Haiti, here I come!

A 620 am flight out of Sydney begins a week long journey to a small community called Deschapelles, two and a half hours north of Port au Prince, Haiti, to an orphanage called HATS-Hands Across the Sea. There are 16 children living full time at HATS, and these children, I've been told, have a variety of stories that would tug at your heart strings. I've never made a trip like this before, and, as a mother, this is the part that makes me most anxious--how do you become so immersed in a child's life for a week, only to bid them farewell in 7 short days, without leaving a piece of your heart behind? I suspect this will be a week like no other, and with wheels up, I'm off to the first stop on the journey--Toronto.

After an hour of winding my way through the customs' line, I met up with one of the ladies who travels to HATS every year, Beate, a school teacher in Ontario. It's like we are old friends by the time we land in Miami, check in to our hotel amongst the palm trees, then meet up with the other two women ( a mother/daughter team from Calgary), only to rest our heads for less than 12 hours.

Stepping out into the muggy Miami morning at 4:15 and boarding the airport shuttle, we cross our collective fingers that all our bags will make the journey with us. The four of us are loaded down with a variety of 'gifts,' including Beate's lightbulbs, crocs, clothes, and cheese, to Laree's and Ronelle's 3 sewing machines and abundance of children's clothes, and my 75 toothbrushes/toothpastes, shoes, t shirts, medicines, and of course, bottles of bubbles, just to name a few things! 

I am a little nervous, and excited all at the same time. I have traveled to poorer countries before, but never actually lived in their reality. Many of us have taken vacations to the Dominican Republic, or Cuba, or other warm tropical places, and we are in shock and awe when we take a tour through the local neighbourhoods, seeing how people really live--far from the lush accommodations provided to the tourists.  At least that's the way it was for me-- seeing the local realities were fleeting moments, maybe captured on film, shared when I got home, then 'put away' in the back of my brain as I returned to my 'normal.' This time, however, I don't think I will be able to put these pictures away...

The flight to Port Au Prince is supposed to be just about 2 hours. Without an empty seat on the Boeing 767, and the sun beaming through the clouds, the adventure begins...Haiti, here I come! 

And so it goes...

When I first signed on to join the team going to Haiti, no amount of information online could have prepared me for the week I had. I initially thought, it's only a week...what could I possibly do in one week that could be helpful? How could it be long enough to make a real connection with the children, or to be productive. What I've discovered, however, is that in one short week, each one of those 16 little faces stole a little piece of my heart, each one with their individual personalities. 

When we arrived in Port au Prince, my eyes were opened to a level of poverty I have NEVER experienced in any of my travels. Some of these people are surviving daily in houses, (these would be considered shacks by first world standards) built on sides of mountains, which would easily be wiped out if ever there was a landslide. In these places, there is no access to water or any kind of indoor plumbing, not to mention the fact that getting up and down the mountain would be a chore in and of itself. But people escaped to the mountains after the earthquake, thinking it might be safer. Still others exist in mere shelters made of whatever they can find to stand up to light rains. These would be the equivalent in size of the old Canadian 'pup tents,' which would basically fit one person comfortably-- here there would certainly be more than one person squeezed into these shelters.

Yet each community, village, or small town we passed through was filled with people who were working hard, or helping each other with normal tasks, like fixing vehicles, or washing clothes. Haitian people are proud, and they do the best they can with what they have in order to get by. This may not fit into our description of what is 'normal,' but I don't know if our 'normal' is the best way either.  I always tell our kids that they don't need to feel guilty about what we have, but they need to remember that it's important to do what we can to help those who don't, whether it's in our community, or somewhere else in the world. I firmly believe that once children get involved in 'service learning,' they will carry it with them for life, because you don't have to have money to do something that's going to feed your soul. More than ever, we need our kids to be the ones who learn to pay it forward. 

When it came time to leave the orphanage, there were lots of tears as we hopped into the van...the same one we arrived in with more cracks in the windshield than there is clear space to see through! One of the hardest to leave was my little friend, Karena, who was just about 1 year old when she lost her entire family in the earthquake. She was found by a young girl who brought her to Karen, and over the last few days I was teaching her the words to 'you are my sunshine' in English. Whenever I saw her, she would sit on my lap and say, 'chanter,' and we would sing it together. She always emphasized the 'happy' and 'I love you,' because I'm sure those words were the ones in English she was most familiar with. No wonder there were tears...

