"Remember you are a guest in this country. You are here to listen, to learn, and to possibly respond to the issues facing this nation if you feel so moved. You are not here to judge or to intentionally or unintentionally insult or disparage people whose lives you may never completely understand or identify with. You are not here to "fix" anything.
Please do not attempt to put what you will see and experience into an American context. You are no longer in the US and viewing Haiti through that lens will frustrate you and may insult your hosts, the people of Haiti. You are encouraged to ask questions and engage in active meaningful dialogue with the people you meet. That is one way--though not the only way--to learn about life in the villages, and slums.
For those of you who like to talk and ask a lot of questions, we ask that you occasionally shut up and listen. For those of you who say little but may have valuable contributions to make to discussions, we encourage you to speak up. At all times, be respectful of our people, cultures, and ways of life.
Again, welcome to Haiti. We hope you enjoy your stay and that you come in right."
~Adapted from Kevin Winge's "Never Give Up"
[Written for South Africa, but I think generally applicable]
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Breaking
Today I broke two things: my first Haitian relationship and my computer. The latter was trustworthy for 5+ years, recently living with battery ducttaped in place. The former something I never took seriously.
Also am struggling with a few heavier things: the operations which can simultaneously seem to be going well, but then jolt from crisis to resource crisis. And also my place in the operation. What can be done hung in balance with what should be done... competing against what is starting to occur on its own anyway.
Here's the beginning of a good story, which I hope to continue telling: on March 12, I watched our great peds anesthesiologist rescucitate a 32 week old baby in respiratory distress. Mother abandoned her the next day. She teetered through that weekend, but made it. We transferred her to the University of Miami Medishare hospital in PaP for intubation / NICU care [see Steve Seidel's notes if you're reading this on facebook]. We learned later that she had heart surgery, was extubated, and is doing well. Today, Abbey called about getting her transported back to us for further action. I talked to Save the Children about gov't processes for child abandonment, to set her up for adoption, which Abbey is researching. Can't wait to see her again...
So in broken shells, there are pearls.
Also am struggling with a few heavier things: the operations which can simultaneously seem to be going well, but then jolt from crisis to resource crisis. And also my place in the operation. What can be done hung in balance with what should be done... competing against what is starting to occur on its own anyway.
Here's the beginning of a good story, which I hope to continue telling: on March 12, I watched our great peds anesthesiologist rescucitate a 32 week old baby in respiratory distress. Mother abandoned her the next day. She teetered through that weekend, but made it. We transferred her to the University of Miami Medishare hospital in PaP for intubation / NICU care [see Steve Seidel's notes if you're reading this on facebook]. We learned later that she had heart surgery, was extubated, and is doing well. Today, Abbey called about getting her transported back to us for further action. I talked to Save the Children about gov't processes for child abandonment, to set her up for adoption, which Abbey is researching. Can't wait to see her again...
So in broken shells, there are pearls.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Men Anpil, Chay Pa Lou
Woke up very early this morning for a run, because then had to make Mass at 7 (-ish, was a bit late). Gary was singing in the choir, for his Boy Scout troop's festival. I haven't been going to church, and find it hard to practice any kind of spirituality here. But today, it hit me.
-The overflowing congregation standing on broken tiled floor and rubble, leaning on beams that make up the temporary church structure, crowding under the tarps to avoid heat.
-Pere Marat's homily in lively call&response style: "only strong with God... pray for his will..."
-Wilfrid gave me communion, as I remembered our conversation a couple weeks ago on a drive to PaP; when he spoke of his friends lost, and his hope for the world to help Haiti rebuild.
-At the end of Mass, a second collection was taken for the parish. Clapping & loud singing as nearly everyone processed up the aisle to give some of what precious little money they have, to something they believe in. I didn't know whether to smile or cry.
At home a few weeks ago, heard an Easter Vigil homily that seemed to be anonymously all about Haiti (or so it felt to me). The priest spoke of "Easter People" who "don't deny Good Friday... but acknowledge sadness while embracing joy" and then share that joy with others. That's what permeates here: little bits of joy being shared in much sadness.
Though usually cede all medical care to the real providers, today I helped with wound clinic because things were slow getting started in that area. Debriding large gashes that remain from when the "blok tonbe" (blocks fell) three months ago. People stoic, and somehow still both gracious and graceful.
