Life in these United States: Lessons from Haiti

I arrived at work this past Thursday morning and realized it had been three months since my journey home from Haiti. It has been a dream, an agonizing walk through reverse culture-shock, (yes, it really does exist), a surreal passing of time, a series of transitions, a lesson in changed stateside relationships, a re-learning of friendship, a fascinating study of what is important, a processing of a unique and singular experience beyond any I could have imagined for myself. The nineteen months I spent in Haiti were absolutely precious and blessed and traumatic and challenging and joyful and heartbreaking. I think of the children every day and have wished countless times to have Erline or Stanley on my lap as I sit and read, or as I walk into church. I have relocated to Minnesota, and I have started work in pediatric Palliative Care with an extraordinary team of health care professionals. I have bought a car, moved to a beautiful area, begun to explore not one, but two exciting cities, met new and old friends, rediscovered my love of gardening, had to adjust to closed-toed shoes again, and have tried to navigate post-Haiti life with a heart that continues to deepen.

The children from St. Anne gathering at my goodbye party

 My intensity has been challenging for those I love – to arrive full-force having left an environment where chaos, extremes and moment-to-moment change are the norm, and the weight of a day can be heavy. Contrast that to the order and relative calm of a functional and structured society, where instant gratification is pretty much guaranteed if we wish it.  A massive adjustment, and I have not borne it very gracefully. Words have been misunderstood, passions have been ignited and intentions have been misinterpreted. Such is the life of a heart and mind moving back into this culture with the memory of so many moments, stories, lives, feelings, emotions.  The ceremony of the mass, the variety at the supermarket, the language of texting, the organized and ordered roads, the crazy number of coffee shops, the beauty of spring, however late it arrives, the words of friends taken to heart, the existence of such disparity even within my geographic area. So much to comprehend, so much to process. On that Thursday morning, I looked down at my dressy top and pants, my cute flats and the Caribou coffee in my hand as I walked from my late-model, air-conditioned car, hair down and styled and make-up on my face. I had to pause for a few moments just trying to take it in.

Saying goodbye to Christo, my beautiful buddy in Cancer.

The words have been spinning in my head for weeks – and there are more to come. For now, here are just a few of the lessons I have learned from Haiti, ones that I wish to share and implement in my everyday life now. 

+      Life is precious. Every life. The countless small encounters we have each day can have meaning. Eye contact, a smile, a genuine hello, a thank you.  Each little gesture can have a radical effect on the other person.  For every request I was able to assist with, there were hundreds I could not, the many individuals who would approach me on the street and for whom I could provide no material assistance. But lives are changed with the knowledge that someone is validating our story, listening to an experience, or even for a short moment engaging with us. We can love. We can be kind. We can honor the life of another person. There is no financial cost, no monthly donation required. 

+    The worst poverty is that of the unloved. Poverty exists in every culture, even in the wealthiest circles. It may not be material – it may be spiritual or emotional. We all suffer from some form of it – be it insecurity, striving to prove our worth, doubt, fear, comparison, anger. But the worst type of poverty imaginable is the poverty of the heart, the lack of any acknowledgement that one is valued and cared for and important simply because one is alive. How amazing would it be if every person knew their life meant something to another? If we would take the time to dignify others? 

+      Treasure and honor the moments you have with each other. Be present as fully as possible. We simply do not know how many moments we have left! Put down the iPhone, resist the urge to check your email, and just sit and BE with each other. The world can wait while we take time to nurture our human relationships with direct, person-to-person contact. So many of my hours in Haiti were spent just sitting and laughing with the nurses and the kids, sharing stories and learning their language. Not just Creole, but the language of their hearts and minds.

the best of three takes with the kids at St. Anne!!

+      Life is too short to leave issues unresolved and to remain in conflict with others. Work to make peace and to resolve disagreements. We do not know if tomorrow will come for any of us. The worst is the unresolved and uncertain situation, where we wish we had apologized or reached out. I also believe that we often tell ourselves it is too late, when all it would take is that one more phone call or letter asking forgiveness. 

+      If you love someone, for goodness’ sake, tell them so! Again and again. Too often we hesitate to share how we truly feel about those close to us. We are so quick to criticize, and not nearly as ready to compliment and encourage. And yet what do we all crave? That knowledge that we are valued and worth something to someone, just because we ARE. Not because of what we are. Just because we are. 

+      Great suffering can occur when people feel they are misunderstood, and when they feel judged by others. Listen – to both what is being said AND to what is NOT being said. If you do not understand, are confused or are even offended, ask questions to clarify and reserve judgment. 

