Tiny feet, torrential rain, and falling in love with Haiti.

Haiti Trip - September 4, 2011

J It's Sunday and we're going to a local Haitian church. Thank God I had the mindset to bring a skirt as the heat is stifling and it is a welcome break to jean capris.  We load ourselves into the truck, Rick, myself, and a lovely nurse southern nurse named Chelsea. We bounce along down the road and for the first time I thank God that I have small boobs. These ruts hurt!

We park near the church and as I get out of the truck I feel starkly white - hard not to when you are the only 3 white people in the street. The church is filled with people and as we walk through the archway into the courtyard, I can't help but notice those attending. The men are so sharply dressed - nice shirts and long crisp pants. The women are beautiful, flaunting all sorts of colours and bright heels and I wonder how these women can possibly walk in heels on these pot-hole-ridden streets.

We sit half in the sun and half in shade. Rick stands out as he is the only man in shorts, but he says he can't bear the heat in pants. A little boy comes up to me and shyly put out his hand to shake. He has all the charm in the world and I can't help but smile at his boldness. People start to spill out of the church - Sunday school is over.

We slide into the back row, trying to pretend that we are not the only "blanc" people in the church. Children stare wide-eyed and I smile and wave as they have no sense of what is appropriate. I can't help but stare myself - this church is very similar to the one that my church helped build in another part of Haiti. White walls, open arches, it is a beautiful church and I feel thrilled to be included in it all.

The service is in conducted in French, and I keep my eyes open during the prayers to make sure I know when they have ended. The singing is beautiful - especially that of the man leading the singers - his voice is deep and yet it soars up and above the other voices, trembling with passion, and I feel God's presence in this place.

We have to leave the service early, as Jay and the others need to be picked up from the airport. I opt for going with Chelsea, and the other missionary women to see the hospital and the work that they are involved in. You can make no promises in Haiti as to what time you'll be back and so I say goodbye to Rick and plan to see him sometime later.
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It's the afternoon and I have been trekking all over Porta-au-Prince with Michelle,  Chelsea, Wilna, and a little girl named Melissa. Melissa's not doing so well  - she was born with a heart condition and has been in the adoption process in hopes that she could go to the states and get a much needed heart operation. Haiti has no help for that here. Melissa is 2 years old and it's a miracle she's lasted this long. Wilna has been caring for her in the adoption process and is like a second momma to her.

The first hospital we went to was an experience. We parked in the courtyard, and took Melissa inside. The room we went in was lined with cribs and children of all ages with their parents sitting close by. Michelle went immediately to the far corner and picked up a tiny little girl- Lugena (not sure of spelling). She was so thin, her face resembled a little old man and yet Michelle was excited to see that this little girl had gained weight in her face. When I took her little body in my hands - yes my hands because she was that small - I couldn't believe how light she was. Her leg was the width of my finger and yet she was pushing on in spite of her set backs. Born prematurely to a mother who didn't want her and a father who dearly loved her but could not care for her  - this little girl had the weight of the world on her shoulders. And yet God had preserved her - and as I held her I prayed and thanked Him for giving her breath.

I felt as though I had an angel in my arms - like I was seeing a picture of who God was. Not in her frailness but rather her strength. And as I held her, and stroked her tiny feet and hands I was amazed at the details in her little fingertips and nails, and wrinkly feet. When her father arrived to hold her, I quickly handed her over feeling a bit like I was in the wrong - me a stranger - holding his little girl. And yet I knew that God had used me to pray over her, to pray protection and blessing over her life. And as I watched her daddy looking down at her I felt so torn for him - to love your baby but not be able to care for her - that must be the worst feeling.

Wilna was pregnant so we decided to use the opportunity at the hospital whilst Melissa was safely hooked up to oxygen, to get Wilna an ultrasound. We all shuffled into a small room that had been set aside for sleeping patients. There was no one in the section that we were and the beds were clean and it was cooler. Wilna lay down on the bed, and the nurse began to describe what we were seeing. If you have never seen an ultrasound - you should - as it is a beautiful picture of God's handiwork. And even though we could only make out shapes - the head, the legs, the occasional foot - it was amazing to think that God knew every inch of this little one in a way that we would never be able to know.

We left the hospital in search for another as they didn't have a bed for Melissa to stay overnight. With only a name scribbled on a piece of paper we approached the next hospital - St. Damien's. A guard greeted us with a stern look, and aggressive tone, and a gun in his hands. He didn't seem to want to let us in, and finally relented with the rule that only 2 of us could go inside. We parked and Wilna and Chelsea quickly took Melissa inside in search of their contact.

