Action Committee

Over the last 6 months, Patrick and I've taken part in project proposals, have learned about and reviewed programs, and have participated in the sharing of ideas with our coworkers. We've made mistakes, we've learned, and we've been inspired. Together with our partners in CONASPEH we've developed some lofty goals for both theological and health services outreach. Some goals can be acomplished in the short term, others are visions for the long-range future.

In general, my physical work thus far has been a series of spurts and lulls in activity. Both Patrick and I have to continually remind ourselves that we are still early in our time here and thus have to find patience with our language development, our ability to accomplish what we've been asked to do and with our own satisfaction with the tasks at hand. Much of our own projects and work hinges on certain milestones that need to first be crossed during this Haitian journey: language fluency, orientation to our professional communities around us, networking, and a school calendar.

Aside from Sunday visits and preaching at CONASPEH churches, Patrick is currently teaching three classes in the seminary: Theology, Old Testament and New Testament. He has begun recruiting friends and acquaintances with backgrounds in theology to come volunteer as visiting professors and offer ancillary course work to the seminary (consider yourself invited!). He is working with the leaders of the seminary in reviewing the curriculum, organizing administrative tasks, evaluating course work and discussing goals for future projects. He teaches 2 classes of English and inspires lively games of basketball in the afternoons. He's taken over group planning and is ever busy with CONASPEH helping organize activities for the many partner visits anticipated over the next year.

I continue to be a presence in the CONASPEH clinic in the mornings, offering consultations to kids of the school, pastors of CONASPEH, and whomever wanders in. I'm teaching two classes in the nursing school as well while working with the director of the school on projects like clinical rotation evaluations and site visits, devising learning labs, utilizing medical volunteers and educators, and ultimately licensing requirements. I travel to Carrefour once weekly for a clinic day, try to be available when feasable for after-church mobile clinics, and conspire with the CONASPEH board how to best develop more broad reaching programs of health education and service which I'll better be able to teach when I've gotten a better grasp on the language.

Lately my own work has fallen into a lull. For a girl used to the 36 hour on-your-feet, use-your-hands call shifts of residency, a schedule which is largely meetings and "planning" tends to feel slow. Several of our projects have been in a waiting cycle. The proposed collaboration with Dr. Laplaunch (the Haitian physician) fell through and for one reason or another, the clinics haven't been very busy, leaving me antsy and wondering how to take the next step. Imagine my delight when CONASPEH beat me to the punch.

Last week Francois and I had a meeting where she had asked to see a list of proposals I had, projects I thought might benefit CONASPEH covering everything from clinic and mobile clinic outreach, nursing school projects, school and public health education, and partnerships with international friends. We reviewed things we've accomplished, projects currently underway, those pending and long-term goals. It was one of those meetings that helped us all put things in perspective--allowed me to hear what CONASPEH's needs and goals were, listen to feedback on my own ideas, and collaborate on further action.

This week, Francois invited me to a meeting of a newly formed CONASPEH committee--the central committee on health. I was introduced to Dr. Charcot, a young Haitian physician who has recently finished his training. Dr. Charcot has grown up in CONSPEH, was a former student in the primary and secondary school, and through CONASPEH's partners, had his medical education funded. I was thrilled to meet a very smart, very capable young man who was full of ideas and energy. As far as I know, CONASPEH can't afford to pay him a salary, and he is currently job searching. But because of his loyalty to the organization that molded so much of his success in this life, he has been vigorously giving back. He teaches in the nursing school and now has volunteered to help be an advisor to this central committee. I was thrilled. Here is the teammate, the connection to the Haitian medical community I was hoping for. I loved his energy, his connection to CONASPEH and his willingness to get things done.

In our first meeting we reviewed current and proposed projects, local and satellite clinics as well as mobile clinic outreach. Ideas were flying, and I could barely keep up with the rapid fire Creole. AFter it was all said and done, we had come up with a new Health Program to present to the pastors of the CONASPEH churches; a program that would outline CONASPEH's new commitment to health services, and a proposed way of making a self-sustaining systems of intervention and care.

Today Dr. Charcot, Miss Fano, Francois and I introduced ourselves as members of the central committee (Mdm Altena--director of the nursing school was in absence) to a large assembly of pastors representing multiple broad regions of the country. We introduced CONASPEH's vision, and our planned programs.

