Wednesday: The First 24 Hours
Sitting under the shade of an almond tree I struggle to put words to all I
am seeing and hearing. It strikes me
that when I left Fredericton I was praying "God: your heart, your eyes,
your ears." I wanted this experience in Haiti to change me, to make me
more sensitive to who God is, the needs of this world and to move beyond the
emotive response of poverty and injustice to something tangible; bring home a
reality to inspire and motivate myself
and others to make a difference and think beyond ourselves. Willard Metzgar Director for Church Relations
with World Vision Canada says it well
" what we desire is for Haitian relationship and relief to become
an expression of the city of Fredericton.”
We arrived in Haiti, excited and expectant of what this trip would mean for
us, the Fredericton community and Haitians.
Unknowing, but praying for God's direction in our every step and plans
for the future. After hours on the plane
hashing over potential details for future marketing, we landed, guarded and as
prepared as we could be for what was ahead of us.
Willard met us at the airport gate.
We had been warned to keep a tight hold of our luggage as there would be
a crowd of Haitians gathered wanting to assist us with our luggage and that if
they were to get a hold of our luggage this would be an informal contract
between us involving payment. To avoid attempting
to figure this out I had a tight grasp on my luggage. One man was adamant to help me with my
luggage as he repeated the words “World Vision!” “World Vision!” I wondered if he was our driver and I was
being rude, but I figured I could apologize for rudeness later. Come to find out this man was not with World
Vision and I was right to hold tight to my luggage. We met Fritz, behind a gated parking
lot. Fritz was our World Vision driver
and he was going to drive us through town to our hotel.
I wanted to soak in the city and not appear to be suffering from culture
shock, naïve or staring, but I was shocked and overwhelmed at the thousands of
people lining the streets of Port-au-Prince.
Naively I asked Willard what they were waiting for, thinking it was the
bus, or a ride somewhere. "They are
unemployed. “ he said. Unemployment is
70% in Haiti. I knew the stat but I
didn't understand the reality of what that looked like. People sitting , lining the streets, without
anywhere to go, nothing to do.
Unemployment at home is largely unseen, those faces hide indoors in
front of tv’s.
Driving in Port-au-Prince is intense.
As Willard said "the rules of the road constitute of who is the
boldest; the one with the most courage
goes first." Bernie spent a good deal of time trying to find his seatbelt,
3 of the men squished in the front seat, 3 of us in the back. In moments we realized just how ridiculous looking
for a seatbelt is in Haiti. People hang
out of trucks and cars, bicyclists grab the backs of trucks to coast up a
hill. Women dodge in and out of traffic
with their children, horns replace signal lights.
I attempt to engage in the conversation in the vehicle but am overwhelmed
and unable to think clearly. Stuck at a
standstill in traffic a young boy presses his face up against the window of the
truck begging for money. Willard tells
us that when World Vision staff travels with him they give him direction as to
which children could use the money, as opposed to which ones would exploit
it. Looking past these imploring brown
eyes I see on the street an old woman, standing with a partial smile, a smile
laced in sadness, nodding her head at the World Vision truck and mumbling. I try to read her lips and make out "God
bless you, God bless you." I wonder what the World Vision truck represents
to her.
We climbed the hills, noticing fewer and fewer people lining the streets,
the area looking more up kept, stone walls lining the streets. I kick myself for not doing more study on the
history of Haiti. Arriving at the hotel
I am struck by it's rustic beauty.
Entire areas of the hotel open to the sky, marble stairs and flooring,
gorgeously crafted wooden furniture, beautiful artwork. I think of my sister April and what I
wouldn’t do to ship some of this beautiful wooden furniture home to her. We are given our keys to our rooms, the same
as any American hotel room key, automated. I head down to check mine out, it
seems the hotel has an Italian flare, well, as my extremely limited travel
savvy mind would imagine an Italian flare to look like. Clay walls, stonewashed perhaps, beautiful
heavy wooden doors, marble floor and staircases, gorgeous iron posted
headboards.
We met together for a late lunch and discussed more potential plans. I ordered a Creole Chicken sandwich and Diet
Coke, reviewing with the team about food safety. They explain to us that it is not necessarily
that the fresh food is bad but that the bacteria here would be different than
the bacteria at home and that difference could make our bodies react. Only bottled water, no dairy or fresh fruit
or vegetables. I avoided the coleslaw on
my plate, simply because I wanted to do everything in my power not to get sick
on this trip. I didn’t want any illness
holding me back from experiencing all that there was to experience.
Excitement was in the air, as we wondered what we would be exposed to, how
it would alter our world view and what we could come home with to offer up for
change. We discussed Mayor Woodside and
Brian Jones’ arrival and how we might best serve their experience and get their
thoughts before they left Haiti. We
certainly were in planning stage, although somewhat aware that the trip itself
would likely direct our thinking and planning in ways we couldn’t imagine at
this point. If we had had any idea of
what was to come.
Willard took us around the hotel to take pictures of the architecture, the
view, artwork etc. I attempted to catch
a picture of the homes, many mere shelters on the hillside, and was astounded
at how they had built right into the cliff and the thousands of families those
homes represented. I wished I had brought my long lens for my camera, the sun
was playing beautifully with the mountains in the distance and I knew that my
short lens wouldn’t capture it in the way I was seeing it. But then again that is always the struggle
with the camera, the attempt to capture the beauty meant only for the natural
eye. I had debated bringing the long
lens but packing restrictions made my decision for me and now I wished I’d
spent a few more hours shuffling the suitcase, trying to make it fit. I had grand ambitions of coming home with
some beautiful photography of the areas we would visit, the projects and the
beautiful people. There is something
strikingly beautiful about Haitians. I
can’t quite put my finger on it, but they have beautiful skin and bodies and dark,
imploring eyes.
A little frustrated that I wouldn’t be able to capture the photo quite like
how I would like, I decided to head back down to my room to email Chad that we
had all arrived safely in Haiti. I also
knew I needed to pump off some milk before we were to meet World Visions'
Paul-Émile at 6pm for orientation.
I entered my room still somewhat unsure of how comfortable I was with the accommodations. They were certainly clean and beautiful but didn’t
feel like my own limited Canadian/American travelling experience. I wanted to
adjust as quickly as possible to all things, I had no time for worrying or
being uncomfortable with such unimportant details as Canadian luxury,
especially putting into context that our accommodations were the best in the
city and tailored for travelers. I
checked the bed for any bugs, the closet kept making a creaking noise so I
checked to see if there were any gecko’s or animal friends I would have to
adjust to. I rooted around for my bug
spray to spray the screens in the window.
I wanted to take no unnecessary risks.
I was struggling to get online connection and in the process of rebooting
when I heard a horrible rumble and briefly thought someone had dropped something
substantial upstairs. It sounded like a
major piece of infrastructure had
fallen. Within seconds the earth began
to shake, lamps and mirrors broke and crashed to the floor. My chest tightened and fear welled up so
quickly within myself I began calling on God with every fiber in my being. Never before in my life had I called on God
so freely, so without hesitation or self awareness. Then it settled and I
thought it was over and for a moment thought it would be quite a story to share
once we got home. I remember thinking
that they probably wouldn’t keep us in this hotel for the night. But within seconds, and I have no idea how
many, the earth shook with more vigor than I'd ever imagined possible. A picture of my family flashed in front of my
mind and I thought astounded, surprised at God asked, “THIS is it?” Before I
had left I had been certain I was supposed to come, but had an
uneasiness. Now I was surprised to think this would be the end of the road for
me, this was how I was really going to die.
I couldn't differentiate between the trembling in the earth and the
trembling in my body as I attempted to run for the door frame and brace
myself. I caught myself wondering if the
ceiling fell in, 3 stories above me, if they would ever be able to dig me
out. There was no table to crawl under,
only a doorframe I was second guessing it’s stability. Cries rose up, deafening cries from
everywhere, including from deep within myself.
Guttural pleas to God for protection.
There was no doubt that this was an earthquake, even though I had never
felt one before. I wondered if I would
live through it to talk about it.