Also visited today with a pastor who runs a little orphanage. Other than some food and supplies Sean has rounded up, they have received no aid. One of the boys, 8-year-old Williamson, is in the hospital now with bad sores that never heal because he lives in filthy debris. The pastor is desperate, has tried fruitlessly to get help through many NGOs, the Cellule d'Urgence committee, and the government. A former professor, he only wants to give a fighting chance to kids whose families can't care for them. More work on this tomorrow, so hope to update with better news soon.
Pere Marat ended church today with a call & response of my favorite Kreyòl proverb.
"Men anpil" he called [with many hands]
"CHAY PA LOU!" the people responded [the burden is light]
Men anpil, chay pa lou.
-The overflowing congregation standing on broken tiled floor and rubble, leaning on beams that make up the temporary church structure, crowding under the tarps to avoid heat.
-Pere Marat's homily in lively call&response style: "only strong with God... pray for his will..."
-Wilfrid gave me communion, as I remembered our conversation a couple weeks ago on a drive to PaP; when he spoke of his friends lost, and his hope for the world to help Haiti rebuild.
-At the end of Mass, a second collection was taken for the parish. Clapping & loud singing as nearly everyone processed up the aisle to give some of what precious little money they have, to something they believe in. I didn't know whether to smile or cry.
At home a few weeks ago, heard an Easter Vigil homily that seemed to be anonymously all about Haiti (or so it felt to me). The priest spoke of "Easter People" who "don't deny Good Friday... but acknowledge sadness while embracing joy" and then share that joy with others. That's what permeates here: little bits of joy being shared in much sadness.
Though usually cede all medical care to the real providers, today I helped with wound clinic because things were slow getting started in that area. Debriding large gashes that remain from when the "blok tonbe" (blocks fell) three months ago. People stoic, and somehow still both gracious and graceful.
Also visited today with a pastor who runs a little orphanage. Other than some food and supplies Sean has rounded up, they have received no aid. One of the boys, 8-year-old Williamson, is in the hospital now with bad sores that never heal because he lives in filthy debris. The pastor is desperate, has tried fruitlessly to get help through many NGOs, the Cellule d'Urgence committee, and the government. A former professor, he only wants to give a fighting chance to kids whose families can't care for them. More work on this tomorrow, so hope to update with better news soon.
Pere Marat ended church today with a call & response of my favorite Kreyòl proverb.
"Men anpil" he called [with many hands]
"CHAY PA LOU!" the people responded [the burden is light]
Men anpil, chay pa lou.
Saturday, April 24, 2010
From the Rubble
Just walked back from the hospital, where I was talking with Charmant, one of the security guards. He described a meeting held today by Peter, our human resource manager & assistant administrator. [I'd happened to catch the tail end of Peter's meeting, not knowing it was planned, but highly impressed by the initiative.]
Charmant told me excitedly of his personal ideas on making this place better, saying the guards want good operation; they have pride in their job. I stood there, beat as a mule wanting nothing but sleep. He works day & night every chance he gets and remains animated.
Went to PaP today to pick up the new group, always a logistician's dream. 24 people and 60+ bags fit into 3 vehicles and the HSC's faithful Taihatsu truck. No bags, and even no bodies, were lost.
On the way there, rode with HSC driver Bellange and another fellow. We passed the country's single oil refinery where rows and rows of trucks are parked. [There has been an extreme gas & diesel shortage here for the last two weeks, countrywide. ND siphoned from its broken vehicles. We struggled to keep power 60% of time at hospital].
"Tèt charge," my two accompaniers said repeatedly [phrase expressing frustration & exasperation with understanding and some humor]. The problem is centralization. People don't have a way to live outside the city. How can we rebuild like that?
On the way home, I was odd man out and perched on luggage in back of the Taihatsu. I liked seeing from that angle. Things that flashed by previously keep catching me now, sometimes almost paralyzing. I worry I've become too accustomed to seeing rubble,. To seeing the camps with Canadian & US tarps, but little else. To signs still hanging that read "we need help," in English. To the slum streets of Martissant. To marchans selling their goods in slushy mud of markets. To the trash in Portail Leogane, which has been piling up for decades.
Where will it all go?
I think people like Charmant have ideas.
Charmant told me excitedly of his personal ideas on making this place better, saying the guards want good operation; they have pride in their job. I stood there, beat as a mule wanting nothing but sleep. He works day & night every chance he gets and remains animated.
