Mission Under Fire (3 page)

“Keep walking, guys,” Bruce instructed. “Don’t take pictures or acknowledge them. They’re bathing.”

Bruce had spent a lot of time in Haiti and knew how to interact socially with the locals. He encouraged us to be respectful. And he told us not to wear expensive jewelry, or “bling” as he put it, if we had any.

“Don’t remind them of what they don’t have,” he said.

That evening’s meeting went smooth as expected. We played our music for the Haitians, and heard an encouraging message and testimonies. Things were finally falling in place.

~•••~

E
arly the next morning (Thursday), we headed back to the school to assemble the tents. Arthur escorted us with his motorcycle and Morgan drove the truck. Halfway to the school, the trusty dirt bike broke down and Arthur left it with a friend who lived nearby. Arthur took Morgan’s place and drove through the winding, pothole-laden roads.

When we arrived, we began rummaging through the tents. Someone had donated old Army tents to the school, hopeful that one day they’d need more space. These were the type of tents that were used for military barracks. They were well built with some as big as twenty by forty feet.

The school was already using some of these tents. Unfortunately, they didn’t have enough to hold the current student population. Some of the classrooms were built with sticks shoved in the ground and a canvas sheet thrown over the top. It was sad really, but considering the plight of their homeland, they were probably lucky to have a school at all.

We opened an old semi trailer that held piles of canvas and hardware. I felt overwhelmed at first because there were no manuals, only olive-green canvas, metal, hinges and pins stacked about four feet deep. It looked like a bunch of nothing. But I’m a mechanical guy, so I offered to start what we called a “bucket brigade” and emptied the truck. As I handled the pieces, I began to understand how to assemble the tents. We stacked large piles of metal and canvas in the clearing, organizing the pieces by size and shape. Once we emptied the trailer, I had a pretty clear instruction manual in my head.

Arthur saw the progress we were making and decided to leave us to finish the job, while he ran some errands. He said he’d return in an hour or so to check in and take us back to Double Harvest to clean up for the evening’s service.

We completed the tents rather quickly to everyone’s surprise, but Arthur was nowhere to be found. Exhausted, hot, and out of water, we began to wonder if Arthur would remember to come back for us. Although Arthur seemed to have a good heart, he was a bit scattered. We had no choice but to wait in the heat. I was getting nervous, realizing we had no idea where we were and that we had no basic provisions. Would anyone even know our location in case something happened to Arthur? What do we do if he doesn’t come back?

If we were in the States, questions like these would be irrelevant. We’d figure things out. We’d make a few phone calls and hitch a ride home. But we were in a third-world country and the natural threats and hazards are obviously greater when you’re a foreigner.

Our fears were laid to rest when Arthur finally showed up. I felt relieved and thought,
if this is the worst thing that happens on this trip, I can live with it.
Truth be told, we were all a little put off with Arthur, but his apologies helped settle the irritated lynching mob.

When we returned to the compound, we ate a late lunch and rested our bones. Later in the day, we walked to the stage to practice for that night’s performance and encountered yet another setback. We reached the platform to find strings broken on Joel’s guitar, and the bass guitar missing. Our aching bodies had been up since 5:00 am,
left to die in the desert
, and now this! Joel had brought extra strings, but we couldn’t find them, so we located another bass guitar and practiced our songs with what we had. We tried to keep a stiff upper lip as the evening pressed on, but our attitudes were waning.

Before we went on stage for what would be our last time, Morgan casually said, “Dude, let’s bail as soon as we’re done with tonight’s session.” Sounded good to me; I was beat. After we played that night, we watched the ladies perform and had an enjoyable encounter with some of the kids. They wanted to know all of our names and they worked hard to pronounce them. I told them my name was “Bob” because they couldn’t annunciate “Rex” without using the double “r”. We finally headed back, exhausted from the day and the heat.

We walked to the compound, cutting the darkness with our flashlights. After the long day in the sun, peace finally washed over me. I felt more secure walking through that dark village than walking through Queens in New York City. This was one of my favorite parts of the mission trip, the quiet, the dark of night. The day had finally come to an end, and I had found the friendships I was seeking.

