Thursday, 19 November 2015

When I heard the news about the horrendous terrorist attacks in France, one of my first thoughts was actually of Haiti—a number of the worldwide friends I made there were French.  Although none of them live in Paris, I still felt a stab of fear that perhaps one of them was in the wrong place at the wrong time…a slideshow of scenes from Haiti flashed through my mind in an instant:  Alain playing “Buffalo Soldier” on his guitar at FWAL while all the kids sang along; Camille cheerfully (and in flawless Kreyol!) greeting some shy local kids we passed on a walk in the mountains in Kenscoff;  Dr. Didier nimbly leaping out of the van after a long day volunteering his services at St. Damien.

It’s strange because although I knew each of these people only briefly, I felt like I was touched deeply at some point by all of them, and I think part of that has to do with the fact that I met them in Haiti.  I don’t know why everything that I lived in Haiti stands out so boldly to me; I’m sure it’s for a number of reasons.  I think what it comes down to for me is that life there was very simple, so experiences were amplified, and also, time in Haiti stands out because it offers both a challenge and a feeling of purpose.

I think living/working in Haiti is an incredible opportunity for anybody from a western culture who’s used to being overconnected/overscheduled/overeverything…to be able to see what’s right in front of you.  The limited communication and mobility make it so that there is rarely anything more important than what’s happening right this second--every single person you meet is exciting in some way, and an opportunity to connect, to learn something, to build a bridge, to forge a bond.    

In addition to that, you remember why your work is significant.  Everybody, everywhere, wants to be doing something important and something that really matters.  I love living abroad and learning new languages, so I certainly had self-interested reasons for going to Haiti…but also I’ve always had the desire just to be compassionate and loving and help people when I can.  I left Haiti feeling bruised, so I know I haven’t found the balance…but I also know that when I was there, I was inspired and energized by the many wonderful people I met and their talent and ideas for improving the future.

I go back and forth thinking we just have to try harder…and wondering if I’m naïve and delusional to believe that just being a good person and working for change can matter.  Every time I hear something new about ISIS, I feel defeated for a moment.  But also—regardless of how broken and battered I returned from Haiti, I received infinitely more than I gave and I still believe that the only thing that matters is love, and an open mind, and open heart…and that if you see the best in people, they will rise to your expectations….  

When I wrote to check in with my French friends, I got a beautiful response:  Alain told me that after the attacks, people were welcoming locals who were too terrified to take public transit into their homes to stay.  And then he remarked that, “spontaneous solidarity is a piece of sunshine in this bereaved sky.”  

This is why we do what we do….

Thursday, 22 October 2015

“It is better to do a good small thing many times over than to wait your whole life for the best big thing that may never come.”

What happens when your work abroad was incredible and life-changing, and allowed you deep multi-national friendships that you know you’ll keep for life, and affirmed your commitment to your organization…and was also wounding and disillusioning, and left you feeling betrayed by some of the people that you truly cared about, and threw into question what you really thought you could give and what is actually needed and/or the organization can provide?  

In some ways, my time in Haiti was one of the best experiences of my life, and in other ways, I sometimes wonder what, exactly, I accomplished there, and why I was even allowed to go in the first place….   

I feel like this dichotomy was perfectly illustrated by the first week in October:

I volunteered at the NPH gala the first Saturday in October and it was one of the most fun and rewarding nights I’ve had in AGES!!  The excitement and energy was palpable, and there’s something magical about being with and working alongside so many people that are sincerely passionate about the same great cause.  I was lucky to be asked to run the slideshow, so I got to see to see the entire gala unfold, and it was truly inspiring.  This year, after living and working abroad at one of the homes, the gala had a special meaning for me—I recognized many of the people and places highlighted in the slideshow and I felt like Frank (Donaghue; President/CEO NPH USA) and Reinhart (Koehler; Board Chair NPH International) were speaking directly to me…ha.  We raised almost $600,000!  In one night!  Such an extraordinary amount when you think how far that money can go.     

