Day 1-3
Thirteen in all, we arrived into Port au Prince for our two hour drive to a mountain village community center where we would stay. Driving through “Port”, electricity lines were few, and people flowed through and among the streets, enjoying their community well into the hour of 10pm. A “football” (soccer) game lit up the night just beyond our line of sight in a community park. Haitians walking the streets were well dressed, shoulders high, with a casual enthusiasm in their smiles.
Our facility was a welcomed assembly of tile, metal, and concrete bound together in unlikely fashion and uncertain fortitude. Recycled rusted nails and metal scraps used to cover many small spaces. The facility centered around a basketball court for the village children that I was told is a welcomed distraction from the evident need and disappointing pace of progress for many of them. We arranged our things among metal bunks and brightly painted rooms, and settled in to sleep alongside the locals. Intermittent plumbing and electricity were evident, nearly expected. The toilet was flushed once a day using a bucket of water. The shower released a dribble, so I knew I would attest to the strength of my deodorant in three days time.
The afternoon distributions began with a walk in the village, requiring careful footing along hilly terrain where gravel and stones were the only roads. As we neared the church, a crowd of women had lined up beneath the midday sun in anticipation of our arrival. I could not help but consider how long they had been waiting. As they stood in a line, each gently held the person in front of them with their forearms, creating the look of a human chain. Did they intentionally or unconsciously do this - holding their space or holding each other - I was not sure.
The inside of the church was a room of concrete with long wooden benches that lined each aisle. As we began to set up, young boys who were standing outside, scuttled to find a space to peer through the window openings, their hands holding tightly onto the vertical bars that covered each. They eagerly watch the activities of the day, though they were not due to receive anything in return.
As we began, women were escorted inside, five or so at a time. Their feet were measured, washed and fitted for a shoe. At my station, I smiled and looked at each one, eye to eye. There was so much to see. They said little, but there was a story in each of them I was certain. Beautiful face and skin, and wide bright eyes plenty. Their feet were dry, worn, hardened by daily routine, work of their lives, and terrain. And yet, they presented their most well kept selves; clean, well dressed, painted toes, with hair swept off the nape of their neck, often carefully covered with a hat. Again, much like the children, when I asked in French if the water was cold, they would smile and I could see their shoulders relax. Some would fit to the shoe rather than the shoe fitting to them, in order to avoid being empty handed. A mutual smile was exchanged to show we understood.
The afternoon was spent amidst the company of www.newvisionhaiti.org and the well loved children who live there. Amazing support is being shared and provided to the communities and the children of Haiti
Day 5
I came to Haiti Haiti
Thirteen in all, we arrived into Port au Prince for our two hour drive to a mountain village community center where we would stay. Driving through “Port”, electricity lines were few, and people flowed through and among the streets, enjoying their community well into the hour of 10pm. A “football” (soccer) game lit up the night just beyond our line of sight in a community park. Haitians walking the streets were well dressed, shoulders high, with a casual enthusiasm in their smiles. 
Our facility was a welcomed assembly of tile, metal, and concrete bound together in unlikely fashion and uncertain fortitude. Recycled rusted nails and metal scraps used to cover many small spaces. The facility centered around a basketball court for the village children that I was told is a welcomed distraction from the evident need and disappointing pace of progress for many of them. We arranged our things among metal bunks and brightly painted rooms, and settled in to sleep alongside the locals. Intermittent plumbing and electricity were evident, nearly expected. The toilet was flushed once a day using a bucket of water. The shower released a dribble, so I knew I would attest to the strength of my deodorant in three days time.
We moved boxes, prepared wash bins, and organized shoes, awaiting cautious, but eager crowds. Over the next couple days, our work was completed on the community center gym floor in the mornings (children’s shoes), and in nearby churches in the afternoon (women’s shoes). Our group was a mix of families and individuals, men and women, working together smoothly, cooperatively, and systematically in a quiet hum for nearly 5 hours of the day in total. Our days were deemed a success by us all, with a tally of nearly 700 pairs of shoes distributed.
Children were generally shy, sometimes crying, occasionally smiling, often uncertain, and always beautiful. My French was useful but often difficult just the same, since French Creole is the predominant language. I made jokes about the cold water or the color of their shirt, and saw them relax with a smile – a small but satisfying connection of the heart made. They always turned to say “Mesi” (Creole for “Merci”) as they left.