In short, CONASPEH has started a membership program for its health services. Churches can pay a small yearly membership fee (the equivelent of $2.50 U.S.) to offer health care access for their church members. With this membership also affords the possibility of a mobile clinic visitation to their church and/or community. A suggested donation per patient for clinic service was set at 50 goudes (a little over $1 U.S) which covers consultation and any medications that might be dispensed from the pharmacy, depending on ability to pay. We discussed our presence and the unification of the central CONASPEH clinic, the Carrefour clinic, and the future clinic in Point Sonde. We discussed starting with small mobile clinic outreaches with hopes to expand services as medical volunteers come down to offer their skills, as our laboratory outreach becomes a reality and as our own CONASPEH mobile medical team becomes organized utilizing our nursing students.

CONASPEH is one of those organizations that has projects underway covering almost all social services: education, health care, spiritual growth, nutrition and political representation. There have been times that I've wondered, given the enormity of their vision and action, whether a viable health care outreach program and/or system was really among their priorities. But today, watching the enthusiasm of my committee members and the excitement of the pastors, I was convinced otherwise. And in true Haitian style, a seemingly huge endeavor has suddenly been not only proposed but mobilized.

And I'm thrilled with new team I'm surrounded with and the anticipated acceleration in pace! Bring it on.

Revisiting

This morning we revisited a CONASPEH church--a rare treat given the number of potential CONASPEH churches we could visit (6,000). I was excited about returning to this church. Patrick and I had first visited the congregation the Sunday before Christmas. At that time, I had gone there needing a spiritual jolt to shake me out of my holiday blues, and this unique church, settled on the outskirts of City Solei magically did the trick. I was curious if I would find it equally enchanting today.

I needn't have wondered.

We found the simple rectangular building constructed out of wooden poles and tin sitting surrounded by a bright green pasture. Its neighbors were two donkeys munching happily on the lush grasses, baby goats calling out for their momma, and a cow in the corner sleepily blinking its big brown eyes in the morning sun.

Patrick and I both smiled walking back into the familiar simple church. Wooden pews lined with women, men and children filled the space, silk flowers that hung from the beams added a colorful backdrop, a breeze blew in the opening left between panels of tin keeping off the shaded space cool despite the direct sun overhead.

Since today we had Mr. Solomon with us, I was able to weazle out of sitting in our designated seat of honor in front of the congregation. Patrick looked at me with envy as I nestled myself in the back of the church with other women holding small children. Sitting in the congregation has been something I've wanted to do from the beginning... partly because I am not a fan of the all-eyes-on-me feeling of the hot seat, and mostly because I'd rather feel part of a community than an observer from the side lines (or the front). The women whose space I invaded seemed happy to welcome me. They delighted in Solomon's chubby cheeks and I celebrated their own infant's cute smiles, deep dimples and special sunday dresses.

The children's section also sat in the back of the church, and all children aged 2 and above sat together. I watched one mother drop her little boy off. He was quite upset with the separation (although mom sat only a few pews in front of him). But the children in the pews, no bigger or older than he, wrapped their tiny arms around him, patted him on the back, pulled him into hugs comforting him and reassuring him that it was going to be ok. Sure enough, he was quickly smiling and swaying back and forth to the music with the other children who sang the hymns with the fervor of youth.

As the service commenced, the space we shared was soon filled with song. The only accompaniment to the upraised voices was a drum. This church serves a community where people live hand to mouth, where jobs are scarce, where most share a small space called home with more family than there is room for, where women have to carry water from a community source to do cleaning or to cook, where children play in the dirt or only dream of going to school, where hunger is an entity known all too well and medical care a resource not known well enough. Yet despite the misery, the spirit that rose from this community was palpable. Surrounded by song, I was moved. We all were. Swaying with the community to the rhythm of song as voices and hands lifted, I was amazed at the force the came from a people who deserve to be too tired to stand.

I also appreciated the fact we'd been there before, thus making our presence today not such a novelty or a distraction. Most of recognized us and greeted us. The familiarity eliminated the usual few suspicious glances and our own discomfort of having to prove ourselves time and time again.

Patrick gave a sermon about love... a message that seemed to fit my recognized affections for this congregation. He was met by an vigorous chorus of "amen's" by the people who seemed happy to see he was quick to come back.

