Haiti 2011: June Eleventh

Our day, the last time we would set eyes on the children, staff, and orphanage, consisted mostly of travel. We started our day riding in a van over the same lush mountains we scaled on the way to Jacmel, entered the same teeming city-- enlivened by merchants, traffic, and the bright, contrasting colors of its buildings-- and faced the same cultural challenges at the Port-au-Prince airport that we had faced on our way out of that airport: men insisting on helping to carry luggage and guide us to our destination. After several passport and baggage checks, we stepped aboard a plane bound for Miami, and only hours later-- as I write this-- found ourselves spanning the United States as we flew to San Francisco. The thought that became more salient today was just how much Haitian and U.S. cultures differ. The people here in the U.S., myself included, are so guarded compared to those in Haiti. It seems like poverty, ugly as it is, leaves its victims without the luxury of shoring up a particular image. They are who they are, and have no reason to make a priority of maintaining airs of wealth or importance. The need for survival takes priority.

This gave me pause. One of the lessons I learned from the devotional we read through this week was that there are those of us-- again, myself included-- who make a point of maintaining a portrait of infallibility: we don't want to let people see our faults. This just isn't a problem among many of the people I met in Haiti. The results of this difference were most evident in the manner of the children we got to know. From the onset, these children threw themselves at us in body and heart. They are very accustomed to physical touch: they wanted to be carried, held on shoulders, hugged, wrapped around us. They held a trust that seems to be rarely seen of children in the U.S. This tells me that children are more intuitive than I once knew. Parents may not tell their children not to trust so easily; but something about a child's parents' behavior-- whether that behavior is body language with the children themselves, their example of intimacy with one another, or their interactions with family, friends, or strangers-- teaches them to hold back their sentiment. I'm speaking generally, and there are exceptions, of course. This knowledge, however, taught me just how emotionally distant adults learn to be. The children here were rich in their expression of love and need, something that reminded me of the importance of trust.

I also learned this lesson by my experience with my teammates. Consciously, I think I expected only two things on this trip: I knew I would be working, and I expected to be alone, disconnected from my team. I found this second expectation to be wrong. We worked with a visible unity and singleness of purpose (for the most part, anyway) that taught me a second difference between my life in the U.S. and my experience in Haiti: interdependence. There was a communal spirit here, not only within our team, but also within the long-term staff. Maybe the nature of my job requires isolation and independence, but I don't often experience this communal lifestyle in the U.S. The exception is in church, where I have been apart of it. In any case, this was my favorite surprise of the trip, finding a camaraderie with my team as we worked on a common goal, and seeing that same interdependence and camaraderie among the directors and staff. The work was still work, but I felt like I was part of something important.

To this point, I haven't mentioned God's role in all of this, but I have no doubt that it is because of the change and peace and love that he's instilled in these people that this atmosphere is possible at all. The orphanage inside is visibly and emotionally different than Jacmel and Port-au-Prince, from the deprivation so visible in those streets. I believe God is close to these people and the children for whom they labor, and I was proud to experience a moment in its history, to be part of something greater than myself, to take part in the vision to do more for a country so wracked with need.

On a final related note, we passed the presidential palace as we drove through Port-au-Prince-- the earthquake damage so extensive that it toppled the main dome from its stately place-- this palace, set in the center of beautiful green lawn, and fenced off from the rest of the city. I feel like it is a microcosm of Haiti itself: the country is devastated by disease, malnutrition, poverty, corruption, and natural disaster, so much so as to shake its people from their stately place; still set amid such natural beauty; and yet so unknown, it seems, by the outside world. I know that God is in this country, that he has done, and will continue to do incredible things. I hope that I can keep hold of the lessons I learned there. In doing so, I would be bringing a little of Haiti home with me. I hope the echoes I mentioned in a previous entry aren't just echoes of poverty and disease, but echoes of hope, instilled both there and in myself.