Went to PaP today to pick up the new group, always a logistician's dream. 24 people and 60+ bags fit into 3 vehicles and the HSC's faithful Taihatsu truck. No bags, and even no bodies, were lost.
On the way there, rode with HSC driver Bellange and another fellow. We passed the country's single oil refinery where rows and rows of trucks are parked. [There has been an extreme gas & diesel shortage here for the last two weeks, countrywide. ND siphoned from its broken vehicles. We struggled to keep power 60% of time at hospital].
"Tèt charge," my two accompaniers said repeatedly [phrase expressing frustration & exasperation with understanding and some humor]. The problem is centralization. People don't have a way to live outside the city. How can we rebuild like that?
On the way home, I was odd man out and perched on luggage in back of the Taihatsu. I liked seeing from that angle. Things that flashed by previously keep catching me now, sometimes almost paralyzing. I worry I've become too accustomed to seeing rubble,. To seeing the camps with Canadian & US tarps, but little else. To signs still hanging that read "we need help," in English. To the slum streets of Martissant. To marchans selling their goods in slushy mud of markets. To the trash in Portail Leogane, which has been piling up for decades.
Where will it all go?
I think people like Charmant have ideas.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Ayiti Demen
Child notes:
I returned today to be immediately greeted by Ludemilla and Oneilla, two girls who live in the camp right outside our fence. They greet me many times a day. Oneilla hugs me. Ludemilla asks for my cross necklace. She's an orphan. How do I tell her I can't because was given to me by my own parents?
Their friend, a 10-ish yr old boy, holds a rubber band on which is written "Je t'aime beaucoup." Thanked him and reciprocated.
Went for another beach run. This time danced on the sand with all the kids. As always, a crowd runs with us, but one 10yo girl stayed with me for a sold 2 miles. Barefoot. We made good conversation about how her family gets water from a drum built by an NGO, but that it ran dry yesterday. She was quite insightful about the process of drinking good water, so she and her friends don't get diarrhea.
SCHOOLS are starting again in Leogane! Uniforms everywhere (I'm trying to upload a picture, unsuccessfully). Anyway, let's support Haiti's future.
I returned today to be immediately greeted by Ludemilla and Oneilla, two girls who live in the camp right outside our fence. They greet me many times a day. Oneilla hugs me. Ludemilla asks for my cross necklace. She's an orphan. How do I tell her I can't because was given to me by my own parents?
Their friend, a 10-ish yr old boy, holds a rubber band on which is written "Je t'aime beaucoup." Thanked him and reciprocated.
Went for another beach run. This time danced on the sand with all the kids. As always, a crowd runs with us, but one 10yo girl stayed with me for a sold 2 miles. Barefoot. We made good conversation about how her family gets water from a drum built by an NGO, but that it ran dry yesterday. She was quite insightful about the process of drinking good water, so she and her friends don't get diarrhea.
SCHOOLS are starting again in Leogane! Uniforms everywhere (I'm trying to upload a picture, unsuccessfully). Anyway, let's support Haiti's future.
Ti & Gran Goave
Stayed in a hotel in Ti Goave last night, about an hour west of Leogane. I went there yesterday with ARC to tag along on another camp assessment, because ARC is trying to come into the region to do camp management, help people return home, and then work into community-based projects as they get a sense of the needs.
Interesting to experience the real humanitarian aid world. Things can move very, very quickly given willpower of sincere people leading the organizations. There's also a hoity-toity attitude of aid workers, with their badges and branded vehicles and fancy titles. I'm attracted to relief work, but not sure I want to ever assume that persona. One of the ARC folks spoke of that dilemma at lunch; she has lived in Rwanda for three years, only on a short-term stint here. "It's the difference between working and belonging."
Did the assessment in Ti Goave yesterday and Gran Goave today on the way back to Leogane. Met with the G Goave major, a friendly fellow. "Better rural schools, microenterprise with fairness, and environmental protection--with that you fix 80% of the problems here."
We found a lot of the camps have dispersed except for a couple dozen families. The camp committee leaders kept trying to tell us there were more...trying to get more help. Joe explained it well, "these people are just dirt poor, and are hoping for something, anything, before they leave." I suppose the people who left already just gave up sooner. Real help hasn't yet come to these places.
That is the disaster: acute insult on chronic misery.
