Apr 12, 2012

Two Years After the Earthquake - Part 3

boys at an orphanage loving the bubbles we brought. Fabio Diniz photo
This is the third story about returning to Haiti two years after covering the earthquake.  For part 2, click here.

Today we're heading to the orphanage where our relief team stayed after the earthquake.  Finding the compound is tricky because many streets don't have signs.  Two years ago we had a tap tap (truck taxi) driver to guide us but now we're on our own.

An orphanage worker had told us, "turn right at the old rundown shack with a water hole in the ground with a tire over it."  Dane thinks we missed the turn a half-mile back but I can't tell.  While the rubble and UN trucks are gone, dilapidated huts and abandoned tires litter almost every block.

We're not far off course and soon find the bright teal gates just as we remembered.  New Life Children's Home.

As the armed guard lets us in, we see the mango tree!  We'd spent hours talking, eating, praying in that spot.  The last time we were here, tents had covered the soccer field that we had turned into a base camp but now the field is lush and green.

A staff member greets us in English, "The kids will be so happy to see you." Most of the kids are in class but the toddlers are outside playing.

Kevin!  He was a starving newborn who slept holding my thumb the last time I saw him.  Now he's a healthy two-year-old with a  round belly who carries himself like a ringleader in diapers. 
Kevin and John, now thriving at two, were starving orphaned infants when we met them.

"When you were born," I demonstrate rocking an  infant in my arms, "I took care of you," I say pointing at Kevin.  He seems to think I'm calling him a baby and stomps off to get a toy truck.

Playing with the other kids, I try to coax a gaunt-looking boy to join us. Before I can stop him, he rips a piece off a plastic mat and eats it.  Still afraid of starving, I guess.


A mom waits
Staffers take the kids inside for naps. A young, White woman comes for John who had been rescued from the mountains after the quake.  "I'm his mom,"  she says in English.  She's living here waiting for the government to approve her and her husband's adoption paperwork.

As we talk, she mentions wishing they had baby pictures of John.  "Is the Internet working?"  I ask.  Nurses on our team had taken the first pictures of John two years ago.  Amazingly, I'm able to download several Facebook photos on to her laptop.

Before leaving I pray with this mom who refuses to leave her son, knowing that in Haiti it can take two years to bring a child home.

Barefoot boys
Later, our host drives us to a Haitian orphanage.  "It won't be like the American one," he warns.  We come to a small, concrete building that can only be reached by climbing a steep hill.  Instead of mango trees and a grassy field, we're met by barefoot boys playing soccer in a concrete entryway that's smaller than most American closets.
Dane Melberg photo
The kids don't wait for the pastor who runs the orphanage to introduce us, instead they grab our hands and lead us inside.  As we break out stickers and bubbles we've brought from the US, the kids erupt in joyful shrieks, giggles and laughter.

The tiniest child, Samuel, wants to chase bubbles with the other kids but he's so frail his bones might break if one of them accidentally steps on him.  I pick him up and let him help me blow bubbles.  Our host says Samuel wasn't expected to live, suffering from TB and starvation.  The three-year-old's hands seem much too big for his body; he weighs no more than an 18-month-old baby.

The kids climb on Dane like a human jungle gym as he tosses them over his head.  Samuel wants Dane to toss him in the air, too.  It's too risky, though, in case he falls.  But how can we say no to a child who just wants to play?  Dane gently lifts a beaming Samuel over his head as the other kids laugh and cheer.

It's hard to say goodbye. The pastor closes the gate and walks us down the hill to our truck.  I still have Samuel in my arms.  I want to drive away with him, just to keep feeling his heartbeat...
little Samuel leaning on my shoulder
"A child here in Haiti would probably trade whatever toy you give them for five minutes on your lap with your arms around them." ~ Patty Meyer, New Life Children's Home

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Apr 4, 2012

Two Years After the Earthquake - Part 2

Haiti 2012 (Sarah Batista photo)
This is the second story about returning to Haiti two years after covering the earthquake.  For part 1, click here

Stormy night
Tropical storm!  The downpour sounds like it will rip through the tile roof of our host's home.  I can't help but think about the families living in tents - just tarps  and sheets, really - that have been their homes since the earthquake.

In the two years since the disaster, the government has moved the larger tent camps to the hills outside Port-au-Prince but smaller ones remain.  Families living amid the stench of rotting garbage; women bathing in plastic tubs of dirty water; children playing in waste-contaminated mud...

I feel a twinge of guilt at our own comfort but mostly gratitude that we're in a dry place; sleeping outside would have been miserable.  The weather had been mercifully clear when our relief team camped on a soccer field after the earthquake. 

At least the storm quiets the roosters that normally crow all night.

Rebuilding
By morning the roads are passable.  We drive to a site where a pastor started an outdoor church for residents of a tent camp. Our host's organization, Brazil-based MAIS, had heard of the congregation's plight and helped buy land for a building.

At the construction site, teenage boys push wheelbarrows filled with stone; gray-haired women carry water buckets; children shovel dirt with toy pails.  The workers are mostly congregation members who volunteered to help build the church; only a few skilled laborers and an American project manager are paid.
Building a church for residents of a tent city
Learning to carry water
"Have the women show you how to carry water," the project manager tells me. I follow two women to  a cistern and ask for a bucket in English but they only speak Creole.  Empty-handed, I walk back to the site.

"Come with me," says the interpreter, Schneider. His flawless English and breezy style, iPod headphones draped around his neck, remind me of a California skateboarder.

"You use this," he rolls a dirty cloth into a tight donut.  "It keeps the bucket in place," he explains, slapping the wet rag on my head.

At the cistern, I lower the dip pail but it keeps bobbing like a sailboat so I can't fill it. Schneider shows me how to skim the pail so it tips and takes in water. He tells me to stop when the bucket is half full.  "Since this is your first time, it will be heavy and slosh," he says. 

Next time I fill the bucket to the rim. "You carry it a little way and then I'll take it," Schneider says, "You might hurt your neck."  The 40-pound load hurts but I decide to keep going. Seeing the American woman carrying a full bucket on her head, the workers break into applause.  Success!
Our interpreter Schneider shows how to carry a bucket (left).  Success! (rt)

"Here," the pastor says, handing me a Styrofoam container. "You get lunch because you carried the bucket of water."  The crew laughs as we dig into rice and beans washed down with cold Coke and 7-Up.

We spend the afternoon shoveling stone and dirt.  Despite the heat and hard work, laughter fills the air.  The men tease eachother and trade funny stories, acting them out in a mix of Creole and English.

More storms
That night another storm pounds the island.  I think about the families living in the tent camps.  I fall asleep thinking, They have a joy no storm can wash away, no disaster can shake, no man can destroy.  Maybe they are the fortunate ones.

To read part 3, click here.


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