After church while Patrick entertained the children of the church with his antics, I offered a small consultation time as a way of advertising CONASPEH's medical outreach as well as providing some on-site services to the people there. The leaders of the church had selected a few of the more needy congregants to participate in order to avoid a mob seen with the whole church. I was impressed how organized they were, how controlled the time felt.

And the series of complaints and worries I fielded are those that are common here due to life stlyle, food, hard work and lack of resources. Head aches, stomach aches, back aches, knee aches, fevers, weakness, dizziness. I found folks who deserved referral to the CONASPEH clinic or another for closer follow up. In general it was a perfect end to a great morning of worship and service.

So as I look to the week ahead, I hope the energy of the service fuels our days, the warmth of new familiarity validates our time here, the recognition of the needs of our brothers and sisters energizes our efforts, and the gifts of spirit from our new friends enlightens the journey.

Family Ti Mache

After a weekend of sick days, and school that was slow to restart after the elections leaving a clinic that was virtually empty, I have been feeling a little stir crazy with lack of tactile things to do. I was threatening Patrick that I was ready to bust out on my first solo run in Haiti, and Patrick suggested we instead go for a little family walk around the neighborhood.

There is a small side-street market not far from our house, and we so happened to be out of vegetables. Veggies are so much more fresh and beautiful in the street markets than the cold and "modern" supermarkets full of imported goods where you can buy everything from Idaho potatoes to Washington apples that look a lot worse for the trip. The produce in the "mache" or street markets is affordable, seasonal and shopping in the neighborhood "mache" allows us to support Haitian agriculture while taking in a great cultural experience. So we put on our "snuggly" baby harness/carrier and ventured out with Solomon for a neighborhood walk.

Shortly after turning onto the market street, we started perusing the various machan's wares. Women squatted over mats full of colorful vegetables, others over big sacks of rice and dried beans. The woman selling pwason had a tub of small white fish staring up blindly from a big basket. Several baskets were full of less perishable supplies such as canned milk, spaghetti and spreadable cheese. A skinned and raw cow thigh hung bloodily from the stall of the beef vendor, attracting a healthy swarm of flies. Chicken was both available newly skinned and raw sitting in a tub or live complete with feet, feathers, beak and bawk. With mango season upon us, almost everyone was selling a few, and the smell of over-ripe mango wafted up through the air mixing with the sent of meat, composting vegetables in the trash pile, dirt and the ever-present smoke on the breeze. The market was a buzz of activity but our presence took the buzz up to an all-out roar.

You would have thought we were hollywood celebrities. Move over Brangelina. Suri Cruz, you are so out of the spotlight. The Bentrotts are in the market.

We found ourselves quickly surrounded by masses of people very curious in our threesome, asking lots of questions and following us through the tiny neighborhood market. As we tried to innocently shop for colorful tomatoes, onions, green peppers and potatoes, we quickly found out that interest lay more in our story than in a possible sale. One merchant after another would ask about Solomon (where did you find him?) with eyebrows raised carrying a little challenge behind the gaze. I would then tell his story as curious onlookers would squeeze in to hear, and could immediately hear 5 people recounting the story to their neighbor behind them, "she said his mother put him in an orphanage and now they are taking care of him." Discussion then commenced amongst the crowd about their understanding of our role in Solomon's life. The comment that jarred me a bit was: "They'll feed him and send him to school, then give him back when he is done with school."

I suppose that is true in some ways. We raise our children until they are 18, and then set them free. Solomon will certainly be free to return to the country of his birth. And if we've done a good job instilling a sense of pride and ownership of the Haitian culture in him, such exploration might be a real possibility for him.

We are becoming accustomed to such lines of questioning and discussion when out with Solomon; we are usually greeted by an initial air of suspicion which is quickly dissipated when we tell his story. I don't mind at all the conversations that are sparked having Solomon with us, but today brought a new twist of bizarre. In reaction to our story, it seemed the people of the market today thought we were shopping for onions, peppers, potatoes and BABIES. After hearing about the Americans who are taking care of an orphan, they were sure that certainly one wasn't enough for us. One family brought their developmentally disabled child to us saying, "here, take him." The 8 year-old-boy stared up at us smiling, seemingly unfazed that his mother just tried to pawn him off on a strangely pale couple. A pregnant woman offered to give us her baby after it was born. Everyone had a baby or a friend with a baby that they could give us. Instantly overwhelmed, I then swung into my newly mastered speech, "babies should stay with their mothers if they can, because they love you and you love them. If Haitian children can grow up with Haitian families, it is a blessing for them and for the country." I don't yet have the vocab to go into long discussions about child trafficking or the ethical and legal implications of starting our own Haitian Brady Bunch working outside of systems in place to protect children.

