -- Nanny, Billy, Kid -- and I begin to see them as individuals with "goat-sonalities" (I'm guessing that's the goat version of a personality; feel free to correct me if I am wrong) and with a web of relationships with other goats, vying for that piece of garbage or that spot of shade or looking out for a younger one in a harsh place.

And this is when I realize it that for me at least these goats have come to represent Haiti:  her culture, her people, her land, even her animals.  In these goats as they scramble up impossible perches or scrape a living out of scrap, I see the indefatigable spirit which I have come to know and love and recognize as normal and a part of my everyday.  When I see one with the remains of a chewed off rope around its neck, yet walking in freedom, I am reminded of the famous statue in the centre of Port-au-Prince, opposite where the Presidential Palace stood prior to the January 12, 2010 earthquake, a statue of a former slave, sword in one hand, blowing the (freedom) conch in the other, and an ankle still adorned by a shackle, a shackle now uncoupled from its chain.

Le Negre Marron - The Black Maroon

This black goat under the abandoned maroon metal truck cap has a long-since-chewed-free rope around his neck. 

 I have this feeling, that from now on, when I see a goat, I will not be able to help thinking of all these things.  And I might just shed a tear of remembrance.