Serving time in Haiti

I haven’t and never care to serve time in jail or prison. Especially here in Haiti. From what I hear I wouldn’t care for the cuisine, the lodging options, or the customer service. But my recent binge-watch of a certain made for Netflix show, Orange Is The New Black, written by the fantastic and amazing Jenji Kohan, has convinced me that we are imprisoned here in Haiti. And really, it makes total sense to draw this comparison.

Prisons hold you inside. Your freedom is withheld. You’re in a cell. You’re in a pod.  Behind chain link fences with barbed wire. And guards with guns. And gates with locks. And walls. Thick concrete walls. And it’s sterile and hollow. And lacking individual charm and comfort.  Your name might be changed, or shortened. And you will likely take on a new identity; foreign to that of the person you were outside of the facility.  Like Crazy Eyes. You go into a survival mode, and you re-design your personality to fit your surroundings. Your rights are restricted. You’re told what to do, how to do it, and when to do it. You’re issued clothing. It’s not your choice. It might not fit. You may not like the texture. It may make you look like an inmate. Oh wait, that’s the point. You’ll be lucky if the stripes face the right direction. You may be too hot. You may be too cold. But it’s not something you can change. You don’t have the choice. Why is someone incarcerated in a prison? Because of a choice or series of choices made by that person. It or they were the wrong ones. And now there is time to serve. The time that you would otherwise spend living your life is now being served. You are doing “time”. In the “Klink”. In the “slammer”.

Cellblock O, otherwise known as an orphanage is not much different. Except that the choice or choices which bring you to an orphanage are not your own. But still, you are in a small room. Behind a gate. Inside of walls with barbed wire and armed guards. It is sterile. It feels hollow. And aside from distressed remnants from mission groups, it is lacking individual charm and comforts of a home. Your freedom is withheld. Your name is usually changed or abbreviated.  You may now be called See-bee-doo, or Bee-doo for short. And in time, you are not the person who entered the orphanage. You assimilate to the surroundings and the other personalities. You realize who the top dog is. You realize who your friends are. And you hope they don’t turn on you. You are issued clothing that has been donated. It’s worn. And left over. And unwanted. And that is what becomes yours. It might fit. It might have holes in it. You don’t even notice the stripes, and could care less which direction they face. Your shoes may be three sizes too small. You may be wearing long sleeves in 100+ degree weather. You might be a boy in girls clothing. But you can’t change any of this.  You don’t have the choice. All choices are made for you. When you eat, what you eat…when you sleep, where you sleep…and you most certainly cannot choose when you will get to leave and who with.  You are serving time. You don’t have the one luxury an inmate in a prison might have, which is the knowledge of how much time you will be serving. Day’s turn into nights, turn into weeks, turn into months, turn into years. And you wait. And you wait some more. The days can be hot; the nights can be long and lonely. Will someone hear you if you cry at night? Do you dare try to go to the bathroom? Or will that huge rat that ran into the bathroom convince that you it’s better to pee in your bed and lie in it all night long? If you fall out of bed, will anyone know? Or will you finish the night sleeping on the concrete?

It’s no wonder that behaviors change when someone is institutionalized. It’s no wonder that growth and brain activity are stunted.  Imagine being kept in a cage for seven years. Closed off from the world, with the exception of what you’re allowed to view, learn, and hear. Ala my friend Kelly, we have come to the conclusion that M. Knight Shyamalan’s The Village is a perfect movie to put that thought into perspective. You don’t know what’s on the outside. You only know what you’re experiencing. And much Lord of the Flies, behaviors conquer emotions. You can block out emotions and let your behaviors run wild. Because then you’ll get attention. Good or bad. You’ll get it. Fortunately, the children are not like those in Flowers in the Attic. Although, a limited play space can eerily reminiscent of the small attic with limits and boundaries that cannot be crossed.

Mental hospitals, rehabilitation centers, half way houses…they’re all an extension of an institution intended to temporarily support someone in a process of recovery or correction. But where is this step in the process of adoption? It’s non-existent. A child is taken directly from the institution, at times by people they barely know who come and shower them with love once and then leave for months or years only to return joyfully to take the child out of what has become their home, their only comfort. And they have no idea how traumatic that experience can be for a child they would otherwise think they are rescuing.

When you strip someone of everything they have, their value system changes. When you have no personal space you learn to appreciate other things. Think of how wide open and free the sky must seem when you are in a small and crowded yard of children who scream and run around all day. The sky is calm. It is big. It is free. And for a moment a child can look up and perhaps see a passing plane and place a little wish on its wings that one day they will be on that plane, leaving all that surrounds them behind. But then that day comes. And it seems abrupt even though it has likely been in process for quite some time. Within days or hours, they are in fact on that plane. And once again, they have left everything behind.