Uh.

We ditched the peppers. It was too much. I could barely find Patrick's face over the sea of onlookcer's surrounding me and Solomon (who was happily kicking in the harness, taking in the crowds with a stoic gaze). I hope that the novelty of two blans with a bebe nwa will wear off if we keep a consistent presence in the hood. Its funny... when we walk the side streets, we still engage in the same conversations, but they are less overwhelming. And they usually don't involve getting offers to expand the family. The market was out of control.

Of course all such interest, such "offerings" and displays are a consequence of the harsh realities of life and the difficulties people here have in supporting their families. They also reflect the historical "blan" presence in Haiti in which some precedents have been set. Haitians have long seen white foreigners swooping in, taking up projects on everything from health care to building churches to child rearing. In some ways Patrick and I are playing into part of such a problem that exists when foreigners try to solve Haitian problems in their foreign ways instead of empowering the Haitians to solve their own problems in their own ways. When it came to Solomon, we acted on an individual to individual basis. It was a matter of love at first sight, a matter of a couple wanting a child and a child needing a home. But pulling back and seeing ourselves as part of a bigger picture of the "blan" (or foreign) presence in Haiti causes humble reflection of the message we are giving people here who encounter us for the first time. The market reminded me of that again today.

Sometimes I wonder if we are doing good by Solomon. No, not really. I KNOW we are doing good by him because I've seen where he would have grown up had we not intervened. But I do often struggle with the perceptions and attitudes HE will have to struggle with as a result of us "meddling" with his life. I pray that we handle it gracefully.

In the mean tim,e Patrick and I continue to examine our presence here, what it means for our work, for our new family and how to be responsible and empowering to the people of this country who we've quickly come to admire.

That's a big bag of worms.

House Arrest

...Or being home for 4 days fighting a chest cold and taking care of a sick kid... not sleeping, leaving the house only intermittently and getting all-too familiar with the apartment. Makes for an ugly combination of fatigue and a serious case of cabin-fever. :) Good thing we have a pint-sized little form of entertainment to keep us busy!

Thankfully, today Solomon is finally on the mend after a week of bad congestion, fevers, vomitting, diarrhea, and then new-onset wheezing. The pollution and dust in the air are taking their toll on his little lungs, I'm afraid, but he is tuffing it out like the trooper he is.

Patrick and I found a pediatrician yesterday by a careful close-your-eyes-and-point kind of searching and we lucked out; she was patient, kind, and clearly loves children. I think we'll keep her. After a week of being doctor-mom, I wanted someone without emotional ties to Solomon to offer perspective. And she did, reassuring us and offering medication for his wheezing. We also celebrated that in the month he has been with us, Solomon has packed on 8 lbs of love!!! He almost doubled his weight in a month!

Much to Solomon's surprise, he received his first set of immunizations after meeting his doctor. Poor honey. He went from laying on the exam table, completely happy and trusting... playing with his toes, blowing zerberts, and charming the pants off the nurse... to wailing with rivers of tears streaming down his face after the attack of the needles. Of course I cried too.

Last night fully medicated, Solomon slept for 5 hour stretches which is the FIRST EVER... and ohymygosh it felt good. Today, Patrick and I feel like we have a fresh lease on life. Amazing how sleep can restore humor and perspective. After a good night sleep and a big bottle, Solomon has been entertaining us this morning by finding his toes, trying to sit up (and timbering over), laughing, cooing and doing all the things we really needed to see to reassure us that he's going to be ok.