Michelle and I waited and got to know each other. I told her she was a refreshing glimpse of what it means to be a missionary and that I wanted to see more. Before long Wilna and Chelsea were back with bad news  - no room. Michelle got a heads up to try King's Hospital and so off we went. At time it had begun to pour. Before long we were driving in torrential rain. As we continued into the back roads, we passed people standing in lines with their backs to the building walls, trying to get shelter from the rapidly pounding rain. The streets were awash with mud. It was difficult to see the potholes as it they were covered in water and by this time it had grown quite dark. Occasionally we were forced to drive through rushing water, as it gushed down through the gutters and onto the streets.

We reached King's Hospital safely and managed to whisk Melissa inside and upstairs. We called out the name of the contact Michelle had and were directed to a kind-looking man who directed into a room . It was God's providence that just at that moment, on that particular floor, a nurse was wheeling an oxygen tank past our room. In Haiti - things never happen quickly. Wilna quickly spoke to him and told him that we needed to put Melissa on oxygen immediately. Three men in white coats who appeared to be doctors came into the room and began to assemble the oxygen tank. Before long, Melissa was breathing steadily again and her stats were back up to a positive level.

We sat there in the dark, the occasional flash of lightening lighting up the room, followed quickly by a crash of thunder. The lights were not working and so we made do, huddling on beds and chairs, all watching Melissa carefully. Me, a nurse, a beauty queen-turned-missionary, and an Olympic runner-turned-care worker. It felt a bit surreal.

Looking outside beneath our window, the streets were busy despite the flooded streets. Within a minute I watched a school bus, a man with a wheelbarrow, a motorcycle with 2 passengers, and a man wading and hold his pants up high, pass by. It wasn't a night to be caught outside. I was thankful for the protection of the building. Lights or not, it was safer to be inside. And it was warm as there was no air conditioner. After awhile the lights came on.

Michelle, Wilna, and I decided to go to Michelle to grab some clothes for Michelle and Wilna to spend the night, and meanwhile drop me back off. We headed down the stairs back into the rain and got into the car to drive back. But the car wouldn't start. The realization of how exhausted I was hit me and I wondered if there would be an end to this day. But Michelle was resourceful and picking up a big rock, hit the battery a couple times. After a few tries, the car started and I thanked God for this miracle.

As we drove down the dark back roads we slowed down as we waited for a truck in front of us to continue on. Looking to my left I saw a group of men lined up by a building and I suddenly felt very vulnerable in the confines of the car's backseat. I couldn't help but think about all the vulnerable women and children out there tonight in the rain and mud, fending for themselves against a male-dominating culture. I thought of International Justice Mission and the work they do in Haiti, uncovering prostitution rings and trafficked children and I prayed feeling evermore helpless in the face of it all. It seemed such an overwhelming problem. There is a part of me, that if I ever got the chance, would want to work in protecting women from this side of life. In helping them heal from the pain of it all.

My thoughts were drawn back to the road as we saw a huge lake-like area looming ahead. Wilna put her foot on the gas, and as we skidded and slid our way through the mud I prayed that we wouldn't be stuck in this mess. By the time we got to the house, Jay was quite anxious to see me and I was tired, hungry, and exhausted. And yet in spite of those feelings - I felt more purpose-filled than ever. I had spent a day trekking around for someone else, being part of something I had no control over - the pending health of a little girl, and though at times it was scary, and new territory, I felt God's hands in the situation the whole time, using me.
I went to sleep praying for the others, who would be spending the night in a lonely, dark, hospital and prayed that Melissa would make it through the night.

Frizzy hair, bumpy roads, and falling in love with Haiti...

Haiti Trip - Sept 3, 2011

"My daughter, if you accept my words and store up my commands within you, turning your ear to wisdom and applying your heart to understanding - indeed if you call out for insight and cry aloud for understanding, and if you look for it as for silver and search for it as for hidden treasure, then you will understand the fear of the LORD and find the knowledge of God." - Prov 2:1-5

My flight from Florida to Haiti could have gone badly were it not for a small voice prodding at my heart...

After lugging my suitcase down past the first couple rows on the plane, I realized quickly that the overhead bins were filling up fast. Sure enough, by the time I reached my seat, mine was already taken. After struggling back up the aisle, and squeezing past a couple disgruntled Haitian gentlemen, I managed to slide it into a small space. Walking back to my seat, I realized that there was a woman sitting in Jay's window seat. She had made herself quite comfortable and was doing her best to ignore us. Jay politely pointed out that she was in his seat and with much huffing, and a grim expression, she got up to accomodate. When we sat back down, Jay was at the window, I was in the middle with the woman beside me.