I managed to get my sneakers back on and pry open my door. The garden outside of it, that just moments before
I had been trying to photograph adequately, was full of people raising their
hands to God and praying with everything in their bodies "Mon Seigneur, Mon
seigneur!" It struck me just how
uninhibited they were. This image is
forever burned in my mind, a cloud of dust surrounding the blackest arms
reaching towards the heavens, pleading with God for their lives.
I attempted to move aside debris to climb the now cracked marble staircase,
calling out to team members, there was dust everywhere. My hands and legs were slow to respond to my
brains demands for movement. The dinning area, just one hour ago, so beautiful,
was entirely demolished and I wondered if this collapse was the initial rumble
I had heard. I called out to the team,
wondering where they would be in the hotel and then I saw Bernie, then Laura,
Willard came out of the dust and finally Mike.
We were all miraculously ok.
We began dusting the plaster from our bodies, shaking the cement from our
hair. Laura made a comment that she
could just imagine telling her family about this event and Bernie and I were
quick to say we were certainly not going to tell them until we got home and
were safe in their arms. There was no
need to give them undue stress. Now I
shake my head, we had no idea, even after seeing and experiencing the hotel
fall around us, just how bad things were.
Everyone gathered in the parking lot. Someone mentioned to me, because I
still had my camera on my shoulder that if I was looking for a picture, the
house beside the hotel was completely destroyed. I remember mentioning to him that I would
have to calm my trembling arms and legs before I could concern myself with
taking pictures. I still had no idea
what had happened. The wails from the
city below were deafening but they weren’t registering with me. The images of the hotel destruction, bits of
the gate fallen away leaving debris in the parking lot, a cloud of dust
enveloping the area, the mountains gone from our view, everyone coughing from
dust inhalation, it was all information my brain was taking in but not
processing.
Miraculously everyone from the hotel was ok. The hotel guests were all
frantic to get cell phone signal, making phone calls out to tell people they
were safe and Willard was attempting to do the same thing. Some guests were
driving off in a rush and I wondered where they were going. We managed to get one phone call out to World
Vision Canada to contact our family members and tell them we were ok. It was
starting to become apparent that this earthquake had been huge and if the news
got to our family members first it would be extremely frightening for them. Thankfully we got in touch with World Vision
Canada before all cell service was gone.
We relaxed a little to think that we likely got phone messages out to
them before they had heard the news and that this would cushion the blow for
them when the news reports began surfacing.
The earth continued to tremble with aftershocks, those of us from the hotel
continued to shake as well. With each
aftershock more would cry out, more buildings falling around them crushing
their loved ones. Intuitively we would
rush to the most open area in the parking lot, hoping the ground wouldn’t open
up and swallow us. The cries from
downtown were so horrible. I held my
head in my hands, rocking back and forth, the cries were so loud, so distraught. People were wailing in mourning for their
dead, calling out trying to find family members, crying in fear.
And we realized that dusk was upon us and soon it would be completely dark. With the dark comes an unspoken fear. One I can’t put into words. The hotel staff
quickly began bringing the hotel furniture that was still together out to the
open parking lot where it was safer and could be used to rest on. Quickly they began handing out juice and
water and making sandwiches.
I sat on the sidewalk curb outside of the hotel next to a young woman who
was by herself. She looked so young to me and alone. Annie. We began talking and forged and
immediate friendship, one of the first friendships born out of disaster. She told me of her family, her boyfriend back
in Washington. I told her of my
beautiful girls and my amazingly supportive husband. I walked with her to the garden that had
quickly become a makeshift washroom so she wouldn’t be alone in the dark. It seemed like the hotel staff was taking
charge and there was some organization in all of the chaos.
A man from the USA, an EMT, quickly began to lead the group, attempting to
make contact, taking a list of the hotel guests to match with the hotel
registration to ensure we all were indeed accounted for and unharmed. It became apparent that no help would come
tonight and he said as much. Only then
did it sink in just how desperate this
situation was. There would be no help
tonight, that meant there would quite possibly be no help tomorrow. This was a completely foreign conecpt to
me. Not that I had ever been in a
situation like this at home, but at home we could expect the sirens to start,
help to would be on it’s way shortly.
There would be no help tonight. How
long would we live on the streets? How
much food and water existed? I was going to sleep on the street tonight. The cries and wails from the downtown
suddenly seemed louder.
We all returned quickly to our hotel rooms to collect our things. My legs trembled with fear as I took in the
dinning room where we had eaten just 1 hour prior to the earthquake. Had we stayed just a little longer… the table
we had sat at was lost under the crumbled ceiling. I crawled over the debris lying on the stairs
back down to my room where the door remained lodged open. I wondered how I had managed to get out. Hands trembling, heart racing as it never had
before I quickly attempted to zip up my luggage, ensure I had my passport and
leave the room for the safety of the parking lot again. I cursed my shaking hands as they slowed me
and kept me in unstable building. New
strength lifted my 50lb suitcase over debris and up stairwells until I returned
to my post on the curb in the parking lot.
The t.v from Ineka’s room had flown
off the wall and hit her in the head, leaving a large bump behind. She was
dizzy and we pulled up some hotel furniture for her to sit on. I was concerned and ensured she had a drink,
a sandwich and anything else I could do to assist her. It became apparent to me now, if she had an
actual head injury there was nothing we could do for her but wait and we didn’t
know how long we would be waiting. I
gave away my juice, my sandwich, my granola bar, my seat to anyone who was hungry, or thirsty or
tired. I rationalized being the youngest
and the most capable of enduring hunger, exhaustion or aching bones. I still wasn’t thinking about the long term.
Within a short period of time the Haitians began coming up the hill. They had heard doctors were at the
hotel. They brought their broken and
wounded, desperate for help. I’m not
sure exactly when the atmosphere changed from one of the homeless but unharmed
to one of the anxious and injured.
I was keen to the sound of a baby crying in pain. The others around me seemed unable to hear it
but it was ripping at my heart and I could feel my milk coming in while I
listened to it. I asked, no one in
particular several times, “what about the baby? what about the baby?” No one had any answers, no one seemed to acknowledge
me. Finally the EMT started yelling
something about the baby. I couldn’t
hear him and kept asking “what is he saying? what is he saying?” The EMT wasn’t
getting response out of anyone, perhaps we were all still in shock and unable
to respond. I watched him take off at a
run to find the child. I got up and
followed him, unsure what I could do.
Rounding a corner a mother sat on hotel pool furniture with her baby son,
both of his legs obviously broken, a gapping head wound, his wails continued to
rip at my heart. People gathered around
with the hospital flashlights trying to illuminate the area enough for the EMT
to tend to the head wound. I asked if he
needed Band-Aids or antibiotic cream. What
a ridiculous question in such desperate need, but it was all I had to
offer. The baby’s cries rang in my head
making me frantic to do something.
Quickly I ran through the crowd trying to gather more light, maxi pads,
nursing pads, anything to help soak up the blood. A man ran into the hotel and came out with a
headboard and broke it into pieces to form splints for his little legs. Still the baby wailed. I was filled with anger at the mother as I
watched her sit, listless herself, until I realized that she too was in shock
and unable to comfort him. I longed to
coddle him, hush him, sing to him.
A little girl was on a poolside lounger beside him, listless, a massive
head wound, blood pouring out of her opposite ear. Even I knew this wasn’t good. Her father sat stroking
her leg and I sat beside him, wishing I knew how to help. This was his Zoë, his precious little girl
and he was distraught, trying to comfort his dying daughter. Within hours she was the first to lay covered
by a hotel bed sheet in the hotel entryway that began to serve as a morgue. I
ran to my suitcase to find the dinky cars my friend Cheri had sent along for
the children of the ADP we were to visit. As I tore open the package and gave
dinky cars to the wounded children I wondered if she had had any idea that they
would serve in this way, a distraction from childhood death. I realized I would never view a dinky car in
the same way.
And they continued to come, headlamps from the vehicles lit the area enough
for the doctors to wash and bandage them.
Hotel sheets became ripped bandages, headboards became splints to set
broken legs, towels soaked up blood, candles were lit to cauterize wounds, and the wails from the city
rose up.
