HODR recently started a teacher-training program during which local teachers learn Disaster Risk Reduction and about Trauma & Creative Therapy. The great thing about today’s training was it took place at the very first school that HODR built from ground up. What a beautiful experience to train teachers in a school that your hands built (well, not my hands, but someone's hands at HODR.)
The first two hours were dedicated to teaching about what causes natural disasters, what they are, and safety procedures for within the classroom. The second part of the day focused on learning about trauma and gaining tools for doing creative art therapy with students. When asked if any of the teachers had ever attended such a training or knew anything about either topic, the response was a unanimous “no.”
You take for granted that your school enforced a dozen fire drills each year or over exaggerated the importance of knowing where to go during an earthquake (even in non-earthquake parts of the world like Michigan.) Hundreds of miles away in a country peppered with natural disasters from earthquakes to hurricanes to fires, it’s hard to believe there are not safety procedures in place. They learned simple evacuation plans, the best place to take cover if evacuation isn’t possible, how to stop-drop-and-roll, and more. It was brilliant. Teachers have access to so many more lives than we could ever reach alone at HODR. Educate them and you educate so many more.
It’s interesting in Haitian culture how people respond to trauma. You can’t see the effects of trauma like you can a broken arm. So many people were hurt physically in the earthquake; that is evident when you look at them. So many more were hurt emotionally and mentally and that is not evident to the eye. Since they cannot see it, Haitians do not put any emphasis on trauma and it goes completely untreated. Like any wound that goes untreated, it festers, tares, and gets infected, and as time goes by it gets worse and worse leaving nasty scars that never heal. Do not for one second believe that it is any different for the emotional effects of trauma.
The teachers wanted direct answers about trauma; the exact signs to know a child is suffering from trauma. They wanted hard fast rules and black and white signals. But every child is different. And I had to explain with as much emphasis and passion and conviction as I possibly could that even if a child does not show outward signs of trauma it does not mean that they are not suffering from trauma. They survived a terrible earthquake that destroyed many lives of people they knew and crumbled their entire physical world. Whether they express it or not, these children are suffering from trauma – how could any of them not be?
We practiced a couple techniques for each type of creative therapy (art, dance, music, garden, and silent.) I made them all stand to partake in a dance. It was the first time I saw each and every one of them smile. I pointed it out, proving the point that dancing is good for the soul. It’s exercise and exercise releases endorphins, which make you happy. And when you’re happy you’re not thinking about all the things that make you unhappy. “For two minutes you can give your students a chance to get their minds off their problems. You can give them an opportunity to escape, even just momentarily, and for a little bit they get to be just kids. And every child deserves to get to be a kid now and then.”
Overall the teachers had some great questions, were thoroughly interested, and I pray they took some of what they learned with them. Imagine all the lives they can impact and potentially one day save just by being prepared.
Showing posts with label post traumatic stress. Show all posts
Showing posts with label post traumatic stress. Show all posts
Monday, July 5, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Day 7: Jupiter
Tonight I am staring out at an ALMOST full moon. The skies are quiet and calm after the ALMOST hurricane rains that tormented the sky earlier in the day (I clearly underestimated the rains; the rain two days ago was nothing compared to today.) Across from the smiling face is a bright Jupiter, battling for ownership of the heavens. Beautiful. It’s amazing to think that here in the midst of utmost poverty, thousands of miles from home, I am staring at the same moon as the one seen in NYC, in Detroit, wherever you are, dear reader. It’s a funny thing that we can be worlds away and yet stare at the same brilliant moon. I wonder what it is that you are doing right now? Perhaps you are enjoying an ice cold beverage (something I’d give my right arm for), or laying in your air conditioned room on a bed that does not need to be blown up nor is sopping wet from this morning’s showers. Or perhaps, you are staring at the same moon wondering what it is exactly that I am doing. And if that is the case, then you and I are not as far apart as it may seem.
...
I worked on the rubble site for a school today. A three-story kindergarten collapsed to almost ground level. Some of the children are attending school under a tarp in a space about ten feet by ten feet, or so. It was a strange thing to dig up rubble and find smashed chairs, ripped homework, and worst of all clothing. I told myself they were extra clothes kept for emergencies to keep myself from thinking of the alternative. After lunch, the headmaster informed us that no children had died in the school; they had all been dismissed about an hour or two before the quake hit. It was like taking off my winter coat in the middle of a Haitian summer.