My kids will again have to leave everything behind. Because I’ve come to take them home. I would have personally preferred the aforementioned whisking away of my child. I would have loved to hop off the plane, grab them and hop right back on. But that’s not how it’s happening. And obviously though I came for my kids, I’m meant to be here for a while. We had every reason to believe that we would have the boy’s home by the fall, so it seemed like a perfectly reasonable plan to move to Haiti for the duration of the adoptions of the boys. After all, they are legally our children, and I honestly couldn’t stomach the thought of them sitting in the orphanage all summer while I ran the other two kids around Pittsburgh trying to keep them entertained for the remainder of the summer. So I hatched a plan to do “Haiti summer camp” and on July 12, 2013, I put that plan into action. I spent the first month living in our apartment with four of my five kids. We went to the orphanage a few days a week to spend time with the baby, V. While we were there we watched as a small church was built on the property, and when the roof was put on, we sat on the porch of the orphanage each day and experienced a 2-hour prayer vigil that was designed (I think) to consecrate the new church. Pastors and nannies and all the children would flood the new building, and enjoy time in the open wall-less church and sing and raise their praises for several hours each day.  It was interesting to see more of the day to day that takes place at the orphanage. There were lots of people I had never seen who showed up to pray and sing. And eat lunch. And then they would all leave. And they’d come back the next day to do it again. I could see how the daily schedule repeated day after day after day. It was like watching paint dry. It was the proverbial groundhog day. But here and there we could take a day off from the orphanage and spend it swimming and playing games. Though we couldn’t have V with us, the older four needed this time away from the orphanage and to spend time together to bond. And fight. This is real life, right?

We effectively have been using our apartment as the half way house between the institution that is our orphanage, and our goal…our home. We are in a cell. Behind a gate. Hidden by walls with barbed wire and armed guards. We feel imprisoned and we don’t have a release date.  We only have AC from 6 pm – 6 am. I hope you shed a tear for me. This is HAITI, folks. It’s hot. We have limited supplies, and we have to be very creative in using what we have. Especially now that I am homeschooling, which seriously makes me want to put a gun in my mouth. MAD PROPS to those who stick it out. I’m afraid my children will drag my body off soon and dispose of me in the ocean. Oh…the ocean. I might be willing to let them drag me off and throw me in. Not once in 15 trips here have I had a chance to go to the ocean. But I digress. We have limited transportation, and very few freedoms. The scenery is always the same. And for someone as independent as I am, it is really strange to rely on other people to get us out of here. I am feeling trapped, but I chose to be here. And the boys have chosen to be here with me. I’m sure to them it feels like one huge step toward their better lives. They are out of the orphanage.  They are with me. But I can’t wait to improve their lives even more.

It’s not a bad start being here. The kids have beds. They have their own clothes. And they choose what they want to wear daily. They have their own space. Their own backpacks. Their own cups, and toothbrushes, and shoes. Their own toys. But this is not home. As much as I could do so, I’ve decorated it with our belongings and made it comfortable for our “short” duration. But this is not home.  It’s an in-between. It’s a springboard to the final plan. It is not meant to be home. And I hate that because our “short” stay has become what will be close to half a year living here, it has become home. I even find myself slipping and saying, “we will take this home with us”, and what I mean by that is that we will take it to the apartment. I hate that I’ve referred to this, our halfway house, our indoor tree house, as home. It is not home. Home and its comforts eagerly await us. J and the kids eagerly await us. Friends and family eagerly await us. My elliptical machine eagerly awaits me. Yeah…I miss all of it. Even my daily 8-mile torture that stands across from the TV in the laundry room. But I chose to be here. Because I believe that it is the better option for my children right now.  And I wish that I could do the same for V. I’ve seen how much she has grown in the time that I’ve spent here with her, and I crave to have her with me.

Despite my desire to take them home, we have been sentenced several more months here in Haiti due to the issues with Djedly’s documents. And knowing that we are itching to change the scenery, a friend of mine offered an opportunity to live with him in his house a in the mountains. He has a beautiful house. And though I’m so tempted to trade this small tree house for a REAL house with a REAL kitchen, I’m also afraid that my kids don’t know how to behave in a real house yet. This man has silk furniture.  It’s a rental. I doubt any single twenties or thirty something’s man would opt for refinishing antique furniture with silk on his own. And there’s a REAL Monet hanging on his wall. A real Monet in a rental…but let’s get back to why my kids aren’t ready for a real house. They PUT THEIR FEET ON THE WALL!!! Imagine me trying to explain why the Monet has footprints on it! I shudder at the thought. If there’s going to be inexplicable damage done to priceless items, they should at least be in my ownership, right? As much as the weather, the air, the house and the friendship that comes with it are appealing, my fear outweighs my interest…I think.

