Blog Post One
It’s my fault. I asked for summer to not leave me and now I’m missing the brief moment of beautiful autumn while returning to the heat of a Midwest summer and then some as I travel south to the island of Hispaniola.
It was a bit chaotic getting here partially because I am always going in several directions at once and was burning the candle at both ends in the days leading up to this trip. Also, the plan to do a 2nd deployment to Haiti following the August 14th earthquake, came together after I had already made plans to attend my cousin Daniel’s wedding. So, throwing together some wedding attire and over 150 lbs. of donated supplies and camera gear, I made my way to Virginia for a couple days and then on to Haiti. After having to change flights and airlines and airports, I finally made it here yesterday.
The situation in Haiti is unstable to say the least and we are not taking any unnecessary risks. A friend who works for American Airlines met me at the gate and escorted me through customs in the most efficient exit I have experienced to date. My bags arrived on my flight which I was relieved by and no one stopped me to search my bags upon exiting the airport. For this I am grateful because bribes are common here and I am traveling with medical supplies, brand new computers, and other technology that could make me a target.
We were supposed to travel to the south this morning by road, but due to strikes being announced, the ongoing fuel shortage, and gang control of the roads surrounding Port-au-Prince, we decided to fly the whole team to La Cayes. We weren’t able to get everyone on the same flight or even on the same day. So part of the team left this morning with much of the gear, two more flew out this afternoon, and the remaining 8 of us will be arriving tomorrow morning.
Being grounded for the moment and not able to venture out from the compound, I have a little time to rest, plan, and connect with some of our team which I have found to be equally as important to balance all the chaos.
Rain pelts the dome canvas over my head. It appears to be a relic left from the 2010 earthquake, likely a makeshift OR setup to treat the severely wounded. I wonder what it’s been through and all it has endured in the past few years. Pieces of duct tape dot the entire structure forming dark shadows contrasting the bright exterior. Some of these repairs have also failed and the duct tape needs duct tape. The top of the dome has so much damage that it’s been covered by a tarp and the familiar blue of the emergency shelters shows through to the inside where some sections of the original canvas are just ribbons now. At some point a fan was installed on the ceiling. Two of the five blades are entirely broken off and the remaining three pieces of soggy composite wood droop towards the floor at an angle that could never deliver the much-coveted breeze it may have once offered.
I am also under a mosquito net, the effectiveness of which I find questionable as none of the corners can be secured under the thin mattress that rests on the top of a rickety bunk made from reclaimed pallet wood painted royal blue. It is at least a partial barrier from the mosquitoes that like this warm oasis away from the breeze. I remember that I forgot to pack bug repellent, which I rarely use anyway, but is probably a good idea in this locale. Additionally I have now thought of a dozen more items that would have been useful to bring—the benefits of hindsight…and slowing down enough to think.
We are staying at a compound near the airport which was designed as a backpacker hostel, but has fallen into disrepair in recent years. The original concept was to build an eco-friendly residence with recycled materials. Parts of the complex are built out of shipping containers and another part is built from cement and plastic bottles. This structure is an “earthship” matching several similar builds around the world. I just got a tour of this area from Stefan, a permanent resident. He explained that it wasn’t all that cost effective to build because the walls needed to be so thick. The plastic water bottles set into the walls reduce the amount of cement needed, use recycled materials, and allow some light to filter through the colorful mosaic of discarded plastic. The efficiency comes in its sturdy structure that is earthquake resistant, durable, and cool with a great cross-breeze even on very hot days.
Directly behind me three men are adding a counter to an open shipping container which looks like it will become a lunch counter or snack shop. To secure the wood, they need to cut holes in the thick corrugated metal exterior and pound the supports into the wall. This has necessitated excessively loud banging since early this morning. They are only working with hand tools, so I suppose it would be louder (while both safer and quicker) if they had different equipment.
This compound has become home to several nonprofits, creating a base of operations, hosting classes on weekends, and leading an initiative for blind and deaf support in the area. Following the earthquake a few weeks ago, they have also opened their doors to injured individuals and their families who were discharged from the hospital, but still needing follow-up care. Many of these people were flown in from remote villages and don’t have an easy way to get back or the care they need on the other end. Some are in casts, others on crutches. All seem genuinely intrigued that I too am staying here with them.
I just asked if I could use one of the wash tubs to do some laundry. One of the men, speaking to me only in French, instructed me to wash on a concrete slab outside the kitchen. So I sat astride one of the enormous basins I have seen used so many times before and plunged yesterday’s sweaty clothes into a clear, cool, pool of water. The convalescing residents peer at me curiously from benches and hammocks under a nearby tree. I wave hello each time I pass under their shade tree with not so much as a nod in reply. I wish I could communicate more easily.
One boy though, is very friendly and comes out to sit near our team throughout the day. One of his legs has been amputated above the knee and he is on crutches. We ask his mother if he has a prosthetic. She tells us that they came for an appointment and were expecting for him to be fitted for one, but were given the tragic news that his cancer has spread to his lungs and his treatment has shifted to manage that. Looking at him, you wouldn’t imagine he’s sick. He’s bright and smiling, though quiet and reserved. He has spent the better part of two days with our team and was just seen playing a game of dominoes with two of our volunteers—much to his mother’s delight. This evening Leo tossed him one of our t-shirts and told him he was an honorary member of our team. Leaning against the wall, he set down his crutches and pulled the clean white t-shirt over his head. Whether or not this exchange is memorable to him, it has been to us. We want to do more and will check in with the family when we return.
After traveling here every 3-6 months for the better part of a decade, it’s been strange to be away so long. All the familiar challenges remain, all the same drive to meet those very needs, all the people I have missed seeing.
I am introduced to our incredible volunteer staff who all say it is so good to finally meet. Leo announces that “gwo bòs” (the big boss and other variations) has arrived and everyone smiles. It’s so good to be back.
Lauren
