Family and Community

Patrick and I just returned from a ti mache (a little walk), venturing out in the street to pick up a late lunch after a busy morning. We have explored the neighborhood long enough that we are beginning to run into people we recognize whether it be women over cooking fires, street children along-side heavily trafficked roads, the pharmacist lazing outside his store, the man selling straw brooms on the corner or the occasional pastor we pass who knows us from CONASPEH. Such connectivity is exciting and reinforces why we came to Haiti—to build community. We've eaten many times at several of the sidewalk cook-stands, and now the women recognize us, wave and call out, "Bonjour cheri" when we walk by. Today we met a woman after she yelled to us, "Where are you from?" in English, engaged us in conversation about her experiences in the U.S., and gave us kisses on the cheek when we parted. These kinds of moments make me fall absolutely in love with the adventure we are on.

CONASPEH recently created a Yarbough Foundation, in honor of one of their long-time friends, partners and beneficiaries from Kansas City. The first Foundation project planned was a weekend seminar discussing the issues surrounding family and spirituality. Patrick and I were asked to lead the seminar, and couple it with a short mobile clinic where I could make myself available to listen to, examine and offer medical recommendations to the participants of the seminar and their families.

Today was the first of these Saturday sessions. Patrick and I were accompanied by our translator, Frenauld who is a 17 year old boy with a sweet disposition and an excellent language education. A pastor of our host church helped us navigate our way to the village of Fontamara for the seminar that would take place in a large CONASPEH church there.

After lots of introductions, Patrick, Frenauld and I sat at a table positioned in front of the pews with microphones in hand. Even though the audience was relatively small, the microphones were necessary so our voices could compete with outside noise echoing around the concrete walls: the honking, roaring traffic, yelling from street vendors, dogs barking, and a wedding ceremony underway in the balcony above us.

We spent the morning discussing issues of family within the Christian context. Patrick pulled from the Bible references on the role of the family in our spirituality, in our lives on earth and in how we honor God through each other. We also spent some time discussing conflict and conflict resolution. Our attempts at creating a participatory style of seminar initially fell flat after several long moments of silence hanging from blank faces staring back at us in response to questions like, “What do you think? What are some of your ideas?” We did finally have some participation in the question section. Conflict was the subject of most interest, and we spent some entertaining moments talking about ways to work around marital fights and some creative ways to resolve.

After the seminar, some participants stayed for medical consultations. The “clinic” took place in tiny little room in the back of the church, probably the place where the pastor readies himself before hitting the pulpit. Patrick, Frenauld and I crammed ourselves into the tiny space, circling around a small wooden table. The doctor was in. One patient after another entered, sat down and aired their health concerns. Since I didn’t have anything more than Tylenol and a bag full of bandages, I was left with only the offer of advice, prescriptions if appropriate and a listening ear. But in spite of my earlier fears that such a basic service would not be helpful, the patients I saw seemed happy to have the interaction. Luckily, no one really sick came in. I enjoyed a fun day of talking to people and educating with the help of our translator. Even if I'm not saving lives, it feels good to touch people, to listen to them, to reassure them, to educate them. Today I felt in that tiny little room without supplies or medical trappings, people were happier with the consult then they seemed in our little CONASPEH clinic that looks a little more official. Maybe these patients’ expectations were altered. Maybe mine have changed with time. Whatever was different, it allowed space for sharing and education, and that is the foundation of what I hope our work becomes here, how our lives evolve.