+      Forgiveness is freeing – both for you and for the person needing your forgiveness. It is also letting go of the hope that the past could be any different than it was. (Thank you, T.D. Jakes – I have never forgotten this). 

Erline and me - I am wearing hearts that were created by the kids and presented to me as they said their goodbyes.

+      Trust is not easily earned, but is very easily broken.  When you state something as truth, be sure you mean it. Countless promises have been broken in the lives of the Haitians, by well-meaning volunteers and NGO’s, by foreigners who want to gratify and offer hope. But false hope is just that - false. The same goes for our relationships and friendships. If you state something as fact, be sure you mean it and will cherish it. And if you cannot, be sure to apologize genuinely and without excuses. 

+      If the job needs to be done, do it. Let no duty be “beneath you.” Whatever it takes to contribute to the betterment of your work or home life, be willing to make that effort and honor those around you by doing so.

+   Children are the hope of the world. This one is a carry-over from my time in Nicaragua – but if you are ever depressed, discouraged, weighed down by life, go look into the eyes of a child, sit and play with him or her. The energy and determination they possess and the joy in their smiles as they discover and share the excitements of their days will bring life and laughter. 

+   Never underestimate the impact you are having. This is not meant to pressure us, but to keep us aware that we are being watched, our actions being measured as we profess a faith or a philosophy. Live out loud, in words and speech, in actions and in truth. 

+   Laughter is healing. Laughter is hopeful. Laughter is intimacy. I knew I had reached a level of trust with the nurses in the clinic when we could laugh with each other. I was willing to make mistakes and sound ridiculous as I learned Creole and learned about Haitian life. Humor was a way to reach the one nurse who intimidated me the most. I am the best kind of target for teasing – I immediately fall for it and react strongly. So the laughter abounded throughout every day and put us at ease with each other. It also reminded me not to take myself so seriously.

Oh, Haiti, I miss you. I miss the genuine presence of each moment, the sun and the laughter and the sounds and the little hands and feet, the sweat and the tears and the chanting of my name and the full-body hugs of the little ones. The 7Up, the morning coffee, the baby cows mooing like they are full-grown, their mommas checking for cars before letting them cross to the pasture, the rice and the beans and the spice and the chicken, the refreshment of a cold shower at the end of a brutal day, the simplicity of life, the knowledge that one life could make others better. The determination of a people who refuse to give up, no matter what the cost, who fight for each moment and possess faith far beyond mine. Three nurses who showed me every day that if we have faith, hope and love, we have the tools to succeed. The bravery of young children who run after life with abandon, who dance and sing and love and rejoice and embrace each day with all they have. I pray that I can bring these and so many more tidbits into life here in the States, and that the depth of my heart will only serve to dignify, love and be present to those who are now before me. 

Countdown to Reverse-Culture Shock

Hello, dear friends. I cannot excuse my delinquency in blogging by saying I had the best of intentions, can I? Allow me to only explain that there are times when there is so much to say that it is hard to say anything at all. The previous sentence sums up the last two months of my life. 

While home over the Christmas break, I realized that financial constraints will not allow me to continue to volunteer in Haiti after the end of this month. The tremendous generosity of family and friends, multiplied by my attempts to use each dollar to the absolute maximum possible, has been the most amazing gift, and has extended my service here beyond the original year that I agreed to when I signed on the dotted line. The knowledge of your support beyond that, the prayers and thoughts and good wishes and encouraging comments, quotes and compliments have sustained me more than you can imagine. This entire experience has been a series of miraculous, heart-wrenching, challenging, priceless, providential, and precious moments and lessons. My heart has grown deeper than I knew a heart could, and the extraordinary citizens of this nation have taught me the importance of the present moment, the determination to rise again no matter how many times we may fall or be forced down by the weight of life, and that there is so much joy in the simplicity of living with merely the possessions of faith, hope and love. 

Celebrating at the inauguration of the Angels of Light Preschool and Kindergarten!

Kevin, the goof. Yes, that is a pair of (clean!) underwear on his head.

 The last several weeks have been spent sorting through and dividing up the massive number of projects that were very conveniently stored in my head … and I am realizing that I had a whole lot of ideas in progress in there! Now comes the challenging task of imparting the responsibility for these tasks to my Haitian counterparts and hoping that I have empowered them to believe they are adequate. I have no doubt that they are – but do they know and believe the same? We spent a wonderful day together on a field trip, away from the clinic, touring the home in Kenscoff and talking through the numerous goals, ideas and duties they have as nurses responsible for the health of so many little ones (and not-so-little ones!) It is a bittersweet departure for me – my heart calls me home, but at the same time, it wants to remain here. I hope I have worked myself out of a job, and I have been greatly impressed at the initiative shown by these three strong women in the last several months, as my time in the clinic has been less and less. I have been grateful for the chance to test their willingness to step up and assert themselves, a hard thing to do in this culture, and at the positive results they have demonstrated to me! It is exciting to hear that they have taken on a project that I have mentioned in passing, and that they come up with a system that will work for the needs they see. There is hope in Haiti!! 

