It has been a while!

Well friends, in the midst of all of my thoughts and feelings about Haiti, the craziness of summer has begun. I have had 4 groups thus far and two more coming later this week. Thus far many blessings. . .

A beautiful church in Alondra now has beautiful new benches hand crafted by ladies who got there start thanks to your One Great Hour of Sharing dollars via the ministry of PC(USA)'s Self-Development of People! The church is gorgeous! Praise God!

A tiny church in Los Arqueanos now has a beautiful building. The group put on the roof and did the finishing work on the inside of the building! Praise God!

In the community of El Brisal, a village of squaters, they now have a building ready to house a water filtration system! People were served physically and spiritually. It was beautiful! Praise God!

In the large city of Haina which an old battery factory has left as one of the most contaminated cities in the world, a group put up all of the walls for a large new church. Last year when the group was there 3 people came to Christ, this year 5 accepted Him as their Savior. Praise God!

Today we have groups in La Javilla de la Cruz and in Pantoja. I expect nothing less than God's continued blessings upon these trips. Please join me in praying for this!

Taking Pictures

The first days, I couldn't bring myself to take any pictures. How could I stand behind the lens and snap shots of the immense suffering my eyes were seeing. It felt dirty. I knew we needed pictures to tell the story to those in the States to motivate them to come and help, but I couldn't. . .

Maybe I felt too ashamed to do it. . .
Maybe I was afraid to get too close to the pain knowing that I wouldn't be able to keep myself going if I saw too much and got too close. . .
Maybe I felt like it was disrespectful of the people's own private pain. . .
Maybe it was because I felt much more useful attending to the pharmacy and passing out diapers and meds than I did taking pictures. . .

Whatever the reason, there I was with my new fancy camera and memory stick with plenty of room on it, and I couldn't bring myself to take a single shot. I even held up the camera and framed a few shots feeling like they captured something crucial, but I couldn't press the button. I passed my camera to others on staff, sending them to take the pictures. I knew they didn't know how to use the camera well, I knew they didn't know how to frame shots and capture things the way that I could, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

There were many photographers there and many touristy cameras taking shots, so I would not have been alone, but I couldn't.

As the weeks went on, many people came through taking pictures. They would show the digital images to the patients and the people would smile as they saw themselves. It didn't feel right to me still to take pictures. Then I had an idea. I had a couple of small photo printers that had been left by a group with tons of ink and paper. I took them out with me and I went around taking pictures of everyone; bed by bed, and printing copies and handing them to them. I felt like I could capture moments within the hospital setting that were a little happier. The patient with their loving families, the patient with a favorite nurse, etc.

As I took these pictures, I deliberately left out the wounds. I got head shots mainly. But when I printed the pictures the patients smiled and then told me that this wasn't what they wanted. They wanted their whole selves. They wanted the stumps of legs, the external fixators, the stitches, they wanted to see themselves as they now are.

So I went through again taking pictures and printing them off and giving them to the people, and this time they smiled for real and were truly pleased.

Taking these pictures selfishly gave me a chance to interact and get to know the people better. One man reminded me so much of my dad. Partially his looks and partially his manarisms every time I see his picture I smile and think of my daddy. Another woman seemed unsure about the camera and gave me a crinkled face glare, but when I took the first shot and showed it to her she signaled that I should wait, grabbed her fancy hat, put it on and told me to take another. People cherished these photos. Many had lost everything they had owned, so this was the one precious photo that the owned.

Pictures are powerful and needed. I learned that I could never be a news photographer but I guess I found my place and was put in my place! ;)

Screaming in the Night

I had dosed off in the pharmacy for only a sec. when I heard her. She was SCREAMING at the top of her lungs. I thought she was in pain or that someone had just died. I ran to see what was the matter, ready for action. . . and then I saw her a woman about 50 years old holding on tightly to a woman in her twenties.

I asked what had happened and a translator explained that the woman had been sure her daughter was dead, and then they had found one another in the midst of the chaos of the hospital and were screaming with joy and praises to God as they held to one another, not willing to let go. I heard many such screams of joy over the next few weeks!

The Uncloudy Day-Haiti Jan-April 2010

A friend recently gave me a list of some favorite songs, and as I listened to them today while attempting to translate all of the summer team agendas, this song stuck out to me and reminded me of Haiti and the promise that they hold for a brighter future.

It may seem a bit ironic to show disaster photos along side a song talking about a land of cloudless days, but to me it somehow fits. I hope you will take the time to watch and that you will look deep into the eyes of the people captured here and maybe you too will find hope for Haiti in the eyes of her beautiful, hurting, happy, terrified, longing, faithful people.

Blessings!

Song: The Uncloudy Day
By: The Jolly Bankers
Album: Death & Taxes

You just got here? Move these bodies

I had been at the hospital a matter of days, working in the little pharmacy when during a riot scare many groups were brought up to the main hospital for about 30 mins. Nothing actually happened, it had been nothing more than a rumor or unfounded fears, but it was enough of a "threat" that many had cleared out of the building where we were working.

I went over to talk to the people in charge of the hospital. I introduced myself as a local missionary and explained the situation at the other building asking for some security guards just in case. Pleading for more organization to improve the quality of care thereby reducing the chance of riots.

They cut me off. They were going off shift, and we should be too, so the riot and such would have to be handled by the next crew, what he did need from me was a call to the morgue. "Tell them we need them to come put up 1 body and 4 limbs right away. Here is the number." I called and the morgue said that their vehicle was not available, so someone needed to go to the morgue, pick up the box, load up the bodies, and bring them to the morgue. I explained this to the hospital leadership and they responded, "you have a truck right?" "Yes," I replied nerviously. "Ok, come with me, I'll show you where the bodies are."