When we returned to the compound, everyone chilled. Some of us read, some played cards, and others sat outside to talk or enjoy the fresh air. At that point, we had become pretty comfortable with one another. Julie, Monte, and Morgan teased and laughed often. Julie’s last name is Baldini, so the “circus” jokes seemed to go on forever. In fact, earlier that day, after loading Arthur’s motorcycle in the back of the truck, Julie jumped on the bike in an acrobatic pose, taking advantage of a photo opportunity. She went along with the jeering and fearlessly served it back. But while a group of us sat in a circle, talking inside, she had finally had enough. The tension between she and Morgan had escalated with every playful pick and jab. Then out of nowhere, Julie jumped up and stormed out of the room. 

Shocked, we sat in silence. 

“Is she really upset?” Morgan asked. 

“Julie, we love you,” Morgan called out. “Come back.” 

She didn’t respond. Our day had been rough; we all knew that. I thought maybe she’d taken all the teasing she could handle and that she was angry. 

“Should I go check on her?”  Sheila asked.

“I can’t believe this.” Morgan shook his head and motioned Sheila to check on Julie.

Sheila went to Julie’s room, and came back to the circle a few minutes later.

“She’s pretty upset,” Sheila said.

“Seriously? Do you think I should go talk to her?” asked Morgan.

“I think that would be best,” replied Sheila. 

Morgan stood up and marched to her room, head hanging low, chin down, as if he was headed to the principal’s office. He had walked a short distance down the hall when Julie jumped out from behind her door and yelled, “Gotcha!”

The room erupted in a laugh riot. We were tired from the day and laughing felt so good. That bitter moment had turned sweet and we ate it up! Julie nailed Morgan, netting a well-deserved last laugh, ending what started out as a rough day with a spirited comic relief.

Life was good.

I was exhausted and headed to bed.

At 10:30 pm, I chuckled one last time and said, “Night, guys. I’ll see you at breakfast.” Little did I know, I would see them much sooner than that.

A
round 11:45 pm, Maggie, Julie, and Dee Dee were stirred from their sleep when they heard arguing outside their window, but they didn’t think much of it. Within minutes they were awoken by Bruce’s shouting and entered the kitchen area to investigate.

I was jarred from a deep sleep upon hearing Bruce’s blood curdling screams and the women crying for help. Upon hearing Bruce, Linda Herr (CB’s wife), realized something was wrong. When she walked down the hall to see what the commotion was, she saw Julie frozen in place. Linda looked in the direction Julie was staring and they both moved closer to the front window. They attempted to respond to Bruce’s plea, but soon realized that if they let him in the gunmen would enter as well. After a moment of discernment, Linda called out for help, still watching Bruce.

I threw on my shorts and t-shirt, grabbed my flashlight, and ran out of the bedroom to find out what was going on. That’s when I looked at the clock—12:02 am, quickly glancing as I hurried into the hallway. The screams both inside and on the porch grew louder as the other team members awoke to the horrifying situation.

Jason Braun, our trip leader, ran out of his room after hearing the noises. Brad Downing and Chris Herr (who we call CB) were right behind him. They quickly noticed the Haitians pointing their guns, threatening Bruce. The men banged on the door, demanding we let them into the building.

Flashlights beamed into the kitchen when the attackers tried to get a visual on us. The first responders, like me, were wrought with confusion and panic. Unknown voices speaking in Creole screamed from outside the front door erupting into a sea of fear and dread that eventually left all fourteen of us (American men, women, and one boy) wondering if we’d live beyond the next few minutes.

We couldn’t understand the Haitian threats, and they couldn’t understand us, but the message was clear; if we didn’t open the door, they were going to kill Bruce, and quite possibly the rest of us.

~•••~

O
ur living quarters were divided into two parts: the men’s side and the women’s side. The only two areas we shared were the kitchen comprised of a men’s kitchen and women’s kitchen, and a central living area. We fought off the attackers at the exterior door on the men’s kitchen side (see map).

