Friday, January 29, 2010 8:00 p.m.
It was still dark when my eyes opened, awakened by the sound of beautiful Haitian voices unashamedly praising their Lord. I rolled over, too weary to get up yet, and tried to ignore the dampness of my sheets and pillow while listening to the enchanting melody. When light began to touch the sky I sat up in bed, my head almost touching the tarp hanging above us, and my eyes took in the sights that the blackness of the previous night had prevented me from viewing completely.
A large portion of our dusty yard was covered with blankets, sheets, carpets, and a few cots. Over a hundred people had slept here, and now they were rolling up their bedding and preparing to start their day. The air was heavy with dew, and cold – for Haiti – and everyone was moving slowly. I gathered my things, managed to procure the keys so I could find some toilet paper, and headed to the door-less outhouses. Roosters were crowing, turkeys and chickens pecking for food on the ground, dogs barking every time a stranger entered the gate, and Jhemson was leading our eight goats from their pen to the yard. I felt like I was in the middle of a movie.
That first day back was very eye-opening for me. I tried not to act as overwhelmed as I felt, but I was quickly coming to realize how truly sheltered my last three months at the beach had been. I was now seeing Haiti as it really was, because I was living as the rest of the people do. As always, it was the children that captured my heart. Precious little seven year old Melissa, whose mother left her to the care of Dee and Wickly (we don’t even know who her father is); Marc and Monique’s daughter Alexandra, the little princess; Ladiminka, the newest addition to the Dorces’ family, from the Dominican Republic; and Dadu, an adorable, quiet, little guy, whose pouty face is rarely without a smile. Little glimpses I’ve caught of the reality of their everyday lives have already broken my heart, and I am overflowing with a desire to show them every bit of attention and affection that I can while I am here.
My heart was beset by these emotions, and my mind was instantly overwhelmed as I observed how much work needed to be done. After a very long week of almost no connection with the outside world, finances dwindling, and people coming to them in droves for help, Dee and Wilckly were doing all they could just to house and feed those under their care. We need a bulldozer to prepare land for building temporary dwellings for all those needing shelter, we need food, food, and more food, we need storage containers in which to put all of the food, we need money, since the only places to receive transfers right now not only have lines a mile long, but really aren’t safe, either. The last week has been spent assessing these situations, making our plans of action, and waiting. Lots of waiting. This was not new to me, as I was first introduced to Haiti with its motto: “Hurry up and wait.” It has been no different this time, even in the wake of such a tremendous disaster.
It is actually very difficult to make these people out in the country realize how devastated their country is. Other than their fear of sleeping indoors, to them, life should go on as normal. And they try to make it so. But even though on the outside everything may seem to have gone back to the usual routine, everyone knows, deep down, that it hasn’t. Everyone walks around in a kind of daze, as if still unbelieving, in denial.
However, we are refusing to be discouraged. Even though every day seems to bring more closed doors and obstacles, there are always enough reasons to hope and keep smiling. God is going to use this horrible event for good, and we cling to that promise.
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