Despite everyone feeling happy and healthy this morning, we will stay close to home on this sunny Sunday because CONASPEH asked us to. Today is the election day for the senate. These elections were originally scheduled for September, but delayed with the hurricanes last fall. Like many of Haiti's political events, they have been draped with controversy. From what we have read, the candidate for the Lavalas party (Aristide's Party) was banned from running after some sketchy manuevers by the government. The lavalas party represents a large segment of the poor population, and so demonstrations and unrest were predicted for today. Thus the warnings not to go to church and to stay low for fear of running into trouble. Yesterday, I noticed the UN preparing for the worst... big white tanks were parked along some of the main roads, razor wire strung around them like a crude fence. The UN jeeps seem to have hit the streets with more fervor as well.

At CONASPEH Friday I asked several people about the elections. Most weren't planning on voting. One voiced concern over unrest. Another said he just didn't have confidence in any of the candidates. Similar views were solicited from my mini poll among the teachers and pastors I talked to.

But it hasn't been just our partners who have issued warnings of concern. Yesterday one of the street kids told us to stay home. Seriously, the conversation went like this:

Kid: "Mama, mwen grangou (hungry), ba m bonbon" (I'm hungry Mama, give me a cookie.)
Me: I don't have any today, they are gone! Maybe tomorrow.
Kid: Not tomorrow. Monday or Tuesday. Tomorrow you stay at home. If you come in the street the mobs will break your car.

Seemed sort of dramatic to me, but regardless I felt very loved having one of our street friends, who at the time was pouring sweat in the afternoon sun and looking generally miserable, take care of me and my relatively cush lifestyle here. All because we occasionally give him a cookie if we have a stock in our glove box. Or maybe because he just looks out for people in general.

I haven't heard any angry mobs today. Rather, outside my window the birds are chirping while perched on a palm frond. I can hear the church up the street leading songs. Maybe there are demonstrations downtown, but our little neighborhood street seems to be doing what it always does. Patrick did buy a TV so we can pick up the local news (or at least watch their mouths move and hope they show us pictures of what is going on!). Likely we'll have to wait until we return to work tomorrow to get the scoop.

We've decided to enjoy the family day by reading books, listening to some CD's we haven't listened to in a while, and perhaps watch a movie. Right now Patrick is shooting his Nerf basketball, giving Solomon a play-by-play of his left hand verses right hand shooting competition. Solomon is leaning against the couch, more interested in the rattle he is taste-testing, but reguarding his father with an intent stare and an ocasional gummy smile.

House arrest feels more comfortable with happy, healthy members inside its walls. And tomorrow we'll break free commencing on another week of work, happy for the change in routine but grateful for the healing rest the weekend has offered. And hopefully the events of the today will go peacefully for all voters, for the people represented and those hoping to make their voices heard.

A Ride up the Rue

Yesterday Patrick and I were on one of many drives up Rue Delmas on some benign errand. Rue Delmas is one of the main thoroughfares in Port-au-Prince taking traffic all the way from the coastline up the mountain to Petionville. Along this route--the closest main road to our house--is a variety of stores, local markets, merchants of food and household items, supermarkets, hair-cutteries, pharmacies, medical clinics, an embassy, clothing and furniture stores, bars and restaurants.

Traveling on this traffic-congested route always provides the opportunity to practice traffic-jam meditation, or "how NOT to get road rage when going 1 mile-an-hour up hill in first gear, breaking, accelerating, breaking again, breathing in black exhaust fumes and sweating profusely."

Along the route we are also afforded the opportunity to join in piecemeal conversations with all sorts of people. Weaving through traffic are men carrying burlap sacks of little water sachets on their head, others hauling boxes of frozen pop and energy drinks for sale, women peddling gum, youth with woven big baskets filled with fried and salted plantain chips, and street kids with their rags ready to wipe down your car for a few goudes. Aside from those on foot passing by the window, you can also often share an exchange with a fellow driver in the lane next to you, or communicate in the sign-language of tap-tap drivers who can tell you to "slow down, someone is crossing" or "go ahead and pass" or "watch-out, I"m coming through" all with a wave of their arm. Yesterday, as I was inching through a crowd of street kids, a tap-tap driver caught my eye, smiled, shook his head and said, "dezod" (trouble) like we were two neighbors sitting on a porch swing watching the children up to their antics again.

