I felt my Irish skin sizzling as I sat in the back of a tap-tap. I heard a chorus of “blanc! blanc!” coming from all around me. The stench of animal and human defecation, burning trash, and rotting food and flesh filled my nostrils. Billy knocked on the window to get my attention and said, “okay? okay!” He stepped on the pedal, and off we went.
***
“‘elp me?” An aged woman pulled back a blanket to reveal a tiny face, no more than a few hours old. I gasped, horrified, and waited for Sadrac to translate the full story.
“Her neighbor has five babies. HIV. No food. Baby in the trash,” Sadrac told me. I felt breakfast coming up my throat.
I rushed the premature and starving baby in to see Dr. Carter. The clinic had been set up just a week before with HIV testing facilities. Half an hour later our fear was confirmed. She needed care that our little clinic could not provide. In the US she would have been airlifted to the nearest major hospital, but in Titanyen, Haiti, she was bussed and taxied to the only major hospital. Jennifer, a volunteer nurse, a soft-spoken southerner with kind blue eyes and the prettiest blond curls, was sent to accompany the baby on the half-day’s journey to the hospital in Port-Au-Prince.
***
At 5:30 AM the fan in our room turned off, and I woke up instantly when sweat started to pool all over my body. Mosquitoes, no longer warded off by the fan, swarmed around my face. I climbed out of my top bunk and went to get some breakfast. Dr. Carter was sitting at the table talking to Jennifer, who had enormous black circles around her red-tinted eyes.
“What happened?” I asked anxiously.
She looked at me and spoke. “She…,” Jennifer choked on that one word and gasped as tears poured out of her eyes.
Dr. Carter finished for her. “She didn’t make it through the night.”
***
Anitha enunciated every consonant and puckered her lips as she spoke through her thick Creole accent. “Sawah, what do you do at home?” She sorted vitamins on the counter of the Mission of Hope’s pharmacy.
“I work at Starbucks.”
“Eh?” Anitha stared at me, raising her eyebrows in wait for me to actually answer her question.
“I work at…,” Sudden realization must have flashed across my face. “I work at a coffee…,” My eyes looked away as I thought hard. “I sell coffee. And food. Breakfast.”
Anitha nodded. “Oh! You like?”
“Yes… yeah, I like it.”
***
“Can you just drop off these de-worming meds on your way to the beach?” asked Dr. Carter, a wrinkly, retired, seventy-three year-old man with a thick southern accent who spent two weeks every other month volunteering at the Mission of Hope Haiti.
“Sure can!” said Andy, a pudgy New Englander who was, like me, on his first visit to a third world country. On the last day of our trip, our guilt-ridden beach day, Andy, the rest of our group, and I stopped at the same orphanage we’d visited a few days before. We were armed with a Ziploc bag of little white pills, and a party sized bag of Dum-Dums. At their teacher’s command, 45 orphans age 11 months through 14 years lined up for candy. The little ones cried when the medicine touched their taste-buds, but lit up when the flavor was put out by a Dum-Dum.
***
“Sarah! Get in here!” yelled Dr. Carter from the patient examination room.
I poked my head in the door. “Yes?” I asked expectantly.
“Here, take this. You’ve given shots before, right?” He extended his arms, and I saw in his hands a large syringe and vile filled with red liquid.
“What! You’re kidding! You do it. I don’t know how to give a shot.” I held up my hands in protest and started to back out of the room.
Dr. Carter laughed and said, “you have to learn sometime if you’re gonna be a nurse!”
“No I don’t! I’m not even sure I wanna be a nurse!” My eyebrows were raised sternly. “Oh, get over here. It’s easy.” Dr. Carter smiled and beckoned me into the room. Billy, the translator, spoke in Creole to the confused man sitting on the examination table, who laughed. He had yellow teeth and orange hair, a look that meant malnutrition. I stepped into the room, and Dr. Carter handed me the syringe and the vile. “Like this.” He motioned with his hands, and I reluctantly obeyed. I filled the syringe with Vitamin B12 and stabbed the needle into the Haitian man’s bony arm. He covered a wince with a gaping smile and a loud “merci!”