I attempted to help in any way I could but quickly realized there was
little I was capable of doing, there was little anyone could do and there was rumor
that the hospital was demolished. I felt so utterly helpless. I went back to my luggage on the pavement and
sat with the others, at times nervously joking about phrases we'd used prior to
our trip "harder is better" ït's time to take a risk",
"bring it on God" etc. Worried
about our family members back at home and becoming more and more aware just how
sheltered we had been from the true devastation down the hill.
Exhausted I lay down, with many others, on the cement of the parking lot,
hoping for some sleep as the night wore on.
The cries from the city below would ebb and flow. I honestly wasn't sure
which was more eerie, the wailing or the silence. The dogs and roosters howled
and crowed, and an insistent buzzing
grated at our nerves, keeping us edgy. Then up from the silence rose an outcry
of prayers to God, the singing, praise and pleas to God filling the night air. I stared at the night sky and the stars, so
bright this night and thought of my family and friends at home. This was the same night sky, but I was worlds
away.
I did manage to catch a bit of sleep off and on. The night wore on forever. Between fitful slumber I would sit upright
and look to see Willard sitting on a hotel bench staring into the night. I will never forget this image. While the rest of us attempted to get some
rest, he watched, I’m unsure what for, but he watched everything.
With the daylight came a greater realization of what had happened the night
before. The front doorway to the hotel
had become a laying ground for the dead.
A small girls lifeless body lay there, at first I thought she was
sleeping..still my world view is so naive.
My arms ache for my own babies at home.
The hurt and wounded were still coming, swarming on the hotel lot. I walked about trying to help, but again it
became so apparent I was useless. Mike
had long ago disappeared to do his part and I was jealous to think he had found
some way to help out. Willard stood near
the EMT, torn hotel bed sheets draping over his shoulder, cutting large strips
of duct tape to cover wounds.
The parking lot was getting crowded and we carried our things to an inlay
with a bench to get them out of the way.
I sat on a bench to pump milk, the irony that nourishing milk continued
to flow from my body while the people around us had nothing to feed their
injured children . I hated to stop to do this every day event but I was aware
enough to realize if I didn’t I too could end up sick from mastitis and even
more of a burden.
Laura had a bag of candy canes, again meant for the children of the ADP we
were to visit, with her and she went around to hand them out to the children, I
watched their parents suspicious faces.
The hotel staff handed out breadsticks to the children, something for
them to eat. I watched the children hold
on to their food, not eating it, just clutching it. Somehow they knew to conserve it, to wait
until they were very hungry before eating it.
Gorgeous young brown eyes stared back at me and I tried to give a
reassuring smile, but none came. I
longed for the orientation we had been scheduled to have that night. I wished for someone to come along and tell
me what was appropriate, guide me to help.
I longed to do something but there was so little to do. The little that was being done felt like a
placebo, giving false hope to the injured.
I overheard the EMT on the phone making arrangements to drive out over
the hills to the boarder. He said that
there was nothing to do, there was no structure in place to adequately help,
there was no point in staying.
And then the tugging began. The crowds thought because we were white we
must be a doctors but I knew I could do nothing. The desperation on their faces was
frightening. As the dust had settled
over night I looked up into the hills only to see that the thousands of homes
built into the mountainside were demolished, like a landslide, leaving nothing
but rubble behind.
By this point I had made good acquaintance with Ineka from Holland. She is here bringing parents to an orphanage
for adoption. She and I found the
kitchen staff and began making peanut butter,
cream cheese and marmalade sandwiches.
This was all I could do to help. Guiltily
I realized I too needed to eat something, and scarffed down a rolled over
peanut butter sandwich. The cries, wailing and mourning were deafening and yet
at times I found myself becoming accustomed to them until one would shock me into
awareness again.
The hotel closed the gates to provide a safe place for its’ guests as the crowds
outside were getting more and more out of control. The told us that they couldn’t tell us what
to do but highly recommended we come
inside the hotel gates with our suitcases.
So here I sit, with a stone wall between me and the disaster. Safe and feeling elitist while so many lay
dying just on the other side of the wall, and I can do nothing. We wait.
We wait for the Canadian Embassy or World Vision staff to find a way to
reach us, give us instruction and fly us
home to our families, our homes, our security.
But the Haitians wait for nothing.
There is no hope, there is no Haitian government relief plan. There is no warm bed, no shelter.
Reporters come in for a drink and tell us the earthquake was a 7.4, the epicenter
Port-au-Prince. Death toll they estimate is in the 100,000's. The other
hotel World Vision had attempted to get us accommodation in is demolished, the
hospital gone, the families here with Ineka to adopt, are dead. These are all rumors, horrible rumors, but
the cries, those deafening cries confirm them.
I sit, under the shade of an almond tree listening to the cries of the
wounded and dying, watching the helicopters swarm above us, heart broken.
Another day comes to an end. The
hotel staff has gone out of their way to recreate some semblance of what was,
some sense of normalcy. Early in the day
they were sweeping floors, mopping floors, clearing away debris. The dinningroom now covered in the debris
from the collapsed ceiling is lined with dining room tables with tiny plants on
them alongside the pool. It is surreal
but we realize that like the helicopters flying overhead constantly, these
things bring a sense to the people, as well as ourselves, that things are going
to return to normal.
I have made another friend, Marilyn is here with her 1 year old daughter
Nasha. She is beautiful and full of
life. My arms ache for my own daughters
and in some ways it is selfish, but I cling to help her and play with her. We have all taken an interest in them,
collecting them into our little group under the almond tree. Marilyn is a nurse so they often come
requesting her assistance to help tend to wounds and set bones, we watch and play
with little Nasha, something I CAN do to help.
She has still been unable to contact any of her family members and the
worry is etched all over her face. I
can’t imagine being alone with my daughter in such a situation. This woman is strong. She has come on a vacation to visit her
sister while her husband is away on work in Paris. Certainly not a vacation. She had returned to her sisters last night
but Nasha had been bitten alive by mosquitoes and malaria is a concern. She returned to the hotel as it seemed the
safer of the two options. Her faith
exudes from her being and I realize the bond that knowing Jesus gives us all.
I have gone to the hotel gates 4 times today alone, determined to go out
and do something, maybe photograph something. If I can’t help medically, maybe
I can chronicle things with photo’s to bring home a witness of what is going on
to incite people to help. But I stop at
the doorway littered with bodies, stare at the makeshift tents, mere bed sheets
tied to trees everywhere. The crying has
stopped, people lay around, some bandaged, many bloodied and swollen. I look twice to see if that body is alive or
dead. And I stop, my heart is in my
throat. I can’t go out there and shove a
camera lens in the face of a mother holding her dying baby girl. I can’t do it, I won’t do it. How do people do it? The struggle within me is strong. Some medical supplies are here. Some order is present. Annie is in the hotel entryway washing away
blood. Such a small little lady but so
determined. The EMT has fallen over some
rubble and broken his ankle. He lays on a
hotel poolside lounger making plans for something. He certainly appears to have an action plan.
So we wait. Willard makes us laugh,
“we are not doing nothing!” he tells us, a smile on his face, “we are waiting! Waiting
with purpose, for instruction, direction, a plan!” he makes a joke that touches
on how helpless we are all feeling. I
can see the weight of responsibility for us resting on his shoulders as he
attempts to get any connection with World Vision headquarters. He is most certainly our leader, keeping
spirits high, making us laugh. We joke,
he is our fearless leader, duct tape held high.
This humor, only funny in a situation like this.
We have had good news, we have had contact with World Vision headquarters
and they will be flying the President, Dave Toycen, in tomorrow. World Vision classifies disasters with a 3
being the worst and this is a class 3 disaster.
They will be sending much money, resources and relief workers as well as
doing everything in their ability to get us out. We were all relieved to be able to send
messages home today to reassure our families that we are still safe. We wonder at the amount of information that
is pouring in to them via the media, these hours must certainly be difficult
for them.
