Shaken Page 8

  “She’s a teen mom who needs help.”

  Rhonda’s brisk voice sounded behind them in the small room. “Kaylan, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Kaylan followed Rhonda from the room as she replayed the scene again in her mind. Had she done something wrong? She knew what she was saying. How many times had she designed a plan like this in class or for a project in a local school with students who rarely received proper nutrition? Rhonda shut the door of the small office behind her.

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “Kaylan, Tasha is a teen mom because she is a prostitute. Her dad doesn’t work, and her mom has several small children. Tasha is the oldest, and to help her family, she did the only thing she knew how—she sold herself.”

  No girl should ever need to resort to that. Kaylan’s anger built like a storm cloud toward Tasha’s father and the men who took advantage of the beautiful teen. Tasha had seen far more than Kaylan could even imagine. Alabama grew more distant by the hour, and the safe bubble Kaylan had always known seemed like a cruel joke.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. But I still don’t understand. Why wouldn’t Abe translate what I said?”

  “Because her family can’t afford to buy chicken or pork. They barely afford one meal a day for the whole family. Why do you think she and Kenny are so malnourished?”

  “But, Rhonda, she can’t get healthy if she doesn’t eat protein and more than one meal. What am I supposed to tell her? She can’t afford it, but she needs it.” Kaylan paced the small room. She could fix this. She needed to fix this.

  “Kaylan, this is the reality for many who live in the shanty towns. Think of alternative ways she could have protein and grain, maybe with less expensive food.”

  Kaylan raked fingers through her hair, yanking when they caught in her curls. “What if I help pay for some of her food? What if we had her over to the house and cooked a meal for her? Rhonda, there’s got to be something.”

  Rhonda shook her head. “Are you going to do that for every teenage mother, every hungry family, every malnourished child?”

  “If I have to.” Kaylan’s voice rose and cracked. How could she help so many? How could she not? There had to be a break in this terrible cycle, a way to teach and train these women.

  Rhonda hugged Kaylan. A tear slipped down Kaylan’s cheek, and she swiped it away. She felt helpless to change the life of one. How could she change the lives of so many?

  She pulled back from Rhonda and paced the room again, her mind whirling with possibilities.

  All right, Lord. You wanted me here, and I’m here, so now what? How do I help Tasha and those like her? How do I fix this?

  She remembered something from a study one of her classmates had done of nutrition alternatives in Africa. If they couldn’t eat meat, then they needed to understand the nutritional need to make a whole protein with beans and rice or peanuts and a grain. She knew some of them couldn’t even afford that. Maybe she could help them combine these cheaper alternatives to get the proper nutrients for themselves and their malnourished children. Her mind spun.

  A soft laugh came from Rhonda, who stood watching her from across the room. Kaylan stopped pacing. “What’s so funny?”

  “Did you come to change the world, kiddo? ’Cause that’s not your job.”

  “Maybe I forgot.” She shrugged. “But I’m not sure how to help Tasha. Everything I’ve learned seems useless here.”

  “It’s real life. This isn’t a classroom. These people live in poverty daily, and they accept it. This is their normal.” Wrapping her arm around Kaylan, she led them back to Tasha. “The question is, kiddo, what are you going to do about it?”

  Kaylan’s fists clenched at her sides. She wasn’t sure what to do yet, but she wasn’t done trying.

  “Miss Kaylan, pass, pass!” Reuben jumped up and down, his green shorts catching the dust from the street. Kaylan shot the soccer ball in his direction through the tangled legs of kids from the nearest shanty village. His bare foot stopped the ball mid-roll, and he propelled it toward the makeshift goal between two dilapidated homes. Some of the kids had never played with a real ball.

  Kaylan cheered him on, admiring the grace in his small body. She and Sarah Beth had stayed up late the night before to welcome the new year, and after a long Saturday at the clinic, they pulled out the soccer ball again. Local kids flocked en masse to meet the girls, their beautiful, dark eyes focused on the ball in Sarah Beth’s hands.

  More hands had touched Kaylan’s hair in the past hour than in her entire life. Her auburn hair and green eyes were an anomaly, a beacon amid the dark bodies and dust. A woman in the market had already asked to paint her.