***
“What color is the discharge? And is there any burning or itching?”
Vena had a quick Creole conversation with the young patient, who had the saggiest A cup I’ve ever seen. “Yellow. Itchy.”
I inhaled quickly at the visual in my mind. My nostrils were greeted by putrid body odor. I wrote on my notepad and said, “anything else the matter?”
Vena again spoke to the old woman. “Diarrhea. That’s it.”
“Okay. She can go wait in there and then somebody will come get her.”
***
I wheeled my suitcase around a pile of cow dung and up a steep ladder. The stewardess smiled. “Do you need any help finding your seat?” I shook my head.
***
“I’m starving,” said Andy.
“Chili’s. I want Chili’s,” I said as I stepped into Miami National Airport.
Another member of our team said, “I don’t care where we go, as long as I can get a Bloody Mary.”
***
“Thank you for choosing Starbucks! This is Sarah. What can I get for you?” I spoke into my headset in response to the DING! in my ear.
“Ah, yes, I’d like a Venti Java Chip Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra chocolate drizzle,” said a sickly obese woman from her front seat.
“I’m very sorry, but we’re all out of Java Chips right now, so there won’t be any chunks in your Frappuccino. Is that okay?”
“What do you mean you’re all out of Java Chips? This is ridiculous. Never mind.”
I heard tires squeal, and she was gone.
Showing posts with label haiti. Show all posts
Showing posts with label haiti. Show all posts
7.03.2011
3.10.2010
Ey You, Give Me One Dollah
I had been told countless times, but in June 2008 flying over the country into the Port Au Prince airport, I saw for the first time the reality of Haiti’s devastated existence. The island of Hispaniola contains Haiti to the west and the Dominican Republic to the East. From an aerial view, there is a line running through the entire island. The Eastern side is green and lush, and the Western side is a mix of brown, gray, smoky clouds from burning trash. The plane lands in an airport that reminds me of the K-Mart parking lot in my hometown. There is rundown and cracked concrete, bumps and potholes all over. Little bits of grass trying to poke through here and there. The lot is now enclosed by one of those short metal fences that we’re used to seeing around school playgrounds. It’s an attempt to keep cows off the runway. Once the plane stops, the doors open and we slowly make our way down the steps that have been wheeled up to the side of the plane. I step into the sun and instantly feel my Irish skin begin to burn, and the stench of animal and human defecation, burning trash, rotting food and flesh, hits my nose. I breathe in. This is Haiti.
One night we sit around Claudel, intensely listening to the words he speaks in his Creole accent over the soft strumming of his acoustic guitar. He tells us the story of the beginnings of “Aiti,” his beloved homeland. Christopher Columbus was the first well known white-skinned man to step foot on Hispaniola, and his visit was shortly followed by the arrival of other European treasure seekers and settlers, specifically the French. They attempted to use the Natives as a workforce, but they died off quickly from contact with European disease. As a replacement, boats of Africans, immune to European disease because of their proximity, were shipped in and put to work.
The African slaves came from tribes throughout their continent, so communication even among each other was difficult. They developed a new language, combining their different native tongues with French and bits of the Native language that remained on the island. Soon all Natives were eliminated, and the African slaves had their own new identity, language, and culture. In 1810 this artificially created people, led by Voodoo priests, revolted against their French oppressors. According to Haitian legend, these priests made a pact with Satan that if he assisted them in gaining independence, he would be given free reign of their country for 200 years. In an entirely unlikely and unexpected success, the Haitian people gained their own nation. Ever since, famine, hunger, disease, lack of education, unemployment, and just about every bad thing you can think of has plagued the country. More concretely, Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, has a 30% employment rate, and 41% of its two million people population is under the age of 15.
" Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father… For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
-Matthew 25:31-40, NIV
Christian groups love to do as Jesus commanded, and as you can see above, Jesus commanded that his followers help the needy. So, Haiti has been a hotspot for Christian missions trips, charity work, and all-around help for quite a while, even though it hasn’t really gotten much attention from anyone else in the world. I grew up in a very devout Christian home, so I heard about Haiti in church from the time I was a little girl. Many events and people led me to my eventual decision to take a couple trips there of my own.
