Brother Beaurel's Wedding

It seemed like a bad sign when we arrived in Pont Gracia and the groom was standing in the road wearing a worn, short-sleeved, polo shirt with basketball shorts.  He greeted us warmly but shook his head with concern.  There was a problem.

The pastor hadn't arrived.

And besides that...

the bride was having trouble after going into early labor that morning.

Months ago, I was on my back porch hanging the Wednesday morning bedsheets when Beaurel leaned on his palm frond broom to talk across the fence.

"Sister Christina, I have done wrong.  My fiancé is pregnant and I need to marry her to make it right before her and God."

His confession was straightforward.  His plan direct. He loved her and wanted to do right by her, God, and the church, so he was going to save up the money to marry her.  Beaurel said that to get married in Haiti you must have a house, table, chairs, and hutch, and a bed.  If you can't provide those basic things for your wife it would be shameful to marry.  Beaurel had the house and was now setting about to earn the money for the important furniture items.  But there was a deadline since his fiancé was pregnant and they wished to marry before the baby arrived.

The wedding was scheduled for Saturday, June 27.  The bride was to get ready in Cap Haitien and be chauffeured to the wedding by the best man.  The women of the family had the menu planned and beans and rice, plantain, salads, pikliz, and pate were being cooked.  The church had given it's blessing on the marriage and the pastor was going to marry them.  Everything was set.

But Saturday morning, the bride was not feeling so well and told Beaurel to call the midwife.  Before she could arrive a tiny baby girl was born -- and then another.  Twin girls, tiny and perfect!

Beaurel was a proud papa and was excited to get on with the wedding.  Since the babies had been born that very day, they moved the wedding time from 5 to 6 to give the bride some time to recover.  After all, she had just had two babies.

After further assessment the wedding got moved to the family home so Mama wouldn't have to travel anywhere.  But as the wedding time got closer it became clear that the bride was not doing so well.  The placenta had failed to deliver and the family realized she might need to go to the hospital.

This was the discussion when our party arrived at 6 PM.  Seth and Melissa Johnson, Joel Doorlag and I had donned our wedding best -- suitcoats and ties, heels and pearls.  After preliminary discussion about the setbacks, we were invited in to see the new babies.  We took turns cooing at and cuddling the 4 lb delights and then decided to leave.  Beaurel told us he would call when his fiancè returned from the hospital and they would continue with the wedding.  We piled back into the van to return to COTP.

As we were about to drive away, Beaurel came running after us.  He asked if we would be willing to drive his fiancé to the hospital.  We turned around and stopped at the house where a sister, Beaurel's sister-in-law, and Beaurel all got in with the fiancé laying across their laps.  The bride lay in a bejeweled-collared, fuchsia gown.  Her nails were manicured and her hair once straightened and styled, crumpled with the stress of the day as she breathed with the strain of pain.  Then the babies were carried out.

Someone asked, "Who can hold the babies?"

Someone else responded with, "the foreign ladies can do that".  So the babies, wrapped in bath towels for warmth in the 90 degree heat, were passed to us.  A tiny, precious, baby girl lay on my lap. A little cotton green gown with careful embroidery, stitched in darker green, dressed her little frame, and a handkerchief, pinned at the center served as a diaper.  The other twin had a matching dress in yellow, and was laid in Melissa's arms for the ride to the hospital.

I have not visited Milot hospital in formal wear before, and I can tell you that being a foreigner in this land is enough to garner attention all by itself.  So walking in with the twin babies in our wedding best created a spectacle (and privilege) wherever we went.

Well, after some hours of baby cuddling and waiting, and the news that the Bride-to-be would be admitted for care, Beaurel conceded that the wedding would no longer take place that day.  It was 10:00 PM after all, and it might be hard to get the pastor to the hospital yet that night.

The rest of us drove home though the moonlit Haitian countryside, jostling and bumping over the rough gravel roads to the comfort of our homes.  I lay in bed, some time after midnight, smiling about the evening that had just passed, knowing that little goes according to plan in Haiti, but that I am sure to find adventure here should I be willing to follow it.