I just
opened our “junk drawer” looking for the scissors and thinking about how there
was probably no paper in there either, since my sister had been lamenting that
earlier in the day…and I had to laugh to myself when I saw—carelessly tossed
among the detritus—a U.S. passport.
Some of the
conversations I’ve had with my Haitian friends:
One of our
chauffeurs asked me to write a letter to the U.S. Embassy on his behalf to help
him get a Visa. I said that while I
would be happy to do that, being a “blan” (white) did not mean that I had power
in ANY way and that not all Americans are rich.
He replied something along the lines of, “Even poor people in America
have more money than Haitians.” I didn’t
know what to say after that because I knew that in some ways, he was right.
One of our
other chauffeurs—with whom I remain close friends—told me that he had something
very serious to discuss with me when I returned to Haiti after Christmas. I was baffled, and a little worried…he then asked
me in confidence if I would pretend to be his girlfriend so that he might be
able to get a U.S. Visa to see his fiancée.
I told him that I didn’t want to go to Haitian prison for lying to the
government…and then we laughed until I had tears in my eyes. But underneath that, I know that he was
serious, and I know that I was sad and frustrated that I was having this
conversation with a friend that I love dearly.
I think the
thing that disturbs me most is that I will never be able to truly convey what
it is to live in Haiti, or another country like it…. I think of Haiti one hundred times a day if I
think of it once. I think of it when I
hear from my friends there (Zanmi m!
Kouman ou ye?!), and I think of it when I don’t. I think of it when I go to work now and look
in awe at the level of luxury we’re accustomed to here…I’m extremely fortunate
to work at a world-class hospital that does inspiring work, but still, I find
myself asking when enough is enough…the new NICU extension we built on the 11th
floor has private rooms with en suite baths, TVs, iPads (iPads! What do you need an iPad for when you just
had a baby and you’re in the NICU?!), and two (not one, TWO) fridges in each
room…. It is a truly beautiful and
well-appointed space. But then I think
of my NICU in Haiti, where sometimes we ran out of IV catheters. Some days the water wasn’t working. Our linens (when we had enough clean ones)
were old and recycled. We didn’t have
formula. I still can’t wrap my head
around the disparity, and often I just get exhausted thinking about it.
Living and
working in Haiti left me with far more questions than answers, but one thing
I’ve learned for sure is that being born in the United States (or any other
“developed” country) has allowed me a level of luxury that permits me the
leisure to even have time to ask
these questions…. I don’t know the
answers yet, but what I do know is that every day now, there are multiple times
that I think—with gratitude—about the million little things we have in the
states that I used to take for granted.
Endless, sweeping, beautiful roads; who cares if there’s gridlock
traffic, the roads are PAVED! The
ability to walk safely down the street.
Air conditioning. IV catheters
and running water and diapers and linens and rooms upon rooms BURSTING with
supplies at the hospital…all sterile and brand new…. Starbucks.
Any restaurant pretty much, and the fact that I can go to one whenever I
want, in a car that I can drive…. Lawns
and green space. Riding a bike.
There are a
million questions, and I never feel like I know any of the answers. But the one that always haunts me is, how do
you find the balance??
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