Collision and Diversion

Christmas Eve, Ann Arbor

The view out my window today is much different than it was last Thursday – 90 degrees and blue, sunny skies have been replaced by grey haze and a rain-snow mix. Precisely, I would say, the type of weather that helped cement my decision to fly South! It is difficult to believe, sitting here recovering from the Christmas festivities involving friends and family, that the same sun which barely appears in Michigan these days, fills the landscape with heat and intense light just a few hours' plane ride away. The dust and sweat and clamor and life of Haiti do inhabit the same planet as the cold, bustling shopping centers and carefully planned neighborhoods in Ann Arbor.

The weeks before my visit home were spent focusing intensely on the tasks of the moment, my mind straining to remain present to the children and the duties at hand. I could not let my mind slip into the mode of preparation for home – it would be too easy to lose perspective. Living the life of a missionary, I feel that we all reach a point of saturation – the ability to absorb or take in any more of the experience becomes clouded or even impossible, and the need to be away from the intensity of Haiti presented itself at the beginning of December. So it became a great testing point for me, evaluating the readiness and knowledge of the nurses at the clinic, letting go and trusting their decision-making and clinical skills, and talking through what we have accomplished in the four months I have been with them. We had a staff meeting, at which I was able to list the massive tasks they have completed so far, and where we discussed the status of the clinic and our plans for the coming year. They continue to remain excited about how far we have come, and are fervent in their determination to continue improving their skills and knowledge. I am truly amazed at the blessing they have been to the children and to me, working so patiently and listening attentively to my ideas, laughing as I have learned their language and adjust to their cultural practices. (Black hair is not an option for me, I keep telling them. I think they will keep demanding that I give it a try! And I will also continue to decline their offer of enhancements to my posterior!) Yes, there are many days and moments we find ourselves frustrated with the differences we see in our practice and understanding. But they continue to compliment me in the midst of our discussions. What a joy to know that they now feel empowered and validated, and that they know their opinions and experience are respected!

A huge challenge was presented to us these last few weeks. A newly diagnosed Type 1 diabetic came to live at St. Louis on December 1^st. We had very little time to prepare for her arrival, and we scoured the few resources available to us to find medication and testing supplies for her. She was poorly managed during her months of hospitalization, and we scrambled to find additional resources for planning her care. The nurses have very little experience with diabetes, and to be burdened with this disease in Haiti is a massive blow. One of the American long-term volunteers calls it a terminal disease here. It became a goal of mine to have her well-controlled by the time of my departure, as I wanted her to be stable and for the nurses to gain an understanding of diabetes management before I would leave them! There were many sleepless nights for yours truly, during which my mind churned with questions and anxieties about how this fragile girl would be managed in a difficult enviroment. But, as usually seems to happen, huge amounts of grace and protection were our companions as we negotiated the weeks. An endocrinologist from Akron Children's Hospital became our expert resource, the right kind of insulin was located and purchased, a donated glucometer with matching test strips (a RARE find!!) to last through my return to the country was given, and we were able to establish protocols for her care. With the assistance of Peggy, our fabulous Haitian American volunteer teacher, I translated my first instructions from English to Creole, and was able to teach the nurses the basics of blood glucose management. The most difficult part of the entire adventure has been the fact that our patient is 12 years old and is very good at being her age! But there is great hope for her. She is adjusting to an entirely new way of life, with stability and discipline, consistency and truth in love. She is learning how to trust, a formidable task for a girl who was literally tossed from family to family as a child slave before a kind acquaintance finally brought her to the hospital for care. When I start to become frustrated or feel my patience dissipating, I take a breath and remember that many of the children in my care have faced traumas and abuses beyond description. I study their eyes and feel their heads buried into my waist as they hug me tightly. And I remember the struggle we all face – whether American, Haitian or global citizen – we all long to be loved. What a great honor it is to be able to demonstrate and give tangible access to love, for 200 of my little brothers and sisters, and in turn, I pray, effect even more lives in the process. Not to my gain, but to the glory of the God who has gifted us all with this chance. May we not let it pass us by.