So maybe I should continue as is in our halfway house until we can spring the boys for good. We want to make parole so badly. And with fluctuating wifi, Netflix stopped working. Damn! Here goes any remaining sanity I have. Hopefully we will go home before our half-way-tree-house becomes a mental institution.

The New Law

Long awaiting change in this process has essentially backfired on me. We lost V’s referral in February because Haiti is implementing the Hague Treaty and is consequently changing the process of how a child is referred and matched with an adoptive family. Since our file was not submitted to the government prior to their closure prior to making these changes, our referral was negated. We have been waiting since February to hear any word on how the bill slowly followed the Haitian legal process. It had to be voted on in several courts, and then it had to be signed by the president and published before it would be considered legitimate.

We had heard several things about this law. The most encouraging elements that we looked forward to were that there would likely no longer be a requirement for presidential dispensation. It was also likely to lower the legal age for adoptions as well as allow for couples married for a shorter period of time, to start the process of adoptions from Haiti.

One way that this new law will essentially punish families like my own is that it requires that families no longer have any interaction with their children or the crèche they live in prior to the match. It is unclear at this point if families will be allowed interaction at all, even after the match has taken place.

As of yesterday, I was joyful with the news that the law has been published. This was good news initially, because we know that once our file receives approval and our expected re-match with V takes place, that we will likely emerge fairly soon from IBESR, instead of remaining in the system waiting for dispensation. Our hope was that our family and others would save time in this process and ultimately would be granted more time with their children.

As of this morning, the director of our orphanage met with me to explain that I will no longer be allowed at the orphanage.  I will not be able to spend any time with our daughter until at least our re-match takes place, and possibly even longer than that. I can’t say that I’m surprised. I just wish that I had known that the last time I spent time with her. I would have given her more love, more kisses, and more time. I would have worried less about the crafts I was making for other children and I would have focused more on the time I could spend with her. I’ve tried so hard for the couple of months that I’ve been here to spend time with her, but also try to keep her schedule balanced. But right now all I want is for her to be with me. And I’m feeling the gaping hole that has been in my heart since February grow even bigger and deeper.

All I can do now is hope that things will turn out ok. I will be even more impatient now knowing that I can’t even spend time with her. I’m comforted by knowing how loved she is. But I hate that I didn’t have the opportunity to let her know how much I love her before I had to leave her again.

so there was a pathetic facebook post from me related to this heartbreaking turn of events and it went something like this:

there is a new adoption law that has been passed in haiti. it was printed yesterday, which means that it is fully in effect.

while this law is hopefully going to help thousands of children who are stuck in the process of adoption, as well as aid thousands of families who are in process; it has caused yet another set back for our family.

by law i am no longer allowed at our orphanage. i can not see v for an unknown period of time.

if you are traveling to our orphanage, please give my sweet girl all my love and tell her that the minute the chains of this process unbind us, i will whisk her away before she can exhale.

(insert heart emoticon here).

Depravity: The cup of my adoptions runneth over

My facebook status’ have been a true reflection of the up’s and down’s in this process. Here’s an example of “down”:

It helped nothing but I told my agency for the boys' adoptions that they're worthless today. They are worthless. When I'm the one in Haiti informing them of the status of my pathetically dysfunctional adoptions after I've been legally required to hire them and pay them; that seems like the perfect definition of WORTHLESS.

The death certificate for their father who died in 2006, needs yet another certification. I'm so tired of thinking that we're almost "there" and finding out we're not!!

We are also still waiting on several documents that remain at Archives as well as possibly in the possession of the orphanage lawyer. I keep hoping that we will finally be submitted for their visas, but every time we get close we find out that something else hasn't been done or there's "one more signature" needed, or there's another document that we had previously been told is ready that is not.

To complicate matters, our third adoption counselor in two and a half years has left or was fired from the agency last week. I can't begin to describe how frustrating it is to be at the end stages of very complicated adoptions and find out that all of the information that one person contains on our process will effectively leave with her and all that will remain are some notes. Our agency for the boys has conducted themselves in the most unprofessional way through this whole process. They don't know what advocacy is, but they're really good at keying in the numbers for our credit card.

This failure to launch crap is nauseating enough to me. I'm sure it has caused all kids of confusion for those of you who read the posts and get excited with us and then don't see the follow up posts that explain that despite what we've been told, we are still not ready.

I have to come back to the states on November 26 for another Remicade infusion and Leo's birthday. At this point, I seriously doubt that the boys will be coming home with me. I will return to Haiti December 3. Unless the boys are submitted and approved by my return, it'll be looking bleak for Christmas as well. So please hold off on the questions about when they will be coming home. To say that I'm in a really bad place with all of this is a grand understatement. I just can't handle the questions. I understand them, but I can't handle them.

