Haiti Trip, Part 8

Wednesday

We got up early, to see off some of our new friends who had a late morning flight out of PAP. They left at 7:00 to take their children back to the orphanage and then went straight to the airport. We then went up and had a quick breakfast before making it back to our room to finish packing up our things. We were told our van was going to leave for the orphanage at 10am. We were nearly packed, and Jock went up to take care of our hotel bill around 9:15. He returned as soon as he was done, saying they were leaving for the orphanage at 9:30! We had to really rush to get our bags out front to have them loaded. Not everyone went to the orphanage, as we didn’t all fit in the van, so some stayed back to watch the bags at the hotel entrance.

At the orphanage, it was a bittersweet morning. We were all trying to be strong, and enjoy those last moments with our babies, not knowing when we’d be back to see them again, or how long until we can bring them home. I had a little cry and hug-session with Elijah and Josephine that morning when Jock was checking out at the hotel, but it started all again, when we got to the orphanage. We tried to get a couple last-minute pictures of our two together on one of the porch chairs. Josephine was happy, but I’m sure Elijah sensed by our emotions that something was going on – we couldn’t get a smile out of him. I just sat on the front porch, attempting to prolong the inevitable before having to take them back to their rooms.

Finally Jock took Josephine from me, and I carried Elijah back to the back of the main building. Jock handed Josephine to one the nannies in Baby Room 1, and we both told all the nannies, “Mesi anpil”, and gave her our final kisses before tearing ourselves away. I handed Elijah to Jock in the hallway before going into Baby Room 2. I knew I wouldn’t be able to give him back either. When we went in the room, the nanny motioned towards his crib, so instead of handing him back into her care, we put him back into his crib. She started to close it, and I made her wait until I could give him my last tearful kisses.

Once we were out of the room, Jock and I basically melted down into each other, and had a good cry. It was unimaginable how difficult that was leaving our babies! I sort of felt like a zombie on the way back out to the van, on the van ride back to the hotel, waiting to get back in the vans, and then heading to the airport.

Once at the airport, it was back into cattle-herding mode, like I talked about when we arrived in PAP the previous Wednesday. We stood in line for them to check our IDs and go through the first level of security. Then we stood in line at the American counter to get our luggage checked and boarding passes. Then through another security level and into a small room with a gift shop, where someone in our group tried to purchase a small book of word-find puzzles that said 150 on it. To us, it seemed it should be US$1.50, but the cashier said it was US$5.00. Then when he knew we were confused, he showed us on his calculator – he told us it was 15% tax, but he added $15 instead and somehow came up with $35. There was just no way. Well, Jock went in and tried to figure it out again for her, because she really wanted this little booklet. He finally got him back down to $5.00. Apparently the 150 was Haitian currency, so he didn’t do the conversion correctly at first. It seemed really funny that someone would have that job but not know how to do the conversions properly. Most places in Haiti accept, and even appreciate if you pay in US$, but obviously not this guy!

Then we went through the passport line – I think where they stamped the exit spot. I think they were irritated at us, because we didn’t understand when they told us which line to go in, and then to stay behind the yellow line until it was our turn. You’d think when they told us which line to go in, and if nobody was ahead of us, we could just step up – not so – they tell you which line, and then you stand there and wait for that line’s attendant to motion you to come in. Then they look at you funny to see if they can ascertain whether the picture in your passport is really you.

Then when we’d gone through the passport control, we went through another line, where they scanned (again) our carry-on luggage. They had to look in Jock’s because of his metal shaving crème can. After this checkpoint, we had a couple hours, so we went upstairs, where they had a couple food bars, and several gift shops in this area. It was nice for a while – air conditioned and not as hot and crowded as we’d heard the waiting area was to board the plane, and we had about an hour. We looked around at a few things, but as in many airports, things seemed overpriced, so we didn’t get anything other than some juice to drink.

Later, as we were about to head back downstairs, we found out that our flight was going to be about 2 hours delayed. We went down to double-check, and then came back upstairs, and visited with a missionary couple that runs an orphanage near the Lifeline facilities that Jock had toured on Monday. This couple and their teen daughter apparently live in Haiti about half of the year, and in their home base of Jacksonville Florida the other half of the year. They asked us a bit about why we were there, and then asked us a bit about our adoptions. Their orphanage is not strictly for adoptions, but they do have a couple families that are adopting children from their orphanage, independently, with a Haitian lawyer facilitating. It was very interesting talking to them, and helped pass the time while waiting for our delayed flight.

