Day 2 in Haiti, October 23rd

It felt so good to get some sleep last night. I barely remember my head hitting the pillow. We woke up this morning and met with our team for breakfast at 7:30am. It was already 90+ degrees outside. I was so excited to see bananas on the breakfast table! We also had hard-boiled eggs and bread with peanut butter (which someone on our team was genius enough to pack and bring with them). This would be our last meal until dinner, so I said a quick prayer that it would be enough to give me energy for the day. After breakfast, the 15 people on our team piled into the school bus and headed to the Light and Peach Church and school.



The children saw us coming as we walked along the side of the church, approaching the classrooms behind the building. Their faces lit up with excitement. A little group of children followed me to the side of the school yard and began talking to me. I was instantly kicking myself for not studying more Creole before we came to Haiti. I’ve never been so frustrated with a language barrier as I was at that moment. I wanted, so badly, to know what they were saying and asking. They laughed at me when I asked (in very rocky Creole) what their names were. They laughed even harder when I tried to pronounce their names. The kids were watching every move I made and listening to every silly thing I said. Now I know what it feels like to be the minority in a very unfamiliar setting! Just before our group organized to enter the first classroom, I caught a glimpse of a giant trash pile in the corner of the school yard. My heart stung again at the realization that its not abnormal for these kids to be playing amidst the garbage.







We visited each classroom, beginning with the youngest children, and distributed school supplies. We left boxes and bags of coloring books, math worksheets, crayons, pencils, rulers, glue, stickers, and posters. The pre-school aged kiddos smiled so big. Some of them hid their faces in their arms, smothering their giggles. They sang us songs. We had prepared a couple of bible-school songs that we could sing in both English and Creole. The kids thought our Creole singing was pretty funny. As we worked our way up through the classrooms with the older kids, a few groups challenged us to a sing-off. They always won. Here's a video of our lovely singing (notice, I'm hiding in the corner... Sara singing + Sara singing in Creole = a reason to hide in the corner).



I couldn’t get over how small the classrooms were… the size of my kitchen at home. These children must get used to the heat… As we stood there, dripping in sweat and rationing the oxygen (in fear that it might run out before we got out into the open air again), the kids sat, unphased and unsweaty, at their desks.





We handed out candy to each classroom and hung a world map on each wall. We showed the kids where Denver, Colorado was and drew a line from our home to theirs, in Haiti. We gave each of the teachers a toiletries bag with bathroom supplies as a gift.











After visiting each classroom, we moved outside (open air, finally!) Ashley and I sat down, for a few minutes, with our Haitian security escorts while we watched Tony and Sean played soccer with the boys. I further embarrassed myself among the children as I attempted to speak their language. One of the little girls pointed at my bracelet; a leather band with “Marley Jean” engraved into it. I tried to explain to her that “Marley” is the name of my daughter. A crowd quickly gathered when I pulled out a few wallet-size photos of Marley that I kept on me every day during the trip. It felt good to talk about Marley, but hurt a little when I put the photos away and thought about the 7 remaining days before I’d get to hold her again.







We got some good pictures at the school. I figured out enough Creole words to ask a group of giggling girls to make silly faces for me. I love this photo...





One little girl ran up to me, pressed something into my hands, then ran off again. I didn’t even see her face. But her name is Luina. It was written all over the envelope she had just given me. There were colorful hearts and flowers drawn all over the envelope. Inside were 9 pieces of notebook paper. Each page had a different flower or animal drawn on them. (Actually, one looked like a homework assignment… hopefully she didn’t need that!) My favorite page had 4 birds drawn across the top and a big potted flower in the center of the page. It says, “Cloc! Cloc! C-est la poule et ses poussine” below the birds, and “Regara le joli jardin” at the bottom. The closest translation I can figure is, “Cluck! Cluck! These are the little chickens” and “Look at my beautiful garden”. I will hang the envelope and this, my favorite drawing, on my desk at work when I return to the States.





