Darrel L. Hammon
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| Haitian missionaries read to leave MTC with President and Sister Glazier |
Every
senior missionary should have a day like I did this week. I had the privilege
along with Elder and Sister Button, Elder and Sister Ferguson, and
Hermano Cuevas of the MTC (CCM) to take the Haitian missionaries to the Haitian and
DR border where their mission president and his wife, President Hubermann
Bien-Aimé and Sister Maggy Léger Bien-Aimé from the Haiti Port-au-Prince
Mission, met us on the DR border at Jimani, fondly known as La Fontera. What a drive and what a place, La Frontera.
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| On the way to La Frontera. This is a real road |
The
drive is a long one, through Santo Domingo, San Cristóbal, Bani, Azua, and a
host of little cities along the way.
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| Lake Enriquillo |
We drove on the north side of Lake
Enriquillo, a large salt water lake that, at its lowest point, is 145 feet
below sea level. This side of the island is so different than the other side.
It has, according to Wikipedia, “…a hot, semiarid climate with an average
annual rainfall of about 24 inches” (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lake_Enriquillo).
One sees a lot of cacti growing in this area. To me, it reminds me a bit of
Arizona. It has its beauty, though.
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| Crossing #1 |
Once
we arrived at the border, Hermano Cuevas took the passports and went to complete
the proper border crossing paperwork. The rest of us hung around outside,
visiting, shooing away the hoards of beggars, and loading the luggage in the
mission vehicles. We did give cookies to a few of the young boys who were
there. One of the young men who approached us was dressed well and had some
cool shades (sunglasses). With a cocky walk and demeanor, he sauntered up to us
and stated, rather bluntly in English, “Give me some money.” No please, no
nothing. Just “give me some money.” I chatted with him about the virtues of
work. He didn’t say a word. For the rest of the time we were there, he just
stood around with “that look” and watched us, never cracking a smile or
changing his demeanor.
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| Unloading and loading at the La Frontera |
La Frontera is like the wild, wild west.
Lots of trucks came into the narrow strip of ground, surrounded by the
ever-rising Lake Enriquillo, horns blaring to warn everyone to get out of the way.
Other trucks were parked in cramped quarters just across from where we parked our
vehicles on top of a pile of dirt that will hold the lake back for a bit more.
Dust swirled here and there. Men pushed wheel barrows loaded with flour and
other odds and ends toward the border. People loitered around the trucks and
cars, some waiting to go across the border; others, just hanging around waiting
for something to happen. Little boys, one naked, were swimming in the lake.
They had caught some fish and had strung them on a leader line. Periodically,
they lifted the fish out of the water, checking to see if they were still
there. The young naked boy climbed out of the water, stood on the cement bank,
bare for all to see, dried off and began putting back on his meager clothes.
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| Young man waiting at the border |
There
is something mystical, chaotic, and sad at the border town. While it seemed
chaotic, I’m sure the people would describe it “as another typical day” on La Frontera. Business continued as
usual, both on this side and the Haitian side.
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| President Hubermann Bien-Aimé and Sister Maggy Léger Bien-Aimé, the Haiti Port-au-Prince Mission |
Once
the passports had been checked and reviewed, the missionaries were ready to pass from the DR side to the Haitian side. We said teary goodbye to the missionaries, and the
young elders and two sisters climbed inside the mission vehicles and off they
went. We climbed back into ours and trundled back the way we came, through the
little stream, connecting each side of the lake once again.
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| Crossing #2 |
The road is just a
raised bed of dirt through the lake to the other side. It won’t be long until
it is covered, and the La Frontera
will be gone—all the chaos, the trucks, the shacks, the little beggars, all of
it, submerged. Or transferred to some other point, perhaps much higher--but still the business of a border town.
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