The afternoon distributions began with a walk in the village, requiring careful footing along hilly terrain where gravel and stones were the only roads. As we neared the church, a crowd of women had lined up beneath the midday sun in anticipation of our arrival. I could not help but consider how long they had been waiting. As they stood in a line, each gently held the person in front of them with their forearms, creating the look of a human chain. Did they intentionally or unconsciously do this - holding their space or holding each other - I was not sure.
The inside of the church was a room of concrete with long wooden benches that lined each aisle. As we began to set up, young boys who were standing outside, scuttled to find a space to peer through the window openings, their hands holding tightly onto the vertical bars that covered each. They eagerly watch the activities of the day, though they were not due to receive anything in return. 
As we began, women were escorted inside, five or so at a time. Their feet were measured, washed and fitted for a shoe. At my station, I smiled and looked at each one, eye to eye. There was so much to see. They said little, but there was a story in each of them I was certain. Beautiful face and skin, and wide bright eyes plenty. Their feet were dry, worn, hardened by daily routine, work of their lives, and terrain. And yet, they presented their most well kept selves; clean, well dressed, painted toes, with hair swept off the nape of their neck, often carefully covered with a hat. Again, much like the children, when I asked in French if the water was cold, they would smile and I could see their shoulders relax. Some would fit to the shoe rather than the shoe fitting to them, in order to avoid being empty handed. A mutual smile was exchanged to show we understood.
When each fitting was done, they took the new shoes and placed them back in the box. The old shoes, weary and weathered from use, adorned with holes and layers of dust, still had a purpose. They would say Merci and nod in appreciation and validating agreement. As one hour became two, our ‘store’ stacks of shoes began to fade quickly, some sizes more than others, and many of the women who had been measured for a size of which we had none, were turned away with little reward for their wait. This left a disappointment in our heart and an apologetic look on our faces.
On our walk back to the center, many children asked to follow us 'home'. They clung to our arms or fingers to show us the way and feel our skin. They were all smiles and wide eyes as we walked. They seldom smiled for photos but for the interaction up close, they could light up a room. Once at the center, I lingered a bit in saying goodbye. I gave a hug and one child gave me a kiss on the cheek.
Day 4
During our three hour drive to Montrouis, we saw glimpses of earthquake rubble, partially completed concrete walls, and small tent camps evident by blue tarps and metal scrap walls for homes. We stopped to see the mass burial site on the hill that was used during the earthquake and the fields where many had been displaced afterwards. Today they are largely vacant fields. Further along the coast, we saw large coastal homes and small commercial centers lining the road. We stopped to see the progress of a local internet café, being started by our local guide Kesnel, then spent a few hours at a coastal resort, followed by the best cold shower we had every taken.
During our three hour drive to Montrouis, we saw glimpses of earthquake rubble, partially completed concrete walls, and small tent camps evident by blue tarps and metal scrap walls for homes. We stopped to see the mass burial site on the hill that was used during the earthquake and the fields where many had been displaced afterwards. Today they are largely vacant fields. Further along the coast, we saw large coastal homes and small commercial centers lining the road. We stopped to see the progress of a local internet café, being started by our local guide Kesnel, then spent a few hours at a coastal resort, followed by the best cold shower we had every taken. 
The afternoon was spent amidst the company of www.newvisionhaiti.org and the well loved children who live there. Amazing support is being shared and provided to the communities and the children of 
Day 5
As we were heading to the airport the last morning, I reflected, and I kept reflecting all the way home into my very own driveway. One of the reasons I love to travel is to appreciate the involuntary breakdown that occurs within me, when I get to know another people and place. It is a healthy breakdown of every comfort I have, every assumption I have, and every reservation I have – all stripped down to nothing. That is, nothing except the human heart. At the end of the day, across many continents and countries, this remains the same; most people do the best they can with what they have for their family, themselves, and for each other. They will respect you if you respect them.
I came to
I am grateful to have served with and met such a wonderful group of people. The service that I provided may have faded quickly, but if to only one person I made a difference, it was so much more than worth it.
No comments:
Post a Comment