Throwing Down Both Gauntlets - Part 3 Surviving the Floods

When I read the back story of the Polysha Foundation, my heart warmed and at the same time it broke. It inspired me to write this story. This is not about Yves and Sharon Polycarpe, but their story did inspire this one. This is a work of fiction which is very loosely based on the true story of Yves Polycarpe's family, found on the About Us page of the Polysha Foundation's website. I have done my best, through research and looking at numerous pictures, to make Bronte Lamarre's story resemble that of a woman in the same situation in Haiti today. Information on the daily lives of the poor are hard to come by, and where necessary I let my imagination lead the way. I recommend anyone moved by this story visit their page, and like them on Facebook. This story is not to make anyone feel guilty, but to see just how much can be overcome by the human heart if we choose never to give up, like Mr. Yves Polycarpe's amazing mother.
The links in the story show you images, or at times videos, which I used to determine what my character's world was really like. They also serve as illustrations of the story. Enjoy!!

"Everything works together," Fredaline was saying as she bailed water out of the house. The rains had come with a vengeance this time. It was one the worst floods Bronte had ever seen. Luckily, The Lamarre home was on relatively high ground. Only a couple of inches puddled in this house. A few blocks away, Fredaline's home probably had at least four. "The rains are so heavy because there are not enough trees to drink it now, higher up on the mountains. Too many of the trees are cut down. So it comes here, and it pools and it stays and by the time it is dry, it has returned to the sky to come down again. It comes too fast, too fast down the mountains and too fast back to the sky, because we need more trees."
Fredaline had been involved with people who taught her to save seeds and taught her to grow food in her little space, and who taught her about how the earth and nature work.They told her why cholera comes, so Bronte knew this water was dangerous, and not to use the yard as a latrine. Fredaline had told her all about it. Soon, Fredaline was getting a toilet in her house. She was trying to help Bronte get one too. Now, Fredaline thought she knew why the rains were so heavy and how to fix it. It was getting a little old, and a lot ridiculous. But, maybe she was right? It did sort of make sense. The water went up to the sky if the sun touched it, and became clouds, and then made rain. The children learned this in school, and told her about it. Maybe enough trees would stop the floods. Either way, they were dealing with floods now, like they often did if it rained. Knowing the answers did not get any more water out of the house. Bailing it did.
The children tried to help, scooping up water into their cups, much to Bronte's dismay, and throwing it out into the street. The street was like a very shallow stream flowing between all the houses, at present. It would dry off later. The drains and sewers in the city were backed up and not functioning. Who knew what might be contaminating that water? Bronte found that it was hard to keep her attention on the task at hand, as she was worried the children might put the cups back into their mouths. She and Fredaline kept on bailing, with pushing the water toward the door with dirty clothes, scooping it up with fry pans and small buckets, and throwing it into the allay-turned-creek. Visions of her children struck with diarrhea, fever and cholera buzzed around in Bronte's mind like obnoxious swarms of flies. It put her in an ill temper. The gray and brown hues of the buildings and alleys blended together into one, big mass of solid color, rippling here and there with the putrid water. At least it was moving water. If it stopped moving, there would be far more trouble before long.
Carrefour had beaches all long the Northern edge, and Bronte's family home was closer to the beach than most of the houses in town, though it was still a long way from the ocean.
Several blocks North, well past Fredaline's dwelling, the highway bordered a steep drop in altitude, so that the houses nearby on the South side looked down on the road, but the road passed just above the roofs of the houses on it's North side. Life would be hard there today, for sure. All the water running off from higher ground, and all the garbage and pollution it carried with it, would be accumulating there in alleys and homes and streets. Bronte did not want to think about the dangers all that water probably brought with it, and what is must be like to live in those houses.She hoped this flood would not bring another round of cholera.
"DON'T DO THAT!!!!" she screamed, seeing Ritha raising her cup toward her mouth. She quickly tore the cup out of Ritha's hands. She looked around frantically, getting a head count of the other young children, making sure no one else was doing anything so dangerous. Guerda was sitting down on a table, playing with a spoon. Toussaint was asleep in a carrier on the counter. Stephane was gathering wet clothes into a pile so Stevenson could use it to push water their way. Stephenson was quite clumsy though, and was mostly just making a mess with the dirty clothes amid all the nasty water. Ritha darted over them, giggling and tried to help.
The older children had all left with their school books to find higher ground so they could bring dry books to school, and turn in at least reasonably dry homework. Stevenson's homework was done, Webster had helped him with it. Tears sprang quickly to Bronte's eyes as she remembered how Seydou had done this for the older kids, especially the boys. It had been nice to see Webster carrying on the tradition already, sharing with his little brother what their father would not be able to, now.
We're going to get through this she thought as she wrung the last of the water out of a soggy shirt, Things are going to get better. She turned her eyes back to Stevenson, as he helped his little brother wring out the laundry. Seydou would be very proud.
Soon the house was reasonably dry, as dry as they could get it. there were no puddles anywhere. Dinner was going to be very late, as it had not even been started. When the big kids returned, Bronte would send them to Fredaline's house to help purge the water there. Truly, they would all get through this.

As Bronte sat down to catch her breath, looking around her relatively dry domain as the waters trickled by in the street, she couldn't help but just be thankful. The children's dark blue uniforms were all over the floor,soaking wet,and this water did nothing to clean them. Yet she was thankful that they had those uniforms, and especially thankful that, this week at least, he children were attending school - the boys and the girls alike.
Maybe they would actually get a toilet in their house before long, like Fredaline insisted they could. Bronte watched her best friend playing "This little piggy"with Toussaint's toes, Maybe they would, Bronte chuckled at the thought, even go up onto the mountains and plant some more trees.