After the recess, it was time for us to go. The little boys wanted to help carry our supply bags to our bus. About 8 of them picked up the back of the bag that Chad was carrying. As we left the school yard, we spoke briefly with a man who had been hit by a car that morning. He was sitting against the school yard wall with a bone protruding from his leg. He seemed very calm. I suppose there’s not really an emergency room to rush off to. Some people were helping him to get it bandaged.



Once again, we loaded the humid bus and started off to Pastor Guerry’s school. Pastor Guerry is Pastor Ronald’s brother. The children were playing when we arrived. We got a handful of great pictures as we watched them. For a few minutes, it didn’t feel like I was in a third-world country. These were just normal students playing at recess as normal children.







We corralled them onto the side of the building where we created a “zoo” for them. As we pulled each different animal out of the giant bag of donated stuffed dolls, the kids shrieked with excitement. Tony and Chad acted out each animal, complete with sound effects.





We distributed more school supplies to the teachers and gifts to the kids. I couldn’t help but notice how competitive the children were… they each wanted everything else that other children held in their hands. Its hard to ask them to share when they will likely be fighting to hang onto everything they can as long as they live in this barren country. I helped a little girl put on a multi-colored bracelet. From the expression on her face, you would have thought I had just given her diamonds.









The kids got a really big kick out of hearing Chad and Tony beat-box. I have to admit, it is pretty impressive.





We walked through an alley to get back to our school bus. Kung Fu Panda awesomeness took over Pastor Chad when he passed a goat standing along the wall.



We had one more scheduled stop before the end of the day. The bus pulled up to the Light and Peace orphanage, where children hung out over the balcony awaiting our arrival.



We didn’t even get through the door before the kids were reaching for our hands, one and a time, and kissing our cheeks. It was the sweetest greeting I’ve ever received. It reminded me a lot of my favorite part at the end of each day in America, when I walk into Marley’s classroom to pick her up and she runs into my arms, so excited to see me. These were not my children, but they still acted equally as happy to see us.



One little girl named Ongea (pronounced kind of like Angie, but with an O-sound at the beginning and the accent on the 2nd syllable), latched on to me quickly. We bonded over her Tinkerbell t-shirt… she shares the love of the character with Marley. For the next 15 minutes, she wouldn’t let go of my hands. I felt her urgent need for affection. She had never met me before, but she acted as if I were her mother. The desperation for physical connection broke my heart.



During the next couple of hours, we played games and instruments with the kids. We distributed the remainder of our school supplies and toys to them. I met, and held, a little girl who refused to smile… unless you tickled her feet. She had such a quiet, sweet demeanor. I would have guessed, based on her size and weight, that she was about 4. I later found out she was 6 and her name was Gina. When she was 2, living in a remote mountain village, her parents died. Her brother, who was 5 years old at the time, had heard of Pastor Ronald. He took his baby sister and walked down the mountain and into the city looking for Pastor Ronald. The two children somehow found him and have been at the orphanage ever since (over 4 years now).











The most touching part of this day came when the children performed some songs and dances for us. The shyness went away and their stage-presence came to life. The boys danced to hip hop music… these kids actually had some moves! (What I wouldn’t give to bring them back to an American dance studio!) The tears broke loose again when the children sang “Worthy Is The Lamb”, a song by American Christian band, Third Day. They sang it first in English, then in Creole. Here is the video…





When it was time to return to the compound for the night, we walked back to the bus. I noticed an outhouse that I hadn’t seen before. It was the one bathroom shared by the 26 children at the orphanage. There was a raised cement block with a hole in it, surrounded by 3 walls. I can’t even describe how filthy it was… the small room had flies swarming in and out of it and the slimy sludge was running down the side of the “toilet” onto the ground everywhere. Then I remembered, they are fortunate to even have this… many Haitians don’t have a place to go to the bathroom. They, instead, use sidewalks and creeks out in public. I couldn’t take much more of this heartache. I wondered if the week could possibly get any more mentally difficult. I obviously had no idea what I had gotten myself into.