Later I had Jock get me some French fries to eat that I started craving when I saw someone else with them. After all, it was around 2:00 in the afternoon, and all we’d had to eat for lunch was a few granola-nut bars that I’d packed in my carry-on. By the time we’d finished them, there were a few people up there in the lounge smoking that was starting to get to me. So, we went back downstairs, and through one final checkpoint, into the final boarding area’s waiting room. This was like the security area we have at US airports, where you have to remove your shoes, and remove the liquids Ziploc from your carryon before going through. Then we waited with our group until it was time to board our flight.

When it was time to board, we were cattle-herded through the gate, outside, to walk across the concrete we’d walked across the previous week. What’s funny was that the passengers traveling to New York were also lining up to board their flight – the lines were kind of inter-mixed and then we split. Once outside I didn’t really see two lines, so as we went towards our plane, I was a little nervous that we were going to end up at JFK. But, when we handed our boarding pass stub to the attendant at the bottom of the stairs on the truck, he didn’t throw a fit and direct us to the other airplane clear on the other side of the airport – only to the other set of stairs leading to the back of the plane. We made it on our flight and to our seats. It’s hard to describe the feelings of this. It seemed a relief to be heading back home, but so sad – like I was missing something or had forgotten something. I hadn’t really forgotten anything, but I was missing a huge piece of my heart that I left on this tiny island country.

The mood on the flight was fairly somber – or at least it seemed that way to me. There was a cute little boy and his mom sitting behind us, and I figured he was maybe a little bit older than Elijah. Otherwise, people were tired and weary from their travels and/or from their waiting in the airport much of the morning and afternoon. The flight was packed because there had been a noon flight to Miami that was cancelled. Jock and I just tried to bury ourselves into the sudoku puzzles in the back of the airline’s magazine.

When the flight attendant came around with the customs forms, she took one look at us, paused briefly, and then asked us how good our French was. I just nodded my head and she directed us to a different page in the back of the same airline magazine for the English translation. We tried to remember the values of the souvenirs we’d purchased to fill the form out as accurately as possible. Funny thing was, right above where we were to sign, there were no translations, so for all we knew, we were signing our lives away.

Back in Miami, safely back on American soil, we again were cattle-herded through long winding hallways to the customs area. We stopped at the restroom for a much-needed break, only to find that there was only one stall, so I waited forever! When finally finished, I met up with Jock again, and it seemed like we’d been left out in the middle of nowhere, but there was only one way to keep going – down the winding hallway. Once we got to the customs lines, though, it didn’t make much difference. There were still long waits in line, and we met back up with many of our traveling group. We again forgot to wait behind the yellow line (come on – we were reading all the signs not looking at our feet – and none of those signs told us to wait behind the yellow line!) and were told to step back – although fairly politely this time. We got through in a breeze – the man that took our white customs form barely even looked at it! (I was told that they’re more strict with non-US citizens than they are with US citizens at customs, but who knows.)

When we were all through customs, we retrieved our baggage and then waited a bit while several people we’d traveled with were waiting to see if they could re-book flights after missing their connections. Those traveling to Chicago were able to get on a later flight, but one traveling to Colorado couldn’t, so she also stayed with the Gibson’s (as were we) in Miami for the night. We grabbed the hotel shuttle to the Embassy suites, got checked in, dropped our bags in our room, and then headed back downstairs to find somewhere to go to eat supper.

The man at the door suggested a couple restaurants, we picked one, and he drove us right to it. He even went in and talked to the staff, and said they’d call him to come pick us up when we were finished. It was a small Cuban restaurant called La Rosa, where the service was great, and the food was delicious. We were seated right next to the piano, so it was a bit noisy – especially for one of us who had an earache, and made it a little hard for us to hold a conversation, but otherwise, it was very nice. We had barely stepped outside to relax and enjoy the fresh air for a minute while waiting for our driver, when he pulled up. We praised him and tipped him for his assistance and service to us, and told him about our awful experience at their hotel restaurant the week before. He thanked us for letting him know that, and told us he was sorry we had that experience, because he thought their food was good, but knows himself if the service is bad, that makes the food worse too. He also directed us to the comment cards, which one of our group promptly filled out. We then went up to our room and basically collapsed from the emotional and physical exhaustion of the day.