The Journey

The rainy season has sent notice of its arrival, with torrential downpours nearly every evening. I hear the thunder approaching as I sit down to write. I am told that the cooler weather will soon cease, though this prompts a smile because the only slight “cool” we have experienced has been a temperature drop of a few degrees at night. The days remain scorchingly hot, with full sun present, although a nice breeze has accompanied it for the last month. I am not at all complaining, mind you – I have gladly traded frigid winter temperatures for the Vitamin-D richness of the tropical sun on a daily basis. Additionally, for the first time, Haiti has joined the United States in the tradition of Daylight Savings Time. There was some concern that this might not be a success, as apparently it was tried during the time of the dictatorship many years ago and no one in the countryside knew of the change. But so far it seems that there was a successful transition. My father, who lives for the two days a year he gets to change the clocks, was overjoyed to hear that we were remaining in the same time zone! It is a treat to have a few more minutes in the morning before the sun rises to greet us. The Jordanian UN camp continues to broadcast the Call to Prayer before dawn, so that is my usual wake-up at approximately 5:00 am. I am fairly convinced that they recently turned up the volume on their speakers, however. I would certainly choose a different type of alarm given the option - The churning of the coffeemaker, for instance, is a much more pleasant alternative.  The sounds which inundate me during the course of a day are now part of a routine which has become the norm, as are the children from the streets who run to me as I leave the gates of the hospital, asking for a dollar in English, or yelling the few phrases they know in my direction.  Thankfully, a few of them know, “You are beautiful!” and “I love you!” which bring a little smile to my face when I wonder if they know what they are saying. The little ones sitting in their mothers’ arms stare intently at me as I walk by the triage tents, breaking into a toothy grin as I greet them in Creole and wave. It is still fun to surprise those I encounter on the street, when I respond to them in Creole. Negotiating the newly formed puddles on the rocky road, declining the motorcycle drivers as they encourage me to take a taxi to work, I relish my morning walk. The security guards call me “zanmi m’,” which means “my friend!” as I walk past the various gates of the NPH complexes and enter the cow fields to negotiate a different type of newly formed hazard. There are several new calves, which are adorably awkward as they stand on their long legs and hold their heads up between two huge ears! Their moms stand protectively over them or very closely by, eyeing me cautiously as I walk by, through the dust bowl which has recently become the practice field for student drivers. 

Countless moments occur every day, and I realized this past few weeks that I was holding many of them at arms’ length, because the amount of emotion that my heart and head experience is sometimes too overwhelming to face. As we joined the children at Kay Ste. Helene up in Kenscoff for the 25^th Anniversary celebration of NPH’s work in Haiti, it was remarkable to see the group of former residents who have become active professionals, many of whom now work for NPH. They stood and were an active witness to the care and security and hope that NPH offers to the children in our charge. We listened to Fr. Rick share about the beginnings of NPH in Haiti and how God has blessed the organization with wonderful friends and servants. Many of the Angels of Light kids accompanied us – always an adventure in motion sickness for at least one of them! – and were able to join hundreds of their cohorts in song and worship. There are few things more beautiful than hearing a chorus of children singing together! And they sing with all their might. It is an instant lift to the soul.

 A more difficult emotional experience is the slow unveiling of the horrific histories of some of our children in the Angels of Light program. I will forever stand by my assessment that Haitian children are the most resilient of human beings, smiling and living with determined hope through unspeakable and unimaginable pain. I try to put myself into the mind of a 12-year old girl who has been passed from house to house as a restavec, or child slave, forced to sleep on the street and rise in the middle of the night to cook food which she is not allowed to eat. As symptoms of a chronic illness began to present themselves, she would be cast off again, until an acquaintance brought her to the hospital for care. Imagine facing life believing that you will be thrown to the street with the next mistake you make, your own mother having given you away when you were a young child. I look at the healed scars where whips once penetrated the skin of another young girl, who still shrinks away when I place my hand around her shoulders, her instinct still telling her that a touch cannot possibly be a gesture of comfort, but only of pain. I listen as a coworker recounts the story of two young sisters whose family simply stopped feeding them because their mother was no longer present in the home to watch over them. I look at the pictures of their starving bodies after NPH staff rescued them from their home, and I watch them now as they laugh and play happily, snuggling into the laps of the staff which nurtures, feeds and loves them. I accompany Dani to the abandoned chidrens' room at the hospital, where we meet children who have been left by their parents, whether out of desperation or other motive we cannot know. They stand, fight for toys and run for the exits when we ask if they want to tour the hospital. They greet us with smiles and laughter, and they wail in sorrow when we have to say goodbye for the evening. Such daily encounters are excruciating to negotiate, and I have not been terribly successful of late. But healing and joy comes in the full-body hug of a child who simply wants to be held, or in the myriad of languages and phrases accompanying the “thank you” of another little guy cherishing his glass of cold water, or the shrieking of a house full of babies who have just received a new pair of sunglasses, or the tiny voice of a little girl who says my name quietly as she gently runs her fingers through my hair. It is in the hands of the ones who caress mine, who ask again and again to dance the Cupid Shuffle, who yell my name when they see me approaching and break into a full-on run to greet me. It is in the slow walk through the yard of the baby house, with one child grasping each of my legs, another in my arms, and yet another pushing me from behind. It is in the smile of a nurse when I compliment her on a job well done, and the laugh of a shared joke. It is in the recitation of the universal prayers offered at mass every Sunday, in the embrace of peace given and received with sincerity. It is in the words of a little boy who says, “I am going to pray here, with you.” 

Sunglasses!!!!

Antoine, comedian.