I sat with Tony, Chad, and Sean at dinner. It almost felt “normal” and for a short while, I was able to pretend I wasn’t thousands of miles away from my bed, my daughter, my shower, my air conditioning. But when dinner was over, I took a shower in the weak cold leak dripping from a spout in our room. I rinsed off after finally feeling like I had scrubbed the dirt and stink from my hair and skin. As I reached to turn off the faucet, I looked down and saw a cockroach the size of a small mouse crawl up out of the drain and sprint across my toes. I was too startled, or too exhausted, to scream. So I quickly jumped away and dried off with Marley’s beach towel that I had brought with me. Before I crawled into bed for the night, I remember having a brand new understanding for the words uttered by a small-town Kansas girl, “There’s no place like home”.

Want to help? Email me at sarajeanwrenn917@yahoo.com for more information.

Rejoice in confident hope. Be patient in trouble. AND KEEP ON PRAYING!!!
-Romans 12:12

First Day In Haiti - Thursday, October 22

I have no idea what time it is right now. Mid-afternoon, I suppose. The overnight travel combined with the swap between multiple time zones has thrown my internal clock all out of whack. We boarded a plane from Denver to New York City at 1:00am last night (early this morning, technically). Between that flight and the NY-to-Haiti flight (an accumulation of about 8 hours in the air), I got a total of about 4 hours of sleep. I don't feel sleepy, but my body doesn't seem to have much energy.







As we approached Haiti in the plane, I could see the beautiful Caribbean water below us. Occasionally, I saw long ribbons of dark sandy/foamy-looking waves in the water. I asked Franz (a Haitian-born friend who was a part of our team) what it was. The trash, he told me, from the shores of Haiti gets carried out into the ocean polluting the crystal clear aqua water for miles. It was gross.

Then I saw the rusted roofs. As our plane decended, we flew low over hundreds of tiny, broken, rusted shacks that seemed to be glued together by heaps of trash, like bricks layered into sticky cement. Just as I was thinking to myself, "there's no way people live in those", another of my travel companions turned around from the seat in front of me and said "Welcome to Haiti. We just touched down in Chaos".

We exited the plane and walked out into a blazing furnace of sunshine. Holy crap this country is hot! After checking through customs, we got on an old beat up school bus, our transportation for the week. A boy, probably in his early 20s, began to yell up at us through the school bus windows. He wanted money, "just a dollar, please?" he asked in broken English. We have been strictly instructed not to give handouts to anyone. It would cause other overseeing Haitians to swarm our bus. When we denied the young man's request, he asked instead for one of us to give him a wristwatch. Of course, we can't give him that either. So then he got upset and jumped up on our bus. He hung from the window as we drove away. The driver didn't stop. The boy finally let go and stopped yelling at us. That was my first glimpse at the desperation of this country.



We met Pastor Ronald. He is awesome! His smile is so welcoming and he is so thankful that we are here. Pastor Ronald oversees over a dozen churches in Haiti. He also oversees the Orphanage that will soon be relocating to the new "My Father's House" facility. It is currently under construction, and we are planning to visit it later this week. Pastor Ronald is our guide for the week.

Did I mention how hot it is here?! Oh my gosh!

As we drove through the rocky narrow streets, I noticed grafitti on nearly every wall. Women were balancing huge loads of things on their heads as they walked. Children ran up and down the dirty streets, some in uniforms from school... others nearly naked with no shoes on. There was not a square foot in site that was not covered in dirt and piles of trash and broken glass. I've never seen so much trash. Piles of it line the streets everywhere you look. I could not see past the brokenness... broken and crumbling walls, broken streets, shattered glass, destroyed buildings... nothing but poverty as far as the eye can see.

A cute little boy in uniform waved to me when I made eye contact from the bus. That stopped my tourist-ish reactions in a heartbeat as the realization sunk in... these people actually live like this every day. They don't know any different. They can't get away from it. If they saw my house, they'd think I'm a millionaire.