I spent a good bit of time talking and playing with some kids. Told them I lived in Leogane, just visiting Ti Gwav. So one little girl said, "then come back tomorrow and make us a hospital."
"Why do you say that?" I answered (knowing the answer, of course)
"People are sick."
"What sickness do they have?"
"They eat dirt and it makes them sick."
Interesting to experience the real humanitarian aid world. Things can move very, very quickly given willpower of sincere people leading the organizations. There's also a hoity-toity attitude of aid workers, with their badges and branded vehicles and fancy titles. I'm attracted to relief work, but not sure I want to ever assume that persona. One of the ARC folks spoke of that dilemma at lunch; she has lived in Rwanda for three years, only on a short-term stint here. "It's the difference between working and belonging."
Did the assessment in Ti Goave yesterday and Gran Goave today on the way back to Leogane. Met with the G Goave major, a friendly fellow. "Better rural schools, microenterprise with fairness, and environmental protection--with that you fix 80% of the problems here."
We found a lot of the camps have dispersed except for a couple dozen families. The camp committee leaders kept trying to tell us there were more...trying to get more help. Joe explained it well, "these people are just dirt poor, and are hoping for something, anything, before they leave." I suppose the people who left already just gave up sooner. Real help hasn't yet come to these places.
That is the disaster: acute insult on chronic misery.
I spent a good bit of time talking and playing with some kids. Told them I lived in Leogane, just visiting Ti Gwav. So one little girl said, "then come back tomorrow and make us a hospital."
"Why do you say that?" I answered (knowing the answer, of course)
"People are sick."
"What sickness do they have?"
"They eat dirt and it makes them sick."
Monday, April 19, 2010
Resuscitating, Running, Remembering
All this passes too quickly for me to comprehend, or even feel. Being awakened, most often by stagnant heat, or sometimes by action--like this morning with both a late night C-section and then another early a.m. call about an older lady who died from some kind of metastatic cancer. And then work the day: talk, walk, carry, sweat. Computer at night. Pulling off my glasses for bed, I often can barely remember the day.
Wait, stop and remember:
A baby born Sunday morning, depressed. A team makes valiant efforts to resuscitate her, unsuccessful. Mother doesn't want the body, so we give them a box and 500 gds
Before that birth, a woman walks in our door in the midst of an abortion. Pills are cheap on the street. MSF is taking care of most complicated OB/GYN in the area, and reports fervently that dangerous street abortions are currently one of the most prevalent earthquake-related traumas.
But then, a couple weeks ago, I delivered two babies to happy mothers (under mentorship of a dynamic OB doc). Amazing how new life just slips out.
And rode up to Fondwa with a group in the back of John Parker's truck. Suzi packed lunch for the mountainside. [John & Suzi run the HSC guesthouse, wonderful people]. The mountains are deforested, yes. But also thick groves of banana and coffee trees. And plots of bean plants. And signs for farming cooperatives.
Ran to Plage St Luke, a fishing community, with Abbey today [she's a partner in this crazy job]. Followed by all from 4 year old boys to teenage girls. Stopped to talk with the village people once reached the beach. They know our names. I struggle to remember theirs.
We'll keep running, but hope to see more of what flashes by on the way.
Wait, stop and remember:
A baby born Sunday morning, depressed. A team makes valiant efforts to resuscitate her, unsuccessful. Mother doesn't want the body, so we give them a box and 500 gds
Before that birth, a woman walks in our door in the midst of an abortion. Pills are cheap on the street. MSF is taking care of most complicated OB/GYN in the area, and reports fervently that dangerous street abortions are currently one of the most prevalent earthquake-related traumas.
But then, a couple weeks ago, I delivered two babies to happy mothers (under mentorship of a dynamic OB doc). Amazing how new life just slips out.
And rode up to Fondwa with a group in the back of John Parker's truck. Suzi packed lunch for the mountainside. [John & Suzi run the HSC guesthouse, wonderful people]. The mountains are deforested, yes. But also thick groves of banana and coffee trees. And plots of bean plants. And signs for farming cooperatives.
Ran to Plage St Luke, a fishing community, with Abbey today [she's a partner in this crazy job]. Followed by all from 4 year old boys to teenage girls. Stopped to talk with the village people once reached the beach. They know our names. I struggle to remember theirs.
We'll keep running, but hope to see more of what flashes by on the way.
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