Six days later, I woke up to an e-mail sharing the news that yet another person—the fourth in two years—was robbed and shot in front of St. Damien hospital.  An electrician who helped the team that manages generators, solar panels, and the power grid, in collaboration with the German volunteers.  He was shot in the face, and robbed for probably (to most Westerners) a negligible amount of money.  Five days later, I received another e-mail that, despite all measures taken, he died from his injuries.

Although I didn’t know the victim, I was crushed to hear this news…I could have known him.  Or it could have been me.  I can clearly picture the gates in front of St. Damien—I passed there almost every single day I lived in Haiti, and (although we were not supposed to) I walked in the streets many times….  Sadly, receiving a heartbreaking dispatch from this country is not new.  I feel so many emotions every time I think of Haiti—I’m wistful thinking of how much I loved parts of my time there, and how much I miss my friends.  I’m guilty, thinking of how I left (and how used to people leaving most Haitians must be).  I’m angry and frustrated, thinking of how unfair life is, and how little Westernized countries know and/or care about life elsewhere. 

 

Working in Haiti has affirmed both my joy, gratitude, humility…and also my feelings of loss, grief, and helplessness.  The more time passes, the more questions I feel like I have…and I certainly don’t have the answers.  

  

However, the first flash of peace I felt in relation to this incidence was thanks to the response of a friend who wrote, “Let's just make today an awesome day.  All we can do, right?!”

So simple.  But at the same time…yes, all we can do. 

Thursday, 20 August 2015

How many languages do you speak??

It’s so interesting to hear how people answer this question; I honestly never know what to respond.  Three?  One?  Two and three quarters?  Where is the bar we’re setting….

One of the things I loved most about my time in Haiti was the opportunity to not only be immersed in Haitian culture and language, but also to be constantly engaged with people from all over the globe.  The first night I stayed over at the NPH home in Kenscoff, I remember realizing with awe that of the ten people in the room, we were from eight different countries.  Aside from Kreyol (and French and English), most days I would also hear people speaking Italian, Spanish, and German.  I also clearly remember one night just after I arrived when one of my Italian friends had the entire kitchen laughing because he (inadvertently) spoke a single sentence using three different languages.  It was brilliant! 

That said, when you’re speaking a non-native language (or languages) consistently, it can be exhausting.  It takes an incredible amount of mental energy to try and not only catch all of the words that are being spoken, but also understand the context and cultural significance of everything that’s been said.  After I became comfortable enough living and working in Haiti, I was sometimes frustrated and disappointed by my lack of progress in learning Kreyol.  Even after eight months I felt far from the point where I could truly keep up when natives were speaking around me, and I felt like I had the same conversations over and over.  And over.  And OVER.  “Kouman ou ye?”  “Byen, mesi, e ou menm?”  “Byen, gras a Dieu.”  “Kouman fanmi ou ye?”  “Tout bagay anfom.”  “M kontan pou tande sa.”  And at some point after that…there were so many instances where I desperately wanted to continue the conversation, but…I just couldn’t think of enough words that I knew!  I reflect on this often now that I’m home and can effortlessly eavesdrop on any conversation occurring nearby…or know with certainty that I will both know and understand every single word that somebody says to me…or can painlessly make small talk with a stranger for hours, if need be…it makes life so easy!!!!

I was discussing this with a friend, and she pointed out that when you’re first learning a language, ANY progress seems monumental because you’re starting from nothing.  Once you have the foundation built, however, improvements can seem slower—it’s much harder to make the transition from being able to function in daily life to being able to have nuanced, in-depth conversations about more complex topics.  Not long after I returned to the states, I saw this article, which articulated some similar themes eloquently:

http://www.economist.com/blogs/prospero/2015/05/johnson-polyglots

There’s definitely a difference between speaking a language and just talking in one, and it’s fascinating to learn that even fluent speakers may know only one-tenth of the words in a given language that a native speaker does.  Perhaps the best conclusion to take away from this is as the author wrote:  “Often asked, it is impossible to give an easy answer: ‘How many languages do you speak?’ The more languages one has studied and the more experience one has, the more the answer feels like ‘none!’”