incessant, resillient

I haven't had a lot of down time to process everything, we've been running from one thing to another and in different directions.I'm barely formulating these words. We have worked 14 days straight, most of which have been 20 hour days.  Justin has been up to his ears with coordinating the rehydration clinic, and I have been trying to cover as much of the work here as possible and still be somewhat creative late into the night as I write. There were times when it felt like things were slowing down, the numbers have begun to stabilize but the deaths are increasing. Today we got word that the rural mountain communities have been hit -- there is limited access to these places and to health care. The helicopter went up and found that people are dying, that many are sick... and river appears to have become infected in the eastern valley. Our epidemiologist and another he met today both say this thing is far from over.

I watched the way rehydration infused life into little bodies, weakened and lethargic this week. And I have so much respect for our nurses who shuffled through diarrhea and vomit those first days. Cholera can kill within 4 hours, depleting your cells of all fluid. Unless someone gets hydration quickly, the outlook is bleak.I had to leave the room when those frail children were trying to get an IV started, I couldn't take it.  I've learned a lot watching the people this week, and the resilience- once again- of the Haitian people, which seems to somehow keep them treading along, barely, on the rough seas of life here.

A big holiday here, All Saints Day or the Day of the Dead, will be happening this Monday and Tuesday. I'm told this is quite the event, and over 10,000 people will come to a waterfall near our base which is a voodoo pilgrimage site.. there is stripping of clothes, burning candles, spiritual darkness. We will have limited movement these two days because the uncertainty of the events. This chaos, along with the mixing of people and heavy rains, could be a recipe for disaster in the spread of cholera.

And now, word of a hurricane. We've been watching it here, and it's clear that it is heading dead on for us. I wonder when Haiti gets a break? It's incessant at times, and it's been like this for decades. I'm wrestling with understanding why their plight is so heavy, so relentless. I don't really know the answer, and for now, it's late and my heart is tired. I believe He wants them to desperately turn from this evil stronghold that is like a vice over their spirits. But He is fighting for them.

Somehow, God keeps renewing our hope for Haiti, because I've watched the way they've weathered these storms, and I trust God has a plan for this land. We are in some way a part of that, and we are humbled. Please pray for us at the start of this week, it's a critical few days. Blessings to you.

more on what we're up to

This is a great video that was taken by CNN at our rehydration site...  rehydration literally saved hundreds of lives this week...

http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/world/2010/10/28/newton.haiti.whats.next.cnn.html


http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=130876045


Link to audiocast at top of page :)

in motion....

We spent most of the day with CNN... they visited our clinic site and our water filtration points, and we took them around in the helicopter to view the area where the river that is infected is running through. We felt fortunate that we got the coverage we did, and sent the message out that this outbreak is far from over. But the work in the international community here is saving lives. We are humbled to be a part of it. Justin is doing an amazing job managing the mobile clinic. And we have such a talented team on the ground here. God is good, lives are being saved. Thank you for your prayers.


http://www.cnn.com/2010/WORLD/americas/10/26/haiti.cholera/index.html?iref=allsearch

today's response

new article from today's response:
http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/Samaritans_Purse_Today/post/glimmers_of_hope_amid_despair/

BBC article:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-11603630

Thanks for your prayers and support.

On CNN

http://ireport.cnn.com/docs/DOC-507262?ref=feeds%2Foncnn

And another blog post:
http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/Samaritans_Purse_Today/post/glimmers_of_hope_amid_despair/

We have an interview with CNN tomorrow, and got coverage with CBS today. We are grateful the the global community has their eyes turned to what is happening here... we covet your prayers, and thank you for your support from afar.
Some pics of caring for the sick and our water filtration site below:

a sleep-deprived update

I'd love to write more, but I am pulling 18 hour days and am writing a first-hand blog for SP.. please read the blog below to keep up with our daily happenings here. And please, pray for this situation. The next few days are going to tell where this is going, and it's not looking good.
http://www.samaritanspurse.org/index.php/Samaritans_Purse_Today/post/mobilizing_quickly/?utm_medium=Argyle+Social&utm_source=twitter&utm_campaign=cholera&utm_content=http%3D%2F%2Fwww.samaritanspurse.org%2Findex.php%2FSamaritans_Purse_Today%2Fpost%2Fmobilizing_quickly%2F

cholera outbreak

I am going out on a team today to assess the cholera outbreak... please pray for the people of Haiti. The outbreak is spreading at an alarming rate, and humanitarian agencies must act quickly to save lives. Will update more later. Blessings on each of you-

Mangia!