We have sought help. So please stop suggesting that we get help. We waited a very long time intentionally as to not cause problems for V's adoption. There is a wide network of families and staff and board members who read my posts, and we have tried to let the process evolve naturally. We can no longer let that be the case. Please don't share my status and ask lawyers to help us. I appreciate your thoughts but it doesn't help us. We are working with several people to get all the remaining documents and make sure that the documents will be accepted by the embassy and approved for visas.

This process is long and complicated and it has been made more so. Please don't assume that the problems we have had will automatically be the problems any of you currently adopting will face. We have had very unique and difficult problems at a late stage in the process because things were not handled properly in the beginning of our process. We have given feedback about all of this and it has been heard. We hope that changes in the process will come from our experiences.

In the mean time, we all continue to hope that we can work together to get the boys home as soon as possible and to facilitate V's adoption as fast as the new process will allow.

Today will be another day in the Haiti adoption trenches. All I can say is that I hope that I can very soon join the other families who have finished this process and who have their happy and healthy children home. I want to look back on this fondly and successfully. But I'm really far from that right now.

Here’s an example of an “up” that in retrospect makes me want to vomit:

We have a CERTIFIED DEATH CERTIFICATE EXTRACT!!!!!

Most seriously effed up statement ever.

And the following post is another “down”:

Sadness is waking up to a flight itinerary on hold for November 26 to fly home for a Remicade infusion and Leo's birthday and return to Haiti December 3. I can't stomach the thought of bringing Christmas back with me and having my family divided for it. That is an unacceptable thought. I'm missing so much of Britt's and Leo's lives. I am not ok with this not concluding by Thanksgiving so that we can all be together. It's even less acceptable for our family to not spend a fourth Christmas apart.

The boys' files remain incomplete as of the end of this week. There are several documents that are at the national archives office. Others are apparently in the possession of a lawyer for the orphanage. Why? Good question. This should have all been taken care of months ago. There is a certification needed on a document that is six months old. We have been told that the ministry of justice has flat out refused to sign it. There is something in the works to try to get it signed anyway. But without that signature, the boys don't leave this island. Every single time I think we have everything (because our agency has told us for months that all docs are ready to go and all we need is the passports), we find out that there is yet more to do. Their files are not ready to submit to the embassy. When they finally are ready, we are still looking at several weeks to get through that process. It would take several miracles for me to bring the boys home with me on that November 26 flight. I'm so fed up with this process failing my family. It is time for us to have our happy "gotcha day" and get the boys out of Haiti!

It's just time for the itinerary to contain three one way tickets. Enough already.

A post with a hope for an “up” kind of day:

Today is a good...no a GREAT day for miracles.

So bring 'em!!! Please!!! We are ready!!!

Later that day, the “down”:

Today delivered anything but miracles.

I was informed that Djedly's birth certificate extract is fake. Despite efforts to locate it, the original birth certificate is missing. No one knows where it is. To get another birth certificate, we (my lawyer) will have to go to St. Raphael where Djedly was born and apply for a new birth certificate. He will then have to register the birth certificate with archives and request a new extract and have that extract signed by three separate government offices. This will not be a quick fix.

My boys will not be coming home for at least several more months. I am now actively starting to look for a fostering option. They need to be in school and I want them in a safe and healthy home-like environment until I can take them home.

The man who is responsible for this apparently felt no need to come and deliver the remaining mess of my adoption documents as requested today because he decided to drive to the countryside this afternoon. He has in his possession the proof that my boys are adopted. The original documentation.

There are no words to describe how horrifying it was to sit down with my boys tonight and explain that I will not be taking them home for a long time. Every single day they ask me if I'm submitting their documents to the embassy. They want to go home.

They have watched 28 children who were referred after them leave to start the rest of their lives with their families. It is their turn. And yet once again, it is not.

This is a crime.

And because misery loves company, here's more “down”:

This is my son Parker. He is 13 years old. He watched his father die when he was 7 years old. And though his heart was breaking, he stood up and became a man and took care of his mom and his newborn little brother, Djedly.

We have been able to give Parker a fraction of his childhood back, but we've also watched him grow into the fine young man who will soon tower over me.  Since coming to Haiti in July, he has confided so many things in me. He is terrified about what life holds for him. But he is ready for the next step.

Tonight I had to tell him that because a man who has the most important job in our adoption process has failed, he will continue to wait to come home. He knows how close he has come to going home. We could have been celebrating Christmas together at home this year. But instead, because a man who doesn't care about my children is in control of their documents, they will have to continue to wait for someone to care enough to help us get them out of Haiti.

