"What the eye does not see the heart cannot feel." Haitian proverb
We were a group of seven women who set out from Logan to Fond des Blancs for the August 2008 "immersion trip." In our group were two mother/daughter duos; Julie and Annie, my daughter and myself. Catherine was a brand new nurse, Deborah a seasoned teacher and Rita our energetic leader. We set off together in the pre-dawn Boston hours with different hopes. One of mine was to see Berthony, a little boy who had lived with us two years ago while having heart surgery in Boston. In Port-au-Prince we met Ricardo, our translator and Bill, a veteran traveller to Haiti. We left Port-au-Prince in the St. Boniface ambulance, on an adventure that bonded us together and changed us forever.
There were surprises in Haiti. There was the warmth and joy with which folks greeted both each other and us. There was hope and despair right together. We saw it at the beach one afternoon. There were new, sleek fishing boats replacing the old dugout canoes that broadcast hope. There was also a man lying on the beach, ill or dying. There were cell phones and cell phone towers, there were two caskets by the door of the hospital, standing ready.
The hardest day was our trip to Mother Theresa's home. We saw dying babies with flies on their faces, nuns running to provide dignity and basic care to too many neglected, forgotten ones. There was no way to put down the babies except together and we staggered into the Caribbean sun overwhelmed with sorrow. There to greet us was our own indomitable Deborah organizing a baseball game. Rocks for bases, she energized that forsaken community with a swinging butt, whiffle balls from Boston and a heart of love. The community cheered with each crack of bat against ball. A little boy named Tyson had a day he'll never forget. So did we.
Our joyful moments were walking in Fond des Blancs, talking to the people. They laughed as we tried to speak Creole, they lit up with our small offerings of stickers, crackers, matchbox cars. The nursing home was joyful, we sang with the seniors and saw a man isolated in his room respond to our singing and ask to join us. We watched Ricardo explain to a blind old woman how to use a back scratcher. There was joy and respite in floating in that Caribbean sea.
We met some unforgettable people, including each other. We saw soccer players in a tournament, a proud librarian, Briele, a local community leader and we saw Berthony. His mother rode 5 hours to bring him to us and he strutted around the market radiating health. She is determined to make life better for herself and her children and has a plan to make it happen.
We had funny moments together. Sitting together during reflections, Rita struggled to get us to sing. Sadly, no musical talent was present, but against all odds, she battled on and we sang "Papa Nous" badly every night. My daughter said, with a face of innocence, "aren't we going to sing tonight, Rita?" Giggles reigned and they helped shore us up against the day's sorrows. We had donkey rides, too, organized by Deborah, overseen by Briele. The community gathered to laugh as we mounted donkeys with our straw hats and grins. Oh the silly blancs.
There were things that made us mad: the desperation of parents who had to abandon children, burns on a toddler that seemed unnecessary, the reality of child slavery, children with the swollen bellies of starvation, the way the world does not speak of Haiti's suffering. There were sights that made us so sad: hungry, tired people, huts on beaches poised to be swept up by the next hurricane (which arrived shortly after we did).
We had intense moments when God felt near. At Mother Theresa's, in the braying of a donkey, at the sight of the sea, God's presence was palpable. And at our reflections, with our off-key singing, our sincere prayers for our Haitian brothers and sisters, the bats swooping in and out, the heat lightning flashing, there, especially, God sat with us. God was present as we listened to one another, especially in the voices of the remarkable young women in our circle. On that dark porch, we shared our souls and God spoke through each of us as we ministered to one another.
Our wishes for Haiti are many. We wish the people had more predictable lives, that their lives would be easier, that an X-ray machine could be available, that houses could stand against hurricanes. We wish for bigger fish, more protein, paved roads and teachers for everyone. We wish for jobs and mothers who survive childbirth and fathers who support their families. We wish for vitamins and electricity and clean water.
And if we go back? We'd bring more Creole, more money, more food to give away. And we'd bring more people. One of our young women wrote, "we have to wake the world up. No one will believe Haiti unless they see it." What the eye doesn't see the heart doesn't feel.