Here’s my reaction to my second trip
Claudel told us that he and innumerable Haitians were praying earnestly that in 2010, Satan’s rule would be up. He asked us to join him in prayer that God would take control and make Haiti the great nation that it should be. On Tuesday, January 12, 2010, at 4:53 in the afternoon, the starving island of Haiti was struck by an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0. Three million people were estimated to need immediate emergency care, countless were left dead, and essentially every building in and around the capital was destroyed. In all honesty, you probably know more about the devastating effects of Haiti’s earthquakes than I do. I’ve avoided the news reels and papers at all costs, because it wrenches my mind and my heart to remember the people I grew to love, and the babies who may never know more love than they felt in my touch, and wonder whether or not they’re alive.
One night we sit around Claudel, intensely listening to the words he speaks in his Creole accent over the soft strumming of his acoustic guitar. He tells us the story of the beginnings of “Aiti,” his beloved homeland. Christopher Columbus was the first well known white-skinned man to step foot on Hispaniola, and his visit was shortly followed by the arrival of other European treasure seekers and settlers, specifically the French. They attempted to use the Natives as a workforce, but they died off quickly from contact with European disease. As a replacement, boats of Africans, immune to European disease because of their proximity, were shipped in and put to work.
The African slaves came from tribes throughout their continent, so communication even among each other was difficult. They developed a new language, combining their different native tongues with French and bits of the Native language that remained on the island. Soon all Natives were eliminated, and the African slaves had their own new identity, language, and culture. In 1810 this artificially created people, led by Voodoo priests, revolted against their French oppressors. According to Haitian legend, these priests made a pact with Satan that if he assisted them in gaining independence, he would be given free reign of their country for 200 years. In an entirely unlikely and unexpected success, the Haitian people gained their own nation. Ever since, famine, hunger, disease, lack of education, unemployment, and just about every bad thing you can think of has plagued the country. More concretely, Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, has a 30% employment rate, and 41% of its two million people population is under the age of 15.
" Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father… For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.' Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'
-Matthew 25:31-40, NIV
Christian groups love to do as Jesus commanded, and as you can see above, Jesus commanded that his followers help the needy. So, Haiti has been a hotspot for Christian missions trips, charity work, and all-around help for quite a while, even though it hasn’t really gotten much attention from anyone else in the world. I grew up in a very devout Christian home, so I heard about Haiti in church from the time I was a little girl. Many events and people led me to my eventual decision to take a couple trips there of my own.
Here’s my reaction to my second trip
Claudel told us that he and innumerable Haitians were praying earnestly that in 2010, Satan’s rule would be up. He asked us to join him in prayer that God would take control and make Haiti the great nation that it should be. On Tuesday, January 12, 2010, at 4:53 in the afternoon, the starving island of Haiti was struck by an earthquake with a magnitude of 7.0. Three million people were estimated to need immediate emergency care, countless were left dead, and essentially every building in and around the capital was destroyed. In all honesty, you probably know more about the devastating effects of Haiti’s earthquakes than I do. I’ve avoided the news reels and papers at all costs, because it wrenches my mind and my heart to remember the people I grew to love, and the babies who may never know more love than they felt in my touch, and wonder whether or not they’re alive.
4.10.2009
there and back again
I got home from Haiti two nights ago. Culture shock set in immediately.
When we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by one of the translators we had last year. "Sarah! Jessica! I didn't know you were coming!" Teams from the US and Canada show up at this place weekly, if not more often. The fact that he (and others) remembered not only my face, but my name, is incredible. I wasn't lied to when I was told that these people would never forget me.
One of the days I was working at the hospital I was talking to a woman who I also knew from last year. She asked me what I do for work at home. I was about to answer her, when it occurred to me, "she's probably never heard of Starbucks." So I said "I work at a coffee shop... have you ever heard of Starbucks?" I got a blank stare and a "no." If someone had ever asked me "do you think there are people in the world who've never heard of Starbucks?" the answer would obviously be "yes." But no one's ever asked me that question. I've never thought about it. It's a strange thing to think about, no?