Absent from his face tonight is his beautiful smile and the confident and secure twinkle in his eye. Tonight he feels as broken as the process that is failing him.

Even more “down”:

This is my son Djedly. He was born in 2006, four months after his father died. He survived the earthquake and then malaria. He was placed in our orphanage when he was 3 years old. He was alone until we accepted our referral for him in May 2011 and reunited him with his older brother by starting a second adoption of Parker in September 2011.

Since I moved to Haiti in July 2013, we have been told that we were waiting for passports and that our files were "embassy ready" and we would be able to submit for their visas very soon. For several weeks I've been told that we would be able to submit for our visas within days.

Today the ground broke out from underneath us. We are devastated and beyond heartbroken that our boys will continue to live here in Haiti because of incompetence and apathy.

Children cannot come home with falsified documentation. A crime has been committed against my children and there is no justice that will be served. The sentence is more of their lives. They will continue to wait for someone to care enough about them to make this right and let us take them home.

This is Djedly. He matters. He is not just a number. He is not just a face. He is a little boy with an incredible smile. His favorite color is yellow. He loves cars and video games. He wants to be a gymnast. And we love him.

And in another attempt to be “up” and jump on the November “thankful for…” bandwagon, I started my day with this “up”:

I am thankful that my children can smile through all of this.

And then the day disintegrated into this “down”:

These boys just want to come home. But a broken system is robbing them of their childhoods.  Falsified documentation has robbed my family of the opportunity to submit for visas for our boys - who have been legally our children for almost a year - until documents are redone.

This is an absolute crime.

I am seriously ready for an “up” kinda post that won’t later have to be retracted because another document is missing or another signature is needed. We are long overdue for the “they’re coming home” post! My tea pot and my cup runneth over. I've had enough. I can't swallow anymore of this absolute and utter depravity.

Church...In a bar? YESSSSS!!!

Recently we had the opportunity to start attending church in a bar in Petionville. It’s called The Irish Embassy. Church in a bar is a fantastic idea.  For the first time in my life I can honestly say that I think I would like to continue to attend this gathering of educated and progressively minded group of people. I like that it is a non-conformist approach to dissecting the testament. I like that it is informal. And I totally dig and respect that it is in an Irish Pub. That kicks the awesome factor up significantly.

Most churches that I’ve attended throughout my life totally freak me out. There is such a wide variety of religion in my family, and most of my experience with religion has been one episode of, “they’re wrong, we’re right” after another. That’s simply just not my style. I will never be one to try to convince someone that what I feel is right and what they feel is wrong. I will never knock on your door and tell you that you should join me in my personal crusade to change how the world thinks about God. Those decisions are completely up to each and every one of us. I try to be a good person. I try to do what I’m set here to do – which in some ways I’m still trying to find out. But mostly, I know that I have plenty. And if someone needs something, and I have the ability to help them, then I should help them. I don’t care what nationality someone is. I don’t care what their shoe size is. I don’t care what they ate for breakfast. I just try to look for the good in humanity. And I try to be some of the good in the world.

There isn’t a huge selection of churches that are for English speakers here in Haiti. So we go where we can. We had previously attended a church at a school in Port au Prince. I liked the school church. Though I didn’t know anyone and wasn’t really familiar with the songs that are sung there, I had a profound experience one morning a few weeks ago. I found myself listening to the beautiful music being sung and let the words reverberate within my thoughts. And it brought me to tears. Some might say this was the holy spirit, the holy ghost, god talking to me, jesus answering questions…or that it was a kinesthetic response to hearing harmony and rhythm and the beautiful sound of collaborative voices pleading for answered prayers. I was completely unfamiliar with the music and composition, but the songs were about pain and feeling pain and living through pain. And it brought me to tears several times. I was rather uncomfortable emoting in a place filled with strangers who comfortably shared something so foreign to me, so I stifled several times. But I kept feeling the urge to lie down in the fetal position on the floor and cry out in pain.

I do feel pain. I feel emotional pain. I feel physical pain. I feel pain deeply in my soul. Is this why I’m here? To feel this? Here? I've been feeling a variety of pain for almost four years now. Most profoundly, the pain I've felt in the last few months has left me emotionally crippled at times. And I find that going through the motions of life here has brought me closer to that pain. It takes a lot of energy to live here. But I try to put a smile on my face and muster up the energy every day and do it. Even though I try to smile through it, this hurts. It is one of the hardest things I have ever done. I've also felt some of the most amazing and beautiful joy a person can through this process. The dichotomy is unparalleled.

But when will our time come? When will we feel the accomplishment and joy that we have watched so many feel? When will we be on that blissful other side? When will we be able to look back and say that we survived this? What will do it? How much is enough pain? How much is enough joy? How much more will we give? How much more will we pay? How much more will we need to do? How much more will we cry?

