They were both squatting down on the cement slab, large metal wash basins at their knews, as they scrubbed clothes and towels and asked me their usual twenty questions of the day. "Ki le ou prale peyi ou?" (when will you go to your country?), Mme. Ovner asked in a sing songy tone.
When they heard my answer "Avril," both the wash ladies gasped a surprised, high pitched oh. We've had this conversation at least five times, and the response is always the same. How long will you stay there, will you come back, when will you come back, nap priye (we're praying).
This morning, however, it went a little different. When they asked if I'd come back, I decided to explain my financial situation and how I can't come back without the help of the churches. I then asked them to pray God helps me come back. Maybe I did this to try to break the stereotype here that all Americans have unlimitted resources. Maybe I was just worrying about fundraising again. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.
Either way, their response blessed me. They both emphatically committed to praying for God to help me. Then they said to me, God can do everything. Mme. Ovner even started singing, "Bondye ka fe tout bagay, tout bagay, tout bagay." (God can do everything, everything everything.)
And as she did, I looked down at her. This stick-thin mother of three, who was wearing the same faded orange t-shirt and navy blue skirt I saw her wearing yesterday outside her two-room house in the poorest part of town, was looking up at me with a reassuring smile. I watched her hands scrubbing back and forth over the clothes, knowing how much her forearms must ache when she finishes work each day, and wishing I had her faith.
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