Jesus Bus

From somewhere in the valley below us comes the sound of drums. I recall the time I spent here in the central plateau with the American soldiers, and I remember the sound of Voodoo drums wafting into the army barracks in Mirebalais at night and how unsettling it was to some of us sitting there, in all its mystery. I’m sure we’d have felt different if we’d known we were probably hearing ceremonies to cure the sick.

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains (2011)

Everywhere you look in Haiti there are signs of faith. Everything from shop signs to bus artwork declares an absolute belief in an all-powerful God who will take care of the proprietor or driver in question. Maybe it is a proselytising technique to share the true way or earn merit. Or perhaps it is simply a way of having confidence in life when most things around you are hard and often horrendous. Many Haitians do not have access to healthcare and if they do it is not necessarily adequate to deal with their ailments. In the larger cities, and if you have money, decent medical treatment is available. However, for the majority of the population, either living outside the major centres or too poor to access the services, suffering is inevitable in a country where drinking water is often untreated, cholera outbreaks occur regularly, malaria is endemic, TB is still present, nutritional levels are lacking and injury and illness are commonplace. Even a minor health issue or easily treated condition in the West may persist or have grave consequences here. And regularly it does end that way, in death.

There is no doubt that in recent years access to healthcare and the quality of that care even in some rural outposts, notably parts of the haute plateau, have improved drastically. A notable contribution to this service provision is Zanmi Lasante (Partners in Health) and Paul Farmer who worked tirelessly for the principle of global equality in healthcare norms – meaning Haitians should have the same as Americans. Despite these positive developments, such is life in this country that sometimes when a person dies the explanation given is, ‘died of Haiti.’ So, it is no wonder that faith and hope in a greater power is nearly universal here. It also explains why people don’t limit this to Jesus but also seek assistance in the form of the Haiti’s home-grown religion. It is just as likely that a Haitian will seek help from a Voodoo priest as a doctor. I have had staff say to me that there is no need to see a doctor about a certain problem because they knew the source of the issue was not natural. The implication, though rarely stated, is that it was the result of a curse. This implies that treating illness is not simply a medical matter and gives further weight to local ideas that you need both old practices and new approaches in the face sickness and death.

It’s 2.15am on a Saturday morning and I cannot sleep. After a week of bedrest due to a mystery infection that caused fever and aches, I seemed to come good yesterday. However, the strange skull ache and pain down my neck that I had earlier in the week has returned with a vengeance. I awoke two hours ago and could have sworn someone was in my room. I certainly feel under attack from something, be it a disease or another sort of enemy. As country director for an NGO in Haiti I have made a few necessary but unpopular decisions recently. Some people may wish me harm and right now I can easily believe that there is a malicious Voodoo plot to harm me. I might even explain my sickness in the same way as many Haitians. Neither medicine nor prayers to my God have prevailed till now. Of course, it might just be withdrawal symptoms due to a lack of caffeine. Whatever the case, being sick has humbled me and reminded me of the circumstances of many in Haiti who ask of religion what most people do according to Alfred Metraux author of Voodoo in Haiti: remedy for ills, satisfaction of needs and hope of survival.