I'm not sure what the answer is. But under a little tin roof in a room full of strangers, I felt vulnerable. Out of place. And yet right at home. This isn't supposed to be home. It's time to go home. I want my cry to be with the man I love when I see him at the end of the long walk in the airport and I can fall into his arms and know that we did it. We made it through. I don’t want to find myself in a room full of strangers in a ball on the floor rocking myself to comfort the flowing tears.

There are so many more tears that come raging to the surface when I think about how after I accomplish the goal of getting the boys home, I will still only be 2/3 way to the finish line. We still have the whole process to follow with V.

Years from now I know I'll wish that I could do a lot of this all over again. But for now, I'm pretty much done and I want to go home.

I’m thankful for our new little church in a bar. I think it is the first perfect fit for my spiritual needs. The blend of critical analysis along with a methodology for pursuing a deeper meaning behind the words of the text, and in combination with an open platform for independent thought to be shared is a little slice of heaven in the midst of all this chaos. And I didn’t want to cry. Anything that makes me not want to cry right now is a big plus. I just wish that they hadn’t run out of Guiness. That was sadness. I hope the next Sunday I can find a ride to the church at the pub, that they will have a tall glass of Guiness for me.

Working with the kids

The kids here love to do crafts. When they behave, one of the treats that I can help give them while I’m here is a little creative craft escape. Early in the fall we did hand stamping projects. They were used for a fundraiser and food-packing event. The kids loved doing them, and I think they appreciated that they were able to participate in something that will help all the kids. They were eager to stamp their hands and fingertips to help create several vividly colorful pieces.

The next project we worked on was to make a pumpkin patch for the orphanage. I am greatly missing the seasonal changes that are absent in Haiti. Especially fall. So I drew about a hundred pumpkins on white paper and we had the kids color them, hand stamp them, and use cut pieces of tissue to glue on them to create their own custom masterpiece pumpkin patch. It turned out amazingly awesome and it gave all of us who are here and deeply craving the fall a little taste of what we’re missing.

We were asked to takeover the pre-school class one day and substitute for a teacher who was out. Knowing that this was huge task, as those kids are total bananas, we decided to work with them on learning to spell their names. We let them tear tissue paper (which they LOVED)!!! Then they traced each letter by gluing the ripped pieces of tissue paper over the letters. Their use of color was amazing!! Not one single child chose to only use one color. They balanced their use of shapes and colors rather impressively, and they all went to that happy “zen” place that I love so much when I’m in the creative process.  Once their awesome work was finished, we looked around at an utterly trashed classroom, and I decided that the best way to utilize the remaining pieces of ripped up paper was to have the kids glue them on balloon shape drawings. Once everything was assembled and dried, we cut out the balloon shapes and attached some curling ribbon to the bottom and stapled the days work up on the wall so that they will continue to enjoy and maintain the pride for their accomplished works. I drew a small man to attach to the ribbon. He looks like he is being pulled off the ground by the floating balloons. It was a good day in pre-school land.

Another day that we were asked to substitute, we did a lesson on landforms with the older kids, as well as a game of Bingo with the younger kids. That was a fun day.  The younger kids had never played Bingo before. It took a few minutes to bring them up to speed, but once they grasped the concept, they had a really good time playing! Each time a kid won their game, we let them choose from a prize bag of left over holiday candy. It was neat to see them respond so well to a new activity. The older kids got to create a book using a landforms print out. We used encyclopedias and talked extensively about the shape of the earth, climate differences, elevation, and how the world is different in all of its parts. The kids had previously learned that they live on an Island, but they got to explore deeper thought about how one can travel around the Earth and about how different it might be to live in different parts of our planet. It was a busy, but good day.

Now that we are nearing the next holiday, Thanksgiving, we have started working with small groups of kids on a Turkey project. We talked a little bit about what Thanksgiving means and why we celebrate it. We cited examples of what people eat to observe this holiday and we made a fun Turkey craft! The kids were so excited to jump right into this project that not a single one of them wanted to hear the directions on how to assemble their turkeys. The result is that we have an amazing variety of turkeys!!! I’m excited to continue to work in small groups to finish up this project and put the remainder of the turkeys on display before the holiday.

One of the things I’ve been working on here is to make a designated place for honorable mentions. I would like a prominently displayed area for the kids to be recognized. This can be for working hard in the classroom, coloring a really neat picture, or even making a small craft. I started by painting a small ledge and space in the wall outside of the office. Next I will decorate it and design an award that can be printed to give the kids. I would love to see this space utilized on at least a monthly rotation. I think the kids will really enjoy knowing that their hard work is being shared with all who come here.