What? I thought I was supposed to be going off shift? Welcome to the crazy world of disaster relief work. Comfort zones and normal professionalism do not apply here.

A new outlook on bumpy roads

In the midst of the chaos of trying to transport patients to the Haitian side of the border I was given the special task of taking three of them in my truck. The bus had been too full and their special conditions made the doctors decide that having them go in my truck would be better than the overly packed bus.

Laying across the back seat of my truck then was a roughly 16 year old girl with a broken pelvis. She was too long to lie flat on the seat, so she was in that kind of awkward half seated, half laying type position. I can only imagine how fun that would be with a broken pelvis!

Up front, I had a mother and her four day old baby. I know that is not safe for a newborn to be in the front seat in her mothers arms, but there was no car seat and the pelvic fracture had dibs on the back seat.

So there I was with that precious cargo. The spead bumps on the Dominican side were less than fun for the young girl in the back and I took them as slowly and gently as I could, but then we crossed over the border to a road full of potholes and rough gravel. The girl tried so hard to be strong, but every now and then a small cry would be heard and in my rear view mirror I could see a tear running down her cheek.

I drove less than 5 miles per hour and did all I could to miss bumps and pot holes, but even the vibrations of the bumpy road had to have been painful for her. I felt horrible. I couldn't talk to her. I could remember the word for sorry in Creole. I felt so mean.

When we finally arrived at the hospital, the unloading process was extremely hard for her. She cried out in pain, but finally they got her out of the truck and onto a cot. I went over to her still feeling so mean and wishing that there was something I could do for her, and she in the midst of her pain reached out and grabbed my hand and looked into my eyes and said in English, "Thank you." I was shocked. Thanking me? Thanking me for that rough ride in the back of the truck that caused her so much pain?

I was shocked that in the midst of her pain she could at least tell that my intentions were good.

I look at bad roads in a whole new light now. I praise God for a strong truck that can take the bumps, and I thank him for a whole body that can withstand the jerks. And I pray for my friend and the many like her whose bodies were broken and who still suffer the hurt and feel the pain.

The communication barrier

I had become very comfortable in the Dominican Republic over the course of the last few years. I had become pretty proficient at Spanish and even had a pretty good grip on my street Spanish and could catch people off guard when they thought I was just another tourist.

All of a sudden I was working with Haitians. Almost none of them spoke Spanish and only a few spoke English, so I was going back to zero on the communication scale. Sure, I knew good morning, good afternoon, thank you and God bless you. . . but that only gets you so far when you are trying to reach out to earthquake victims.

The language barrier was such an issue and time was so often of the essence that people would be quickly taken in for surgery and would wake up with missing limbs having little or no idea ahead of time of what was about to happen. It was horrible. Weeks after the earthquake people were still terrified when they were taken in for wound cleaning or fixator adjustments that they might lose more of their limbs and such. It was very hard, and I can't imagine what it was like for the people and their families to not know what was going on.

Communication continued to be a huge issue and it caused a lot of distrust both on the part of volunteers and patients. Frequently their were rumors among the volunteers that there was going to be a riot. Haitians tend to speak with large gestures and raised voices and look as though they are about to fight and then at the end of the conversation they shake hands and are clearly friends, but many of the volunteers didn't understand the culture. I didn't understand it either. . . But the Haitians were so patient with us. . . I might have started a riot if I was in their shoes, and had been treated like they were.

The rules kept changing. Public Health wanted to shut the hospital down and get all of the Haitian back across the border, so they made things more and more difficult.

Rule 1: Only one family member per patient. Everybody else had to get out. But they had no where to go. . .

Public health said that if the "extra" people didn't go quietly on their own then they would come in with armed guards and escort everyone out. The translation team told many of the patients that if they didn't leave quietly they would be shot. Lack of language skills can be dangerous, I might have started a riot.

We were taking a load of "extra" people on our school bus over to the Haitian side of the border to one of the camps where they would be allowed to stay. The people didn't really know where we were taking them. They were scared, and didn't know what was ahead. At the hospital, they had food and felt safe, the rumors were that we would be dumping them off somewhere along the road to fend for themselves.

We handed out snacks for the bus ride, and of course people tried to hoard them. They didn't know what was ahead. One of the North Americans on the bus with me almost attacked one of the Haitians who took more than his share and a shouting match began. I don't know what the Haitian said and neither did the North American, but what he said back to the Haitian made me ashamed to be an American. Luckily I don't think anyone on the bus understood more than the tone and gestures.

It is so easy to get trapped into thinking we know what is right and our ideas of what is fair is the only way. I am sorry though if I thought that the little pack of cookies might be my last sure meal, I would try to take more than my fair share too. It was scary for them. They didn't know what the road ahead would hold.

After I got the North American to calm down and shut up, I spoke to the people through a translator. They asked how they would find their families again. I was able to explain the process. Some of them, including the man who was fighting thought that they would be prisoners in the camp where we were taking them, I explained that they were free to go at anytime. Some of their questions I could answer, some I couldn't. We almost didn't make it across the border in time that night, but everybody was calm and had their voice heard.

Some times we just need to listen. Lord, help me remember that! MY schedule and MY agenda seem to leave so little time. . . help me to be human again and to recognize the importance and the gift of being human!