There is nothing better than a belly-laugh!

 I am blown away by the courage of all the kids I have been privileged to meet and serve. The bravest of the brave cancer patients charm me with their smiles and absolute courage in the face of grave disease. One of my friends said to me, “Providing end of life care in a developing country is caring for the dying with your arms tied behind your back.” This perfectly described my feelings working in the Mango room. The motivation and the compassion and the understanding are there, on the part of the doctors and several of the nurses. The respect, resources, medications and consistency which they need in order to fulfill their duties, are not always present. But the care of the dying is a powerful and beautiful thing. There were, sadly, numerous goodbyes in recent weeks. Marken, Natalie, Jonathan, Judith. These little ones fought with all they had, little Natalie hanging on for many days after we all thought her body was finished. I was honored to stay with her on the evenings I was there, talking with her mother and answering questions, commending her faith and simply being with her in her loneliness and fear. The veil between the temporary and the eternal is so thin that the sacredness of the moment is palpable. I had a very hard time leaving that last Friday evening, only doing so because night was falling and it is not safe for us women to walk home alone after dark. The following Monday morning, her beautiful grieving mother waited outside the ward until my arrival to tell me that her daughter had gone to “God’s house,” as we were calling it together. She embraced me and thanked me for being honest with her and for staying after the doctors left. Such small gestures, so much impact. We cried together, and I knew at that moment that if that had been the only reason I was brought down here, that would be enough. And yet the reasons I was brought here are endless, and I have been continually amazed at the goodness and the grace and the strength and the faith of the people I have been blessed to befriend this last nineteen months. I am humbled countless times a day by their courage, their fortitude, their grit, their expectant hope, their acceptance, their surrender. 

Stanley, my daily dose of sunshine and a true servant of others. He loves to help!

The beach at Jacmel

Street in Jacmel

I cannot begin to list the people and things I will miss about this country. The list would take up pages beyond pages. But beyond all of the items I could even express, the faces of the children will be the hardest not to see each day. Their eyes and smiles hold unexplainable joy, and their whole beings dance with expectation and determination. I have laughed at their one-liners, cried at their pain, held their hands, experienced their whole-body hugs, just sat with them while they fought over who got to braid my hair this time around, listened to their stories, watched them run toward the future, witnessed their growth in confidence and strength, disciplined them with love, cherished their songs, been amazed at their creativity, and been stunned at their understanding and bravery. They have sustained me on many a difficult day, and even just a moment with any of them has brightened even the darkest moment. They define joy. They laugh in the face of challenge, and they stand in opposition to defeat. They will remain in my heart. Every single one of them.  

Remembering in Hope

Life changed radically for me three years ago today, as I watched in horror and witnessed the events unfolding here in Haiti. A country which I had never given a second thought, suddenly pierced my heart and I was compelled to come serve as part of a disaster relief team. Through providence, I was on the ground here a mere eleven days later. Little did I know that, as I worked alongside heroic new friends, the groundwork was being laid within me for a decision to come live with these extraordinary people, to learn from and to care for them. My heart has only grown since then. To know such deep conviction, to stand with those whose only possessions are faith, hope and love, to learn from their determination and testimony, to revel in the power of countless moments of grace, to be part of the story. Haiti does not reach the headlines very often anymore, with the exception of days like today, when the worldwide media outlets write the progress of the country since the earthquake in a negative light. What is not reported are the massive changes and improvements that HAVE occurred here, and how organizations partnering with Haitians are diligently working to repair the damage the country has endured and sustained over the last 200 years, long before the devastation of the earthquake was even present. I am honored to care for 200 of Haiti's littlest heroes: children who embrace life, love with their entire selves and are the embodiment of hope. Haiti marches on, Haiti will not die, and Haiti cannot die. 

Remembering at mass, 12th January 2013

The mural in our chapel, signifying the beginnings of the rescue

The aid and assistance of the Angels of Light and restoration programs

Walking into the future. Among the leaves on the left are some faces, representing those unknown to us, but known to God.

