It’s been several days since a huge storm has rolled in. For an hour before the rain fell, lightning and thunder ruled the sky without mercy. Leogane is notorious for threatening storms that never fall. Dark clouds rarely make it over the ominous mountaintops. But tonight, when the rain finally fell, it fell harder than I’ve ever seen. The thunder was so loud it was deafening and the lightning lit the sky like Times Square on a Saturday. A quarter of the base ran out into the shower and literally took one. People laughed and danced in the downpour and everyone looked out onto the storm with lighthearted laughter.
I smiled watching the rainfall – I’m a sucker for a good thunderstorm. But then I caught sight at how quickly the base was filling with puddles that would never flood more than a few inches, and my stomach turned. Inside our cement home we accepted the rain with open arms. We made merry without fear of destroyed homes (except those unfortunate tenters on the roof…including me.) But, the worst that would happen would be a wet floor and an air mattress that would need some drying out. Not even a hundred yards away on the other side of the wall there are hundreds of tents that will not fair this storm as luckily as ours. On the other side of the wall people’s “homes” are filling with water, mud (full of garbage and human/animal waste) is destroying their possessions as it drains through the streets with incredible speed, stopping only to fill puddles that often make it to knee-deep. On the other side of the wall they are not welcoming this incredible storm in the same way. They fear for their homes. They wait out the incomprehensible inconvenience and damage mother nature is exposing them to right now. I can’t help but think of the other side of the wall. And in doing so, I can’t find it in me to smile anymore.
...
I spent half of the afternoon working on the pre-fabrication of school #3 that HODR will build. All of the parts of the school are built on base then transported to the school site where they are put together like pieces of a puzzle. I love building things. My brother used to do a lot of work flipping houses and adding rooms and ceilings and such to clients' houses. I used to adore going with him and being able to construct something visible with my own hands. It's such a satisfying feeling to see the fruits of your labor. Even more satisfying to know that what I sweat over in the blazing sun on a concrete floor would allow many children to return to school and receive much needed and deserved education. Once again I felt life come full circle as I helped build a school after spending so much time here helping children learn. (I also got to use power tools and as my roommate will tell you - I really love power tools.)
More than just using power tools, what I really loved about today was being able to add to Haiti. I enjoy removing rubble (up until I tore something in my shoulder), but removing rubble is exactly that - removing. We are destroying something that is already destroyed. Yes, it absolutely needs to be done and by discarding the rubble we enable the owner to receive a temporary home - that is amazing. But you can only rubble so much before you start to get rubbled-out. All I've really wanted for the past few days or so is to create something for the people Haiti, not just destroy. Buildling this school has been what I've been waiting eagerly to do. And truthfully, it's what I thought I'd be doing more of here. Wow, not to be repetitive but here also lies another example of full circle: I both destroyed and created. Maybe you can't do one without the other - which is why as of recently I've felt as if something has been missing (both here in Haiti and my life before it.)
Showing posts with label tents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tents. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
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?
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?
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