We didn’t know it at the time, but when the 2010 earthquake hit Haiti, the walls surrounding the state prison in Port-au-Prince had crumbled to the ground, allowing thousands of Haiti’s most violent offenders and gang leaders out on the street. At the time of this writing, many of the escaped convicts are still at large, and robbery and rape continue to plague the slums of Haiti. I first learned about this when my son-in-law and co-author, was researching the area where we stayed and the effects of that terrible act of nature.

~•••~

J
ason jerked the door open and reached for Bruce. Although adrenaline had already kicked in, it took me a few seconds to truly get a handle on what was going on. Jason grabbed Bruce’s arm, and then with one powerful heave, jerked Bruce inside. At that point, Dee Dee, Julie, and Maggie saw what was going on with Bruce. Afraid for their lives, they ran from the kitchen area back to their bedrooms, while Linda stayed behind watching her husband struggle to keep the intruders out.

We later discovered that Bruce had a huge bruise wrapped around his arm as a result of the sheer force Jason used to pull him in. This may not sound like a big deal, but it was. Jason’s a pretty tall, athletic guy, yet he managed to pull Bruce inside in spite of multiple Haitian men tugging from the other side of the door. Looking back, that doesn’t seem possible, but that’s what happened, one of many instances where I believe God had His hand upon us. 

As soon as Bruce cleared the door, Jason, Brad, and CB all dropped into position to hold the door closed. But it was too late; the Haitians had stuck a crow bar, broom handle, and a block of wood into the opening to keep it from closing. The three noticed the objects working to pry the door open as well as a gun poking through the door jam. When Jason realized that his head was directly in the gun’s path, he quickly ducked out of the way, and the gun went off, striking CB in the thumb, blasting out a half-moon shaped wound.

Among the chaos and screaming, I walked into the hall completely unaware of what was happening. As I approached the kitchen, I felt confused. None of us expected to wake up to a life-threatening situation, but that’s exactly where I found myself—where we all found ourselves. Not only were we under attack, and not only was I shocked by the scene playing out before me, but Bruce was naked. Although his condition was hard to grasp at first, it was another strange but significant detail. You see Bruce enjoyed sleeping in the buff, which may have been a blessing in disguise because Haitian men are extremely macho. We could only guess how surprised they were when they found a naked white man on the porch. As difficult as it is to hang on to bare skin, I imagine they had quite a time playing tug-of-war with a naked American. I’m pretty sure they didn’t discuss that as a possibility when planning the crime. Could it be that that simple detail is what made it possible for Jason to pull him in? Maybe. We’ll never know.

~•••~

A
s the battle continued, Jason, CB, Brad and Bruce hunkered down on the steel door. Drawing upon strength reserved only for situations such as this, they managed to keep the intruders at bay.  As our situation became clear, Bruce realized that we’d have to fight for our survival, so he shouted from the door, “Get knives! If they get in, boys, they’ll kill us! We have to be ready to kill them!”

Bruce is over six-feet tall, middle-aged, and physically fit. He sports a baldhead and Fu Manchu mustache and can look pretty intimidating to a stranger, but he’s a great guy, compassionate, and has a servant’s heart. Yet in that moment, he was ready to take these guys down. He and the other two guys were in a push and push-back fight with the attackers.

Bruce had put on his war face. We all did. It was us or them.

W
hen Bruce commanded that we gather the knives, Linda was in position to fetch the weapons from the kitchen. She collected a few knives, while Jason, CB, Brad and Bruce held the door closed. Linda approached from the women’s kitchen with the cutlery, and handed them to me. I hunched down in the kitchen area and slid the blades across the floor to Jason and the others.

Bruce intercepted the weapons and handed them to CB and Jason who were crouched down, desperately pressing their bodies against the door. I could see the Haitians’ flashlights glaring through the window and the crack of the door, but I couldn’t really see their faces.

After distributing the knives, I tucked myself behind the large upright freezer, trying to prevent the attackers from getting a clear view. Seems like a strange place, but it was the only location that made sense. This was a very frightening time in the sequence of events. No one except for Bruce and the guys bracing the front door really knew what was going on or the extent of the danger that lurked outside, and not knowing held the rest of us in a state of fear.