 I want to share with you a few of Fr. Rick Frechette’s words on this day of remembrance:

“It seems in general in life, as we get further away in time from a tragedy, even if the memory becomes a little more bearable with every passing year, the pain seems even sharper. Probably because we are increasingly freer of the shock more able to face the meaning of what happened.

Our deepest sympathy to the families of our volunteers, friends, employees and young graduates of our homes, whose lives changed on that day, as St Paul says, “in the twinkling of an eye”. Those who died are now sons and daughters of light and of glory, and we beg their prayers, and to share in their light.

Our deepest thanks to all who have helped us carry the burden of healing and rebuilding for these three years, who have helped us bind wounds and heal the brokenhearted, shelter the orphan and the homeless, and who have helped us strive for new years of favor. You have been instruments of abundant life, light and hope.”

--January 11th, 2013, Eve of the 3rd anniversary of the Tremblement de Terre

Fragments of the Cathedral, which fell in the earthquake.

The brave children from the Angels of Light program.

Gravesites of several religious sisters who died in the earthquake. They are buried outside the chapel at St. Damien.

 If living and working here has taught me anything, it is to be present to those important to me, to truly give them my attention, to validate them, love them, listen to them and dignify them. Cherish those whose lives have influenced yours, and do not rule out new opportunities or possibilities. Relish the moments you are given with the ones you love, and for goodness's sake, tell those in your life how you feel about them! We are all desperate to know we are loved and important, and in the age of crazy, instant technology and material overload, the basics of relationships are often forgotten. Yet they are the most important. May we remember also that our neighbors are not just the ones who are on our streets or in our cities, but are also those on other continents. When our brothers and sisters suffer, we all suffer. 

I love you, Haiti, and I am honored to care for your sons and daughters. Let us never forget the indignity you have suffered, but let us use the emotions we feel to drive us forward and break the cycle of trauma, violence and confusion.

The Broken Hearts Club

I recently joined the Twittersphere. I cannot give a verdict on it yet, as I am still learning the language. For quite a long time, I was disenchanted with it and thought of it as a series of “instant status updates,” rather ridiculous and unnecessary, to reference a term from yet another social media experiment. The more I search and “follow” people and see that people I do not even know are “following” me, the more I am amazed at how people are searching for affirmation, acknowledgement and connection, and how giddy they will get if a public figure replies to them. It is also fascinating that there can be this indirect-yet-direct communication between individuals who perhaps would have zero association otherwise. For me, being so far removed from US culture, it has been a fun new way to access and receive links, quotes, information and photos from organizations and people I admire. And, I admit, I found it rather awesome when a celebrity responded to a tweet I had sent! The most awesome part about it was that it had nothing to do with celebrity, but everything to do with current events and issues facing the global population. Specifically, it was that she shared an article on the Haitian death toll after Hurricane Sandy and was being criticized by a young American who felt that “we Americans should look after our own first, and worry about other countries later.”

I wrote a blog post last year about my near run-in with a Kardashian, and the definition of a beautiful person. In my short tenure with NPFS, I have met a few celebrities, and am impressed that the genuineness of their intent, or lack thereof, is quickly obvious. To those who are truly interested in understanding the people, culture and needs of Haiti, and in drawing attention to our global citizenship, these visits are not about a photo op, but about lives. The lives of little boys and girls who jump into their arms and want to know if said individual knows Creole. The children who ask again and again if I have a mommy and a daddy, and if I got to go to school, and how the airplane that is taking me on a trip is able to land without hitting all of the houses underneath it. The children who write in beautiful cursive and painstakingly copy pictures, not believing me when I assure them that coloring outside the lines is ok! The children who get to attend secondary school for free, in a country where over 80% of the population will not complete 6^th grade, because a group from the entertainment industry saw what Fr. Rick has been doing here and wanted to work with him. The children suffering from the horrendous disease of cancer but who can still smile after a blood draw or IV placement is finished, whose eyes light up in response to my greeting.

I mentioned in the previous post that the heaviness, much more than the lightness, which comes with this experience has been much more present to me. The light moments are still there, such as a shared laugh this morning with my brave little friend who yelled, “Bravo!” when I told him his picky was finished, then immediately stopped crying and demanded a well-deserved piece of candy. The humor and faux-defeated look in the teenager’s face when I caught her off-guard and sat her down for a forced hair-washing session.  (Two months without shampooing was long enough, and the silly girl bragged about it – she was asking for an intervention!) Sherlin’s portrait of me (see below). The fact that everyone in the cancer ward now calls me “Bibbitte,” thanks to the little boy who cannot pronounce “Brigitte.” The early mornings with the two boys who work tirelessly at our volunteer kitchen, as they tease me about my coffee intake and get me to laugh out loud, no matter how poorly I have slept. The smile that comes to my face as I watch the cows cross the road, and I notice that the mother cows stop, turn their heads to block their babies from crossing, check that traffic is clear, then proceed. Sitting with Steven, who is fighting a septic infection, as he places his hands in mine and tells me with a smile, “Your hands are so warm.” The joy of sharing long-awaited news with our kindergarten principal, that she is finally pregnant. Her disbelief and the energetic hug I receive when I repeat that, “Yes, it’s true! I will start calling you mama!” 

