Every night I find myself in the kitchen. The generator is never on in the beginning so there are no lights in the boat expect for the last rays of the setting sun. The crew is usually on the deck watching the changing sky and chatting about the day behind and the crossing ahead of us. I love to hear the tones and vibrations of their voices above me while in the quiet and heat of the kitchen. Last night I found myself fluttering around the galley cooking the things that two months ago were very unfamiliar to me. Pickeleze hot sauce, Rice and Beans, plantains and bread fruit…. I have come to cook these with the familiarity of any dish that I have prepared for the crew in the states- peeling the plantains and washing the rice three times was once something that I fumbled through in my first few attempts, but now it is a mindless task. While cutting, washing, frying, marinating and chopping my mind is allowed to wander up onto the decks above or out to the sea that lies beyond. Sometimes my place here is rather undefined and my role can be confusing to me as I am not connecting to people through medicine, but through shared experiences and kindness. I spend my days e-mailing and running our daily operation, playing with the children, talking with the women of the clinic, fund raising, and most importantly cooking.
This is what I have come to understand is my common language with those I meet. I always loved the times that I spent with my own family in the kitchen before holidays- cakes, marinades, roasts, soups. Everything. Even though I went to culinary school I never realized up until now just how much I love my time in the hot and sweaty kitchen. Every night here I am drenched to the bone in sweat- the galley is big for a boat, but in reality it is small and very hot. For the past few weeks its been Meomen and I in there- once kind of awkward around each other struggling for the words to explain what we were doing. Now it is like an organized dance between us. We pass utensils and bowls back and forth sometimes wit out even a look. We finish each other’s dishes or stir each other’s sauces without as much as a thought. To me that is intimacy. I know how to cook the food here now and that makes me proud. It shows that we are not an organization that rents a beautiful house and pays people to cook for us. We are in it. I am in the market almost every other day, I know everyone at the local bakery by name, and I can use the local ingredients here as easily as I would at home.
As we are readying for our departure my heart is heavy. I knew that the day would come when we would have to say our good-byes, but I have never been good at this. This one will be painfully different because we will never see many of these people again. I will though carry them with me forever. The laughter, pain, joy, and experiences in Haiti are burned into my soul and will always be with me in the food that I make. When cutting cabbage for pickeleze I will think of the time that I had 3 Haitian boys- Bichal, Evynson, and Jonas- in the galley with me laughing at my techniques or the hundred of times that Meomen taught me how to wash rice “the Haitian way” will return to my mind whenever I am standing above a sink with a bowl full of rice.
I am so thankful for the life that I am living and for how so far away from home in such foreign lands and experiences I am being reconnected with so much of myself. I have always loved food but I had forgotten that I am passionate about it. I love being free and didn’t realize how trapped I had been. I miss wearing heels but didn’t remember just how great the feeling of wet sand on my feet is.
Good Bye Haiti. I will love miss and cherish you. You welcomed us into your culture and as a result you imprinted all of our souls. I hope that this is not Good Bye, but rather Until Next Time.
Honduras, 800 miles of open ocean lies between us but I am looking forward to seeing the sun rising over you and to hear the sounds that bring you to life.