I could talk on and on about the poverty, but it's unnecessary. I'll tell you about it if you ask me. It's depressing. And what's even more depressing is being back in the US. Watching people live so extravagantly, get so upset about things that don't matter at all... all while I have friends who are living in poverty. I mean, the people I know are better off than most others. They have jobs, are educated or being educated, they have places to live, and most have families. Well, the orphans don't have families. But they have each other. But they're all skin and bones. They clean their plates (when they are given meals). They have little clothing, and even less of other things that we take for granted. Like electricity, running water, internet, clean water. We walked past this water source where people bathe, do their laundry, and get their drinking water. It's all from the same place. And then we walked down a ways, and I noticed a dead pig lying in the water. Can you imagine living like that? That's reality. It's not the way the majority of the world lives, and it's certainly not the way we live, but there are real, live, loving, caring, intelligent, educated human beings out there who live like this from day to day.
Oops. I talked about the poverty. That's what happens... I try not to, because I know it disengages people's interest, and it always comes off as sounding demeaning. I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I've just seen and experienced things, and when you ask me to tell you about it I don't know how to respond. Do you want "it was a really great trip. I had a really nice time." or do you want "three days ago I was holding and hugging and feeding de-worming medication to hungry orphans with no pants or underwear, with bloated bellies and orange hair from malnutrition. So now it's really depressing and emotionally grueling to try to appease customers who are yelling at me because I ran out of chocolate chips for their Venti Java Chip Frappuccino." You know? People don't want to hear that. But it's true.
I wish people would say "I want to politely inquire about your trip, but if you speak more than one sentence in response my eyes will instantly glaze over with disinterest."
When we arrived at the airport, we were greeted by one of the translators we had last year. "Sarah! Jessica! I didn't know you were coming!" Teams from the US and Canada show up at this place weekly, if not more often. The fact that he (and others) remembered not only my face, but my name, is incredible. I wasn't lied to when I was told that these people would never forget me.
One of the days I was working at the hospital I was talking to a woman who I also knew from last year. She asked me what I do for work at home. I was about to answer her, when it occurred to me, "she's probably never heard of Starbucks." So I said "I work at a coffee shop... have you ever heard of Starbucks?" I got a blank stare and a "no." If someone had ever asked me "do you think there are people in the world who've never heard of Starbucks?" the answer would obviously be "yes." But no one's ever asked me that question. I've never thought about it. It's a strange thing to think about, no?
I could talk on and on about the poverty, but it's unnecessary. I'll tell you about it if you ask me. It's depressing. And what's even more depressing is being back in the US. Watching people live so extravagantly, get so upset about things that don't matter at all... all while I have friends who are living in poverty. I mean, the people I know are better off than most others. They have jobs, are educated or being educated, they have places to live, and most have families. Well, the orphans don't have families. But they have each other. But they're all skin and bones. They clean their plates (when they are given meals). They have little clothing, and even less of other things that we take for granted. Like electricity, running water, internet, clean water. We walked past this water source where people bathe, do their laundry, and get their drinking water. It's all from the same place. And then we walked down a ways, and I noticed a dead pig lying in the water. Can you imagine living like that? That's reality. It's not the way the majority of the world lives, and it's certainly not the way we live, but there are real, live, loving, caring, intelligent, educated human beings out there who live like this from day to day.
Oops. I talked about the poverty. That's what happens... I try not to, because I know it disengages people's interest, and it always comes off as sounding demeaning. I'm sorry. I don't mean to. I've just seen and experienced things, and when you ask me to tell you about it I don't know how to respond. Do you want "it was a really great trip. I had a really nice time." or do you want "three days ago I was holding and hugging and feeding de-worming medication to hungry orphans with no pants or underwear, with bloated bellies and orange hair from malnutrition. So now it's really depressing and emotionally grueling to try to appease customers who are yelling at me because I ran out of chocolate chips for their Venti Java Chip Frappuccino." You know? People don't want to hear that. But it's true.
