In mid-summer 1979 we sweltered while we traveled in Haiti one afternoon. Some vehicles had air conditioning. We weren't that fortunate. As we drove our 4x4 truck along the beautiful Caribbean, we came upon a man holding the biggest red snapper fish we had ever seen in Haiti. I slammed on the brakes. The man came running to the truck ready to make a sale. As we bartered back and forth we finally agreed on $7 for the fish. Most Haitians would work a week for that much money. The high price was worth it, however, for this fresh, fat fish!

When we completed the three-hour trip to our home, I gave the big fish to Francine, one of my workers. “Clean it and give our family six inches by the tail,” I told him. “The remaining fish is for the orphanage employees and the children.” We all ate fish that night and went to bed feeling fine.

 When I saw Francine about 8 o’clock the next morning he could barely walk. The night before he went to bed without bathing after holding the red snapper between his bare feet to scrape off the fish scales. Rats feasted on his feet while he slept. His feet were not bleeding, just oozing a little. I could clearly see the pairs of teeth marks, which looked like the imprint of a dinner fork on soft candle wax.

 Rats feeding on Francine’s feet jarred me awake. I now had a vivid picture of the living conditions of poor people.

 By February 1982 we were living in Port-au-Prince.  After a six-hour bus ride from his home, Francine found our house in the city. As we talked that afternoon we didn’t mention rats or oozing feet, but I did ask him a personal question. “Francine, how do you feel deep in your heart when you see my big house with electric lights, a steel gate, and two toilets with water to flush them?”

 My 33-year-old black friend carefully assured me that he felt no envy or harsh feelings. He ended by saying, “I don't want this house. I have no money to pay the electric bill each month, and I can't drive a car. I'm happy for you, but I can't use this house or your things.”

 Then Francine asked me a question. “Can I give you counsel?” He was asking for permission to speak from his heart. I quickly agreed to receive his inmost thoughts.

 “If I come to see you again and knock on the gate, it's not good if you speak to me through the gate because then the neighbors think I’m a nobody. But if you greet me and bring me inside, if we drink a cold Pepsi together, that's enough. I don’t need your big house. I just want to be your friend.”

 What sweet words—“I just want to be your friend.”

 I’m grateful that Francine gave me such wise counsel with his carefully chosen words. Because of his encouragement I have opened the gate to many friends regardless of economic status.  I'm a rich man because I listened to Francine.

 Swanee Schwanz