The drive to the airport to begin the journey home was quite different from when we arrived, not only because we were within inches of our lives at one point--there were 3 vehicles traveling at highway speed in a space designed for 2, with one of them coming at us in our lane--but my view of Haiti had been drastically changed. There was no need for photos this time...sometimes, as Karen said, the best photos are the ones you take with your eyes. These photos are more than moments on a page or paper... these ones are the ones that make you smile, or sometimes cry, with just a thought. 

I am taking so much home with me after this week, and the boys are curious to hear about the trip and all the children. I am only a few hours away from returning to my 'normal,' but I will continue to carry the children of HATS with me until the next time. They will continue to grow and learn in a safe environment at the orphanage, and I will go back to my 3 little treasures and fantastic husband who supported me in giving me 'time off' this week, (and my parents who stepped in to help too) and we will all do what we can, as best we can....and so it goes....

Four 'blancs' at the market

There are no words to truly describe the morning at the market...there were no spaces untouched by people, or market stalls, or motor bikes. So there we were...four blancs (whites) at the market, closely watched, it seemed, for the entire time we were there. If you could imagine a space the size of the entire mayflower mall, including the parking lot, that MIGHT be a small scale replica of what we fought our way through today. This was a Wal Mart supercentre on steroids, complete with a parking lot for horses. Seeing the shape of those poor horses, I'm glad our ride was the four wheel kind.

Karen made an early stop at one of the stalls where she did some negotiating in Creole for 3 machetes--2 smaller ones for cutting grass, and one larger one, which ended up in my hands for the duration of our time at the market. There were more than a few snickers and comments about 'blancs' as we went through, so having a machete in hand did seem to give me a little greater sense of safety.

The first group of stalls we passed through were filled with clothing, with a little something for everyone in the whole family.  Everything was displayed on makeshift clotheslines for clear viewing. I was also glad Beate warned me about the dangers of being tall in the market. To shelter themselves from the dead heat, people either had either used old sheets stretched out and hung with clothespins, or some had very low wavy tin roofs, with rough edges outward-- not an injury I wanted to have.

Shortly after going through the clothing department, we made our way to the 'pharmaceutical section' filled with North American bottles of Tylenol and cold medicines. Most disturbing, however, was this  beautiful young girl, no more than 13, walking through the crowds carrying a box filled with individual pills of all colors and sizes. Not long after she passed, we also walked by a lady with a table full of pills sitting out in full view and in the direct sunshine.

But the biggest eye opener was the fresh meat section, because it was a little too fresh for my liking. Tin bowls that I would use for popcorn, contained raw meat, from intestines, to chicken feet, and most any other edible part of a goat or chicken that you could imagine. Women were digging through the bowls like you or I might do at Sobey's to find the best cut of meat, but none of this meat is packaged, no one was wearing gloves,  and flies seemed to be conducting their own searches in the bowls...it was pretty gross, but it is part of the local reality.

Just when I thought there couldn't possibly be anything left to see, we got to the 'back of the store' where people sell bags and bags of charcoal. The need for charcoal for cooking is one of the reasons there is such a problem with deforestation--people cut down trees and burn the wood just long enough for it to turn black. There were pieces of burned wood in all shapes and sizes, and you could but them by the big bag, or by the armload. 

I think we were all glad to get to the 'parking lot,' although parking was no issue because there were only about 5 lonely horses there amongst the garbage that was dumped. Karen wanted to show us some of the fields behind the market, but that was cut short when a man who had followed us down approached Karen, saying he wanted to talk to us. And when 'blancs' stop too long in one spot, it tends to draw attention, and not in a good way, so we quickly turned ourselves around. I was so glad when Karen's truck came into view. This was just another experience that made me feel so grateful for what we have, and I think the discomfort I felt being part of the minority as one of four 'blancs' in the market was a good lesson too...

Disco night in Deschapelles

Just when it seemed like the roosters and I were getting along, and the dogs stopped barking, this happens...Disco night in Deschapelles, and it's no different here than any other bar anywhere else in the world--the louder the music the better, but it just doesn't usually happen that you're sleeping  outside only a short distance away. Maybe that's what I get for complaining about the animals!

A little groggier than normal today, we took another drive to Karen's assistant's house, which is where the grocery store is. Luckner (look-ner) is a local lawyer, and just like most of the other stories this week, the story of how Karen met him is rather scary and bizarre.

About 10 years ago, someone told Karen that she was in danger of being kidnapped. Karen had to travel to Port au Prince to file a police report, because she was sure she knew who was behind it. She had no lawyer, however, but as luck would have it, one of the employees pointed her towards a bunch of offices, and suggested the one Luckner worked in. He took her information, she got a court date, and went home.