I wish people would say "I want to politely inquire about your trip, but if you speak more than one sentence in response my eyes will instantly glaze over with disinterest."
3.31.2009
oh boy
This past weekend didn't go exactly as I had planned, but it was still lovely. Instead of fasting for about two days as I had planned, I fasted for about 12 hours. I think I accomplished all that I had planned on, and even a little more. I spent Friday afternoon walking around Walden Pond (the weather was BEAUTIFUL), stopping as often as I felt to sit, look, think, write, meditate, pray. It didn't take me long to realize that instead of starving myself for a second day, it would be much more meaningful and fulfilling to spend some time with my family. So I spent Saturday morning making jewelry with my mom, grandmother, aunts, and Suzie, and I spent Saturday night feasting on sushi with Spence. On Sunday, after packing all of the donations that we're taking to Haiti, I went to church and then out to a ridiculous restaurant with Rob and Suzie. About a month ago I won a $100 gift certificate on the radio to Masa, and I decided to take them. We had a really fun time, and I don't think I've ever eaten a meal nearly as expensive as that one.
Last night I spent a much-needed night out with Ripley and Michael. Ripley had a gift certificate to Denny's, so we went. I'd never been to Denny's before! It seemed to me to just be IHOP, but with different colored tables, and a slightly more trendy music selection. It was so good to hang out with them... I can't believe how lucky I am to have them for friends, and to have had them for so long.
Well, tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I'm a little nervous all of a sudden, probably more about the fact that I haven't started packing than anything else. I guess I should go do that...
Last night I spent a much-needed night out with Ripley and Michael. Ripley had a gift certificate to Denny's, so we went. I'd never been to Denny's before! It seemed to me to just be IHOP, but with different colored tables, and a slightly more trendy music selection. It was so good to hang out with them... I can't believe how lucky I am to have them for friends, and to have had them for so long.
Well, tomorrow I leave for Haiti. I'm a little nervous all of a sudden, probably more about the fact that I haven't started packing than anything else. I guess I should go do that...
3.23.2009
hungry
So, I'm probably going to do a 40 hour fast this weekend. I'm leaving for Haiti in 9 days. When I went last June, the thing I struggled with the most was going out into villages, playing with and showering love on kids and adults who were starving, telling them about Jesus (which I do think is incredibly important), and then leaving them... and going back to our house and eating like kings. Sure, sometimes we'd give the kids a tootsie roll, but for someone who maybe gets one meal a day? Not so helpful. Maybe even harmful.
We aren't fed so well just for fun... there is a purpose for it. We're Americans who are used to eating three meals a day, who have traveled a great distance to a country with rampant disease to work in not so great conditions for very long hours. The fact is, we need our sustenance if we're going to work efficiently. But knowing that didn't make me feel any less guilty. I knew I had to eat, but I couldn't help but think about all the people I'd seen who could use the food so much more than I could.
So, I've decided to fast. The purpose is to pray, meditate, and prepare for my trip both mentally and spiritually. I want to take time to prepare, but also to get the whole guilt thing out of my system. By fasting I will hopefully be able to relate better instead of just having guilt and pity that is completely foreign and unintelligible. I considered 3 days, because it's a nice round number. I considered 30 hours, because I've done 30 hours before. I decided that 3 days, taking my body size into consideration, is too long. It's also important that I be able to do this while not working, since being hungry and at work will not be conducive to what I am trying to achieve. 30 hours is simply not long enough. So, 40 hours, modeled after the 40 days that Jesus fasted, is my conclusion. Long enough to experience hunger, short enough not to lose scary amounts of weight, and conveniently, I have this whole weekend off of work.
So, there's my plan. I'm getting ready to be hungry.