  Reuben ran to her, jabbering in Creole about his victory shot. “Goal, Kaylan, goal.”

  She rubbed his short hair, his joy infectious. “Bon travay, Reuben.”

  He ran to Abraham, grabbed his hand, and pulled him over to Kaylan. Abraham translated. “He wants to know how to say it in English. He says he will be a great soccer player someday, and he must learn English before he can play in America.”

  She knelt down in front of the boy. “Good job, Reuben.”

  His eyes squinted, and his mouth worked to form the words.

  She laughed and motioned back to the game as he butchered the phrase for the fifth time. “We’ll work on it.”

  A hand grabbed the back of her thigh, and Kaylan jumped at the light contact. A little girl with round eyes and stickers covering her face gazed up at Kaylan. Sarah Beth skipped toward her.

  “Just added the beads to Sophia’s hair. What do ya think?”

  “Trèe bèl, Sophia.” Kaylan’s heart went out to the small child, remembering Tasha. Would it be this little girl’s fate to sell herself for a loaf of bread or a bag of beans? Kaylan grew up hearing how beautiful she was, how treasured, knowing her worth was in Christ. Did this little girl understand that there was something more than the struggle for food? When survival was paramount, the black-and-white rules became a murky gray.

  “She wants to know if you will kick her the ball,” Sarah Beth said, breaking into Kaylan’s thoughts.

  “Wi, Sophia.” The smile she received could have melted a glacier. Kaylan pointed and Sophia took off running, her little arms pumping and her bottom lip puckered in focus. Reuben grabbed her hand and showed her where to go. Kaylan was proud of him. His talent hadn’t gone to his head yet.

  Kaylan blew a whistle, and the kids shifted from foot to foot in anticipation, their eyes on the black and white checkered ball. Kaylan kicked it to Sophia. The other team tried to intercept, but Reuben wouldn’t have it. He ran in front of Sophia, blocking any other child who came close. She stumbled on her dress as she ran, her five-year-old legs pumping as fast as they could. Children across the field shouted encouragement, and teens emerged from the homes to cheer.

  As the ball bounced off a tree and feebly rolled through the goal, Kaylan shouted. She called for Sarah Beth as some of the seminary students took their place on the field. “I have an idea.”

  “It’s about time.” Sarah Beth smirked. “I could hear you thinking from across the field.”

  “Very funny.” She shoved her friend. “Listen, I’d like to host a class for young mothers to teach them how to feed their families. Maybe we could even make them a meal to take home at the end of the meeting. We could ask for sponsorship from someone at church back home.”

  Her mind jumped from one possibility to the next. She could do this. She could help Tasha and little Reuben and Sophia. Only Jesus could fix Haiti, but she could give hope by pointing them to Him. The idea grew in her head and took root. She officially had a purpose.

  “Done and done.” Sarah Beth clapped. “I’m proud of you, Kayles. Let’s do it.” Sarah Beth held her hand out. “Go team, on three?”

  Kaylan laughed. “You are such a kid sometimes.”

  “Guilty. Twenty-two going on ten.” As Sarah Beth placed her hands over Kaylan’s, dark hands of all
sizes slowly covered their pale skin. Children giggled, fascinated with the new game, and the lanky teens matched their enthusiasm.

  Sarah Beth counted in Creole, “One, two, three, go team!” The girls threw their hands in the air, eliciting cheers and clapping from their loyal crowd.

  The sun began to set, and Kaylan knew it was time to leave the streets. She had plans to make, and the soccer game had been a success with the children.

  As they walked to Rhonda’s, Reuben ran to them, dragging a boy of fifteen or sixteen bearing similar features. Abraham joined them to translate.

  “This is Reuben’s brother, Stevenson. He trains with Eliezer, the local houngan, voodoo priest.” Abraham’s eyes darkened. “Reuben is proud because Stevenson is training with Eliezer to read palms so he can make money from the tourists. Most of those in this slum who practice voodoo follow Eliezer. The temple is close by.” Abraham shook his head.

  Kaylan’s heart went out to the youth. “It’s nice to meet you, Stevenson.”

  “I speak English.” His accent was thick as he carefully formed each word.

