MILK

My first three-hour tour of Port au Prince was something that has unexpectedly stayed with me. It likely will for a lifetime. We spent the first hour bumping around on our way to the downtown area. The streets were crowded and dusty. And I had a hard time deciphering whether or not what I was seeing was strictly related to the destruction of the massive earthquake of 2010; or if much of what we saw was potentially the result of a weak infrastructure to begin with. It is likely both. From growing up in Florida, I’m accustomed to seeing storms wipe out communities. Because of the propensity and probability of massive winds and rains eventually causing the condemnation of a structure, many buildings and houses in Florida are built quickly and cheaply with the understanding that they will likely be rebuilt. Is that what I was seeing here too? But within the destruction and the piles of rubble and trash, there was a patch work of Caribbean color that indicated that this island should have been given the chance to shine as beautifully as any other respected and desired get away. She was once the Pearl of the Antilles. But why is Haiti no longer revered? What makes Haiti so different? Why is Haiti always battered and worn and forgotten? The history here leaves so much for interpretation, but the fact remains that though Haiti was the “it” project for emergency relief in 2010, it has fallen back off the radar of many and remains in its troubled state.

An indication that things are fall from being fixed here would be the palace. In the midst of a large green grassy compound, we saw the very large and broken building that was once such a mark of pride for the government and the people of Haiti. As sad as it was to see the state it was in, it was comforting to see that in a country that is considered so corrupted, that the initial efforts weren’t spend to resuscitate this iconic building. It’s location is almost in the heart of the epicenter of the quake, and it would have been a slap to the community on its knees all around the grounds to have the efforts wasted to just fix this one building.

Our drive took us through areas of the outskirts of Cite Soleil, City of the Sun. It is the world’s largest ghetto.  The streets are like a series of back roads, and are sprinkled with red and white umbrellas. Underneath sits a small group of people who have goods to sell. Things like soap and batteries can be purchased from the vendors. All kinds of goods from shoes, clothing, and medications to avocados, apples, bananas, and other types of loose vegetables are carried in large baskets or buckets on the top of one’s head. They are poised and careful and yet while carrying a massive load of goods, they are capable of also holding a child and walking on roads that most Americans would likely twist their ankle, let alone effectively and skillfully carry the weight most Haitians balance in a daily task. There are broken down vehicles littered all along the sides of the roads. Some are former yellow school buses turned into “tap tap’s” or trucks that have been converted into a taxi of sorts with heavily adorned and colorful artwork blanketing them. Some of the cast- off vehicles are used as homes. And at first glance, one might think that a shed type structure and series of cloths and tarps would house a trash heap or possibly a place to store things…but upon further inspection, it becomes obvious that these too are homes.  It is immediately sobering to see hundreds of thousands of people living with so little. Living in such filth. Living in a way that I could never manage to survive in. And they do survive. They live. They live proudly. The live a hard life. But they live a good life. They live their good life. They work and they pray and they work some more and their hope is that the children they give everything to will one day not live the way they grew up. They keep their children safe and healthy and clean. Their children wear uniforms that are painstakingly cared for, pressed, and immaculate. Just like their children. Their hair is tied back with crisp and fresh, clean ribbons. They are proud. They don’t look at the home they live in and see shame, they look out of their doorways and send their children into the world with pride and hope that they are one day closer to a better life for themselves. I saw it over and over and over as we drove through the streets. It was the most impressive display of survival I’ve ever experienced.

Our tour continued and we found ourselves at the Cathedral. What remains of the Cathedral. The tall walls of the former incredible building tower and cast shade over the empty insides, that once contained a refuge for believers. Even now, the ground is so sacred, that those who live at the base of the walls are there to pray for God to grant them favor and help them continue to live. This stop on our tour was the first opportunity to get out of the van and meet people. A small group of Haitians who live at the site walked slowly toward us and the first woman I met eyes with was holding a small baby girl with red tips on her afro. The mother had sad eyes. She was tired. She was weak. I couldn’t imagine how hard her life must be. I couldn’t even start to comprehend what she has been through…and what her baby would hopefully survive through. We didn’t stay at the cathedral long. And while we were there I didn’t’ take photos. It didn’t seem right to photograph their home. I wouldn’t appreciate it if someone entered my home and gawked at me and started snapping photos. But the image of this mother and child will forever be seared in my mind. The brief few minutes that we stood at the base of the walls I feared might topple down on us with a soft wind granted me a wealth of understanding about the life in Haiti that many live. And as we walked back to the van the mother asked me to help her. I had been warned to give nothing because it will not help. But my heart wrenched as I walked back to the safety of our van. We had comfort and care taking. We knew we would have water. And food when we needed it. The ease of our lives brought thoughts of the extreme imbalance we have in this world. This woman deserved no less in life than I do. And she begged me as I walked away from her. And I understood what she was asking for and it tore at my heart that I had to act like I couldn’t help her. I could. And yet I couldn’t. But I knew that she was only asking me to help her get milk for her baby. That’s all she wanted. I have never worried about how I would feed my children. And as I stepped into the van and the door closed behind me, I turned and looked at her again in the eyes and she placed her hand on the window and said one last time with a horrifying look of disappointment in humanity, “lecht”.

Milk. She only wanted milk.

We slowly left the site of the Cathedral and I held Djedly in my arms and thought of the days that his mom would have worked and prayed and cried over his care. How did she keep my son alive here in this broken and forgotten place? He was now safe in my arms. In the comfort of my arms. And the unfairness of life resonated so deeply as we slowly drove away from the woman with the little baby with red hair who needed milk.

Our world is far from perfect.  And I hope that one day I don’t have to say no to the woman who just needs milk. These few hours I experienced that day have left a profound impact on me. I no longer find as much joy and comfort in frivolity as I once did. Yes, I know that it is ok to enjoy the life I have. But somewhere in my heart and in my mind most things I receive and experience in life come with a sense of guilt.  I can’t fix everything. But the hours I spend looking at what is all around me in Haiti, I can’t help but think to myself that we should do what we can.

About a year and a half after seeing this woman with the red headed baby, I was watching a CNN special filmed in Port au Prince. There were several scenes filmed at the Cathedral. And completely shockingly, I saw the mother. And on her lap was the little redhead. They were both older, but still just as tired and they looked just as hungry. I couldn’t believe that there I was sitting in the comfort of my home and there she was – right in front of me – reminding me that she still needed help. Reminding me that there are hundreds of thousands of people in Haiti who still need help.

I’ve had the opportunity to see this mother again in person. And I did help her. She likely has no idea that I’m the (potentially one of many) woman who closed the door and left her helplessly. But I know. And I felt some healing in being able to do so.

I’m still in awe  of what I’ve witnessed and how just a short few hours of my life have left me with the kind of information that will last me a lifetime.