We are pooped. We've spent 12 hours in the last 2 days in a (hot) kitchen.  Last week something took over our sense of reason and we decided to cook homemade Italian food and dessert. This stemmed from a few things, one being that we haven't had good Italian in almost 3 months and also, we really miss cooking together and hosting. I also have been missing my mom's pasta Sunday tradition, so we knew it was time to take matters into our hands and do something. I think the most people we've ever cooked for was maybe 14 or so during a holiday, so this whole cooking for 65 people business was definitely new to us. I originally wanted to make lasagna, but apparently the only store that sells lasagna noodles is about 2 hours away, so we went with plan B: baked ziti. Cheesy gooey melt in your mouth slide down your throat ziti. And Justin decided he wanted to make his specialty: cheesecake. If you've ever had Justin's cheesecake you know this is a real treat. So on Sunday we spent 5 hours making cheesecakes- 15 total, homemade graham cracker crust and all. We had pineapple cheesecake, cranberry, chocolate chip, plain, strawberry glaze, citrus, and some others I am forgetting. It was a smorgasbord of cheesecakes. On Monday, the day of the dinner, I made a massive pot of sauce and let it simmer all day- it turned out lovely, and mom would be so proud. My fingernails still smell like garlic from peeling a serious amount of cloves. All the Haitian kitchen ladies helped, and they were very fascinated by the Ricotta cheese which was new to them, and I think they really enjoyed assisting us with preparing everything. At first they seemed a bit skeptical that we knew what we are doing, but after a bit we were laughing a lot (mostly over our stumbling through phrases trying to communicate to each other). We've so enjoyed spending time w/ Weislan and Weisman, two twins that work in the kitchen who are sweet, nurturing women. They've asked a few times for my mom's ziti recipe, and I still need get approval on if I can pass that little treasure on (ah, the sanctity of an Italian mother's pasta recipe!)

We also made homemade rosemary focacia bread and Caesar salad with homemade croutons.This may not seem like a big deal, but to us here in the land of canned turkey and floppy green beans, it was a serious event. I put some Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin on and it was just like a sidewalk cafe in Italy. (okay, so it was more like a dusty sauna with lots of mosquitoes, but we tried to use our imagination).  People have not stopped talking about how wonderful it was (which I think is more due to the fact of what we have to compare it to- ha!), but nonetheless, we really had fun. Below are some pictures from the night. I wish I had taken better ones, but we were too busy running around feeding people's faces. Mangia!

I wanted to also share about some experiences doing school assessments and some general thoughts about education in Haiti, but that will have to be another night. As I said earlier, we are pooped and frankly, we feel a bit old. Thanks for continuing to join us here on our journey (if anyone is actually out there still reading, that is!)
Bon nwit...

Justin cutting the cheesecakes with Judy, a coworker's wife who is visiting

Ziti goodness

Cheesecake bonanza 

Our friend Weislan, who works in kitchen (her identical twin had already left)

a silver thread

I debated about the way this entry should go. I felt a bit guilty about indulging in the delicious food and mountain air that I described from last time... when many Haitians live on less than a dollar a day. I know there needs to be a balance with allowing ourselves simple pleasures but sometimes the juxtaposition of the absolute poverty here existing alongside the affluence of the expatriate community is hard to reconcile. I'm still trying to understand that line.