  “Very good. Where did you learn English?”

  “Only little. Eliezer teach me for tourists.”

  Kaylan nodded. She used her hands as she spoke. “Reuben said you read palms.”

  He held his palms up and nodded. “I tell you future?”

  She shook her head and smiled, hoping he wouldn’t be offended. “Only Jesus knows my future.” She grasped his hands and used one finger to press down in the middle of his palm. “His palms bled to give me a future because He loved me.” Stevenson cocked his head in confusion.

  His eyes grew big as Abe translated. “Jesus love palms? Tell future?”

  “Yes, Stevenson. Only Jesus knows future.”

  “Tell me.” He put his palms on his chest and leaned toward her, then froze and backed away quickly. Sarah Beth appeared at her side, and Kaylan turned to face a skinny man towering over her. His head was shaved, and above distinguished cheekbones his eyes were those of a dead man. Despite its dingy hue, his button-down shirt set him above the rest of the men, speaking of his concern with his appearance. His khakis had dark stains on both knees, and he wore sandals.

  His face remained emotionless, but his mouth spewed venom. “Do not talk to him about this Jesus. He is in training. The spirits show us the future. Our ancestors call to us.”

  Abraham stood calmly beside her. “Eliezer, this is Kaylan and Sarah Beth. They are from America and want to help our country.”

  He nodded slowly, and a glimmer of a smile touched his mouth. “Then we will both help Haiti. But do not speak of Jesus to my student.” Motioning to the young man, Eliezer faded back among the homes.

  Abraham shook his head again. “He will cause trouble.”

  “Why? Maybe we can help improve things just a little bit.” Sarah Beth’s enthusiasm triggered a small smile from Abraham.

  “You do not understand. Eliezer is one of the extreme voodoo priests in Haiti. He believes that all of Haiti’s problems can be traced back in our history to the white man.”

  The idea sounded antiquated to Kaylan. “How’s that, Abe?”

  “Many years ago, Haitians were slaves on our own island until an uprising overturned the white man’s rule. Eliezer is under the impression that Haiti would thrive if all white men would leave Haiti, particularly Americans, and especially Christians. He thinks the Christian faith ruins our ancestral, African tribal roots.”

  “Well, that’s a little extreme and outdated, isn’t it? I mean, all that happened a long time ago.” Kaylan waved at the woman on the corner painting in the market as they walked the few blocks to Rhonda’s house.

  “Eliezer thinks his way is best. You need to understand how he thinks in order to share Jesus with him or those he influences. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Abraham left them at the corner with high-fives.

  Sarah Beth and Kaylan walked in silence the last block to Rhonda’s house, Kaylan praying for wisdom. She never dreamed she would face a real voodoo priest in Haiti, and his warnings against talking about Jesus had both chilled and angered her. She was glad that his fate was not her ultimate responsibility. For only the Lord could change the heart of a man like Eliezer.

  Chapter Eleven

  HER FIRST WEEK in Haiti had drained Kaylan emotionally, but on this muggy Sunday morning, she had never been more spiritually filled. Sweaty bodies in their own versions of Sunday finest packed the small church just outside the slum. Torn and dirty dresses, hats, and suit coats adorned each Haitian. Kaylan had donned one of her sundresses for the occasion.

  She had never experienced worship on this level. Several men and women stood in front of the congregation leading the songs. No screen with lyrics, no microphone, no instruments—just the beautiful voices of Haitian believers singing about the goodness of God.

  Kaylan’s eyes welled with tears. She struggled with missing Nick or wondering how her future would work out. These people didn’t even know where their next meal would come from. Their children looked several years younger than their actual age because of malnutrition. Yet, they praised the Lord with lifted hands. They had seen hurricanes devastate the island, Westerners promise help and fail to deliver, their crops fail to grow, their coasts devoid of fish. But even then, they sang and they trusted and showed up in the best they had to worship.

  After an hour of standing and singing, Abe stood to lead the church in prayer. He led first in Creole and then translated his prayer into English. “Lord, we thank You for the chance to worship You. We pray that we would follow You and know You better. Amen.”