Another way I’ve tried to help out while I’ve been here is to help stage some fun monthly photos for adoptive parents. We are always so thankful for any glimpse of our children. However, being here and having a little extra time on my hands, I decided to get a little creative. I found a felt beach scene that must have been left here by a vacation bible school group. I put Jesus and his gang aside and decided that this background would make a perfect match for a small blue inflatable kiddy pool that a mom left behind for my daughter to enjoy. We threw in a yellow striped beach bag, pulled a pair of small sunglasses out of a rabbit’s hat and voila! Our monthly photo updates were fantastic! People were asking if we were lucky enough to have a beach outing!

One month for our photo updates I made two faux wooden frames out of cardboard and painted them. The kids who like having their photos taken were very excited and knew in advance which frame they would use for their photo. The others gave the typical stink face that communicates how much this process sucks combined with the fact that they’re becoming the teens that will rage against our mini van machines for the next few years. Either way, the frames were awesome and it was well worth the numb thumb that I had for nearly four weeks after cutting the cardboard with safety scissors. It will make a great story one day. “Hi kids, you may not like me right now, but know that I was willing to live in Haiti, at one point in a tent, and cut cardboard with safety scissors for you!” They won’t care about what that all means for a long time. But maybe one day…maybe.

In addition to finding a creative outlet for the kids, we have also been working on ways to reward kids for good behavior. We’re hoping we can get the Lord of the Flies aspect of the O under control. Friday night movie night has been one of the ways that we can give the kids a little incentive to behave throughout the week. Between popcorn and a little juice, a small screen and a huge speaker, we’ve had about thirty kids packed into one of the classrooms to view movies. The LOVE it!!! It makes for a long day, but it is very much worth it!

The Baptist Mission in Fermathe, Haiti is also an opportunity we’ve taken advantage of. The kids absolutely love going there! There is a small zoo, a café, a shop, a bakery, a museum, and an awesome play area that has been built in the shape of Noah’s Arc. We took a group of kids up the mountain one day to treat them for their awesome behaviors that week. Not all the kids were able to go, which is hard, but it was a great example for them to see that their behaviors can be rewarded or punished. It was also a great way to change their environment and give them a break from the institutionalized lives they live. There were lots of smiling faces that day. They played for over an hour and then we took them for pizza and ice cream.  While we were at the Baptist Mission, I decided to buy a wooden trunk. I’ve had my eye on them for a while. So I decided that it was a “treat” kind of day and I bought one. The kids rode in the van, and I rode with Kelly up and down the mountain in a tap tap. We hoped the whole way back that the trunk would not go flying out the back. Luckily, it made it back to the apartment. Now I just hope that it will make it home by surviving the airplane. That would suck. It survived Haiti. Please let it survive American Airlines.

I love working with the kids. After spending my week teaching all ages in 2012, I have been very happy to have small creative chunks of time with them while I’ve been here. I’m working in a far less formal nature than I did before. We aren’t talking about balance and composition. We aren’t discussing the color wheel or Mozart. But we are having fun when we can.

WHY HAITI?

I was asked recently, why Haiti? This was my response:

Why Haiti? Why not Haiti? For me to describe why I would be willing to do this, I can only say that you will only know why if you ever get the chance for the most precious thing that can ever happen to you does; for a child to know that they are the most important thing in the world to you.

           

Every one of my children is worth everything and more. And I will not stop until they are 

all home and safe and healthy and happy and on a path to live their fullest lives.

           

Come smell the streets here. Come try to bathe and clean yourself in water that might 

break a microscope. Look into the eyes of people who outwardly look as broken as a 

human can possibly be by life and yet gracefully and joyfully hold hope in their hearts 

that their children will have a better life because of their sacrifices.

           

Life in Haiti can't be simply summed up by telling you it's "hard". That doesn't even 

scratch the surface. It is unjust. It is imbalanced. It is unfair. Based on the longitude and 

the latitude of our births, any one of us born into what we consider to be the struggle of 

our first world lives could have been born into the struggle that is a Haitian life.

           

We've made the choice to open our hearts and welcome the struggle. We knew going into 

this that it would be that - a struggle. But we also knew that there are 300,000 children 

in Haiti who need families. Many of them don't eat. If they eat, it's often mud made into a 

small round "cake". Many will never be educated. And they will likely die from ailments 

that basic healthcare would take care of. And turning our heads and looking the other 

way while we sip another latte or buy another outfit or happily splurge on a pair of shoes 

while a child walks in garbage with no shoes and tries to pull their next meal from a heap 

of cast off and rotten food is a bit too much for us to stomach. My children have a 

chance because we will give them the doors and let them open them and discover what 

their future holds. And it won't be mud cakes.

           

These decisions are not for just anyone. But they have been the absolute right decisions 

for us.