Then there was Monday. I came away from this day feeling all jumbled up inside -- saddened, joyful, discouraged but strangely a bit hopeful. I didn't know it was possible for such competing emotions to exist at the exact same time. Monday was a holiday for us here and we visited the Community Salem Center orphanage. I had heard some hard stories about this place prior to going. It's tucked away in a maze of alleyways, forgotten back road streets littered with destruction and dread.  Everything felt scattered and awry, and I found myself scanning this town for some silver lining of hope. We stopped at the market on the way there to get some bananas and tangerines to accompany the pasta and beans we had made. I'm sure some of you have been to a thriving market in a third world country. It's total sensory overload. Loud music, trash, standing water and urine, foul odors, haggling, begging, flies. As soon as we walked up we were swarmed by peddlers and kiosk owners, all fighting to get our sale. I can usually remain calm in these situations because I know what I need and what I want to spend. I used my very broken Creole to try to barter, though I don't know my numbers very well. I think we might have got a little taken, but at least we got the goods.

We weaseled in and around the pothole-ridden roads to the orphanage. How did we find this place? Some people on my team who have been here longer than us have been visiting here for months, and apparently our organization stumbled across it by mistake when looking for another orphanage some months after the earthquake. I tried to imagine living somewhere where people would only stumble across you on accident, by happenstance. A mistake. But this is Haiti. Hidden orphanages down nearly impassable roads, sad, neglected lives living out there days in forgotten places. It's heart rendering.

We pulled up to a place that looked barely suitable for a pet pen. Pockets of standing water surrounded  by mosquito infested grass, with 3 dirty tents and a dilapidated building. This was the orphanage. There was a boys tent and a girls tent, and they all slept on the floor under the open night for air flow. Another tent was there for the pastor and his wife, a couple committed to caring for these kids but who are close to the end of their rope. Skin lesions, bites and infections covered the tiny, bare brown arms and legs of these fragile children. They were quite excited when we showed up, for we came bearing food and a welcome break from this concrete life. There have been many occasions where our staff has come by to check on these kids and they were completely out of food. Feeding 36 kids at least 2 times a day is challenging with no assistance. It was a feast and they ate until they couldn't eat anymore. There was an urgency in the way they ate, as if they were worried there wouldn't be anymore for seconds so they shoveled it in, plate after plate of rice and beans, pasta, bread and Gatorade. We are talking about pounds and pounds of food. They were giggling as they showed us their bellies, big and full under their tattered and smudged shirts. I believe they didn't know when their next meal was so they wanted to take in as much as possible. This fight for survival, for food. We also brought water purification urns and a rain barrel to help them get fresh water. The water they are using now looks like dishwater, and they get it from a hole in the ground with a rusted tire over it. Their limited access to clean water has wreaked havoc on the kids' health.

One of the guys that came with us brought a guitar and we danced, blew up balloons and formed a congo line. They ushered out their little dingy drumset and played along to the sounds of the guitar. We enjoyed this small carnival of sorts there, under the bright Haitian sun - our constant companion- and their little bodies danced with full bellies and a lightness in their heart, a skip in their step. It was a blur of movement, colors and laughter and for a brief moment, we forgot where we were.

And then there is Nelly. Precious Nelly. One of the woman we work with, Connie,  has been here since February and first met Nelly then. She has osteogenesis imperfecta, or brittle bone disease. She formed a special burden for this little one, who at that time would spend her days sitting listlessly in a chair because the bones in her arms and legs were so deformed, rendering her immobile. Connie was able to raise money through her church to pay for a surgery for little Nelly to get rods in her legs and now she is in a wheelchair and is getting PT each week, and we believe in the miracle that she will walk one day. The disease stunts her growth and she looks 5 years old instead of her true age of 11 years. She has wide, kind eyes and eyelashes that flutter softly when she looks up at you. Her voice is barely audible, a shy, mousy murmuring that can only be heard when you get really close. She looks down when she answers. "Can I take you for a walk, Nelly?" I ask her in Creole, kneeling down. "Yes, thank you," she whispers shyly. I take her on a short "walk" around the bumpy damp grounds, though much of it is not wheelchair accessible and I realized how limited her movement really was. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to make fun sounds to make her laugh, like "vrrooom vrooom!" and "beep beep" and "wheeeee!".  There are a few special needs children at this orphanage, and there is no ability to care for them unless outside help intervenes. It's unjust, aggravating and frustrating to the point of nausea  that these children live this way. I dont know what to do with these thoughts. We drove away praying for this place, and the ability to do more. We are trying to find a new plot of land to move these children to, but there are messy land ownership issues and other nonsense that we need God's favor to resolve. For now, we will continue to make regular visits here and do what we can, each time and pray this prayer:

Lord, please allow these visits to thread a silver lining of hope here, the skillful hemming of a miracle, the beginning of something restorative that can come only from Your handiwork.

giggles...sweet smiles..they couldnt get enough of the camera

A view of the orphanage

the girls tent.. all sleep on the floor

sweet, sweet Nelly

full bellies, light hearts

 shaking it (not sure what the girl in the blue is up to)

bubbles and mozzarella

Last week we dedicated a community center to a shelter community. There was joy in the air, and singing and dancing. The team made bubble makers out of wire and glass bottles, and the kids were beside themselves. Giggles and bubbles floated through the air as hundreds of little ones dipped their sloppy plastic cups into the gallon buckets, sloshing around with glycerin and water. The community center will be a meeting place, an area to gather in shade from the noonday sun. It’s also our hope that it will build community and serve a place for church services, jam sessions (Haitians love to play music) birthday celebrations, weddings.  It’s a small piece of normalcy that may make life feel a little more like… life.  These shelter sites were never meant to be permanent, and they certainly are not a long-term solution. I don’t know what the answer is for the next phase of life here. Well, we know what the answer is, but getting there seems a bit daunting. It’s the same dilemma when you have large amounts of displaced people. How do we get from where they are to where they should be- in normal dwelling structures with adequate sanitation facilities? It’s a long road from here. Our fear is that these shelter sites would become glorified slums as so many resettlement camps eventually are destined to. I looked around at the hundreds of children who came out to play today, and who are here every day. There is no school here, and the possibility of going to one is a far cry, since the current education system requires every child to pay fees and buy uniforms. Education reform is in the works, and we are anxious to see what the overhaul will look like. One thing is for certain, it is a desperate situation and as Haiti continues to prevent access to schooling, the cycle of poverty perpetuates even deeper into the fiber of this culture. 

Saturday brought a welcome retreat for a few of us that traveled to a mountain community, about 2 hours out of town. We went with some friends from Save the Children and followed them up an incredibly windy, bumpy road.  The view was spectacular, with sweeping terraces and lush colors, all existing under a blanket of cool mountain air and clouds. Idyllic villages lined the way. It felt remarkably similar to an area of east Uganda I had visited a few years back. Waterfalls, rich soil, quiet rural life dwelling in tucked away village inroads. Life played out almost at a slower pace in the hills, uninterrupted, and I felt as though I was witnessing something magical. My heart felt strangely drawn to this place. I felt grateful to witness work and life here, like the women carrying baskets filled to the brim on their heads, as they walked in a straight, orchestrated lines before disappearing into the folds of the mountain walls. I told Justin that one day, I'd love to do development work in  a setting like this. Raw, natural, grassroots. It's a stark comparison from urban ministry, and both have their unique place. The people are beautiful and complex in their own way. 

We eventually came to a lovely place called the Lodge, a Swiss-like hotel with unobstructed views of the forested wilderness. It is incongruous that a place like this could, and did, exist. We feasted on french onion soup and tomato and mozzarella salad (a real treat here), and our hearts fully felt at peace to be in a place such as this, away from the hustle, bustle, pollution, blaring music and dusty air that we exist in every day. It truly felt like a gift from God, and we reveled in it. On the way back we found a lovely man named Jean Claude carving metal in a small weathered shack, under a hinged squeaky sign that swung overhead reading "Art by Jean Claude." We stopped and spent some time viewing his workshop and watching him work carefully, and quite methodically on his pieces. It was so organic, and pure, this way of life...living humbly off your trade, using your hands to make skillful pieces of art each day.

Below are some pictures of our weekend.  I am off to make 8 pounds of pasta to bring to an orphanage today with some others, which I have been told is one of the most horrific places around. The children are living in dire situations, and a group here is trying to change things for the better. It will be be my first time visiting and I am bracing myself. More on that soon. Thank you for your continued support and interest in our time here in Haiti. We feel fortunate and humbled that God has us here, for this brief moment in time.