I worry about my Mom. I know Chad
will take control and do everything he needs to maintain stability and order
for my girls, for himself. He is
amazingly strong. I know that he is supportive even now, even if he’s
scared. We have talked about things like
this, but both of us feel the call to
follow God’s direction in who he has made us to be far outweighs everything
else. We know that God will protect my
girls whether I return home or not. But
my Mom, I know what it’s like now to have a mothers heart, I can imagine hers
breaking as mine would if my daughter was in a similar situation, and I worry
about her. Even still at 30 years old, I
long for my Mom and Dad to be proud of me and stand behind me. I hope this doesn’t hurt them so much that
they turn to anger. I worry about my
Mom.
It feels good to share with our
family some sense of what our next steps will be, although we don’t know much,
some connection means so much. Hopefully
tomorrow they will get us to World Vision headquarters and maybe we will be
able to assist, with relief efforts. That would be wonderful. To have direction and guidance in how we
could actually help. It is hard to say how many days it will be before we get
home.
Tremors continue to shake the ground, some of them are still quite
significant. I wonder how long it will
be before I feel secure on the ground again.
The earth has a strange floating feeling, unsecure, almost like we are
on a boat. I didn’t realize that the
earth would feel this way after an earthquake.
It is unnerving.
I wish I had a clear sense of what I could do, I wish I had been able to
contact Chad directly. I had just
managed to load the page for my gmail account when the manager of the hotel came
along and wanted to try the wireless again.
He had someone there helping him set it up, so reluctantly I let him
take out my cable. Then the wireless
wouldn’t work and the reporters swarmed the cable and ranted on about needing
to do their WORK, like their work was more important than our correspondence
with our family members. It seems we have spent the entire day trying to get in
touch with family or headquarters. Willard
makes us laugh as he holds his laptop high trying to get a signal. This day has
lasted forever. Now I will attempt to go
to sleep. The wails have calmed down, a
tv has reached signal so CNN is broadcasting loudly from what used to be the
dinningroom, water got into the hotel fire alarm so there is this incredibly persistent
beeping…
Thursday
Another day. We struggle to keep
track of what day of the week it is, it seems like we have been here
forever. People are leaving, the embassy
has collected Annie, the Dutch have relocated Ineka to the orphanage she was
working with. She has the daunting task
of identifying the bodies of the couples she had brought with her to adopt
children. As they were driving under the
awning of the hotel, the earthquake happened and it crumbled in on top of them
killing them. She has no idea how long
she will have to remain in Haiti as she is here with work. I have a sick feeling as they leave. I am keenly aware that the decision to stay
or the decision to go both has consequences and it is quite possible we could
look back on either as good or bad. we have experienced so much together,
caring for each other, talking and laughing together and now we are wishing
them well, with all sincerity and hoping we can contact each other when we
return home.
Last night was not uneventful. We
were on a bit of a high for awhile having made contact with home and finding
out that the President of World Vision was on his way to see what he could do
to help us. We talked animatedly about
our trip, our experiences and our hope.
Hope, it seems so obvious to me that God was directing me when we named
Eliya. How appropriate, people need the
hope of God and I am certainly witnessing that all around me.
Around midnight I believe, we settled in for the night sleeping out in the
open on pool cots beside the pool. I
suppose I’d always dreamed of such an experience but certainly never imagined
it like this. The area reminds me of a
war zone, debris and rubble everywhere amid the luxury, bright luscious foliage
and warm shinning sun.
At 2am we had another significant tremor.
Bernie and I slept through it, that exhausted I guess. Up until this
point every tremor brought on an immediate visceral response to get to the
safest place, farthest from any structures, our brains keenly aware and
monitoring, but now exhaustion has kicked in and even our brains need a rest
from the constant monitoring. This is
eerie to realize. Our bodies are no
longer as strong, rest is it’s primary concern.
Again at 4am there is another significant aftershock, this time jostling me
enough to bring on alertness although I am unsure as to why I am awake. I think it is the cries and wails that have
taken off again on the streets. A hotel
clerk sees me and comes over to ensure I am ok.
I ask him what they are crying and he tells me they are saying “God
forgive me, God forgive me” and “God I forgive you, I forgive you God.” This sparks a long discussion about God and
whether he allows things to happen or orchestrates them or if God even
exists.
The hotel clerk is convinced there is one spirit with many different names
be it Voodoo, Allah or God but that this mystical power is Mother Nature and
she is upset with how we treat her consequently, bringing on disaster. Another hotel guest believes that God is
punishing the Haitians for their wrong living just like he punished the Israelites
in the Bible. Everything within me rises
up against this but I am unable to adequately put my thoughts into words. I try
to present my own opinion that bad things happen in the world but God remains
our constant and even with my examples of the “good people” who have died in
disaster and the “bad people” who have lived, my words seem empty and
unfounded. They aren’t convinced. The hotel clerk tells me that the Haitians
deeply revere the dead, that they would take out a loan to take care of their
dead but wouldn’t consider doing that to give themselves a hand up for the
living. He is trying to explain to me,
or give me some cultural context from which to understand what is happening
outside the hotel gates.
In the early morning hours Willard has managed to get an internet
connection. He asks us for the pieces we
have been journaling and quickly sends it off to World Vision, perhaps they
will be able to use it in some way, to bring awareness to the situation. It occurs to me that my family and friends
will likely find comfort in hearing “my voice”.
Willard asks us if, as he has a connection, we would like to send an
email to our spouses. He has been
attempting to get a connection for hours.
I am giddy at the idea and sit at the computer to type a message to Chad
and can think of nothing to say, so much has happened. Too much to try and type, but I need him and
the girls to know how much I love him. I
write these simple words, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” These little
words are so small to convey such huge emotion.
“I long to cuddle up in your arms for hours. Is Mom ok?” This email seems cryptic and
disjointed, but it something and it is directly from me.
Internet connection, skype. The hotel has managed to get Wireless up and
running, although it is very temperamental, coming on and off again every few
moments. Today internet communication gets
a thumbs up in my world. I was
able to get in touch with Chad and the girls through skype and see them. This
too seems surreal, how amongst the chaos and disaster is internet and video
email available? Regardless, this certainly has been one of the highlights in
my life. Seeing my beautiful family raises the hope and spirits in me. Zoë says
to me “Mommy, what ARE we doing?” her innocence is beautiful and I am grateful
she is so young and carefree. From there
I was able to read some of the emails people had sent me sending love and
prayers. I am a blessed woman. And for some unknown reason, I am safe.
We also were able to find enough water to have a frigidly cool shower. It is amazing how water can make you see
things a little more clearly and optimistically as well. I will admit to making
it quick not wanting to be inside a building for any length of time. Cheri and Betty Anne skyped me for a few
minutes—wow to see and talk briefly with friends! Friendship means so much more to me than
before. Again I can’t put words to the
feeling. I try again and again for
another skype connection. I am loved. The sun is shining, the beautiful palm trees sway
in the back ground, the helicopters fly overhead and I wonder if my friends can
grasp anything that has happened in the last few days.
I can only imagine the devastation on the street as people search for their
loved ones. I can still hear their cries
as they call out for one another.
World Vision staff came by—that orange and white vest brought a huge grin
to my face, and an amazing serge of hope even though I have never seen these
people before! They know where we are! We have made connection! They anticipate they may attempt to drive us
over the boarder to the Dominican Republic tomorrow and we will be able to
catch a flight out from there. The
airport in Port-au-Prince is mostly impassible.
We expect to hear something by dark.
The hotel has taken on a transformation today. Where yesterday it became a makeshift
hospital with one EMT (emergency medical technician), today it has become a
landing ground for the media, reporters, radio etc. There is a constant hum of activity as
reporters run in with their pictures and video, the MAC books roaring to life
as the battle to get the story out first takes place. We are pushed farther and farther back into
our corner under the almond tree.
Friday: The Last 24 hours
So much has happened in the last 20 hours.
It is only now starting to come home to me. We have all been writing, trying to immortalize
this experience, knowing it is essential that we take it home to do something
with it. Bernie just handed me his latest
excerpt to read and it is beautifully written.
We are headed home, on a plane to New York, home to our families, to all
those who love us, home where we will be safe, loved and provided for, home
where the reality of the last 4 days will fade.
