Went for a run as soon as I arrived home (hello, sweet exercise!) and I feel so lucky, so sad, so heartbroken. As per usual upon return from Ayti cheri. There is so much I take for granted in this world, so much I would give to let Ayti have forever. The fresh, moist, coastal air that fills your lungs when you step out of the Vancouver’s beautiful airport. The green of our city parks. Community gardens. The sweet, spicy scent of freshly chipped cedar. Drinking water straight out of the faucet. Homes. My home.
The ease of life.
So easy here.
And of course I came home to my garden, my fresh green peas, and found myself crying. How can it be so simple here, and so complicated in Haiti? How can I complain about the poor soil in my garden when we have an agricultural system that functions, even flourishes? How can I complain about the resources missing in our health care system after working for one day in the Port-au-Prince General Hospital?
I didn’t write a lot on this past trip. Not for lack of experiences to share, nor for lack of inspiration. Only for lack of words to describe it all. There is so much that needs to be shared, yet so few avenues to express myself that I found myself rewriting unwritten words in my head on the plane home.
Have I shared with you yet the resilience of Haitians? Haitians are the strongest people I have ever had the honour to meet. Every single one of them.
Immunizing young children is usually a screaming mess here at home. We immunized an entire orphanage and only one child cried-sniffled actually- and even then it was only one sniffle. They sat bravely in their chair, waiting to get poked in the arms with a sharp and unfriendly object, and didn’t even flinch.
A young beauty who got caught in a fight was slashed across her face and arms by broken bottles and lay silent in the stretcher while we sutured closed her lacerations.
Emaciated, tired bodies lie in the medicine ward of the General Hospital, waiting to die, and ask you only for water when you walk by them, and you are trying not to cry for the sight of it all.
A 13 year old girl who lost her entire family- four siblings and both parents- lives only with her 14 year old cousin (who also lost her family) under a tarp in a muddy camp. She comes to us daily and hopes that someone- anyone- will give her a job to do for a mere five dollars, or even one dollar. She does not ask, only waits.
Two amazing women work tirelessly all day, every day, to support an orphanage and day center for anywhere between 25 and 100 beautiful, intelligent, malnourished children. They do it out of love for the children and hope for Haiti’s future. They inspire them to grow strong and wise and share love with the world. They sing songs about children being our future. They struggle daily with how to find the funds to support these children. They can’t sleep for the stress of it all. Their water tank is empty, they are three months behind on rent, their tables and chairs are broken. But every day they wake up with smiles and lead these children through their school lessons, singing and dancing and smiling through it.
Somehow it seems so hopeless from here. But not in Haiti cheri. In Haiti you push on, past the hardships, the rains, and threat of hurricanes taking down your tarp, the sickness, the death. You push on for love, for life, for youth.
There are so many ways to fall in love. Somehow, I have fallen in love with an entire nation of people after having my heart broken so many times. I would give so much if I could only find a way....I love you, Haiti. You have broken my heart over and over and over, but I cannot forget you. Pa bliye Ayti. Mesi.
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