Because we are on Rue Delmas almost daily, a lot of the merchants and street kids know our car well. One grumpy pop seller often berates us for yet again not buying an energy drink from him (what would I do with all that energy? I'm going 0.5 miles an hour!!). A happy gum saleswoman with a carefree smile always finds us in traffic because Patrick consistently buys Winterfresh gum from her. Even on non-purchase days, she smiles and waves, jogs up to our window and asks about the "ti bebe." The street kids, however are the most consistent at recognizing us and hanging from our window.

Yesterday, one of the kids who has a bright smile that wraps completely around his face and lights up his eyes, grabbed a hold of the window, stepped up on the running board and essentially road up the route with us much to my internal discontent. He laughs at my warnings to take care, don't fall, don't get smooshed. When I ask him to jump off, he tells me to open the door so he can ride inside. He is about 8 or 9 years-old and life on the streets has made him tough and spry, but hasn't damaged his sense of humor or his infectious smile.

"I want to go home with you! I'm burning here on the street!" He asks us this each time we see him, always with a bright smile and laughing eyes that disguise the hunger and likely desperation behind his situation. "I want to go overseas with you." We play along in this conversation, "but our bag isn't big enough to fit you in." He has one right back for us, "I have a bigger one and I fit quite well. I'm little, you know." "i'll come home with you, I can sleep in your car... show me the way."

Looking into his laughing brown eyes, its hard to think of reasons of "why not." We have room, we have enough food. Heck even a night in our back seat would likely be safer than a night on the street. Honestly, sometimes I don't know why not. The real reasons "why not" seem sort of sorry excuses when looking into the face of a child. Such moments continue to fan the fire of the internal struggle of being white and privileged in Haiti. We came here to be a presence aside from the work we do. Simply being a presence is sometimes the biggest challenge of our days.

So like every other day, our hitchhiker eventually hopped off our car when he spied another friend in the street. "Another time," he said, waved and disappeared into the snaking traffic, likely to hop on another side bar and solicit money, food or maybe a place to sleep from someone else. Soon, another familiar face from the street was in our window wondering if today was the day we've started to hand out money. "I'm hungry." And we repeated the conversation, the joking, the rationalization, the struggle all over again.

Sick Day

Last night served as an initiation into mommihood for me. First night with a sick kid. Solomon has been fighting congestion since we've taken him home. It is just a symptom of life in Port-au-Prince for most thanks to the dust and pollution in the air. But last night he got really quiet--strangely so. A fever spiked, then the vomiting and diarrhea began. The doctor-with-too-much-information in me started worrying. He felt dry, hot and I jumped to all the most irrational conclusions... he has malaria, meningitis, typhoid. All the reasons that I hesitated being a mom in Haiti came to the forefront of my mind in the darkness of night. The differential diagnosis is so much more broad here where malaria rides on a mosquito bite, diarrhea in a sip of bad water.

After reassuring myself with an exam that told me he was doing ok, I practiced all the "advice" I've been handing out for years to my patients without any real-life trial. It was a long night, but we got through it. Now I know why my mom has always said, "you'll never understand what its like to be a mom until..."

I have to admit despite all the internal panic, a part of me last night was happy to recognize a panicky, irrational, worried mother instead of just a caretaker. We see Solomon's mother every two weeks, and I've struggled with feeling like I have a claim as a Mom to the little man. But last night, it was all instinct and emotion. Can't reason that away. And I was happy for it.

Now Solomon is asleep on my lap after moving from his asleep position on my chest. He seems better today, but certainly not back to normal. I've attempted to put him down 3 times, and each time he cries an abandoned cry... so its a no go. But the daylight brings perspective. Now I hold him and hope that our TLC will get him through this first of many "sick days" he's likely to have. I'm glad he is here, with us, able to have one-on-one care. And as he sleeps in my arms, I take note, now with worry abated, of what a lucky mom I am to get to care for this little guy, in sickness and in health.

Mom

Se Manman m

This is my mom.

How wonderful to be able to say that.

For a week, my mom visited us in Port-au-Prince… her first visit to Haiti.

We welcomed her on Wednesday and she was able to meet Mr. Solomon for the very first time.

I think it was love at first site. Mutually.

I don’t know that there is any better, more comfortable feeling than to be in the presence of my mom. She just makes everything feel better, enhances even the most simple of moments. And now that I'm in my first fledgling month of motherhood, having her here--my role model for this art--was exactly and everything that I needed.

