Day 20: Run

At the field hospital behind our base there is a volunteer who started a running club for the local children. Everyday at 430pm they meet to run for about 45 minutes – 1 hour. In bright green shirts that read “Leogane Track Club” on the front and “Vini Kouri” (come run) on the back, they run for 5-10 minutes, then walk for 5-10 minutes through the fields of Leogane. I have been itching to run with them since I heard about the program a couple of weeks ago. I have yet to run since arriving in Haiti. Though there is much to occupy my mind, and less to stress me out, I have been feeling that familiar itch in my legs to get up and just go.

After a long day of work and a tiring but fulfilling afternoon at the orphanage, I dropped my backpack and bolted out of the base to catch the tail end of the group. 20-30 neon green shirts lit the way like a beacon in the night. What a sight it was to see. Imagine the scene: dirt “roads” full of rubble and rocks you have to dodge in order not to fall, houses half destroyed or made of sticks, Haitians standing and sitting and grouping everywhere like bystanders at a marathon, and then along comes a group of runners composed of 5 blans surrounded by 30 Haitian children in matching shirts. The people of Leogane are not used to runners darting down the streets, especially in the middle of the hot season in the blazing sun. Everyone stared. We ran.

I stayed to the back next to a girl running barefoot and a boy in ripped Crocs. Only two of the older girls actually had running shoes, and I wondered if the group leader had provided them. The rest ran on the rough terrain in shoes that should have been tossed months ago. But the kids ran anyway. And of course they ran without complaining. Some held onto my shirt, some tried to link onto my arms and hold my hands. So much extra baggage made running even more difficult, especially after 3 weeks of not running, but I didn't have the heart to tell any of them "no."

Slowly my group fell behind. One of the girls tripped on the rocks and scraped her knee, causing the last of the team to slip out of view as I scooped her up into my arms to dry her tears. We decided to walk for a bit, my small group of 6. It didn’t take long to realize I had no idea where I was and the rest of the runners were too far ahead to catch up with. We kept walking, figuring we’d find our way sooner or later. We turned right down a little path between fields of sugar cane and corn and discussed the names of animals in Creole and English. They laughed at my accent and asked to know more. I smiled, feeling like I was in a dream.

After a bit we ran into a small group of Haitians. Straight from a scene from a movie – perhaps follow that bird - they stared at us with minimal confusion and then motioned us forward; waving their hands and pointing. We didn’t have to ask for directions, one white woman with a group of neon green was pretty obvious – they knew who we were with. For the next half hour, every little bit we’d hit a bend or fork in the road and momentarily question which way to head. But without fail there was always someone standing off in the fields or pulling a cow pointing us in the same direction of our predecessors. Cheering us on. Showing the way.

It’s amazing how identical rubble houses look. A half dozen times I thought I knew where we were only to find that we turned the opposite direction than I had expected, and I was more confused than before. It was starting to get late and I had to be at the nightly meeting by 7pm, so we picked up the pace to run again. Just as we started up I heard “Angie!” ring through the air. Angie is not a very common name in Haiti, so I assumed it was directed at me. There standing on the front porch with a smile from ear to ear and waving with enthusiasm was the woman who lives across from the orphanage where we work each week. She allows us to use the back of her house to lock up the 4 tables we keep for the children. I told her my name once and she has called me by it ever since. Of all the beautiful moments I have experienced in Haiti, this by far took the cake. There I was running in HAITI through the incredible countryside with children who were part of track club, far from the base, and a local Haitian woman not only recognized me but also called out to me by name. It brought a tear to my eye right there and I swelled with excitement. I waved back just as enthusiastically, jumping with each step I ran forward. For the first time I really felt a part of Leogane, of Haiti. In that moment I did not feel like a volunteer; I felt like a neighbor - like a local. And I beamed with pride at being a part of their community.

I now knew my surroundings and we were able to navigate our way back to the market next to the base rather quickly. The children took a short cut through an IDP tent camp I had never seen before and would’ve gotten lost in immediately if they hadn’t took it upon themselves to form a sort of protective bubble around me. Then one by one they fell off as we passed through the market where their tents were sporadically placed. One girl stayed with me, still holding my hand, refusing to leave until I walked through the gates of the base. We waved goodbye and I headed to the meeting 15 minutes late. A small price to pay for an evening I would never forget.

This, dear readers, is the beauty in running. My cabin-fever, my gradual fall back into taking on too many responsibilities at once, and all my thoughts over the upcoming weeks and months disappeared with each step I ran. I could hear my mom’s voice: “I told you you’d feel better after you ran.” I always do.