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.