A lot of people (non-Haitian) have asked “why aren’t they doing more for themselves?” or “ why haven’t they cleaned up more of the mess?” If you have never stood at the base of a 6 foot tall pile of rubble, with not enough tools (or no tools for most Haitians), no help, no money, and nowhere to put all the rubble you will be removing, than you have absolutely no idea how unbelievably overwhelming and impossible of a job it is. This is not my homeland nor are any of these piles of rubble my house, and I come with a group of willing and able-bodied workers with more than enough tools and supplies. And yet, when I arrive at sites like the one today and see all of that broken concrete I want to cry thinking about how absurdly exhausting and incredibly overwhelming that pile is. And I get to leave at the end of the day. Sooner or later I get to go home to my therapeutic bed and apartment building with running water and electricity, without fear of it crumbling on top of my head. There is so much to do on just ONE site, not to mention the whole of Haiti. But they don’t cry, at least not openly. They just smile and say “bonjou! Komon ou ye?” (Hello. How are you?)
Another volunteer and I were talking about post traumatic stress and how many Haitians had to be suffering from it and yet they would never receive any medical attention or help. They would simply (or not so simply) have to live with it. And then shortly after a different volunteer told me how she had taken a walk with a Local and he showed her his house. A few steps later he pointed out, “and this is where I sleep.” She didn’t understand why his house and his sleeping grounds were separate from each other. He explained to her that they lived in their house, ate there, kept their belongings there, but they did not feel safe to sleep there in case another quake were to shake their world. So every night he went to a tiny tent to sleep - the only way he felt safe. It made me think how many people must feel that way. Imagine to never feel safe in your house again. I also heard from a schoolmaster that since many children were still in school when the quake happened, even though some schools have been rebuilt, the children are afraid to return to them. Can you blame them? To experience something immensely traumatic at such an early age - how do you ever go back?
The rest of your life in fear…I can’t fathom it. However, above all that, they just keep going on, smiling, and living life – in fear or not – they just keep living life.
...
I worked on the rubble site for a school today. A three-story kindergarten collapsed to almost ground level. Some of the children are attending school under a tarp in a space about ten feet by ten feet, or so. It was a strange thing to dig up rubble and find smashed chairs, ripped homework, and worst of all clothing. I told myself they were extra clothes kept for emergencies to keep myself from thinking of the alternative. After lunch, the headmaster informed us that no children had died in the school; they had all been dismissed about an hour or two before the quake hit. It was like taking off my winter coat in the middle of a Haitian summer.
A lot of people (non-Haitian) have asked “why aren’t they doing more for themselves?” or “ why haven’t they cleaned up more of the mess?” If you have never stood at the base of a 6 foot tall pile of rubble, with not enough tools (or no tools for most Haitians), no help, no money, and nowhere to put all the rubble you will be removing, than you have absolutely no idea how unbelievably overwhelming and impossible of a job it is. This is not my homeland nor are any of these piles of rubble my house, and I come with a group of willing and able-bodied workers with more than enough tools and supplies. And yet, when I arrive at sites like the one today and see all of that broken concrete I want to cry thinking about how absurdly exhausting and incredibly overwhelming that pile is. And I get to leave at the end of the day. Sooner or later I get to go home to my therapeutic bed and apartment building with running water and electricity, without fear of it crumbling on top of my head. There is so much to do on just ONE site, not to mention the whole of Haiti. But they don’t cry, at least not openly. They just smile and say “bonjou! Komon ou ye?” (Hello. How are you?)
Another volunteer and I were talking about post traumatic stress and how many Haitians had to be suffering from it and yet they would never receive any medical attention or help. They would simply (or not so simply) have to live with it. And then shortly after a different volunteer told me how she had taken a walk with a Local and he showed her his house. A few steps later he pointed out, “and this is where I sleep.” She didn’t understand why his house and his sleeping grounds were separate from each other. He explained to her that they lived in their house, ate there, kept their belongings there, but they did not feel safe to sleep there in case another quake were to shake their world. So every night he went to a tiny tent to sleep - the only way he felt safe. It made me think how many people must feel that way. Imagine to never feel safe in your house again. I also heard from a schoolmaster that since many children were still in school when the quake happened, even though some schools have been rebuilt, the children are afraid to return to them. Can you blame them? To experience something immensely traumatic at such an early age - how do you ever go back?
The rest of your life in fear…I can’t fathom it. However, above all that, they just keep going on, smiling, and living life – in fear or not – they just keep living life.
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