Akeyi

I lied. I won’t be talking about classes this time around. I want to collect more photos first. Furthermore, I had a pretty wild experience this morning that I want to get down in words as soon as possible.

My friend Patrice is the pastor at one of the many local protestant churches. I asked him last night over a game of cazino, the most popular Haitian card game, if I could attend this morning’s service with him. He was delighted. The service required me to dress semi formally. This was the first time since arriving that I had put on a pair of pants, and it was just as miserably hot as I anticipated. When we arrived at the church, Patrice escorted me to a seat in the center of the crowd then left to sit by the front and perform his duties as pastor. Surrounded by about seventy Haitians wearing heavy garb in an enclosed space, the temperature in here was easily 10 degrees hotter than outside. I immediately started dripping sweat. Two men in baggy suits then began to prowl throughout the church, literally screaming and spitting in people’s faces. I assume they were reciting parts of the Bible, but this realization didn’t take place until later, and at the time I was thoroughly confused and frightened. When the men finally ended their rampage, the church quieted down a bit. One of them began speaking at a reasonable volume, leading a prayer. Just then a little boy, maybe four years old, walked up and sat down on the ground right in front of me. Starting at this moment and continuing for the rest of the service, he would gently stroke my knee at eight second intervals and say “Blan!” The churchgoers had all been staring at me from the moment I walked in, and many children had run up to touch my skin, but this tiny human was for some reason particularly transfixed by my odd coloring.

While everybody else chanted, I quietly observed the church. The poorest church in the community, it’s structure was basic but beautiful. The roof is made of two large metal sheets supported by a rickety wooden frame. Sheets hang from the metal roof to form the walls. Every surface is decorated with fake flowers and sunlight illuminates the walls, giving the church a very open feeling. We sat on plastic chairs.

Eventually, Patrice took the altar and rang a small bell prompting everyone to stand up in unison. He began singing with a powerful, moving tenor voice. The rest of the church fell in with him, singing slowly and swaying back and forth. Though I didn’t know the words, I hummed and swayed with the rest of them. Little by little, Patrice sped up the music and the people began to sing louder and louder. The boy sitting at my feet began spanking my knee rapidly in time. Before I knew it, drums were playing and everyone was clapping and dancing with joyous abandon. I found myself dancing and clapping along. It was like being on drugs. As the dancing quickened, the temperature of the room rose significantly. The singing continued to grow in volume and my head began ringing with sound of so many voices. The air seemed to shimmer around me. As we neared the peak of our sound and energy, the wind began to blow outside, causing the loosely hung sheets to flap restlessly. The walls were moving. People clutched at my arms and danced with me. The heat was unbearable and I was slick with sweat. More drums joined in the people sang as loud as they could. As volume and fervor reached their climax, I fainted into my chair.

My first thought was that I had kicked the little boy’s head off. Panicking, I frantically looked for him by my feet only to find him giggling away under my chair. Then the priest was standing in front of me offering me a thin book. I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the thing until he demonstrated fanning himself off with it. I thanked him and he took me by arm and stood me up, telling me to introduce myself to the church. I spoke to them in kreyol, thanking them for their hospitality and for welcoming me into their church. I told them I hoped to see them in violin class and thank you again for the beautiful beautiful service.

Akeyi. Welcome.