As I sat there, I began to wish that things hadn't started off this way, as I had hoped to make a friend on the trip. A small voice said, "Compliment her." I glanced sideways, looking for something to compliment. She was wearing a beautiful multi-colored scarf. Tapping her on the shoulder, I smiled and said warmly, "I love your scarf it's very beautiful." In an instant, her whole face changed. Her eyes lit up and a smile stretched across her face. She introduced herself as Memose. She was on her way to Haiti to see her family. As we chatted, she noticed I had my Bible out, and we started talking about our beliefs. She told me of her trust in Jesus and asked me about my work with Young Life. We were handed forms to fill out that were only in French. Memose helped me translate and fill mine out. After a time, she smiled and said she was going to sleep and to wake her up when we landed. I began to journal and pray for this wonderful woman who had just become a friend.

When we landed, Memose wished Jay and I well, and we said goodbye. It struck me how different the trip would have been had we sat in an uncomfortable silence, content to be strangers even as our shoulders touched.

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I am standing in the Port-au-Prince airport, waiting for Rick to come back from seeing Jay off. Jay is going to Jeremie airport to see if he can fix the plane we came to Haiti to pick up. They are armed with a bag of tools, and a box of bottled water. They had hoped to transport a generator, but it will not fit and as a result I am guarding it.

It is quite humid. My hair has risen like a loaf of bread, despite my desperate attempts to pin it down. And so I have given up. I suppose I will be a sweaty frizzy mess for the most part of this trip, which is fine by me. Haitian men openly stare at me, speaking in creole, and giggling, and gesturing. Occasionally, one will stroll up, pointing to my bags and asking a question. I wave them away with a smile, and an "No, merci." I would probably stare too at a white frizzy-haired girl with a huge generator. I want to film but am shy to point my camera - it seems too personal. And so I wait, and pretend to look at my phone, while watching the people around me.

Rick comes back and we hop into a large cage-like truck with all our bags. We are on our way back to the missionary house where we will be staying. I feel a bit like a sack of potatoes - bouncing around the truck as we seem to aim for every pothole on the road. It's fun - kind of like four wheeling. We pass noisy crowds, and it appears that anything goes when it comes to traffic, from roaring ahead on whatever side you choose, to practically sitting on your horn every five secs, to packing as many people as you please on a tiny motorcycle. There is so much to look at - I can't seem to take it all in.

People line the streets, waiting for tap-taps (taxis), selling their goods - some just sitting in the heat. We pass a small tent on the side of the road with someone's foot sticking out of it. It seems impossible that a grown person could fit in there, but yet they have. Filming proves to be difficult, what with the cage, and the constant jerking and bouncing along but I resolve to do it anyway as I wanted to capture Haiti - and this is certainly Haiti.

After a while, we turn right and continue up a road - if you can even call it a road. Piles of rocks, and gravel line the sides. We pass goats meandering along as if they haven't a care in the world. No owners in sight. The rocky slopes have trails that start with gravel and transform into grassy paths, with trees, and bushes, and the occasional cow blocking the trail. We then start up a steep hill until we reach a yellow house with a large gate around it. We drive up to a precarious spot, and then our driver, John, backs in. I sigh with relief when we stop - surprised that the generator, suitcases, Rick, and myself managed to somehow not go tumbling down the hillside.

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I'm sitting on the porch of the missionary house. It feels exotic as you can see for miles - mountains, crumbling houses, trails, and loads of gated houses. It is as hot as ever and the house is filled with fans. It walls are brightly coloured and it has an open feel to it. Rick and I decide to walk up the hill to see our surroundings. I grab my camera and we are off. The place is a photography paradise - tons of old crumbly mansions everywhere and I think back to former explorations of old buildings in the states - these ones put those to shame. We pass gates strewn with flowers, vines creeping up and over to hide these massive hidden houses.

We make friends with a small goat. Rather - Rick terrifies it and I take pictures. It settles down and seems to like the attention. On our way back, a young Haitian woman pops out from behind a gate. We say, Bonjour, and Rick struggles to form some sentences. Before long, a whole family of Haitians are standing before us, smiling shyly, and greeting us. It is not two minutes before the girl asks me, "Facebook" - I reply with surprise, "Oui" and I promptly write down my fb name. She gives me hers and we smile as if we are best friends. We exchanged a few more broken English-French sentences, and Rick and I wave goodbye and promise to visit again.

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I'm in my room, prepping to go to sleep. It's a decent sized room with two beds. I have thoroughly checked both for bedbugs and it appears that the one on the far side has potential and so I leave that bed for Jay. My room has mosquito nets and fans so I feel safe for the night. It's been a full day. It's always strange to start off a day in one country, spend the afternoon in another, and then the night in yet another. Jay is spending the night in Haiti. Sadly, the plane engine is toast and they will have to find a new one. We're at loss for what to do - but tomorrow is another day and I am confident that God will work it out.