Mount Boeffe, Southern Haiti Mountain Range
Their meal complete, Solange and Father Jean say goodbye. “We’ll be over at the orphanage for the rest of the day if anyone needs us.” Henri takes Kevin, Panielle and the rest of the men into a small garden shed behind the chapel. He turns on a battery-operated bulb when they’re inside. The shed is filled with locked cabinets. Henri unlocks one and begins handing backpacks full of gear to each man. Then he turns to Kevin, “You have your tools and personal gear in your kit already?” Kevin, “I have everything except the batteries.” Henri nods, “We’ll take a donkey along for those.” Then one of Henri’s men adds, “I scouted the tower a week ago. The generators weren’t running.” Kevin nods thoughtfully, “That makes sense. The last engineers couldn’t remember if they reset the timer for the solar panels.” Glancing at Henri who’s watching him closely, he continues, “The AM transmitters in the cities use so much power that most stations in Port use low-power FM transmitters on peaks to relay signal back down to the cities on the coast.” Henri begins nodding, “Always get to high ground before turning on a radio.”
The next morning, after a light breakfast of coffee, hard bread, and cheese, the men make their way up the trail to Mount Beef with their trusty burro in tow. They have a few close calls on some very unstable shale that avalanched over the trail during last summer’s rainy season. After lengthy negotiations with the donkey, now nicknamed The Ass, they arrive at the transmission tower as the sun is setting. Kevin and the men take off their packs and sit on the base of the transmission tower, enjoying the view. From their vantage point, they can see the Caribbean Sea to their north and south. As the sun drops into the sea, they watch the water color change from bright turquoise to a deep, cobalt blue. The night is so clear that Kevin can also see stars for the first time since arriving in Haiti. The smog, dust, and constant haze of Port-au-Prince blot out the starlight each night. Kevin thinks he can see the Southern Cross before some clouds drift in from the north. Then the night turns pitch dark and the men use kerosene lanterns and flashlights to make their way inside the transmitter control shed.
Henri has the men pile all their gear in a circle around the inside of the shed. They lay out blankets and sleeping bags and huddle together on the floor as the night temperature drops to a temperature that soon has them shivering. They laugh and try to blow smoke rings with the fog that appears when they exhale. Soon their breathing begins to become regular and a few light snores are heard. Kevin turns off the last kerosene lantern and falls asleep to the sound of rats scurrying outside the walls of their makeshift luggage moat.
There are no roosters at this altitude to wake them, but Henri has everyone up and packed by sunrise. He says to Kevin, “I’ll leave Panielle here with you as security. His English will deal with anyone who stops by without Kreyòl.” Kevin knows this could mean just about anything if a missionary or other American shows up without an invitation. Henri continues, “We’ll go check on our transmitter and should be back by nightfall. If not, we’ll wait until tomorrow to come back so we don’t accidentally lead a bunch of mal leves up here. We might your help on our tower. But if you haven’t figured out what’s going on here, we’ll help you sort that out first.” Kevin agrees and begins pulling out tools and his multi-meter. Without more conversation, Henri and the rest of his team descend the path that leads downhill, then up again to the next peak.
A few hours later Kevin has confirmed that nothing needs repair except the generator that won’t start. He’s already tapped on the fuel tank and it seems to be more than half full. But having checked everything else, he climbs up onto the tank with his flashlight and opens its hatch. Holding his face away from the opening to avoid inhaling fumes, he drops a long stick into the tank with markings every few centimeters. But before the stick hits liquid, he feels it sink into something firm. He holds his breath and peers inside the fuel tank. It’s filled with sand and diesel. Kevin stares in disbelief, then seals the tank again and climbs back down to the ground.