For 4 days we have done what was necessary, we have supported each other,
walked each other through rubble, helped each other make contact with our
families. We have talked animatedly
about how we will not forget, how we will help the Haitians. We have listened helpless and stunned to the
cries of people losing what is most dearest to their hearts, their loved one. We have watched fathers hold their daughters
while dying, mothers attempt to comfort their broken sons, we have seen men
whose fingers were completely worn away from digging out their loved ones from
the rumble. I have seen more head
wounds, swollen faces and clotted blood then I ever care to see again. We have
shared life with people we never expected to meet. We have felt the camaraderie of suffering
together, we have laughed, giddy at times like school children. But now I sit here in first class airfare unable
to compose myself, unable to stop the tears from running down my cheeks, unable
to stop the images and sounds of the last 4 days from playing themselves over
and over again.
Thursday night at 5:45, Isabelle Depelteau director from Quebec Headquarters
arrived with the World Vision driver to take us to safety. The expediency with which she moved brought a
new reality to us. She had been on the
field all day, visiting the hospitals and hotels, seeing the people, in her own
words “unable to look them in the eyes for their hurt” and now she was here to
evacuate us. It all happened so quickly,
from our days of waiting for any word to immediate action. Any time World Vision
staff had stopped by the intensity with which they came and immediate hugs we
all received has deepened our understanding of what goes on outside of our
protective bubble.
We grabbed our bags, already packed, as we were sleeping on the pool patio and
ran to the washroom understanding it might be the last stop before the end of a
7 hour evacuation to the capital of the Dominican Republic, Santo Domingo. In the washroom, alone, I attempt to vocalize
my plea for God’s protection and I am aware that I am not speaking
English. A language only God understands;
I know he hears my heart.
We went through the gates of the hotel, again affronted with bodies
everywhere, hurt, bandaged, bleeding, a few dead lined the walls. Beautiful babies, adorable toddlers with bed
sheets wrapped around their heads, furniture strapped to their broken limbs,
blood clots all over their bodies.
Quickly the World Vision staff ushered us to a truck which was to take
us to a convoy 5 minutes away, outside of the hotel parking lot. I can not explain the tight feeling inside of
my chest, looking one little girl, probably 4 years old in the eyes as I leave to go to safety. She was beautiful. How dare I get safety, food and shelter when
this precious little one is left behind.
Would she make it? I push the
thoughts from my mind as we squeeze into the truck.
Driving down the street the magnitude of all that had happened became more
apparent the farther we made our way down the hill. We were told to lock our doors as the driver maneuvered
his way through the multitudes of people and piles of rubble blockading the
road. A young mother stood on the street
nursing her baby, no where to go. Young
children walked alone and I couldn’t help wondering where their parents were,
where they were going, and I wanted to take them all home with me. I am rich,
so rich in comparison, there is no comparison.
We arrived at the place where our convoy was to be meeting us and they
weren’t there. Isabelle discussed with
the driver what was happening and I was happy to hear French, a language I
understand. I was unable to get a sense of Créole, although I am told it is
much like French. Quickly Isabelle made
a strategic decision to take us to the Mission House she was to be staying at
that night. We are told that there, there is electricity and internet connection
as well as beds for us to sleep in. 7 of
us piled into this truck would be too difficult to get to the boarder. We would stay the night at the mission house
and head for the boarder in the morning.
Our driver struggled to find the mission house and when we did arrive at
the right place, communication was spotty trying to establish where exactly the
house was we were to stay in inside of the compound. It was frustrating to have no understanding
of the language, I breathed a sigh of relief when the driver would translate to
Isabelle from Créole to French. It was
now dark and the boarder would be closed.
After much difficulty Isabelle and the driver established that the Pastor
and his crew had fled the mission house themselves and it was an unsafe place
to stay. We would try for the boarder,
praying for God to open the gates.
Driving through the city was a crazy experience. I recognized that we were
in danger but that it was unavoidable. It was blatantly apparent that without
the covering of World Vision, on our own we would be in much danger. Our driver was excellent and we were in the
best hands possible, however communication still remained shotty at best. Isabelle led us, making the best decisions possible
with the limited information she had and considering the situation we were
in. I took great comfort in her
leadership.
As we drove through the streets the rubble was everywhere. People had set up makeshift tents in the
debris of fallen buildings. It looked to
me like refugee camps. There is a fear
and unsettling that comes with the nightfall and I could imagine just how frightening
it would be out there, exposed in the city in such a situation. As we managed to work our way out of the city
we all had a sense of relief to be leaving it, although we were certainly
living the unknown, just taking a step believing for God’s protection. I catch
myself wondering who we think we are to ask for God’s protection in such a
situation.
People were scrambling to get out of the city, packed into trucks; as many
as possible dangling from dirtbikes. It
appeared to us they were all making it for the boarder. We could travel much
quicker as our vehicle was in much better shape and people weren’t hanging on
from every crevice and we sped by lines of vehicles. Soon we passed a gas bar and realized that
the people weren’t headed for the boarder but were coming for free gas and they
were filling everything they owned with it attempting to carry it away.
A naked man walks down the street covered in dust, his arms and legs so
thin I wonder why they don’t snap in two just carrying his weight. My own legs
are cramped and sore, a knot in my hip gripping me, my stomach is rumbling with
hunger and it makes me feel guilty like I must endure it without complaint or
even acknowledgment, considering it is so minute a discomfort compared to what
these people are suffering.
The road is rocky at best, we are travelling the coast and at times it is
so remote I can’t help but wonder how people live out here, yet the devastation
of the quake is seen less and less the closer we get to the boarder. This seems like something out of a movie,
surreal, something I’m not experiencing, but watching; escaping to the boarder,
travelling through remote, dessert like terrain, hoping to get to safety. And I have this luxury.
Soon we are all praying God would pave the way allowing us to cross the Boarder. Miraculously it is the case. . I believe prayer will never be the same for
me again. Now I myself have cried out to God with the fear and need of the
miraculous, I have heard the heart wrenching wails to God for help and
forgiveness. I choose to be changed by
this. My previous lists and requests to
God seem pathetic and selfish. As we drive through the Boarder I wonder what it
would look like in daylight. Everything
is eerie gray and a man, the thinnest man I have ever seen sits naked in a what
looks to be a mound of clay, making what looks to be mud pies. I find out later that mothers often make mud
pies for their children to fill their bellies to stop the ache and pain of
starvation.
Soon our wonderful driver finds the World Vision Headquarters in Jimani,
the Boarder village, and friendly faces meet us. I vow to get basic medical training and learn
Spanish when I am home. I desperately want to communicate verbally with them. I
wish Betty Anne was with me, she could communicate with me, she could teach me
how to tell them how it makes me feel strong to see the family of God. And I could use to hear her giggle, as only
she can giggle. Isabelle grills them about what happened to our convoy and the
pressures on everyone from all areas becomes apparent.
Quickly we are invited to supper. I
watch how much I take on my plate very aware that there are many mouths to
feed. Will I ever eat with the same
Canadian extravagance and obliviousness to the real world, I hope not. I try
casava for the first time, what a dense, mildly flavored root! There are some
sort of starchy whipped potatoes and some sort of meat. I don’t care what it is but am thankful it
fills my aching stomach.
The team has collected here as there is nowhere in Port-au-Prince that is
safe at the time. It is apparent our
journey is taking it’s toll on us, giddy relief seems to have taken over and we
are all laughing hysterically over something so little. Tears of laughter and lack of control mark
our faces. The staff is so worried we
won’t have a proper place to sleep. This
seems hysterical to us because we have been sleeping on the ground in front of
or inside the hotel for 3 nights. I make
a passing remark about being pretty easy going but I do like my cobblestone
smooth and we all burst into hysterics, we are tired.
The staff gathers for a meeting, prayers in English and Spanish rise to
heaven together and I think it is beautiful and as it is supposed to be. This must touch the heart of God. I stop for a moment to take in the scene
infront of me, another image burned into my mind. Easily
15 people, all in World Vision orange and white sit at a table under a
straw hut, making plans to take action.