 

The Lodge

 Tomato and mozzarella salad...mmmmm

View on drive up

Jean Claude working quietly

The piece Justin bought

Community center dedication

Bubble day

Justin playing bubbles with a sweet little girl

remarkably unremarkable

The internet has been down a bit because of some squirrely weather, which unfortunately has been bringing some serious 4-legged flying nonsense along with it. I think the mosquitoes have gotten word that I have it in for them, as they seem to form a sort of conspiracy, honing in and hovering irritatingly over my head each night at dinner outside. Justin brought some Off spray out and sprayed me down, and about 1 minute later a testy little mosquito came and squarely landed exactly where I had sprayed, solidifying my theory that: a) bug spray does not work on me, and b) mosquitoes don't seem to care that I have a serious conflict of interest with them.

I had some down time this weekend on our other base. I went over there to have a meeting about a Unicef grant, visit a hygiene training and to spend some time with a girlfriend. We went to an art exhibit showcasing children's art through an NGO that does art therapy here. Hand painted seashells, plastic bottle art and paper beads were strung carefully through the tents, alongside compelling photos of the little artists- most with emotional and physical disabilities. As the Haitian combi music blared behind me and laughter mixed with dancing drifted in the air,  I got a bit lost staring into the small faces and bashful grins. I realized that these children had most likely lived unremarkable lives... and now, because a disaster has turned their worlds completely upside down, they were an object of attention. It's interesting how that happens. Unnoticeable, then suddenly desirable. This organization is planning to close out of Haiti soon and I pray these children will continue to receive services, though I know it isn't likely. That is the nature of relief work sweeping in after a disaster, helping for a bit, then closing up shop. It's a hard dynamic to reconcile.  I want these little lives to still matter to someone there who can still do something to improve them.

I experienced a thoughtful conversation w/ some of my coworkers about why they are Haiti, and what motivates them to be here. My time of introspection this weekend had me thinking about this. About motivation and character.  I think I have lived my life desiring to be remarkable. Maybe that is why I get lost in books about people who do heroic and courageous things, who are sincere catalysts for goodness and change. Those who can enter into a place and tangibly change things for the better, and create a climate of unity and peace. I have always aspired to display this sort of relentless compassion and drive. It would be easy to come into a place such as this and think you have something notable to give, under the auspice of serving, when the real underlying agenda is for intrinsic fulfillment.  The very ironic thing about this is by being here in Haiti, among a sea of accomplished and multi-faceted people, I barely bob along the surface. I have felt less adequate here than in any other situation in my life. I have realized how unremarkable my life and my work is in the grand scheme of things. And in a strange way, I am okay with this. I suppose I am not articulating this very well, as it may sound like I am entering into a prose of self-deprecation. But it's far from that. It's being humbled that anything I have to offer is hardly notable in light of the movement and beauty of the spirit of God at work in the lives of these people here. It's so much bigger than me, and I'm increasingly aware that it's not dependent on me. For me to decrease, so He can increase.

I saw this at work in a community I visited for a hygiene training...it was an endearing place. The excitement of the people was evident when our team showed up. "They're here!" they cried in Creole, as heads popped out of shelter doorways and smiles unraveled. The hygiene promoters had been working for months here, building relationships and trying to engage the residents' minds to think about hand washing, sanitation and preventing the spread of disease. I felt the depth of this place even more when I learned that several deaf residents lived here, mostly young girls. The community had been exceptionally welcoming to them, when often camp communities can be a harsh and barren place void of love. "She's mute," the mom said to me with a smile as I knelt down to look into the face of the little hands that were wrapped tightly around my legs. "But she has a lot of joy." Sara's quieted giggling, playful eyes and free spirit captivated me as I watched her run through the hanging sheets and clothing that were hung strategically from clotheslines between the shelter walls. The wind blew through that open space and drifted near her as she looked back at me, turning to pause coyly for a picture. She may have lived her life in the shadows of her silent prison, but today, she was the star of the show. 

I thought about me chasing her there under the fresh laundry, capturing a whimsical moment in her life.  And I smiled, realizing she is the one with the truly remarkable life.  

Sweet Sara

Another deaf woman..her smile drew me in

 Sara's mom and baby brother...a special family

 Life and laundry

 during a hygiene training