When the time came for her to appear in front of the judge, she was told she would have to have a lawyer, and she had less than 10 minutes before the judge was set to hear her case. She quickly found Luckner in his office, and with only minutes to spare, she had legal counsel. Karen said she figured it would go well, because two other lawyers showed up in court and stood on their side of the courtroom at the front. She said this was the way lawyers take sides in a case.

When the judge ruled, it went in her favor, and the judge warned the man that if anything was to happen to Karen that he would end up in jail. Oddly enough, in Haiti, the judge's mere threat of jail was enough to ensure Karen's safety. This lady is one tough cookie!

From that time on, Luckner became a friend and trusted advisor to Karen, and he is now the assistant at the HATS school.

Having heard that story at the supper table, I really had work to do getting to sleep that night, seeing as "the man's" plan to get access to Karen was by using a ladder to climb over the wall at the back of the compound, which is just where we sleep! Funny though, eventually the frustration of the pulsating music from disco night in Deschapelles was enough to eventually fill my headspace...

Church done right...

As our week is coming to an end, I must say that my life has been enriched because of having the privilege to have been at HATS. Attending the church service this morning would lift anyone's spirit, and it would warm anyone's heart to see so many children in attendance. With a service like this one, there was no translation from Creole necessary...the rich sound of the homemade drums filled the building, along with the tambourines, and the children's voices in the choir. It was enough to let anyone know that there was nothing but happiness and love, enough to go around for everyone.

People came from nearby homes, and Josue (Joes-way), the young man from Deschapelles who delivered the morning message, walked more than half an hour in the extreme heat, dressed in his Sunday best. Josue's family is one of the many families who receive food from the orphanage once a month, and by coincidence, we ran into Josue when we were leaving the market yesterday, and Karen drove him back to HATS with us, so he could pick up his family's box of corn and rice. She asked him if he would come back today for the church service, and although it meant such a long walk, he was only too happy to do it. Not only did he deliver a great message of the importance of forgiveness and the challenges to "do right" in our lives, he plays a mean drum, and his presence was a gift.

I took some video of the children singing and the playing of the drums, because this is the way to 'do church'! But I was overcome with a 'leaky eye' at the end, because you could tell the families that were there came from all kinds of homes, particularly one young mother in her white dress with two little girls, who were just toddlers. Her children were dressed in their best, but it was obvious she didn't have it easy, not that anyone in Haiti does, yet she came to church, and her children were obviously happy and looked after as best as possible. When we gave out water, cookies, juice, and chips at the end of the service (this would be the only fresh water for some children would have today), the young mother in white stayed to see if there were some extras for her to take--and remember, we're only talking Arrowroot type cookies, and small bottles of juice. She was so appreciative, and it was clear that she really needed some help. I hope she continues to keep her connection to Karen and the Sunday services.

We finished our afternoon with the best water balloon fight I have ever been part of, especially considering the fact that I got to be part of "Team United Nations." The two female U.N. police officers who came to the compound joined us in an epic battle of water balloons, hoses, and buckets. Luckily, we had the best station on the second floor, but the children didn't let up on us when we got downstairs. I still think we won, but the kids would tell you otherwise!

So, I'm off for a final hair braiding session before we have to bring out the flashlights. Another day, another lesson-- church done right!

Sew, sew good!

You can't imagine the sheer joy on the children's faces when they finished sewing the legs on their shorts...eyes were wide, and so were the smile! Tomorrow...waistbands!

Under Laree's guidance, we taught the kids to thread bobbins, as well as the machines. We had been doing it for them when we started, but the children need to be able to sustain the machines and learn to do it for themselves after we're gone. They are SO focused and eager to learn that it took them no time to "get 'er done"! But because we are teaching more children than there are machines, they have had to be very patient waiting their turns. That's when we noticed one of the boys hand sewing on a piece of paper--no pattern--but there were just holes in the paper, and he delicately wove the needle and thread through the lines he made. It wasn't long before the rest of the children had needle, thread, and paper, and they were sewing their names on their scribblers. Their joy at such simplicity was a little tap on the shoulder that it's not about the bells and whistles for these children.

Once the machines were away, I had some time to hang out in the yard, but I wasn't alone for long. Three beautiful little faces came to squish themselves on the green bench beside me. Before I knew it, they turned into a little team of hairdressers braiding my hair. Three tiny twigs broken off the tree beside us turned into combs for separating my hair into pieces. There was much twisting and tugging, but braids eventually made an appearance in my hair, and the girls were so proud of their work.