We aren't fed so well just for fun... there is a purpose for it. We're Americans who are used to eating three meals a day, who have traveled a great distance to a country with rampant disease to work in not so great conditions for very long hours. The fact is, we need our sustenance if we're going to work efficiently. But knowing that didn't make me feel any less guilty. I knew I had to eat, but I couldn't help but think about all the people I'd seen who could use the food so much more than I could.
So, I've decided to fast. The purpose is to pray, meditate, and prepare for my trip both mentally and spiritually. I want to take time to prepare, but also to get the whole guilt thing out of my system. By fasting I will hopefully be able to relate better instead of just having guilt and pity that is completely foreign and unintelligible. I considered 3 days, because it's a nice round number. I considered 30 hours, because I've done 30 hours before. I decided that 3 days, taking my body size into consideration, is too long. It's also important that I be able to do this while not working, since being hungry and at work will not be conducive to what I am trying to achieve. 30 hours is simply not long enough. So, 40 hours, modeled after the 40 days that Jesus fasted, is my conclusion. Long enough to experience hunger, short enough not to lose scary amounts of weight, and conveniently, I have this whole weekend off of work.
So, there's my plan. I'm getting ready to be hungry.
3.16.2009
things to come
Hiii. I'm sitting here listening to showtunes, wondering what this week will hold. I need to apply to college, but let's face it, I'm terrified. I tried three different schools already and none of them "were right" (at the time, anyway). What if I talk this up so much, tell everyone how great it is that I've finally figured out what I'm going to do with my life, and then... I don't get into nursing school? Or what if I get in, start going, and then immediately hit the same wall I've hit three times already, the feeling of "this just isn't for me." I know one thing, and that's that I can't work in food service for the rest of my life. Something has to change, and in order for that change to occur I have to get off my behind and get a degree. Is it just sheer laziness that's kept me from that point so far? Laziness, cowardice, lying to myself. It's probably one or all of those.
Well. I'm going to Haiti in 16 days. I'm going to do as much nursing type things as I can while I'm there, and assuming I still don't lose my control and pass out or throw up, I'm going to consider it a sign that that's what I should be doing. I should probably fill out an application, or at least get my transcripts ready to go before then. I could totally see myself just putting it off until I miss a date, and then just use that as an excuse for putting it off another semester. One thing that I am excited for about going back to school... is that I will once again be in a place where it's not horribly intimidating to audition for a show. I want to be on stage again. It's been waaay too long, especially considering that it used to be what I thought I was going to do with my life. Soon, I'll try it again.
Well. I'm going to Haiti in 16 days. I'm going to do as much nursing type things as I can while I'm there, and assuming I still don't lose my control and pass out or throw up, I'm going to consider it a sign that that's what I should be doing. I should probably fill out an application, or at least get my transcripts ready to go before then. I could totally see myself just putting it off until I miss a date, and then just use that as an excuse for putting it off another semester. One thing that I am excited for about going back to school... is that I will once again be in a place where it's not horribly intimidating to audition for a show. I want to be on stage again. It's been waaay too long, especially considering that it used to be what I thought I was going to do with my life. Soon, I'll try it again.
1.14.2009
plans for 2009
Oh hi! I haven't really told anyone this yet, and I probably won't, at least not until I've actually sent in an application, but... my current plan is to return to UML in September 2009 as an English major with a concentration in Writing. I could only put it off for so long, but I guess that was always what I would inevitably do. I'm out of practice writing, I need to take some classes at the very least for the sake of getting back into the swing of things!
Also, I'm probably going to go to California in February or March, and I'm going to Haiti in April. Hopefully Europe will come sometime in the Summer. There's still time to figure that one out.
I started reading Dracula about a month ago, and I still haven't finished. I read half of it within a week, and then I just put it down and haven't picked it up again. I feel kind of guilty about it. It's just not exciting. Sorry, Dad.
Also, I'm probably going to go to California in February or March, and I'm going to Haiti in April. Hopefully Europe will come sometime in the Summer. There's still time to figure that one out.
I started reading Dracula about a month ago, and I still haven't finished. I read half of it within a week, and then I just put it down and haven't picked it up again. I feel kind of guilty about it. It's just not exciting. Sorry, Dad.
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