This is a table of hero’s. I am
honored to sit here with them.
Quickly they tell us their plan, a modest hotel down the street has
rearranged some people and found us a bed until morning and a private bus would
arrive to pick us up between 5:00 and 5:30am in the morning to take us to Santo
Domingo where flights have been arranged for us back home. The look accompanying the “modest accommodations”
comment has me concerned as I realize it is meant to prepare us. But I can’t imagine it can be any worse than
sleeping outside on the ground and I’ve become quite accustomed to that.
We walk down the street and arrive at the tiny pink motel. We carry our bags upstairs where a small door
is opened for us, there are two beds in it, a foot of space between them and
they are snug against the wall. I think
this should be fine until Isabelle asks me if I am afraid of bugs and tells me
to watch out as she scoots a large cockroach off of the pillow. Laura and I are squeamish but realize there
are no other options. We stand talking to each other for quite a while, Laura
up against the wall, me in between the two beds.
Gradually we realize that although there is only 5 hours until our ride in
the morning, it is unlikely we can stand the entire 5 hours in such small
accommodations as exhausted as we are. I
kick the bed several times in an attempt to ease my mind that if I were to sit
on it, I would be alone. We make our way
onto the beds. We see Mr. Cockroach
three more times in the night (at least we like to believe there was only one),
each time Laura jumps and I holler out at her jumping. I write emails home just incase we get some
sort of internet connection in the next day or so, they will be ready to send.
One eye watches for the cockroach, the other the computer screen as I
write. I long to google the world
Cockroach and education myself a little on our roommates. We decide there is no way we are going to
sleep or turn off the light but eventually exhaustion takes over and I fall
asleep, head on my computer bag, fully clothed on top of the bed sheet, Laura
falls asleep writing midsentence.
At 4:15 Mike knocks on the door with a wake up call incase we want to get
cleaned up before our ride arrives at 5am.
I have no desire to remove any of my clothing while in this room and I am
quite happy to just leave immediately. I
laugh to think that just a week ago I would have refused to go anywhere without
being showered, in clean clothes, hairdone and makeup.
Laura and I collect our belongings and head out for our ride. I am cold from the intense air conditioning
all night. The hotel manager wanted us
comfortable, turned on the air condition and fan and left the room with the
controller. We froze all night. We had to crawl over sleeping bodies covered
by a bed sheet in the hallway and I panic at first sight thinking they are more
dead bodies. Realizing they are just sleeping I recognize that they obviously have
gone out of their way to make arrangements for us, even if they were
arrangements very uncomfortable to my Canadian experience.
We stand outside of the hotel in the dark, a street dog at our feet, happy
to be out of the hotel and on our way. We wonder how it was exactly that Mike
managed to give us a wake up visit when we couldn’t get out of the upstairs
without waking someone to unlock the gate.
Soon he tells us his story of trying to get upstairs, walking outside
the room, putting his arms in the slots in the bathroom window and whispering
my name. I am thankful I didn’t hear
him, he would have scared me silly!
5:15 our taxi arrives. He seems a
little unaware of the details involved in our trip to the capital but who isn’t
at this point, everyone is clamoring to put things in place to get us home
. He calls for another cab, we will take
a convoy. Willard, Laura and I climb in
one vehicle, Mike and Bernie in another and I find myself feeling anxious about
the separation. We take off for the
capital.
It is still very dark as we travel the rocky roads to the capital. There are police barricades every few miles
an d they make me nervous, but they seem cordial enough and allow us through. There
is something very intimidating about two heavily armed men barricading the
roads in the middle of the night in a foreign country.
After we’ve travelled a good while I turn around again and realize that I
can’t see the other vehicle with Bernie and Mike in it. The driver realizes the same thing at about
the same time and we begin backing up along the road. I don’t recall seeing them after the last
police barricade and I begin to worry they were held up, maybe searched. Everything feels unsure and unsafe. Finally we come across the boys. They have blown a tire but the driver has
quickly changed it and we are ready to go again. I sigh with relief. The night seems so dark, I suppose that is
how it is when you are in a place you don’t know, so far from home.
I relax enough to doze in and out of sleep.
Laura is doing the same, I wonder if Willard has been able to relax
enough to sleep yet. My neck aches from
the position but my body is desperate for some rest.
It seems like a dream when we stop at a roadside coffee stand. It is still so dark but in the middle of
nowhere there is a woman with a stand, makeshift benches from trees in a square
with the thinnest men sitting around her, drinking coffee. We are offered some in tiny, transparent dixie
cups and taste the sweetest and strongest coffee I have ever had. I wonder what it consists of and chuckle to
myself to think just a few days before I had so cautiously observed and
questioned everything that I was given to eat or drink. Now I was simply grateful. I watch as the driver fills a wine bottle up
with gasoline and then pours it into the gas tank. More street dogs lay around. I wish I was able to draw some of these
scenes, they are so vivid in my minds’ eye.
We get back into the vehicle for more driving. We have been an hour on the road when Willard
gets a phone call. He passes the phone
over to the driver, which I think is a bit odd, but don’t think much of,
nothing makes much sense to me at this point.
I am simply trusting God’s protection and direction. The driver carries
on a lengthy conversation and hands the phone back to Willard. Later I find out that it is Isabell. She has called wondering where we are. Willard told her we were with our driver on
the way to Santo Domingo. She quickly
tells him that our driver is actually with her at the Headquarters, she says
“Willard you are in a very dangerous situation.” Hostages are often taken in
Haiti and the Dominican. From here she
quickly insists on talking to the driver.
She is quite the woman speaking English, French and Spanish fluently,
one of the many reason why she has been sent down to care for us and the
Haitians. She establishes that he is
indeed a cab driver and gives him quick instruction to take us directly to
Santo Domingo airport. All of this goes
on in the front seat while we are snoozing in and out of consciousness in the
back seat, perhaps a false sense of security is beginning to encroach upon us,
or perhaps it is mere exhaustion.
As the sun rises Willard and I begin to discuss his position and why and
when he joined the staff of World Vision.
My heart rises in excitement as I listen to him passionately tell me of
his belief that just as we are created with an innate draw to worship God in
song and music, we are just as innately designed to worship God by responding
to the poor and needy, including a larger world vision. He asserts that this is why he believes so
many churches are dying or stagnant, that people need to have this desire
pulled out of them. He uses the Canadian
Blood Services slogan, “it is in you to give.”
My heart is lifted to hear someone put to words to feelings I have had
for so many years, and I long for him to come and challenge our congregation.
The remainder of the drive is relatively uneventful. We stop for gas and again the driver fills up
with a wine bottle, and replenishes the oil with a coke bottle. The land is looking far more luscious even
though the poverty is still apparent.
Large fields of some sort of crop fill the land in between the
mountains. The widest and most brightly
coloured rainbow arches between two rolling hills.
As we enter the city it feels more like something I am accustomed to, a
much bigger city than Fredericton but it feels like a city . The poverty is juxtaposed beside large condos
and highrises, the ocean is to our right. It still looks far different than the resort
areas I had always pictured in my mind when I thought of the Dominican. Willard’s phone rings again and he begins
reading off the street signs as we pass them.
It is now that I recognize that something is really off. World Vision’s Santo Domingo Headquarters has
called and is tracking our entrance into the city, ensuring our driver is
indeed taking us to the airport.
As we drive up to the airport the driver is quick to give us his card. I snicker to myself, how often will I need to
use this taxi company? I feel less
uneasy now that we are together again.
It strikes me that I will likely have a strange and indescribable bond
with these people after all we have experienced together.
We are met with a cold burst of air conditioning when we enter the
airport. I am suddenly aware again of
just how dirty I am, just how badly I must smell, how desperate I am for a
shower, a toothbrush, ah to wash my hair.
I attempt to arrange some sort of cleaning time after checking in, but
we are allowed to take very little with us on the flight and I resign myself to
a few more dirty hours.
Everyone begins checking in, and all is going smoothly. World Vision Canada has certainly done
everything in their power to get us quick flights out of the country. We will be flying 1st class. When it comes my turn to get my ticket and
sign in my luggage Willard stands by my side ensuring we will all be travelling
together and there are no complications.
