Haiti: The Two Weeks That Changed My Life

Some of you may be curious as to why it has taken me so long to report on the fairly recent experience I had in Haiti. I mean, I've been home for nearly a month and haven't typed a word on this thing. Most people would imagine that such an experience would be reported on almost immediately, but I've found this to be difficult for me. Why? Well the fact of the matter is that I've needed this time to reflect on everything I witnessed and everything I felt, to take everything into account and process how it changed me as a person. Indeed, it did change me. I've only had a handful of events in my life that I can say truly changed my life, but this one by far has had the biggest effect on me. It wasn't in the seemingly big things that I found the largest causes of change in me, either. It was in the small moments, the quiet, unseen, and inconspicuous actions that sculpted the epitome of my experience in Haiti. It was in the quick and selfless instants that, had I not been observant of my surroundings, could have gone by in the blink of an eye, not to be absorbed by those who could continue to tell the tale.

[This little cutie is Akon. No, that's not his real name, but it suit him well. He went everywhere with us. Every time I look at this picture I get a huge grin on my face as I remember him and all the shenanigans he would try to pull.]

Before I went to Haiti, I made the assumption that I would ease into the culture, into the poverty-stricken lifestyle that permeates the country. Haiti, however, had other plans for me. My first gut-wrenching feeling hit me as I stepped out of the airport and into the busy environment that is Port-au-Prince, seeing young boys and girls scurrying along the other side of a chain link fence, begging for money. My heart sank. Already? I'm seeing it already? I thought to myself. I sat in stunned silence as we drove the rough road from Port-au-Prince to Léogâne (lay-oh-gone). I've been in third-world countries before, but never had I seen anything like this. Tent cities were strewn out in before open places. People weaved in and out of cars selling plastic bags full of water to the tune of honking taptaps and moto taxis. Smells that I had never perceived before permeated the van, and I sure as heck didn't want to know what they came from. It hit me like a ton of bricks: this was where I was going to live for the next two weeks of my young adult life.

[BIENVENUE A LEOGANE, or WELCOME TO LEOGANE. That's a taptap in the foreground.]

My daily schedule went a little like this:

5:45 AM: Wake up [to the crowing of a very annoying rooster that lived on a large garbage pile just outside our house]
6:30 AM: English class
8:00 AM: Breakfast
9:30 AM: Split to different projects [i.e. orphanages, hospital, square-foot gardening, hygiene classes, etc.]
1:00 PM: Lunch
2:00 PM: Split to different projects
7:00 PM: Dinner
8:00 PM: Group meeting
10:00 PM: Sleep time
1:00 AM: Wake up to a dog fight going on just outside the house or a large truck passing by.

[We would walk past this sign every day when going to and from different projects, especially the hospital. I risked my life to take this thing!]

There's no doubt that all of the projects were great and had a lot to contribute to helping the Haitian people become more self-sufficient, but everyone had their favorites. During my first week I spent a lot of time at the Hopital Sainte Croix (oh-pee-tall san-qwah), just a few blocks from our house. The hospital was equipped for out-patient services, but they were in the process of preparing themselves for in-patient services, and that's where we offered to help. We painted many of their rooms and fixed some spots in the ceiling where water dripped through. It was a great project, and I was sad to see it come to an end when we finished what we could. I miss walking through the busy waiting room in the morning and saying bonjour to complete strangers. I also met a few different people there who had an amazing impact on my experience as a whole, namely Gladdys, the hospital administrator, and Erlantz, the community health director of Léogâne. They are people who are truly dedicated to serving their fellow countrymen through the talents and abilities they've worked hard to develop throughout their lives.

[Outside of the Hopital Sainte Croix.]

One of my other favorite projects was English class. It was amazing to watch the confidence of the people grow as they learned to speak the most influential language in the world. I think it's fair to say that, as a volunteer, the main question on your mind is whether or not you're actually making a difference to the people who you're trying to serve. I distinctly remember the moment when all of my doubts pertaining to that very question went away. One morning I was helping the intermediate English class, holding mock interviews in small groups, about four Haitians to every volunteer. We went through the hour, making small talk, practicing all the English we could, and getting to know each other. After the class was over, one of the men in my group named Joseph came up to me. He shook my hand and simply said thanks for everything that we were doing, for the time we were taking out of our own lives to help them. I mustered a simple, "You're welcome," and continued on my way. It was then that I realized he wasn't the one that should have been saying thank you, but rather that I should have been saying thank you to him. The Haitian people are some of the most wonderful people I've ever had the privilege of being with, and just being with them instilled an amazing desire for me to become better.

[English class. About 20 people showed up the first time Sustain Haiti taught an English class. In a manner of weeks over 150 people were attending regularly.]

[Some of my English class buddies.]

My two weeks in Haiti provided me with a feeling of love that I had never before experienced. My most distinct memory of this emotion occurred when we were paying a visit at the "Field Tent" orphanage. A young girl named Maureen and I instantly made a connection. I held her in my arms and rubbed her back as we watched some of the other volunteers play soccer with the orphan boys. After a time I looked at her to see that she was sound asleep. My heart swelled and I had an idea of what my mother must feel for her own children. It was in that moment that I realized the greater love that exists in the world. My new distinction of this love was reiterated as I visited the "Mormon Orphanage" the following week. I sat in as the children were served their food for the day, nothing more than some broth with fried rolls of flour and rice. I was taught an important lesson as I watched a young orphan boy share his sustenance with another small girl. Despite the little he had, he gave of his food so openly, without even batting an eye. It was in this small moment that I realized I had been missing giving that love in my own life, that innocent, humble, unpretentious love that comes through in the quiet instances that connect people at a deeper level. I promised myself, then and there, to become better.

[Maureen and me at the "Field Tent" orphanage. I asked Beth to take a picture shortly after she fell asleep.]

[This boy and girl taught me one of the most important lessons I've ever learned. I MUST BECOME BETTER. I'll never forget them.]

I knew when I signed up with Sustain Haiti that I was in for something special, but it wasn't special; it was EXTRAORDINARY. Sustain Haiti had the opportunity to partner with differing NGO's (Non-Governmental Organization) on various projects, but I have a deep belief that none of them had the same experience or affect on the people of Leogane like Sustain Haiti. Sound cocky? It's not cockiness, it's confidence. Confidence in our projects, confidence in our volunteers, and confidence that we made, will make, and continue to make a difference. Where does this confidence come from? It's simple, really ...

Love.