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What and Where is Saltadere?
by Kate Burke, Associate Professor, Voice and Speech
mkb2y@virginia.edu

Before actually going there I wouldn’t have known, though I translated and interpreted (French) twice for Rev. Rene Blot during his visits to Charlottesville Catholic parishes.  My experience with Fr. Blot moved me to make a trip to Haiti for the celebration and dedication of a new primary school in Saltadere, St. Michel’s.  Especially when Fr. Blot asked when I would come to Haiti, saying “My home is your home.”

Saltadere is heat, rain, mud, dust, faith overflowing, community, isolation, pain and healing, joy and despair, a village of intense contrasts.  It’s a land with no separation between church and state, because there is very little “state.”  The people’s plight is so dire, they need help from anyone able to give it.  Clergy of all denominations are expected to provide what help they can, in the absence of any local government whatever, not to mention the absence of utilities, clean water, sanitation, health care, etc., etc., etc., and I mean et cetera.  Many children who attend St. Michel’s are not Catholic.  There is one state-operated school in Saltadere, and rows of students wearing their state school uniforms attended the Catholic school dedication, clapping, hooting, singing and dancing in communal joy.  Most Haitians agree that education is the only solution for their many complex problems

A recent news headline explained a tragic drowning thus: “Thousands of Haitians take to the sea on flimsy boats each year, heading north toward Florida to escape grinding poverty and frequent political turmoil…”   Most Saltadere residents can’t escape by boat or any other means, though some young people manage the rugged, mountainous hike to Santo Domingo in search of work and less savory pursuits.

Having visited India (Mumbai), I had some expectations of Saltadere.  What I found was the surprising wrench of difference between urban and rural poverty.  A soft, sepia view of  country life in the U.S. (green fields, down home folk, abundant crops, the Grange) is no portrait of Saltadere.

Fr. Blot’s rectory compound became home very quickly.  Before pulling in there, though, he had to drive us to the new primary school (set for dedication in 48 hours).  He bubbled over with hope for the future, love for the children, and joy at the school’s completion.  Later on we visitors saw beyond his hope, love and joy to the fatigue caused by months of superhuman preparation for the ceremony.  Our repeated offers of help were politely but firmly deflected.  Fr. Blot expected his guests to take it easy.

The school dedication and blessing pulsated with vivid impressions: the bishop from the nearest large town, Hinche, and other concelebrants, including Fr. Brian Mulcahy, O.P., pastor of St. Thomas Aquinas in Charlottesville; the choir of teachers dressed all in white; the joyful songs in Creole and French; the young liturgical dance troupe, 8 strong, wearing Virginia Orange Fever tee-shirts; young proclaimers of the Word and altar servers of both genders; throngs of parents and supporters ringing the seated crowd; and the homeless of Saltadere coming forward to take Communion.  Fr. Blot hosted a reception afterward for what seemed like a hundred guests, but he also had a beans-and-rice meal served at the school to the hundreds who attended the ceremony.

The through line of my Haitian experience tethers me to the children.  Speaking French made communicating with them surprisingly easy.  In every group there was a bright live wire who got my drift and translated for the rest.  One young girl was holding a stick of sugar cane, which I had never seen.  I asked if a person ate it or bopped someone on the head with it, which brought down the house.  One afternoon around 4 p.m. I asked some children if they had eaten that day.  They shook their heads and murmured “no,” a video clip that haunts me when I grocery shop or sit down to a super-sized American meal.

The day after the dedication our group walked the 3 short “blocks” to the school where students were moving desks back into the spanking new classrooms.  On an impulse I grabbed “Little Red Riding Hood” (from a stack of French books brought down for the nearly empty library) and read it to a group of students in the courtyard.  That broke the ice, and before long I was sitting on a bench surrounded by 40-50 gorgeous little ones who put their arms around me, touched my earrings, asked about my wedding rings, and showed me their schoolbooks.  A deeply satisfying exchange.

The two Charlottesville parishes that “twin” with St. Michel’s have set up several support programs, including medical missions, medical supply drives, and a student sponsorship program.  I had hoped the trip would lead me to the students I sponsor, but leave it to me to have chosen students specializing in distance learning.  Exil Ramain, the school’s very kind principal, told me that one of  “my” little girls walks 2 hours to school in the morning, and 2 hours home.  She can’t be more than 6.  Soon I must get a letter and photo off to each of my sweethearts to say “I missed you in Saltadere!”

Groups of children and young people congregated at an opening in the fence around Fr. Blot’s compound, watching the highly entertaining, pale visitors and waving at us to come over.  One young boy said “Haitians like whites!”  Several children wanted to know where we lived, and then asked to come home with us.  Some wanted our email addresses and said they hoped we wouldn’t forget them.  Not likely.  One young boy, Ricardo Popo, said he wanted to be a videographer, a remark no doubt prompted by the presence in our group of recent U.Va. graduate Steve Robillard.  Steve shot footage on the trip for a documentary called A Future for Saltadere.  His camera, microphone and tripod riveted the village, and soon children were calling “Steve!  Steve!”from the fence.  Steve, whose work was included in Philly’s recent Ivy Film Festival, has negotiated a fall premiere of his documentary, sponsored by the Charlottesville Film Society, to generate much-needed support for the children of Saltadere.

The first morning I woke in Saltadere I encountered one of the 2 delightful women who run Fr. Blot’s compound, which houses several St. Michel’s teachers and staff members.  (“Behind” this very good man there are 2 VERY strong women.  The proverb “Many hands make light work” might be altered to read “The hands of Velouse and Viergetat make light work.”)  And the income from this work makes all the difference for these 2 women and for their families.  That morning, by way of formulaic greeting I asked Viergetat how she was.  She caught me off guard, replying “I am VERY WELL, thanks be to God!!!!”  Her high-wattage smile and incandescent joy lit up dawn’s shadows.  In her smile I found the what and where of Saltadere – bright light in darkness.

Should any reader want more information about the child sponsorship program, contributions of  French, Spanish and English children’s books to the school library, or other ways to make a difference in Saltadere, I’d love to hear from you at mkb2y.  A few pennies or a few books would go a long way.

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