  The congregation sat, squeezing together to fit everyone in the room smaller than Kaylan’s living room back home. A lazy breeze drifted through the open windows, and gnats buzzed around Kaylan’s head. She wiped sweat from her forehead. She had never been more thrilled to be in church.

  Sarah Beth caught her eye, and a smile lit her face. As the pastor passionately shared his message with loud responses from the congregation, Sarah Beth leaned close to Kaylan’s ear. “I think this is what heaven will be like someday. How are we so subdued in worship back home? It’s like we’ve missed it.”

  Kaylan couldn’t help but agree. After experiencing church Haitian-style, she couldn’t imagine returning home and worshipping the same way ever again. These people with nothing truly showed Kaylan that God was their everything.

  Kaylan arrived back at the clinic for the afternoon after a Sunday lunch at Rhonda’s house a few blocks away. While Sarah Beth played with local kids and Rhonda worked with a patient in the main room, Kaylan took advantage of the lull in activity to familiarize herself with the supplies.

  A shout filled the street outside the clinic, and Kaylan dropped the needles in her hands back into the drawer and ran into the main room of the clinic. Stevenson ran through the door, Reuben in his arms. Blood dripped from a jagged, deep cut on Reuben’s leg onto his brother’s arm, then trickled to the floor.

  “Lay him here, Stevenson.” She rushed to clear the space. Rhonda appeared at her side to help.

  “He needs stitches. You want to watch or try it?” Rhonda remained detached, professional. Her hands moved nimbly and gently around the cut. Kaylan wished she could gain that emotional distance. This was a child, a child she had just gotten to know but already loved.

  Kaylan gulped. She needed to learn how to do this to help Rhonda, but the thought of making a mistake terrified her. She clenched her hands to still the shaking and took a deep breath.

  “Kaylan?”

  “I got it. Just stay here in case, please?”

  “Of course.” Rhonda squeezed her arm as she applied pressure to the bleeding.

  Low, lilting Creole sounded in the small room as Rhonda reassured Reuben. The boy whimpered, his jaw clenched, but he fought his tears. Kaylan admired his strength. He was a young leader in the making for his people, and he didn’t even know it.

  Stevenson’s eyes resembled saucers as Kayl
an gave Reuben medicine to calm him while she cleaned the wound. She concentrated on keeping her voice steady. Her confidence grew as she moved her hands quickly, preparing the needle and thread. “What happened, Stevenson?”

  “He cut on metal.” He motioned wide. “Sharp, big. He climb on roof of house.”

  Kaylan looked at Rhonda. “Will it get infected?”

  “We’ll just have to wait and see.” She spoke more to Reuben in Creole. A small smile lit his face. “I told him he shouldn’t be crawling on rusty roofs. Even tough little boys get hurt.”

  Reuben pointed to Kaylan. “Eske ou se yon gerisè?”

  “What does that mean?” Kaylan prepared Reuben’s leg for stitches. She silently prayed for steady hands and a strong stomach.

  “He ask if you ‘healer.’” Stevenson’s eyes darted uneasily from Kaylan to his brother, looking like a caged animal. “Eliezer say he heal us with help of loa. Spirits. My brother should not say these things about you.”

  She turned her focus back to Reuben and began to stitch. Reuben’s breath caught, and then his body relaxed. He watched her work as the medicine numbed his pain and made his eyes droop.

  “I’m not a healer, Stevenson. Only Jesus can heal. I can only help you feel better.” She smiled to herself. “Sometimes I can’t even do that.” She continued to work while Stevenson translated for Reuben. The boy fought grogginess and sleep as if his life depended on it.

  “He want to know who Jesus is. He say you make him better, so where is Jesus?”

  Rhonda chuckled and ran her hand over Reuben’s head. “From the mouths of children, you get the most difficult questions. Good luck.”

  Kaylan gently tugged the thread, praying for the right words. “When your mom tells you to do something while she is away, you remember her words even when she is gone and you complete the task.” Rhonda translated, and Reuben responded in Creole.

  “He said that sometimes he likes to play instead.” Rhonda rubbed his head again, laughing with Kaylan.

  “I like to play too.” She was glad he was distracted. The cut was long and deep. “Jesus came a long time ago from heaven, because His Father wanted Him to save people.”