Sunday, 27 July 2014
If you had asked me two weeks ago what I would be doing in Haiti, "Riding the motorcycle of one of my new Haitian friends with him and an Italian priest," would not have been my answer. However, if there is one thing I've learned in Haiti so far...it's that nothing should surprise me. We were just leaving the Feast of St. Anne yesterday in Cite Soleil, slums that comprise the most impoverished and dangerous area in Port-au-Prince. Beforehand, we weren't sure if it was safe to attend mass with Father Enzo there; constantly warring gang lords control the area. But we were told that it was fine, and we went in the early morning when the day was just getting started and there should be no trouble. The sun slowly climbing in the sky revealed many things I have already seen here in Haiti--hovels extending in every direction, filthy streets full of garbage and sewage, stray dogs and pigs. Small, unaccompanied children, half-dressed and barefoot. Many destitute people who struggle to feed themselves daily. But I also saw other things. Two little boys holding hands and dragging a toy dump truck down the street behind them. Warm smiles and words from every person to whom we said, "Bonjou." Bright, eager kids who couldn't wait to talk to us, play games, and hold our hands. A huge bowl of beautiful fruit that was presented to Father Enzo in gratitude after the mass. It shouldn't surprise me, but the main thing I remember seeing in Cite Soleil was humanity and faith that persists in the face of all odds.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Saturday, July 26, 2014
Friday, 25 July 2014
The thing that bothered me most about collecting bodies at the general hospital in Port-au-Prince wasn't the stench. True, the cooler had stopped working sometime during the last two weeks and there was concern about the condition of the bodies as they were being moved; the workers offered me a swig from the bottle of whiskey they had brought and Father Enzo ripped strips of fabric off of one of the burial cloths so that we had something to tie over our faces. But it wasn't that. It also wasn't the sounds--the sounds of bodies being tossed one on top of the other, and the sickening noise it made when a body slid out of the cooler; I cringed when one hit the ground, but that wasn't the worst part. Nor was it the sight--the sight of bare feet protruding from the cooler, of bodies spilling and sliding out into the parking lot, of limbs haphazardly entwined and twisted awkwardly in lifeless poses, of so many shells of people that had once lived and breathed, many still clothed, as if they landed here by accident. No, the thing that bothered me most was the people that kept tapping me on the shoulder. Tapping me on the shoulder to ask me if they could have one of the rosaries I was handing to Father Enzo to place on each corpse for a blessing before the body bag was zipped closed. Seemingly oblivious to the pile of abandoned, lifeless bodies stacked mere feet in front of us, people tapped on my shoulder to ask if they could have a cheap plastic rosary (intended for a corpse) to wear around their neck like some misguided jewelry. To be so desensitized to death spoke to me of existing in a poverty that I will never fully understand. As I was told shortly after I arrived here, "In Haiti, nothing is an emergency because everybody is in crisis, all the time."
The thing that bothered me most about collecting bodies at the general hospital in Port-au-Prince wasn't the stench. True, the cooler had stopped working sometime during the last two weeks and there was concern about the condition of the bodies as they were being moved; the workers offered me a swig from the bottle of whiskey they had brought and Father Enzo ripped strips of fabric off of one of the burial cloths so that we had something to tie over our faces. But it wasn't that. It also wasn't the sounds--the sounds of bodies being tossed one on top of the other, and the sickening noise it made when a body slid out of the cooler; I cringed when one hit the ground, but that wasn't the worst part. Nor was it the sight--the sight of bare feet protruding from the cooler, of bodies spilling and sliding out into the parking lot, of limbs haphazardly entwined and twisted awkwardly in lifeless poses, of so many shells of people that had once lived and breathed, many still clothed, as if they landed here by accident. No, the thing that bothered me most was the people that kept tapping me on the shoulder. Tapping me on the shoulder to ask me if they could have one of the rosaries I was handing to Father Enzo to place on each corpse for a blessing before the body bag was zipped closed. Seemingly oblivious to the pile of abandoned, lifeless bodies stacked mere feet in front of us, people tapped on my shoulder to ask if they could have a cheap plastic rosary (intended for a corpse) to wear around their neck like some misguided jewelry. To be so desensitized to death spoke to me of existing in a poverty that I will never fully understand. As I was told shortly after I arrived here, "In Haiti, nothing is an emergency because everybody is in crisis, all the time."
Tuesday, 22 July 2014
It's hard to believe we've already been here a week and a half! At the same time, it seems like a long time ago that I left the states...so many things are so different here that it's a constant barrage of new information. It was overwhelming at first (and I was really missing my baby nephew!), but things are starting to feel more comfortable and every day I make more friends. Everybody at work and at the villa has been really kind and friendly, so that has made the transition easier. Also, I was very fortunate to arrive at the same time as three other long-term volunteers--Shana, who lives with me and is also from the states, and Hajo and Birgit, the German couple that live next door. It's been incredibly comforting to have people around who are experiencing the same things at the same time and I have no doubt we will have a lot of good times this coming year! I was also excited to meet Merlin, who is an orthopedic surgeon that grew up in the NPH home in Honduras and was checking out the surgical suites here. I've read and heard a lot about him through NPH, but nobody every mentioned how hilarious he is. Hoping he comes back to Haiti again to visit!