Then comes the complication.
I have a ticket, but not a seat from JFK New York to Bangor. At JFK Willard will be leaving us to take his
flight home to Toronto and he wants to ensure that we all leave and arrive in
Bangor together. He pressures the clerks to give me a seat but they keep saying
it will be taken care of at JFK and all will be well, I will get a seat. This makes Willard uncomfortable. For the
majority of this trip nothing has gone as planned. How many times has our safety been
questioned. He was not going to risk me sitting in the JFK terminal on my
own. Finally frustrated, but hands tied,
he makes arrangement that Mike, if someone can not get on the flight, will take
my ticket and wait for the next flight and I will take Mikes’ to travel home
with the rest of the team. We are all anxious, wanting to all go home together.
We go through security. I still
haven’t figured it all out. I figure the
dumb, novice flyer look I have must make me look safe and unthreatening as I
follow everyone else’s lead through the ropes.
And now, we are on the plane for home. Home.
A stewardess passes a silver tray in front of me piled high with warm, wet
facecloths, would I like a warm facecloth?
I laugh, would I like a warm facecloth! How about the whole tray of warm
wet facecloths and a curtained room. I have never been so dirty. I have been wearing the same 3 shirts for 4
days! How ironic that it is now that I
ride 1st class! Soon they
bring us a huge meal of pasta, salad, dessert, they load us up with any drink we
wish and I realize that I haven’t gone to the bathroom more than once a day for
4 days. I haven’t felt the pressure of a
full bladder in nearly a week. I drink
too much and eat too much, making myself feel uncomfortable. We are headed
home.
Bangor, Maine
We joke that World Vision can finally sigh with relief “those damn
Canadians are finally home safe!” World Vision staff are amazing, they are true
hero’s and I am forever thankful and in awe of them.
I had the pleasure of sitting with a delightful woman about Mom’s age on
the way home from JKF to Bangor. We talked about so much, my family, her
family, her work, my trip. It was nice
to sit with a caring person, who could communicate in English and be from a
place so close to home. After telling
much of my story and talking about the last few months she said to me “you are
meant to be alive, you should go buy a lotto ticket!” We discussed God and church, she grew up
Catholic but questioning and was obviously still struggling with denominational
differences and things. It was
refreshing to talk openly and honestly about religion, it’s hang ups, and the
heart of God. The flight home was quick.
Walking through security I was at the end of the line, as I had been at the
back of the plane with my non seat. The
team was waiting ahead for me so we could enter the baggage area together, a
habit of waiting for each other we’d adopted without thinking the last few
days. I knew Bernie’s wife and son and
Mike’s wife were going to meet them at the airport but Chad and I had discussed
before leaving for Haiti, how little sense it made to pack up the girls and
travel to Bangor by himself and keep them up so late after their bedtime. It would be impossible to get them to sleep
in the hotel and just didn’t make much sense.
I was thrilled to see them. Again I
felt separate from my emotions. But there was nothing like seeing their faces
register in my mind again. Zoë ran
towards me and the thud of her hug against my legs felt unreal. As Chad hugged me and kissed me and I took
Eliya and Zoë in my arms it didn’t feel real, in someways it didn’t feel right,
but I embraced it. I wondered if I ever
had left in the first place. I felt
confused. I felt like I wasn’t dealing or feeling the situation at all, or at
least the right way. We packed up to
head back to the hotel.
I called my Mom, words can not express how good it felt to hear her
voice. I would see her tomorrow.
I just wanted to snuggle with Zoë but she was hyper and overtired. Finally
I had to leave the room with Eliya to feed her and let Chad lay down the law
with Zoë and let her go to sleep. I
wondered if I would ever be able to enforce discipline on her again. She was more beautiful than I remembered,
smarter than I remembered. Her talk and
smile filled my heart deeper than I remembered.
I walked down to the lobby where there was a kitchen set up and a t.v. I watched the CNN report of what was going on
in Haiti. I was frightfully drawn to it. It made me feel guilty, it made me long to be
back there, it made me happy to be home.
I clung to Eliya. I needed her
more than she needed me. I savored the feel of her soft skin against mine as I
rocked her to sleep, standing there in the lobby watching the horror unfold on
the screen. I wondered how it must have
felt for my friends and family this last week, watching, clinging to the news.
I went back upstairs to our room where Zoë was sleeping and I put Eliya
down to bed. I climbed out of my dirty
clothes and sat in the tub scrubbing my skin, trying to remove the dirt,
probably trying to remove much more than the dirt on my skin. Chad sat next to the tub talking to me about
everything unimportant and non-tragic, as was my request. I wanted to soak, but I wanted him
close. He scrubbed my back until there
was no soap left, the water was a cloudy, soapy white. Eventually I climbed from the tub, put on
clean pajamas and crawled in bed, clinging to him, finding it hard to believe I
was home again in his arms. Had I ever
really truly appreciated what an amazing man I was married to? Could I ever adequately express what I was
feeling and not feeling?
The night was long, I slept longer than I had in days, but fitfully, images
racing through my mind. Eliya stirred in
the night and I jumped, my heart racing, ready to bolt. I cuddled her close. How was I going to do this? How was I supposed to do this? How was I supposed to respond?
Saturday: Home
I spend a lot of time in the shower and straightening my hair, trying to
put myself together, as if soap, make up and hair product can do that. The hotel kitchen staff is interested when
she finds out I’ve just returned from Port-au-Prince. What was it like? Was I there when the earthquake
happened? How did it feel? And the questions begin, and I don’t know how
to answer them, or how to respond, how they expect me to respond? Do they really want to know?
Driving home was surreal, but haven’t I thought that about this entire
experience? I talked constantly, telling
Chad every funny adventure story, avoiding anything emotional. Did I have any emotions left in me? Would I ever tap into them again?
We weren’t home moments before I was trying to pull the house together
before my family arrived. You’d think it
wouldn’t matter after everything I had seen, but it did, maybe now more than
ever. Mom arrived quick on our heals and
held me, crying and squeezing me tight.
Still I am unable to feel much of anything. I can imagine her feelings, I have two
daughters of my own, but today, today I don’t have any. My sisters arrive with big hugs, it is good
to see them. The house fills up and
again I begin telling stories, funny stories, adventure stories. Carefully crafting everything I say around
the horror so I don’t have to go there.
I show the few pictures I took, we get food. The carrots taste amazing. The girls play together. It is loud.
It is good and important but I am so exhausted. I can’t help wondering how I am supposed to
be acting, responding, feeling. I wonder how my family members expect I should
be reacting. I catch Chad staring at me, he has done this a lot these last few
hours together and I wonder how he is making out.
The company keeps coming, they need to see me, hug me and I keep telling
the adventure stories. They are starting to sound dead in my ears but I don’t
want to be alone. I am afraid for the quiet to come and the images and sounds
to come back. Once, a million years ago,
I relished quiet time to myself, now I didn’t want any.
The last of the company left and Chad set to work on his sermon, exhausted
I went to bed alone, how I didn’t want to go to be alone this night, or ever
again, anticipating another difficult night.
The dreams don’t make sense necessarily but they are gory and I wake up
possibly more exhausted then when I went to sleep. I am always running, something is always
after me, everything is covered in blood, wild animals are ripping off the
heads of my children… it is too horrible to speak out loud, it doesn’t make
enough sense to try to describe it anyway.
Sunday
I need to go to church today. I can’t explain it, the need. I feel well put together. I feel strong. People say dumb things. I know their heart is good, but they say the
stupidest things. “Wow you don’t look
like anything has happened to you!” Did they expect I would arrive in the same
dirty clothes, unwashed, smelling, covered in blood stains? “I have a thousand
questions for you, how did it feel, were you there for the earthquake? Did you
see any dead bodies?” I don’t answer them, I don’t know how to answer them,
don’t they understand that these questions bring everything right back to the
surface and I can’t deal with that?
