Two days ago we were ran completely off the road by a great big bus. It was immediately obvious that he would have won, so my only option became to skid off the road. I managed to keep the car under control and brought us back onto the blacktop, but the damage was done. The next morning there was a big pool of oil under the car. After spending all day at the mechanic, I replaced two sets of brakes, and stood in the middle of the busy streets of Cayes while a man literally carved me two new shock bushings out of an old dump truck tire with his knife. The rack and pinion is shot, and there's just no way to fix that without shipping the part from America, but along with the learning experience of the day I got to spend most of the morning with my new neighbor, Wilber, who volunteered to go with me into the city. I also met another man who could translate very well, Maxim, who just happened to be in the area visiting his uncle. I met a new mechanic named Marcel who spent most of his day sweating profusely over the stubbornness of my shocks. There were blessings mixed in with the troubles, the greatest of which was my family, safe and sound, waiting at home for me to return. The car should have flipped when were forced off the road. Instead we bounced off, and then I corrected, and we bounced right back on, almost at a 45 degree angle.
Then today I had my kids in the car with me. My little girl in the passengers seat, my son sitting in the back seat, leaning up between us. We were on our way to the airport to pick up a package. Out of nowhere, thousands of people were coming our direction. All of the road filled with cars, ambulances, police, UN, all with sirens blazing and horns screaming, and all coming our direction at about 50mph. They never even slowed down as a policeman driving straight at me just pointed for me to get off of the road. It was a steep embankment and there was nowhere for me to go. I went off the road as far as I could go, and slammed on the brakes. I began to flash my lights and honk my horn, even shifted in reverse to try and leverage some kind of maneuvering. A motorcycle with 3 men shot in front of me and he skidded his bike just before hitting me. Cars, 4 wheelers, hundreds of motorcycles roared past within inches, all veering to miss hitting us. It was Martelly, the President of Haiti, making a surprise visit to our city. He passed in the back of a Ranger, a 6-wheeler type of contraption, surrounded by security. When it was all finally over I looked at my daughter. She was frozen. My son was staring in disbelief to what he'd just experienced. I was praising God that we were all still alive. Behind us they began to set up road blocks, hitting cars and gathering rocks onto the road, planning to protest.
"What in the world just happened?" I said, almost in shock. "I don't know," my boy said, "but I hope I never have to see that again."
I called my wife, "I don't know when we'll make it home. I think we're gonna be a little late...."