Then, with 16 kids in tow, we took a walk along the canal outside the orphanage, all the way to the mango tree, which really isn't that far, but when you have that many children, from 3-13 years, it makes for a pretty significant family outing.
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After some tree climbing and rock throwing, 3 year old Sandra in her little green dress, grabbed my hand and wanted to 'kouri' (Creole for 'run') as fast as we could, which was no easy task for me in this heat. I tried to interest her in stopping to 'talk' to the billy goats grazing at the side of  the canal, but she would have no part of that, so I 'kouried' as fast as I could. I hate to admit that I was counting the hours until I could put my head down and zip up my tent, but there were computer lessons to be done first.\

Moise, Djemima, Leica, and J.J. come to the main house every night around 7 for at least an hour to learn computer basics on their laptops. They have made great progress in only 3 evenings of work, but I will never forget the look of pride on Moise's face and in his voice when he read me the 4 sentences he had written in English. The teacher in me was just as excited for him and very proud of him.

With laptops finally put away and crickets out in full force, it was time to make the trek up the concrete stairs and put another day to bed, and all I can say is it was 'sew'...'sew' good! :)

Almond trees and chalkboards

I would never starve on a diet of Haitian food, and Germaine, the cook, creates smells in the kitchen that put a smile on your insides! And I thought I didn't like mangoes, but it turns out I'm a bit of a princess and just need mangoes right from the tree! Lucky for me, there are several close by, not far from the coconut and almond trees at the school next door. Who knew almonds grew on trees? And the trees are so pretty...

The school and the church border the compound, and the school accommodates children up to grade 10. In September they will add a grade 11, then grades 12 and 13 the subsequent years. Some of the kids who came with us couldn't wait to show us the classrooms, where Karen told us they will start learning 4 languages at the start of grade 7-- French, English, Creole, and Spanish. They also show us the kitchen where the women make the children's 2 daily lunches over hot charcoal stoves. For some of these kids, the meals at the school are the only food they get for the day...

From the classrooms, we cross the rocky lawn that doubles as a soccer field and end up at the  church, which has been newly repainted with warm yellow walls. On a previous trip, Beate made drums by tightly wrapping packing tape over wooden frames --the kids will play them for us when we go to church on Sunday morning...

We cross back through the property, and the 2 boys with us, Moise and J.J., run ahead to one of the beautiful trees in the corner of the property. Turns out it's an almond tree, and before we know it, J.J. Is lost in the leaves and branches--tree climbing is universal! Meanwhile, Leica (Lay-ick-a), found some ripe almonds on the ground and is hard at work opening one with a small rock. I didn't realize getting one small almond from its shell was so labor intensive--guess that's why they cost us a small fortune at home--but none will ever taste as good as the ones Leica proudly shared with me.

Time to make our way back to the compound--we can hear the chorus of little voices on the other side  of the wall. There's still a little time for playing before darkness sets in.

As one more day disappears, I have been reminded of the importance of education, especially to the these children, and they are SO happy to learn. But from almond trees to chalkboards, if you keep your eyes open, learning will happen all around you! 

Everybody's got a story...

It's 5 am, and the roosters are insisting that it's time to wake up. By 6am, you can the sounds of the men working in the corn field, which lies immediately on the other side of the compound wall, and Germaine, the cook here at HATS is already at work in the kitchen. My view as I write is from the concrete stair on the second floor, where there is a slight breeze and a great view of the 'neighborhood.'

There are so many stories here at HATS, and like the line in the Amanda Marshall song, "everybody's got a story that could break your heart..."

Moise (Mo-eese) is a handsome boy with a smiling face and warm brown eyes. He looks and acts like any teenage boy going into grade 7--he loves to play soccer, he teases his brothers and sisters here at the orphanage, he loves getting a chance to get on the Internet to play games, yet his beginning in life is rather extraordinary and unbelievable. 

Moise's mother here at HATS, Karen, found him by the river wrapped in a blanket at about the age of 18 months. (She figured Moise was a fitting name for him, because, in English, his name means 'Moses'!) Karen said doctors told her he would never walk, and they were right in one way--he doesn't walk....he mostly runs! The doctors are unaware that the love and determination Karen has for her children works in miraculous ways, more than any prescribed medicine. Moise will be 13 in November, and because of Karen, his story goes on...