Pickup trucks with covered back-ends, called Tap-Taps, served as taxis. They flew past us in the other direction loaded with so many people that I thought they'd fall out. Traffic here is nuts... there seem to be no rules. You pass whenever you want and you drive as fast as you like... if a smaller car is coming towards you, they better get out of the way because the larger vehicle wins. Its like a giant game of drunk chicken!

There are animals here... skinny ones. Their ribs are all sticking out and visible under their skin. I saw skinny dogs, skinny cats, skinny pigs, skinny horses, skinny cows, and skinny goats. All of which, I've been told, get eaten when the people can't find other food.

Every few feet, there were people trying to sell things. They, along with the dirt and trash, lined the road. They were selling shoes, clothes, food, stereo parts, sugar cane, wood, tires... likely all of which belonged to someone else before. Nothing brand new (except for the sugar cane, perhaps). Everything dirty, everything worn out. Much like the people selling them.



We crossed a bridge over a running river of thick muddy water. Out my window, on the left of our school bus, I watched the "water" run over and past the piles of trash that served as a "shore". Sean tapped me on the shoulder and pointed out the other window on the right side of the bus. The grotesque water and garbage barely went noticed against the shacks. Again, more up close this time, were the rusted, metal, tiny boxes where people lived. It is an image I will never forget.



The air here stinks. It smells like body odor, sweat, dirt, urine, and decay. The smiles and excited reactions of the beautiful children that we passed were a distinct contrast to the smell. The two things didn't seem to make sense together. I suddenly got very homesick for the fresh mountain air I was breathing just a few days before during a hike in the Rockies. This was a whole different world from that which I was a part of last week.

A Tap-Tap passed us. On the side, the driver had painted "Merci Jesus" (Thank you Jesus).

Amen.

There were so many people in the streets. They watched us pass. I felt weird making eye contact... out of place, uncomfortable, and kind of guilty. I was, all the sudden, very aware of the diamond studs in my ears and the Tiffany's necklace around my throat and I was thankful that I decided to leave my diamond engagement ring in my jewelry box at home. I wonder what these people think when they look at me. I know they think I'm rich. I suppose I am, comparatively.

Most of the walls that flew past us as we drove were constructed of cement bricks. The tops of the walls were lined with elaborate loops of barbed wire. Many of the barbed wall-tops were also covered in broken glass. Hundreds of sharp, colorful, jagged glass edges from broken mirrors and bottles had been embedded into the cement before it dried, resulting in a very sharp (and incredibly intimidating) protection method.



A break in the walls caused me to look down. I saw, and made eye contact with, a little girl. I bet she was 2. She was exactly the same size as Marley. The girl was walking alone, barefoot, through piles of the trash and brokenness. I began to cry. The uncomfortable lump in my throat jumped right out and the tears couldn't be stopped. My first hour in Haiti was overwhelming. The tears start again now, as I think of the little girl. This is so not fair. And this was just the beginning... just the ride from the airport to our compound.

I have more to write about today but I need to sleep. Sean is already passed out and snoring (which he never does... we are just that tired!) We have a busy day tomorrow, so I better go to bed. Plus, the sun is gone and we may only have sporatic electricity, so my light (dim as it already is) won't likely be on for much longer.

Tonight, I pray again for our safety. (Hoping our two armed Haitian escorts and the guard at the entrance to our compound carrying the sawed-off shotgun will do the trick.) I also pray for my daughter, whom I miss so much I can hardly think of her without crying. And I pray that tomorrow God will open my eyes as I meet the people of Haiti. I pray that His will be done, not mine. And that He works in my heart this week, as difficult as it is going to be.

Time to sleep... finally!!!
Signing off at 7pm on Thursday evening, Haiti time.
-s

Want to help? Email me at sarajeanwrenn917@yahoo.com for more information.

Rejoice in confident hope. Be patient in trouble. AND KEEP ON PRAYING!!!
-Romans 12:12