Work in the NICU is going well. In talking to the other new volunteers here, we all seem to be finding that one of the most challenging aspects of working here is simply to figure out what we're supposed to be doing...we're ready to work hard, but first we have to figure out what, exactly, we're working on.... I knew before I came that I would be challenged by this, but I guess I didn't know exactly how directionless it would make me feel. However, it's only the second week, so I'm trying to focus on improving my languages as quickly as possible and just getting to know the nurses and learning the routine on their unit. In retrospect, it seems hilarious to me that I was nervous to start orientation at my new job at the U of M last January...here, not only was there no orientation per se, but everything is in French. Ha. The nurses have been so wonderful, though--it can be tiring to precept new nurses, and I'm sure the fact that I'm constantly asking them to repeat things I don't catch doesn't help...but they've been so patient and welcoming. Actually one of them already invited me over to dinner at her house and offered me one of her brothers in marriage, so I think I'm getting along with them pretty well. Ha ha.
The other main practical challenge has been getting around. Because of recent safety concerns, we are no longer permitted to walk anywhere, so although the villa is only about four blocks from the hospital, we have to be driven (all of the properties are behind high walls topped with razor wire and gates with armed guards). It's pretty isolating. The UN was actually all over St. Damien last week assessing our security in preparation for a visit from Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon...however, he never made an appearance. Father Rick joked, "Tell him the babies aren't armed. The doctors and nurses aren't either, as far as I know. But the babies definitely aren't."
A million thoughts have gone through my head this week; the amount of suffering is overwhelming and forces into question faith and beliefs that were taken for grated prior. Mass is held every day at the hospital chapel and weekday masses are funeral masses unless there are no deceased (which hasn't happened yet). Usually there are about four coffins, but I was told that if there are too many bodies, sometimes they have to put more than one in a coffin. Since St. Damien is a pediatric hospital, mostly it's children and babies. They don't all have names. Rarely are any families present. To me, the saddest part is that nobody in attendance even knows who these little ones were, but at least there are some people there to honor these short lives. I've questioned how people can maintain their faith in a place with so much widespread suffering, but in some ways, it seems easier to find your faith when you have nothing else to distract you.
It's hard to believe we've already been here a week and a half! At the same time, it seems like a long time ago that I left the states...so many things are so different here that it's a constant barrage of new information. It was overwhelming at first (and I was really missing my baby nephew!), but things are starting to feel more comfortable and every day I make more friends. Everybody at work and at the villa has been really kind and friendly, so that has made the transition easier. Also, I was very fortunate to arrive at the same time as three other long-term volunteers--Shana, who lives with me and is also from the states, and Hajo and Birgit, the German couple that live next door. It's been incredibly comforting to have people around who are experiencing the same things at the same time and I have no doubt we will have a lot of good times this coming year! I was also excited to meet Merlin, who is an orthopedic surgeon that grew up in the NPH home in Honduras and was checking out the surgical suites here. I've read and heard a lot about him through NPH, but nobody every mentioned how hilarious he is. Hoping he comes back to Haiti again to visit!
Work in the NICU is going well. In talking to the other new volunteers here, we all seem to be finding that one of the most challenging aspects of working here is simply to figure out what we're supposed to be doing...we're ready to work hard, but first we have to figure out what, exactly, we're working on.... I knew before I came that I would be challenged by this, but I guess I didn't know exactly how directionless it would make me feel. However, it's only the second week, so I'm trying to focus on improving my languages as quickly as possible and just getting to know the nurses and learning the routine on their unit. In retrospect, it seems hilarious to me that I was nervous to start orientation at my new job at the U of M last January...here, not only was there no orientation per se, but everything is in French. Ha. The nurses have been so wonderful, though--it can be tiring to precept new nurses, and I'm sure the fact that I'm constantly asking them to repeat things I don't catch doesn't help...but they've been so patient and welcoming. Actually one of them already invited me over to dinner at her house and offered me one of her brothers in marriage, so I think I'm getting along with them pretty well. Ha ha.
The other main practical challenge has been getting around. Because of recent safety concerns, we are no longer permitted to walk anywhere, so although the villa is only about four blocks from the hospital, we have to be driven (all of the properties are behind high walls topped with razor wire and gates with armed guards). It's pretty isolating. The UN was actually all over St. Damien last week assessing our security in preparation for a visit from Secretary General Ban Ki-Moon...however, he never made an appearance. Father Rick joked, "Tell him the babies aren't armed. The doctors and nurses aren't either, as far as I know. But the babies definitely aren't."
A million thoughts have gone through my head this week; the amount of suffering is overwhelming and forces into question faith and beliefs that were taken for grated prior. Mass is held every day at the hospital chapel and weekday masses are funeral masses unless there are no deceased (which hasn't happened yet). Usually there are about four coffins, but I was told that if there are too many bodies, sometimes they have to put more than one in a coffin. Since St. Damien is a pediatric hospital, mostly it's children and babies. They don't all have names. Rarely are any families present. To me, the saddest part is that nobody in attendance even knows who these little ones were, but at least there are some people there to honor these short lives. I've questioned how people can maintain their faith in a place with so much widespread suffering, but in some ways, it seems easier to find your faith when you have nothing else to distract you.
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