In the midst of the cloudiness of December, as the impressiveness of the Haitian experience threatened to overwhelm me, I was graced with two wonderful visitors who brought refreshment and light at just the right time. Rachel and Erin, both former volunteers who survived the collapse of the hospital in Petionville during the earthquake, came to visit and work for several days. Rachel has almost completed her Physical Therapy training and spent time with the therapists at St. Luc Hospital. Erin is now in Medical School and tacked a trip to Haiti onto the end of a week serving in the Dominican Republic. Dani and I were encouraged by Rachel's energy, laughter, and excitement. Erin's visit came just as Dani left for the States and loneliness threatened to invade, so it was a great gift to spend time with other women my age who share my passion for this work. It is a huge encouragement to be with others who “get” the experience. With other volunteers, there is an unspoken understanding of the challenge and culture which is a massive comfort. It is just plain fun to share our experiences and learn from each other, hearing other perspectives and being reminded that we are not alone. I am blessed to have two new friends who are beacons of humor and hope.

The fam, Christmas Eve 2011

Since my arrival home, there has been very little “down time!” First task of the first day was a much-needed haircut! Then the parade of friendly visits began, and the hustle and bustle of Christmas was upon me. I was glad to arrive home when I did, missing the ridiculous commercialization and marketing season. (We turned on Christmas music in Haiti and had a Christmas movie marathon to remind ourselves that it was coming. We made snowflakes and hung Christmas lights, but it still doesn't hit you when the temperature is in the 90's and there is no snow to be found). I attended Christmas Eve mass with the new English words, my sisters joined the choir for the evening, we had mimosas and mom's fabulous Christmas quiche, and we played Killer Uno with the cousins. I have ventured out to the stores twice so far, both times returning home overheated and near-panic stricken at the sheer amount of STUFF we have – and have seen many friends. It is hard not to compartmentalize my life just a bit, because the world of Haiti seems so far away from my parents' comfortable living room, and it is easy to just hop in the car and go grab take-out or meet friends for drinks at the restaurant down the street. I struggle to sleep in my own comfortable bed with layers of warm blankets, because the room is so quiet! A hot shower in the morning is standard procedure, and grabbing clean laundry from the dryer is done without a thought. Large, multi-room houses with indoor plumbing populate quiet, residential streets, and the highways an busy roads are governed by clearly marked lanes and strictly-enforced regulations. Wearing socks and shoes/boots is trying and uncomfortable. Having ready-made food and a huge refrigerator accessible, and knowing that whatever is on the menu at the restaurant is most definitely available, are things too easily taken for granted. It seems that too quickly I will be back in a world where all of this is foreign, where a car is a massive luxury, where every day's mass is a funeral, where dessert is not a regular part of the meal, where one can never presume that water from the tap is safe to drink, where a hair dryer is completely unnecessary, where Starbucks and McDonald's do not exist, where electricity is likely to be had for only a few hours a day, where television does not rule the schedule, where one-on-one conversation is the regular mode of communication, where people are more important than things, where a cold glass of water is treasured by its recipient for hours. Somehow these two worlds are part of the same one. Somehow it is possible to exist in both.

Beautiful People

Beautiful, as defined by www.dictionary.com:

“Having qualities that give great pleasure or satisfaction to see, hear, think about; delighting the senses or mind. Excellent of its kind. Wonderful.”

I just missed seeing Kim Kardashian today. Yes, seriously. The reality star and a group of other Hollywood-considered "beautiful people" were at our volunteer tents this morning, about to embark on their whirlwind tour of the projects of Artists for Peace and Justice. APJ was started by Paul Haggis, famous for writing and directing Crash, among other accomplishments. The organization has funded and built a school which is currently located right next to the Angels of Light program and is run by St. Luc. (St. Luc is another organization directed by Fr. Rick here in Haiti). APJ has worked closely with Fr. Rick, and Paul was here last month with a contingent of Canadian celebrities to officially open the school. I was impressed to see that a Hollywood personality has returned to Haiti and demonstrates a commitment to the country. More on this later. It is a crazy collision of worlds, to see someone whose name is credited with moving the movie industry, just sitting in the tent where I eat every day, friendly and “normal.”

