sorting through the heaviness

Photos from a walk through our own tent city after the rains last week; the boy pictured above is putting down coarse sand to keep the mud down in his "home". Photos Wendy Miyares.

I left Haiti last Thursday- one week tomorrow- and still I go through my daily routines with such heaviness, such emptiness, such flatness. It is a strange feeling to feel so much for a place so far away. Every day I shed tears for Haiti, for Haitians, for friends left to survive in that world. Every day I try and shake the feeling of guilt- for leaving, for being born into luck. I am like you- every one of you reading this knows this: that we were lucky to be born into a place of wealth, health, and relative political calm. We live in places where we complain about building codes. Places where we drive to the store down the street because they sell the specific kind of yogurt or cheese or produce that we are looking for. We complain about our politicians, our healthcare, our social programming. And I am not waxing on here about the fact that we SHOULDNT be doing these things. But rather, I ask you all to reflect a moment on the simplicity of the fact that we have these choices, these luxuries.

I've felt reverse culture shock before. I've felt it hard, fast, and furiously. I remember all too well the feeling of returning to Canada after 5 years in Nepal and being a tormented teenager who hated materialism and wanted nothing more than to go back. I'm sure it was pure agony for my parents at the time, who wanted me to find happiness in the place of my roots. This place. My roots.

But I've never felt this before. I've never felt so flat. I could care less about most things in this world of my roots. I try to imagine myself before Haiti, caring more about what goes on around me here, and it seems ridiculous to me. My priorities have shifted in such a drastic way that it appears my reality is no longer here. How can this be my reality, when others are simply trying to survive? When I take a long shower I think of Haiti. When I open the fridge and pull out some milk for my tea I think of Haiti. When I bike to work and cars sideswipe me into fear I think of Haiti. Every other minute in my life I am thinking of Haiti. Choices mean nothing to me here- sushi or mexican? How can I make that choice? How can I decide that knowing that people are getting just rice- again- for dinner?

I'm trying to rid myself of the element of guilt that is necessarily imposing itself on my values. I'm trying to be reasonable with myself: yes, I was born here, and yes, I am lucky. Its really just luck of the draw, though, isn't it? And it makes me want to go back, to help more, to aid more, to prove to Haiti that I am committed. Not just now, as other aid organizations are promising, and not just this year. But I a committed for a lifetime. Because it will take longer than my lifetime to rebuild.

People keep asking me if things are better there now. I cannot express the depths of poverty, of stress, of need that exists there now. No, things are not better. People have lost their houses, their children, their parents, their siblings, their money, their schools, their banks, their hospitals, their communities. They have lost EVERYTHING. No country in the world can fix that in three months. There are over a million people homeless, and one in ten is dead. What do you do with that information? Where do we start? Aid is pouring in, yes, but we need more. We need commitment. The rains start in May, the hurricane season hot on its tails. They live under tarps, ten, twenty people to a tent. Their struggle has just begun. Their desperation will get stronger, much stronger. Already when I left the stress was starting to show itself: domestic violence, abuse, rape, suicides, poisoning babies just born into their desperate world. Imagine how much worse it could get.

Haiti needs a commitment to aid- without debt- for a generation, or more. I can only guess as to the effects of this disaster on the generation of children who have survived this. I hope that we can help them to start over, to build strong schools and hospitals and communities where leaders will be born.

But for now, I move slowly back into my own life. I gain moments of happiness in the simple things, the little things, the beautiful things. Rain on a window. Flowers in concrete. The windchime on my pear tree. Riding my bike. Listening to the trees blow in the wind. Simple, honest, smiles from strangers. And I dream every day of returning to the place that touched my heart for life.

xo

Donations: please send email transfer to guineveredorward at gmail dot com or mail cheques to five five six nine culloden st, vancouver, bc, V five W three R nine. Thank you for continuing to support Haiti. Much love.