My mother is the flamboyant side of my parental unit. She is an artist by nature, a teacher by trade. She has taught English, French, Speech and Drama in a small rural Nebraska town for over 25 years. She taught my brother and I to see the beauty in our surroundings, to recognize the spiritual in all that exists, to explore the world beyond our immediate borders. She taught us the love of art and culture and the poetry of life. She loves her family with passion and exuberance. I pray that I will be the same fiercely loyal, committed, fun-loving, loving-without-condition-or-hesitation mother that she has been to me. I’m blessed beyond measure that she is around to give me pointers.

I have the kind of mom that people strive to be. I have the kind of mom that I hope emulate in my own efforts at raising children. She loves with a fiercely loyal, nurturing love. She puts her whole heart and soul into her family and makes you feel like most genius, most brilliant, most talented kid on the block. So having her here was truly an event to be celebrated.

In a week, we sat on the porch and talked about life, motherhood, family and life in Haiti. We hosted the Villiers for a dinner party, and learned about Haiti’s Easter traditions from Francois. We took rides through the cities so mom could be introduced to the mass of people, the rich and poor neighborhoods, the state of construction and deconstruction of the buildings. We had dinner at the Olofson—a historic French hotel and at the mom-and-pop restaurant down the street. We went to the beach and relaxed to the sound of waves on rock. We spent Easter in church, listening to the choir, swaying to the rhythm of the chanted songs, holding hands in prayer. She got to tour CONASPEH and greeted all the children lining up for school in French, “I’m Kim’s Mom!” she said! No one at the school could believe a woman as young looking as she could be my mom. “No, you are her SISTER!”

We joke that mom is “narcotic nana” due to the narcoleptic effect she has on her grandchildren when they nestle in her arms. She has the same calming, soothing effect on me as well. Life is less harsh, celebrations are more fun, the quality of days richer, the essence of conversation enhanced.

And today I put her on a plane back home. It is going to take a while before my heart stops aching.

Of course as I drove away from the airport, fresh tears in my eyes, I spotted a tap-tap with “My Mother” written across the side, and later a sign advertising something “nana.” Seriously world. Yes, I miss her. Stop rubbing it in.

But the thing is I’m reminded that she is everywhere. And now I have memories of her here. I have photos of her with my son. She has validated and made more real the space we live in by being IN it. And I thank her for that gift, the gift of presence.

She’s my mom, my ever-present mom no matter where she is… but it was nice having her in arms reach all to my self for a while.

Kites

In a country of perpetual sumer, it is hard to recognize the changing of seasons. Rather than spring, summer, winter fall, Haiti has hot and hotter, dry and wet, stormy and still. So searching for signs of "spring" here require a new set of clues in a place where flowers are always blooming, palms are perpetually green.

In Haiti, the arrival of spring, or better, Easter, is hailed in with the flying of Kites.

In the week leading up to Easter, the city has beecome suddenly filled with kites. Kites line the roadsides for sale, kites lift up in the air from rooftops in the city, kites rise above palm trees and electric wire to compete for altitude. Yesterday from our balcony, we watched as the neighborhood kids flew their kites from the rooftops, sending their home-made contraptions made of plastic and sticks flying high into the air, dodging electric wires, and trees. Driving throught the countryside this afternoon, we watched families send their own kites into the air, kids running along fields or roadsides, urging their kite up into a breeze to send it climbing, turning, spinning, and sailing above.

I wasn't able to get any good pictures of the kites here, but found this blog site with beautiful shots. Enjoy.

http://loganinhaiti.blogspot.com/2007/05/kites.html

Happy Spring. Go fly a kite.

A Day at the Beach

"Zerberts"


After a few days of shuttling mom around the city, we headed north through the countryside to show her another panorama of Haiti.

After passing by dry fields where farmers bent over with their hoes making new rows to be planted, passing by burros carrying their loads to market, by banana tree fields and villages teeming with life, we arrived at the beach.


In the shade of a palm tree, we enjoyed the breezes from the ocean, shell hunting, and taking Solomon for his first swim in the ocean. Our little man welcomed the cool, salty water like he'd been swimming forever.



There is no moment more relaxing than one sitting with people you love under the shade of a palm frond, feeling the breeze off the ocean and sipping on a cold lemonaid or rum punch while letting thoughts melt into the sound of water flowing over a rocky beach.


