Haiti

A lovely family photo in the suburbs of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. That's Jean Simson Desanclos with his wife Josette Fils Desanclos. I read about them on the BBC News website. They are pictured with their beautiful daughters Sarhadjie and Sherwood Sondje. Their father often proudly referred to them as his "princesses".

Jean Simson Desanclos is a lawyer and human rights activist. His daughters also qualified as lawyers. However, everything changed on August 20th.

He came home to find that Josette, Sarhadjie and Sherwood had been shot dead in a failed kidnap attempt. Their burnt bodies were found in the family car.

It seems that Port-au-Prince has become a haven for brutal gangs and kidnappers. The authorities appear powerless to control them. They shoot, they pillage, they rape and they take revenge. No one is safe, not even the country's leading politicians with their contingents of armed security guards.

The worst times for kidnapping are during the morning and evening rush hours. Targets are yanked from their cars by gun toting thugs. Ransoms can vary between a hundred dollars and a million.

1,107 Haitian people were kidnapped between January and October of this year and between June and September 1377 were killed, badly injured or "disappeared" in gang related attacks.

Jean Simson Desanclos is of course bereft. He lost his loved ones and his hope for the future. He said, "Criminals have taken my country hostage. They make their own laws. They kill. They rape. They destroy. I would like my daughters to be the last sacrifice, the last young women killed."

He wants the world to understand one thing about the Haiti of today - that the gangs have free rein.

When you look into that family photo, you see the three women smiling in a happy pose for the camera but Jean Simson Desanclos appears to be looking into the ocean of grief that awaits him, through the photographer and beyond. And naturally, he seeks revenge.

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Prophetic

 It’s me Regine

God what’s my instructions

For today

In the hot shower

It came to me

That water

Is enough to be

Grateful for

The simple 

Is so prophetic

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Vigil

 I wrote this post, yesterday.

I’m sat in an empty waiting room. 

There is a tv but it’s switched off and thanks to covid there’s no magazines to read.

There is a small selection of wooden toys in a box in the corner, the sort no children ever want to play with.

I’ve been here for two hours, so far.

The vet and his colleague have been treating Roger for the duration. The surgery is seventeen miles from Trelawnyd and so I’ve resisted the vet’s suggestion of going home .

I think they’ve forgotten about me.

I feel scruffy.

I’m wearing my big blue winter jumper, the one with the hole in the sleeve. 

I’ve poked my thumb through it now which makes a sort of glove and it feels good as the waiting room heating isn’t on. 

The other dogs are curled up in the car. They are asleep.

The vet appears, a fresh faced boy of a professional . 

He’s articulate and doesn’t treat me as though I’m dense, which I like. 

Roger is still somewhat “ jittery’ and needs to be observed a while longer

Did I want to go home and come back later? 

When I shook my head he asked 

“Is there someone that you want to take over here then ?”

“There’s only me” I told him 

Suddenly feeling very alone in a somewhat upsetting day.

I was brought a cup of tea and half a Kit Kat which was kind.

I hate the feeling, today has given me

I suspect many Singletons do when the chips are down a little and you only have yourself to deal with things.

I know Roger will be fine, I know I can afford the callout charges

But it’s all a bit harder dealing with things alone.

No one to moan to,

No one to bounce off…..

Anyhow, sitting here, I found this older blog entry from a decade ago .

It amused me 

I was standing over by the counter , which is in front of me now, in times when the previous junior vet looked like George Clooney.

It’s worth another look

One of the refugees has a chesty cough

I had run out of antibiotics

So I rang the vets

Booked with the receptionist to collect some

And drove up to the surgery late this morning.

The receptionist must have been on her break for only George Clooney

( the GOB smackingly good looking vet) was sat behind the desk eating a sandwich

I straightened my hair and gave him one of my best smiles

And before I could say anything, he stood up and sang out a lusty

" Mr Gray!" 

And suddenly  I went all silly realising that he had actually remembered my name

" you have a good memory for faces, I haven't been in for ages"

I wittered.

George shook his handsome head

" Not really" he answered in his deep chocolate voice

and  picking  up the bottle of antibiotic from the counter,

he added simply and somewhat wryly

" Your name is on the bottle"

from Going Gently https://ift.tt/RkNnBSh