Brigitte, according to Sherlin, aged 8

Sitting with the bravest of the brave

There are times that the immensity of the poverty here and the weight of this experience literally take my breath away. The clouds of burning trash are becoming more frequent and acrid. The crises which come each day to interrupt even the most flexible plan are constant. Death is never far away, and comes from conditions which could be cured from a simple doctor’s visit in the States and a prescription.  

I held the hands of an 11-month-old girl who arrived to the oncology ward much too late, and on the last day of her life, we shared a few moments’ gaze as I kissed her fingers and massaged her flaccid arms. Several young children’s bodies have been found in the fields surrounding the hospital, likely left there by panicked mothers who feared the reprimand of others because they could not transport their sick children to us in time. The sadness is palpable, the desperation visible. Attempts to empower are met with frustration and confusion. The desire to dignify and teach is pushed aside by the demand for a quick fix and continued culture of dependence. The deficits and disparities are nauseating, the scale of emotions and amount of energy spent each day excruciating. The threat of famine now sits over this country, as 90% of the agriculture grown on the farms in the south and west was destroyed in Hurricane Sandy. What took years to create will take years to change and undo. Thousands of moments each day, I must pause and remember this as I yearn to demonstrate compassion, patience and understanding. 

There are still those who believe that Haiti should die, and who are unafraid to express their vehement hate under the supposed disguise of the internet. But we are commanded to love our neighbor as ourselves, and I believe that includes a global responsibility. Respect, in my eyes, is a right, not a privilege. We are all called and moved by different causes, and we have a responsibility to give generously toward those causes in the ways that we are able. Some of us are called to work locally, others internationally. I am moved every day by the numerous opportunities I have to choose love, and I pray that I meet that challenge. It is easy to look back at night, and to think through all of the tasks still left undone. But it is critical to our survival here to look beyond those, and to cherish the unexpected moments (and believe me, those are countless!) which provided us the chance to dignify, to listen, to embrace, to give, to laugh and to be present to those we encountered. 

An afternoon walk with a few of my oncology kiddos

Sweet Valson, thriving at the Kay Germaine school

Just a little chat with my girl Erline

 The pain of the distance between here and my home stateside is especially acute in seasons of loss and grief. I learned of the passing of a young hero who shares my name, Bridget the Brave.  Some dear friends have learned that their child will be born with a broken heart. Another friend is suffering greatly with serious illness. I strive to be practically available to those I love when they are in need, and to be so far away and unable to do so is excruciating. To let go of that ability and to trust that my love and friendship can survive without being personally present is not an easy concept for me. I love to give, in word and in deed, and the separation tears at my heart and mind. So, I walk to the places where I can be present, witnessing the bravery of young cancer patients and watching the little ones at our Angels of Light homes grow and thrive. I enter the gate, hear my name and hug the little one who rushes toward me with all of his might. I sit for several minutes holding Steven, warming his hands with mine. I listen to the nurses as they passionately share their observations about how the clinic still needs to improve. I bring extra bobby pins to the hospital for the afternoon so Nellie can braid my hair. I rejoice when Kevin smiles, a rare occurrence, and watch him grow in confidence as the days pass and his appetite returns after his course of chemotherapy.

This world is broken; our hearts are broken as well. We see evidence of this on a daily basis. Our heartbreak may be physical, emotional, or spiritual. Some of us try to avoid facing it; others tend to dwell on it incessantly. We are often quick to give an opinion as to why we suffer, to place blame and to divide, but we are not so willing to sacrifice or work for change. My challenge to myself during this season is to examine my heart, to be genuine, to exercise passion and discernment, and to be the love to those around me that I so crave to have. In loving others, in giving to others, in listening to others, in being willing to understand others when we are tempted to judge them, in encouraging honesty, we can begin to heal the brokenness.

Elie Weisel said, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.” May we choose to rebuke apathy, and in doing so, choose to feel, act and love generously and genuinely. In turn, we can induce change and find peace.