This morning, as I slowly woke up after an extremely draining 11-day stretch at work, my roommate Dani came running into the house telling me excitedly that a number of “beautiful men are outside!” I hurriedly dressed and washed up, feeling even less attractive knowing what I was apparently walking into, then listened to her footsteps rushing back into the house, as she started trembling and said, “Forget the men – Kim Kardashian is out there! She is about to go use our porta-potty bathroom!” As we looked in disbelief at the People magazine with her on the cover, we talked of the strange intersection of such an elite and superficial world with the reality of Haiti. Unfortunately, by the time I walked out to the volunteer area, the group was long-gone and I was left to wonder if it had really happened.

I have lamented of late that since Haiti is hardly in the current headlines now, those who are not living the life here are easily swayed by the media and are engrossed in the newest subject. Initial excitement and pledges are deserted, and the lack of evidence of big change is off-putting to the culture of immediate gratification from which we come. We were visited by Friends of the Orphans employees last week, and in an impromptu interview I had the chance to describe the changes I have seen, the opportunities that are being offered to so many children (800 at current count, through the Angels of Light Program) and the countless lives that these outreaches will affect. And, economies and challenges being as they are, the question of funding and the long-term existence of programs like this comes up often in conversation and planning. Sadly, bringing about significant change after 200 years of corruption and bloodshed will not happen overnight. I am happy to report that in the year and a half between my visits to Haiti, I was amazed upon my return at the amount of reconstruction and development that has occurred. The sheer number of programs and outreaches commenced at NPH and its sister organizations is just one example. I wish that the reports transmitted from here would reach the airwaves in the States. Instead of chaos and violence, I would love to see the cause of change and hope broadcast.

As I sat with the children last Saturday, during Fet Paran, (the visitors' day at FWAL), I thought about how truly beautiful they are. It has struck me many times that the joy emanating from faces I see cause the lights of Hollywood and the huge movie premieres to pale in comparison. The spectrum of emotions I witness and experience each day are beyond the ability of any director or cast to capture. Because they are real. The tears that descend the face of our newest resident, orphaned and just two days out of the hospital where she has lived for the past several months – these are evidence of pain no camera can possibly convey. The change which enters her face at the gentle caress of the nurse who holds her tightly – and the continued swelling of her eyes as they fill again and again. The permanent grasp of my hands by the children with no one to visit them – the stroking of my arms and the placing of my hands over their shoulders. The stirring of my heart as I sit with them and have the privilege of being their family for the few months I am here – the love I feel when I am asked for by name, when I am trusted by these precious souls and pulled back to the table to sit for just a few more minutes. The laughter that erupts as the girls see me mouthing the same words they sing to Justin Beiber's anthem. The smile that refuses to leave a little face, even as the tears threaten to return. The children look past my eyes and seem to read my thoughts, and we sit just holding each other with no words needed. I am so honored to experience this radiance. This is true beauty.

The superficial world of American media and the actors who attach themselves to the cause of the hour, the gossip magazines and sites dedicated to drowning the public in the pool of unnecessary information – these are not real. The men who travel to the general hospital morgue every week, sort through the pile of bodies and offer a final act of service by burying them with dignified ceremony. My roommate Dani, who manages a massive warehouse of donations and purchases, organizing materials day in and day out, and who generously reaches out to the abandoned children every evening. Madame Rose, who enthusiastically directs 200 youngsters as they attend our Kindergarten program and greets me with gusto every morning. Sr. Judy, who has been here in Haiti for nearly 10 years and serves the poorest of the poor with a firm but compassionate hand. Fr. Rick, who works tirelessly (seriously – I don't know when the guy sleeps) and has a huge heart for those with no hope. The intense planning Joanne has undertaken, to ensure that Christmas will be festive for the 183 children in her charge.The former residents of the NPH orphanages, who have returned to live with, mentor and nurture their younger brothers and sisters, speaking from experience which no others can possibly understand. The artists who see through the fog of their elite world and travel to the culture where we all stand equally. The children who ask when I will return to be with them, who thank me with responses like, “God bless you, Brigitte.” The little toddlers who run to me and try to pronounce my name so carefully. The bright eyes that sear through artificiality and beg for honesty. The boys and girls who place their heads under my hands and hold my waist. The sound of the newborn babies as they emerge into the world from the shelter of their mothers' wombs. The sound of my name as I am recognized. These are real. These are tangible. These impressions last. Lives are changed. These are beautiful.