The worship service tugs at my heart and it actually feels good, maybe
there is some emotion there. Surely I
must feel something. As Chris, the
worship leader this morning, and my dear friend-it is so good to see him-sings
Your Name is a strong and mighty tower, your name is a shelter like no other,
your name let the nations sing it louder, nothing has the power to save, but
your name, I identify with the words in a new way, a deeper way. I am thankful for this song that encapsulates
much of my experience this past week.
Truly God was a mighty tower, a shelter when none was available, a name
I heard another nation call up and cry out for.
The worship services moves into the song “Whisper His Name” and I must
sit down. Whisper His Name, Jesus and it
can be like pulling teeth here. I heard, I myself called on God with every fiber
in my being. What a position we are in
in North America to be able to choose, when or if, or how we call on the name
of Jesus. It is me and God.
They call us forward to pray for Haiti and I see Bernie’s face. I SEE
Bernie’s face. This man, he is a good
man, and we have experienced something together that will change us, let God
use us. I feel Chad’s hand on my waist
and it fills me with strength, this is going to be ok. We are in this together. We can do anything alone with God, how much
more can we do together with God. A
chord of three strands is not quickly broken…
The kids want me to come upstairs to Sunday School to say hi and pray for
Haiti. I still feel strong, I can do this.
I drop Zoë off in her classroom and run into Bronwyn, a friend, she is
like water to a parched soul, thirsty for understanding and someone who knows
me. She tells me she has been carrying
me in her chest for the last week, a heavy burden, praying for me and I know it
is true, I have felt it too, and it has been immensely comforting and
overwhelming to hear how God has placed me on their hearts, on their chests and
they have carried me in prayer to Him.
I go to see the kids, they are waiting for me and holler out “Welcome Home
Heidi”, I feel a tightening in my chest and take a deep breath. One little girl tells another, “She went to
Haiti to help the boys and girls there” and I feel the lump rising up inside of
my throat, if she only knew how little I did, how I was more in the way then
helpful. One little boy wants to pray
that the Haitian boys and girls aren’t afraid, and I can hardly stand. The squeezing in my heart is making it
impossible to breathe. I stand there as
they pray and then quickly say forcefully “Have a great Sunday!” before I dash
into the hall. I don’t want to frighten
the kids but I have lost control. The
sobs take over and I can’t pull them together.
I feel terrible for anyone around me, but I have no control over my
emotions. As I cry, a nasty, ugly cry,
Anitra hugs me, crying with me and I need her strength at that moment. Jill tells me I’m the strongest woman she
knows. I know just how weak I really
am. I try to pull it together and say
“I’m ok” but we all know it’s not true and I lose it again crying “I’m not
ok.” Will I ever be ok again? Do I ever want to be ok again? I know it’s good to feel. Betty Anne tells me it is good to feel safe
enough I can let it out and cry. But I’m
unsure I can cope with this amount of feeling.
Exhausted and worn I head back downstairs to hide in the back of the
service until it is over. Today has been
hard, harder than I imagined.
Monday: Let Me Be a Witness
I had no idea how much the phone would ring, how many interview we would
do. The day started at 5:30am getting
ready for our CBC radio/tv interview. I
nicely got home only to have a phone interview with a Moncton radio
station. Within minutes CBC news and CTV
news were calling wanting to come by the house to do an interview with Bernie
and I, then Bernie had another interview at 3pm , we had a joint radio interview
at 4:30pm and Bernie had two live interviews for the evening news at 5pm and
6pm. I am exhausted but it is the least
we can do. We could do nothing there, we
can at least tell the story and hopefully motivate people to give and help.
I felt mostly in control while speaking expect when the CTV news reporter
asked me in the middle of things, “So the hotel you were supposed to stay at is
collapsed, everyone around you is injured or dead, why were you spared?” This
stuck me hard. There is no answer for
this. This is difficult. Doesn’t he realize that I struggle with this
question every time I have a quiet moment.
All I can say is that I don’t know why, I don’t know that that is a
useful question. All I do know is that I
must do something, this must change my life and I must make something positive
out of it. God must turn my experience
into something positive for Haiti.
The girls whining, the phones ringing, the reporters, the struggle to get
something off and running with the church in response to this disaster is too
much for my head and I know I must find some space to write, to sleep, or I’m
not sure how I’ll keep it together. Chad
and I make arrangements for me to go out.
I don’t want to leave the girls for any length of time, I feel guilty
asking for help, I feel guilty after a week of extreme stress leaving Chad any
more than necessary, but this is necessary.
I know if I am going to process at all, I need to get this out of me and
I’m unsure I will be able to talk about it.
I need “my people” to know where I’ve been, what is going on in my mind,
in my heart, my broken heart.
Tuesday: One week later
It has been a week. It is hard to
believe it has only been a week, it feels like a lifetime ago. I am still not adjusted to being home. The dreams continue to mess with my
sleep. I am still so exhausted. The girls playing, smiles, hugs are more
precious, their wines and cries more mentally stressing. I have had some time to write and I soak it
in. It sounds strange but I attempt to
crawl into the page, revisiting the scenes, living it again, almost not wanting
to come out. I battle the desire to go
back, to do things better. I struggle with
being here, with failing the Haitians.
The washing machine shakes our minihome and I fly from my seat to find a
safe place. The planes fly overhead and
I am taken so quickly back to the helicopters flying around us, the feeling of
warzone. They had a 6.1 aftershock today and when I heard about it it filled me
with panic. Someone used the world
earthquake and it made me feel out of control.
It is an aftershock I told myself over and over again. The result is the same, aftershock or earthquake,
more buildings fell, people cried out, more people died, more injured, but for
me aftershock is a world I can handle, earthquake makes me feel like I am on
the brink of insanity.
I long for the normal things, to throw myself in the Sunday School
conference and special Family Sunday I had planned for this weekend. I do everything to be “present” with my kids,
my husband, my family, my friends, but I catch myself drifting and I don’t know
how long I’ve been gone. I want to
forget everything, but I have the same desire to remember everything. Hopefully in writing this, I will be able to
do both, leave it in the past but have it chronicled. God help the people of Haiti.
Incomprehensible
conception. You CREATED.
Mystifying
design of love.
God I look
and I see your awesome extravagance in bursts of sunset painted across the sky
I breathe in the sweet smell of fresh
renewal that comes following the spring rain
I taste and I savour the detailed explosion of
a multitude of flavors
God I listen
and I hear joyous, medicinal laughter bubbling up from the voices of young children
I touch and I feel deep comfort in the embrace
of a loved one
And I know
that you are God. And I know that you
are good.
“In the
beginning you laid the foundations of the earth, and the heavens are the work
of your hands.” Psalm 102:25
But God my
eyes are not blind, they are raped by slavery and injustice
The putrid
stench of poverty lays decaying in our streets
Bitter
battles rip and tear and destroy nations, families, marriages
The
agonizing cries of children resonate in our schools, our cities, our homes, our
churches: lost, damaged, abused
Empty arms
long to be held, to be loved, to be comforted, to be protected: cherished
And I can
not help but ask, where are you God? where IS your good?
And I see
Jesus.
Reaching out
his calloused hands to heal the sick
his stable
arms leading the blind,
his strength
lifting up the crippled.
I see him
stoop to bless the children and smile in their faces.
I see his
arms stretched wide to embrace this fallen world as he is unjustly dying. I see the damage inflicted in his risen flesh
radiate hope and confidence
and I CANNOT
stand,
I MUST kneel
and raise my hands to worship.
“The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has
sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and
release from darkness for the prisoners” Isaiah 61:1
But through
my thankful tears, my humble act of worship, one arm is driven to my side.
To my left,
to my right, they are there and I must reach them.
One hand
reaching up, one hand reaching out.
To know my
Lord, to worship my God, is to defend the poor and needy, the weak, the
fatherless, the oppressed.
Where are
the hands that heal, lend stability, give strength and lift up?
They are
yours, they are mine.
We have been
anointed to “preach good news to the poor, to proclaim freedom for the
prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to release the oppressed.” Luke 4:18
Only then
will we truly see God.
For I was
hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me
something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, 36 I needed
clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison
and you came to visit me.' Mathew
25:35-36