Despite the press, despite the political atmosphere, despite the misery and poverty that affects so may, Haiti is still an island in the Caribbean. And what a beautiful place it can be.

Orphanage Visit

Every two weeks, we return to the orphanage to spend a few hours with the staff and children there. It is a time where Solomon's birth mom can visit him, see that he is doing ok and visit with us.

She was happy to see him this week, and recognize how well he has grown since placement in our home. She was anxious to know if he was sleeping through the night, if he was a "good baby" for us, if he had any further diarrhea or health problems, and if we loved him. I had the suspicion that she was feeling out if we were happy with her son and wouldn't return him someday because we were somehow dissatisfied. We reassured her that he was a wonderful baby doing everything a baby is supposed to and that we loved him with all our hearts. This brought a wide smile to her face.

One of the orphanage children asked Solomon's mom if she was happy Solomon was with us. I felt instantly uncomfortable, but Solomon's mom seemed not to think anything of the question. "Yes, I"m very happy." The child asked if she'd be happy when we eventually take him overseas with us. "Even then because he will have everything he needs."

I had to blink back a few tears. I was grateful for the vote of confidence, for the trust she has placed in us.



The women at the orphanage who took care of Solomon for 2 months of his life enjoy seeing him, holding him and celebrating how big he is getting. "Li GWO!" He's Big! They smooch him, sing to him and rock him with smiles.


This week with my mom in town, we introduced her to the place her new grandson spent time in. She instantly drew a crowd of children anxious for the maternal love that radiates off of her. Little boys clung to her legs asking to be held, girls gathered around asking her questions about where she was from. They seemed surprised that she was my mom and questions were volleyed to her about her age, how many children she had, where she lived and if she liked Haiti. She was asked by multiple children if she would consider taking them home with her.

I was proud of mom. The orphanage can be a very intense place, can be hard to be present in sometimes with all the children clinging for affection. But as a seasoned grandmother, she took it all in with calm and love. She held hands, told stories, and fielded a blur of questions from the curious children. Once a mother, always a mother. And the children saw that in her today. Today they were loved extra.

Back to Clinic

Today I took the now familiar drive to Carrefour, bumping along rough roads. The route passes the busy city market, the smell of fish and smoke ride on the air. My wheels dodge piles of trash and foraging pigs, goats and dogs; I pass by hundreds of vendors peddling everything from bananas to bed frames. I caught a glimpse of the ocean and the working harbor full of barges heavy with loads of imported items. My route took me past barrios with lean-to houses and naked children skirting around in the dust, past the formidable looking Senatorial buildings that are well painted and surrounded by groomed lawns. I rolled past the water purification plant and its parade of water trucks carrying their slishy-sloshy loads muddying the roads they lumber down. Women with baskets of eggplants, onions, carrots, and potatoes balanced on their head passed by my window as did men pulling wooden carts piled high with wood, stripped car parts, and tires. Busses shared the roads with me, their exterior splashed with color and interior packed full with travelers.

I look forward to this drive each week, to the intensity of all the sights, sounds and smells that great me with each new block. It provides a cliff-notes-like summary of urban Haitian life.

Clinic today welcomed me back to work with many patients waiting to be seen: children with fevers, goopy eyes and dry coughs, men with sore backs and high blood pressure, women with pregnant bellies and complaints of fatigue. Thanks to generous gifts brought by groups, I’m now able to ensure a child gets a needed antibiotic, a gentleman has a little relief from his sore joints, a fetal heartbeat can be found, lighting up the face of an expectant mother. I can now assure myself with a new pulse oximeter that a coughing man doesn’t need to rush to the hospital. For a doctor, these gifts help transform a job that once left me feeling like my efforts were futile into one in which I can harbor hope. So today was a good day.

The clinic at Carrefour reminds me most of our busy family practice clinic in residency, filled with patience of all ages, illnesses of all varieties and an intimate setting where stories can be shared. I work with a Haitian doctor who has dreams of setting up a lab, health education seminars and ensuring better patient follow-up. Being back today in the midst of this tiny clinic's grassroots outreach after some time away made me excited for the work at hand, hopeful for what we can accomplish, and honored to be a part of it all.