Day 12: Anyone Up There?

This morning my closest friend on base left for the DR before heading home. Her and I rode in together in the truck from the airport and have been inseparable ever since. It was a sad day, indeed.

There are many reasons to believe God doesn’t exist. If you look around this country it’s hard to imagine there is some divine being above. All the destruction, sadness, loss, and hurt. But, if you look closely it’s impossible not to see God everywhere. Little gifts given just to us to help us through, to show us love, to remind us we aren’t alone. Jen was one of those gifts. Had she not rode on the same truck as me, we would never have been as close as we were. She got me through many of the tough days and stuck beside me even when I was my demanding self. I don’t know what this experience would’ve been like if we hadn’t been at each others' side the entire time. She was a true blessing. Proof someone knows what I need even when I don’t.

I look around Haiti and despite all the damage there is so much faith. People moving on despite all they have lost. Hearts slowly mending after being brutally torn apart. It’s easy to look around and see only pain. But if you really look, God’s fingerprints are everywhere. Everyday these people get up and live another day. That alone is a miracle. That alone is proof there is something more.

…

We worked on a site with about 20 kids running around barefoot in between huge pieces of rubble and over sharp pieces of metal as if it were merely grass. I got a hold of a balloon and instantly had each and everyone of their attention. Oh balloons. Genius -whoever created them. The children went ballistic for it. In between popped balloons they begged to help with the wheel barrel. The path from the site to the spot where the rubble was being dumped was quite a trek. But the children would hold the wheel barrel on the sides and help navigate it all the way to the site. Then three or four (depending on how small they were) would jump inside and we’d push them back. Who needs Cedar Point when you have a wheel barrel? They had so much fun. I had so much fun. One little boy without pants (oh, Haiti, and their naked children) was shyer than the others and cute enough to eat. He liked to lead the wheel barrel from near the front when all the others were busy doing something else. He liked to pretend he was the only pushing this heavy thing without any help. We’d dump it together and then he’d push it back himself – this contraption that was 4 times his size. I’m thoroughly dying with anticipation to show you a picture of this adorable scene. I smiled watching his little bare legs bounce along the rubble road, wheel barrel flying out of control, and once again seeing another handiwork from above.

I also forgot to mention yesterday that we finished the site we had been working on since the first week (the one where the 5 family members were buried and unburied without any causalities.) This was my first completed site. I remembered looking at all the rubble and thinking it would never get done. And then there I stood on a clean piece of slab ready for a temporary shelter for the two families that had been living in IDP tent camps. I couldn’t imagine it being finished. I couldn’t imagine how it would heal. Slowly but surely it did, though. One day at a time. One morning at a time. One piece of rubble at a time. That clean slate reminded me that all things heal eventually. One tiny piece of your heart at a time, all things heal. No heart stays broken forever.

What a feeling! I wish I could see the tent “house” go up. It’s unknown when that will happen. All I know is that we paved the way for it. The homeowner could not have been more grateful. But how do you ever explain to someone whose home turned into a 10 foot pile of rubble and then was completely cleared by some strange blans from a far away country that the pleasure was in fact all yours?

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.