Our plane just landed after a week's trip to Haiti. The purpose of the trip was to interview with CONASPEH--the Haitian organization we would be working with as missionaries in Haiti. We also met Felix Ortiz, our site director from Global Ministries--the organization that would place and support us as missionaries there. The intensity of the days gone by still weighs on my heart, and I struggle with the challenge before me, doubting my strength and abilities, wondering if what I give up by going is worth what I would gain or give being there.
I haven't cried so much in a matter of days since loosing my Grandfather. I cry for the suffering I witnessed, for the harsh reality of life there, for the challenges we will face and for the things we would have to give up for this call. I felt different about this trip than other ventures outside the border. I think because instead of just learning from and enjoying everything I saw, I looked at everything through the lens of "can i LIVE here for 4 years???." And that made the realities of the place all the more harsh.
The poverty is extreme. The capital city is completely intense and insane and will be a difficult challenge for this country girl. I was shocked at how little formal social structures were in place as a result of a thick history of political upheaval. The country visibly suffers from being industrialized before it could develop systems to handle it. For example, people in the city have access to Coke and Sprite, but not to fresh water. We received drinks in Styrofoam cups and had paper napkins with every meal, despite the fact that I've never seen so much trash litter a landscape in all my life. Startling mountains, piles, avalanches of trash. Trash lining the river bed, the sewer, the streets. The expanse of it all felt oppressive and heartbreaking. There was no grass to speak of, rare parks to relax and enjoy the breeze. Just dirt, rock and trash.
The evidence of the history of political turmoil and social unrest was clear. UN peacekeepers roamed the city by tank, by truck and by chopper. Soldiers stood ready at the guns as they patrolled the streets. You could still see bullet holes in the buildings of radio stations where journalists were killed during the military coup of the 90's. Walls surrounded everything and were built up to 15 feet in height with razor wire or broken glass added on top for additional security. Behind the walls were schools and homes and life, but all this wasn't evident from the street. And the streets--rutted and chaotic. After a drive, I would emerge from the car feeling worn and beaten.
Most people we saw live in tiny sheds/shacks without running water or a sewage system. We visited a complex of little 2 room homes that, combined, were smaller than our current apartment living room. They were nice by the standards of the Haitian poor because they had 4 cement walls and a roof. Most shelters that the poor live in are lean-tos or crumbling rock structures. Families of 6 to 9 lived in each of the little "casita". The houses inside were neat and tidy. One woman proudly gave us a tour, showing us the double bed that she and her husband and 2 children slept on, the mat that her other two children slept on with their grandmother, and the area in the kitchen where her youngest slept. She had little cups and saucers proudly displayed on her shelf. Her children, leaving for school, were clean, hair was styled, clothes spotless. I'm not sure how it happened since the only water available came out of a community spout, and their only "bathroom" was against a wall in the yard with a little piece of cardboard to use if privacy was needed. But the truth is I never saw a person who "looked" poor while in Haiti. Everyone wore clothes that were clean; hygiene was remarkable given the resources.
The school-based clinic where currently only a Haitian nurse works includes a room with a barred door, a hospital bed without sheets, a cupboard with Tylenol, Ibuprofen and an anti-worm medicine, and nothing else. No sink to wash hands or electricity, much less medical supplies or lab equipment. I couldn't help the overwhelming doubt that flooded my heart--what could I possible offer to the people of this community without the tools I've been trained to use?
But despite the shock of the landscape, the people of the country filled my heart with joy. The children were a sea of smiles and waves every time we passed by their classroom. The leaders of CONASPEH were incredible and inspiring. Although initially we were greeted with suspicious looks as we walked along city streets, a quick cultural lesson revealed faces that quickly melted into smiles (you must verbally greet everyone you see, engaging everyone in conversation in order to establish you are not a threat). We quickly became the favorite "project" of the hotel staff, the children at the school, and the pastors we met as everyone tried to teach us Creole by yelling louder and more slowly their foreign words. I found it interesting to be on the other end of the language barrier. It IS amazing that words don't become understandable no matter how loud or painfully slow you shout them out. But wow, if we caught on to a single word, a big celebration that would follow. :)
I never saw anyone cry, despite heartbreaking stories relayed. I have later found out that women rarely cry there. The social norm dictates that they must be strong for their families. I found myself blinking back tears doing my best to appear as brave as the people who survive and overcome such incredible difficulties. Instead, laughter and teasing and joking were the only emotions observed in our short week there. We quickly fit in as teasing was embraced and the ability to laugh at one's self is honored. I left my tears to the quiet of our hotel room at the day's end, and gratefully laughed at my foibles with language and culture during the day.
The organization we would work with in Haiti (CONASPEH) and the American organization that would employ and support us (Global Ministries) are both incredible. I couldn't have self-designed a better mission or philosophy for either. Each statement of purpose resounds with Patrick and I, and the people working in these organizations immediately became our personal heroes for the work they do. CONASPEH is working via grass-root efforts to transform a society. The people who we would be working with are leaders of the country and communities they work in, inspiring and building social reform from the ground up. All who we met there have such a vision for the country; they are making huge strides to inspire change in what feels like a hopeless situation. They reject the old idea of "missionaries" as we do; no longer is the missionary's role that of bringing the American experience to Haiti, instituting programs that aren't Haitian-based or maintainable without outside influence. Instead the leaders of CONASPEH embraced the concepts of Liberation and post-colonial Theology, and they LIVE it everyday.
The pastors we met with described their own vision of our time there as a mission of solidarity. They welcome the gifts of our presence and our training to augment the community effort that is well-underway. CONASPEH is working hard to figure out creative Haitian solutions to Haitian problems, to help design programs that do not depend on foreign aid, but that can be sustained through Haitian resources. They celebrate our gift of presence, and hope we will advise, based on our knowledge, in order to help come up with creative solutions.
Our project site director, Felix, used to be a missionary in Haiti for 9 years. He and his family were there during the military coups in the 90's. Despite the trauma of the violence he witnessed, he feels that the work done in Haiti was the most remarkable of his missionary experiences. He had great advice about living in Port-Au-Prince and was clearly in love with the Haitian culture, the people and the philosophy driving the work of CONASPEH. He was an incredible and beautiful person to get to know.
And I could write on and on. Now I sit trying to process what I've just seen, the decision before us, and whether I'm up for the challenge. One of the biggest sacrifices I recognize I will be making (and that I can't even type without tears) is the presence of my incredible friends and family in my day-to-day life. I will struggle with leaving our support systems for an experience where we will need them more than ever.
Ultimately, I left Haiti feeling like this opportunity is a way Patrick and I can work in a very real way toward peace in the world. It offers a chance to bridge a gap, to make connections despite differences in culture, language, socioeconomic status and experience. It is an opportunity to be outsiders interested in learning from the inside, interested in offering a hand in a unified effort to better ways of living. This opportunity allows us to put our ideals into very real action, to give our philosophy and theology a chance to come to life. And in turn, by putting ourselves in such a situation, we force ourselves to learn and grow, to refuse easy comfort or spiritual stagnation. We open our lives to experiences that will mold us in ways not yet dreamed. And if we are successful at creating a community in an unlikely setting, to ease one person's hardship or influence a life for the better, if we are able to help a process move forward in whatever small way we can, then... well, then amazing.
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