Spent yesterday with Phadoul up in Kenscoff, up in the clouds. It’s a seven-gourde bus ride up into the mountains SE of Pétionville, cold and vertiginous, pine trees over ravines. Phadoul showed me around the orphanage where he works … it impressed the hell out of me, and I thought if I ever have a few months to blow I could do a lot worse than there, tho now I think maybe it was just the kids.
Cadences of Haitian speech: Mon chè! Mezami! Talkin about dust in Burkino Faso: E otobus yo e motosik yo… —Pousiè? —Ah! (Accompanied by head turning slowly and hands being raised in resignation.)
One Mrs. Blackwell, 95 or close to it, is holed up in a back shed of the centre. She and her husband were Knights of Bahá’u’lláh back in 1940, opening Haiti to the Faith. She has chosen to return to be bed-ridden, and she’s very upset about the turn the Faith has taken here.