           

There are two kinds of people who come to Haiti. Those who are disgusted by what they 

see and smell and are afraid to touch. And then there are those, like me, who find Haiti 

to be home. And this home will never ever leave my heart. There is a beauty and a 

strength here that I have continually been touched by that is nearly indescribable. The 

respect I have for Haiti and her people is beyond comprehension.

           

My children will grow and prosper in America, but they are stronger than any American I 

know. They are rooted in forced slavery and come from a history of fighting for hundreds 

of years to live. Their spirit represents the ultimate survivalism. And if I can give them 

safety, and health and love, then we will all step back and watch them blossom and 

succeed.

           

They are my children. We are the lucky ones. That’s why.

Falsified Docs: It's not 5:00 and I don't care

The latest information we can get from our orphanage is that our documents are falsified.

In the past two weeks since we received our passports, we’ve been impatiently waiting for our documentation to be fully prepared to submit to the embassy. We had previously been told many times that our files were “embassy ready”, but we’ve come to find that several original documents are now missing. Djedly’s original birth certificate is missing. Djedly’s birth certificate extract is considered to be falsified. Parker’s birth certificate/Judgement is missing. Both of the boys’ adoption Acts, which are the proof that we have legally adopted them, are missing.

We have gotten several stories on where our docs apparently reside. There is a great deal of confusion and I yearn for the truth. The orphanage missionary has been really helpful and has literally looked through every single file and stack of paperwork to try to find the missing documents. But she has come up empty. She is just as confused as I am. She gave me permission one night this week to, “flip my shit”. It took a few rhum punches consumed at 4:30 that afternoon, but I ultimately found myself in the fetal position at the top of my stairs screaming silently into my hands in anguish.

At this point, I do not believe that these documents are just lost. I do not believe that Djedly’s document is a fake.  There are two people who could potentially be responsible for these documents missing. One is a woman who does the certifications with the archives office to have the documents signed by various government offices. The other is the crèche lawyer. He is reportedly a liar. The woman claims the lawyer has the docs, the lawyer claims the woman has the birth certificates. I think the truth is somewhere in the middle.  I truly think that the lawyer is a corrupt lawyer. I think that he is trying to extort money from the orphanage. I also think that there is more to this story than we are being told because we keep receiving conflicting stories. The lawyer has been described to me as a liar, and multiple agencies have confirmed that our orphanage has been trying to “phase him out” but that the orphanage is worried that he will “destroy documents” if they work too aggressively to get rid of him. SERIOUSLY?!!! Why does this man have anything to do with the delicate nature of the process to get these children home? If they know he is unethical and that he lies, he should never have been given more work to do. He reportedly has several files, including potentially, v’s file that was supposed to be given to IBESR. This lawyer is not the IBESR representative for our agency, and should never have been given files for our agency’s kids. I would like to get more clarification on all of this, but the director of our orphanage left to attend a pastor’s conference in the U.S. and has been gone for the past eleven days. He is supposed to return tomorrow. I am hopeful that he can get a handle on this situation, and somehow get the lawyer to come to the orphanage and hand over all the files he has. It would be interesting to know if he is owed money. At this point, I would do what ever I could to get my files from him and make sure that he never has anything to do with the process of bringing my children home ever again.

All I know at this point is that our agency received verification in July that Djedly’s birth certificate extract was “embassy ready” and would be in his file. It is gone. Without his birth certificate, we will have a harder time trying to get another extract for him. To get a new extract, we will have to go to the town he was born in, St. Raphael, and apply for a new birth certificate. This is the same process we went through for our son Parker to receive a Judgment, or replacement birth certificate. Then the same process for receiving the extract and certifications on the extract will have to be followed.

I’m highly suspicious of everything I’m told at this point. One thing that is very unclear to me is how it is possible that Djedly’s birth certificate extract is fake when the Immigration office uses two measures to determine the validity of a document prior to printing a passport. They scan a hologram sticker, and they use an infrared light to view an invisible ink on the document. Without these two things, passports are not obtained. We have passports. What is the truth? What is this lawyer really doing? What has he done? What has he not done? What does he have? What is lost? What is real? What is not real?

Friday at 5:00 I helped turn the office of the orphanage into a happy hour zone. We needed it. Cinnamon rhum is fantastic with apple nectar. It’s almost as fantastic as South African Cocopine juice with Barbancourt. And luckily, in a pinch, there is a ridiculous but rather special “man” wine that is available at the bodega across the street from the orphanage. To my homestudy rep and my adoption counselors who are reading this, yes, I’ve upped my alcohol intake.  And if anything I just listed sounds good to you, shoot me an email and I’ll bring some home for you. UNLESS you are with Children of All Nations. I’m not bringing you anything, because you suck.