Report from Marie St. Ledger about the November 27th trip to Haiti:
Over a week has passed since I returned from Haiti, and I am still speechless. I have so many thoughts circling through my head, but I am having a hard time finding the right words to accurately describe my experience. “How was your trip?” everyone asks. How can I answer that? The reply that best sums it up is “It was wonderful and horrifying.” In fact, I had a great experience, and I had a heart-wrenching, distressing experience – all at the same time. There is a certain slogan that keeps entering my mind when I think about Haiti; I hate to use it here, because its original connotation was such a gratuitous description of an unjustifiable, loathsome act of violence against the people of Iraq. However, “shock and awe” right now seems an appropriate phrase to use in order to attempt to explain the situation in Haiti to people who have never been there.
Let me start by talking about the “shocking” parts. I will begin by saying that I am not inexperienced when it comes to seeing poverty. I have visited destitute areas of Mexico and Central America, and I have read extensively about the multitude of issues that affect the poor around the world. I have stayed informed about what has occurred in Haiti, especially since the January earthquake. Because of all of this, I had not expected to be as upset as I was, starting from the very first moment that we arrived in the country.
Driving from the airport to our guesthouse provided me with my initial introduction to the current conditions in Port-au-Prince. Most of the hiking trails that I use for recreation in the U.S. are in better shape than the roads of Haiti’s capital. As we got closer to the downtown area, we began to see more and more of the damage that was done by the earthquake nearly a year ago. Rubble was everywhere. Buildings that were damaged but that had not fallen teetered dangerously while children played underneath. It seemed that a light breeze would be sufficient for them to topple. In each and every available plot of land, there was a tent. I cannot even begin to count how many tents I saw. I think it would be easier to count the stars in the sky.
It was bad enough to see people living in tents, but what made it worse was that the tents were so close to each other. Consider this: a thousand people living in an area that would comprise a typical suburban American family’s home and yard. Add to the misery of these cramped conditions a lack of food, potable water, sanitation, and electricity, and you have a pretty good description of what it means to live in Haiti. Actually, I should use the word “exist” instead of “live,” because that seems more accurate. Filthy canals running through these tent cities made me cringe, especially now during this cholera epidemic. The whole scene is a public health nightmare, but this is simply the reality of daily life for the average Haitian.
The day after we arrived was election day in which this “democratic” country was to have the opportunity to choose a new president. Ordinarily one might think that this would be a good thing. Haiti is certainly in need of strong leadership to bring it out of this tragedy and into an era of prosperity. However, these suffering people were dealt yet another blow that they did not deserve with an election that was a total travesty of justice. We did not meet a single person who was able to vote that day without any problems. People were told that their names did not appear on the list and were sent home without being allowed to cast a ballot. International observers reported multiple incidents of ballot box stuffing, voter intimidation, and many other abuses. We spoke at length with an OAS observer who was staying at our guesthouse. He indicated that many of these incidents were flagrantly carried out right in front of the observers. This young man seemed just as disheartened as we were when the OAS announced that the election was an acceptable one. Our friend Daniel shared that when he arrived at his polling place, it had been ransacked by supporters of two candidates; he was not permitted to vote. Government officials declared that it has been a “comfortable” election. If this were true, I wonder why I was awakened at midnight by people demonstrating in the streets.
From the shock of this fraudulent election, let me move on to the shock that I received when visiting Cite Soleil. We were advised against going to this poor slum community because it is supposedly a “hot spot” whenever there is political turmoil in Haiti. However, we had promised the residents of the camp for displaced elderly and disabled people that we would come and do a clinic for them. I was surprised to learn that many NGOs will not allow their workers to set foot in Cite Soleil because of the dangerous conditions there.
When we arrived, the camp leaders had set up a small tent for us in which we would see patients. In minutes, there were dozens of people lined up. We knew that we would not be able to see everyone who needed care because we had a limited amount of time before we had to leave, so we had to tell the people that we would only see those who were the most seriously ill. This broke my heart. I don’t know when any of these unfortunate souls had last had the opportunity to see a health care professional, and we had to ration out our services.
Their stories were tragic. I was especially saddened by one elderly woman who came looking for something to help the pain in her leg. She explained that she had fallen in the previous week. I tried to determine what had caused the fall, and she told me that she thinks she fainted when she learned that her son had died. He was only in his forties, and he died of cholera. She looked as if she were carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, and though my comprehension of the Creole language is poor, her eyes revealed more to me than the words that she spoke to the interpreter. The ibuprofen that we gave her for her sore knee would do nothing to assuage her grief. While every person’s story was different, it was evident that they all were suffering a mental anguish beyond what any of us could ever imagine.
I was upset at myself that I had even considered skipping out on Cite Soleil that day. They were expecting us, and we almost did not go. “I’m sorry. We can’t come see you today because we are afraid for our safety.” I am so glad that we did not allow our fears to rule our actions. We made the right decision in going there, even though in reality the impact that we had on their lives was miniscule in the grand scheme of things.
When it came time to leave, we gave one of the camp leaders some animal crackers to give to the children. They all sat around him in an orderly fashion and eagerly waited their turn to get a snack. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little boy. He could not have been more than two-and-a-half years old, and his left leg had been amputated above the knee, presumably due to the earthquake. He was completely naked, and he was sliding himself on the stony ground to the area where the animal crackers were being handed out. The image of that scene will be forever burned in my memory. I wanted to scream at the injustice of it all. I had now seen more than enough, and I was beyond the point of being “shocked.” Now I was angry. How could this be? How can we allow other human beings who are no different than ourselves to live like this? How would I feel if I had been born into this life, knowing full well that so many in the world have abundantly more than they need? At that moment I felt overwhelmed, powerless, and despondent. However, as I continued to reflect over the next few days on everything I had seen, these feelings began to change.
I have the Haitian people to thank for this transformation of my attitude.
I had mentioned “shock and awe” at the beginning of this narrative, and I hope that I have given a coherent overview of the “shocking” parts. As I indicated earlier, Haiti was both terrible and wonderful at the same time. I think it is easy to understand the “terrible” part. Someone who doesn’t know any better might think that the “wonderful” part must have involved leaving Port-au-Prince. Surely we went to a resort, lay on the beach, ate good food, and relaxed in the peacefulness of palm trees for the remainder of our trip. We certainly could not have found anything good in Port-au-Prince, right?
Though it sounds implausible, I encountered so much beauty and goodness amidst the desperate chaos and broken lives of the Haitian people, and what I want to make very clear is that the awe that I feel toward them far surpasses the shock that I experienced.
From the moment that we stepped off the plane at the airport, we were greeted warmly by everyone we met. Genuine smiles appeared on faces as passersby said “bon jour” to us. If I were in their shoes, would I be so friendly and welcoming to someone who lived in luxury by comparison while I struggled daily in squalor? I tend to think that I would be resentful, but I did not detect any bitterness from the people whom I met.
We had the opportunity to work side by side with Dr. Joey and the health care agents in the Kay Lasante clinic for a good part of our time in the country. I was so impressed by their work ethic, dedication to the patients, and the kindness shown to all of us. The health agents were eager to learn new things and interested in knowing all that they could about the best practices that they could use when working in the clinic and in the community. We watched one of the young women, Menard, give a hand-washing demonstration to a group of about three-hundred children in a local feeding program. She was confident, professional, caring, and did such a great job. The clinic is fulfilling such an important need in that community, and there would be no success without these magnificent health agents.
If anyone ever tells you that there is no beauty in Cite Soleil, tell him or her to think again! Our friend Lily believes that it is possible to transform the world through art, and she proved that in Cite Soleil. With a group of enthusiastic residents of this blighted slum, a beautiful mural appeared on a wall outside of the camp for the elderly and disabled. To see the bright colors of the “Haitian Tree of Life” illuminate a place where hours earlier there was just a dirty wall was truly magical! Lily also involved dozens of children from Cite Soleil in the painting of large wooden stakes that will be planted in the community garden. The talent of these children was amazing, and I bet that no one ever knew about their abilities before Lily came to visit them. Watching the children make beautiful artwork was a magnificent site to see. It makes one realize that a child is a child, no matter where he or she lives. All children have hopes and dreams, only some of them are never able to actualize their aspirations because of insurmountable obstacles. The image of these kids smiling is as much burned into my memory as that of the little child amputee trying to get an animal cracker.
One person whom we met in Haiti proudly declared that suicide does not happen in Cite Soleil. Now I do not know if this is true, but it would not surprise me. I am still completely in awe of the Haitian people. They have been dealt a terrible hand for the past two hundred years, but they go on struggling with their faith and hope intact.
Attending Sunday Mass in the local parish (which actually took place in one family’s yard) made me see just how strong the faith of the Haitian people is. I was conscious of how underdressed I was for church; while we all wore our khaki pants, t-shirts, and sneakers, the rest of the congregation appeared in beautiful dresses, suits, and ties. It impressed me that in a place so filled with dirt, dust, and rubble, people would take the time and energy to look their best, and it just goes to show the importance the Haitians place on their relationship with God and with their fellow neighbors. I have so much to learn from them. Their resilience has left an indelible impression on me, and I know that they will continue to make the best out of the dreadful situation in which they are living.
I guess I could sum up the whole trip by saying that it was an experience of contrasts: poverty and wealth, blight and beauty, sickness and strength, desperation and determination, horror and admiration. The dichotomy that exists in that small island nation has both broken my heart and made it stronger. It has steeled my resolve to do whatever I can to raise awareness about the injustices that I saw, in the hopes that the people of Haiti and all suffering nations will one day soon be able to live in peace and comfort. I feel truly blessed to have had this opportunity to travel to Haiti and to meet such amazing people, and, by their example, I am humbled and inspired.