It was etched into my mind, but it was hard to remember even still. Like a faded memory, or stretching to see the time on my clock in the morning without my glasses on, it was so blurry. The honesty of Haiti hits me like a brick every time I come back home (here). Nothing hides here, at least not in the same way that we hide in the USA.
The heat does not come on gently, but seems to linger both before the sun rises and after it sets. The sun shines so brightly and brashly; the trees break out harshly from the ground. The kids do not make their feelings hidden, rather expressing them loudly for their interested neighbors to hear. The trash burns, reminding the community of their waste. Each night, everyone faces the incredibly honest fact that it is 2017 and many of them do not have access to electricity.
Haiti is brutally honest. It does not hide itself for others, nor does it pretend to be anything other than what it is: take it or leave it. While many see this as a bad thing, I have really started to welcome it. Because it is in Haiti that I myself have learned to be honest.
In the United States, we can hide from one another, from our fears and our opinions. We can hide even when it looks like participating. We share Facebook posts or sit over coffee and discuss ideas. But, we are hidden. Our lives are hidden from one another; our fears are unknown to each other; our abilities can be stretched or elaborated. Reality is a confusing thing to us in the United States at times. We are unsure of what is right and wrong, for some of us. Unsure of how to fight injustices, we either make excuses or talk them into the ground.
In Haiti, these things laid on my heart are put to the test almost instantaneously. I can no longer speak of a life I long to live, but put my faith and actions to work as I am in the middle of an incredibly honest culture.
I look back on my life experiences here and laugh. I think about how one of the first times I ever really heard this honesty was one of my first months in Haiti in which a woman turned to me, after several attempts at saying it in Creole, said in her broken English “Your butt! …its beautiful…and so big!” The honest parts of this culture challenge me in all ways, for sure.
While it can be hard, it is also enlightening. For me here, there is no stretch between what reality is and what my concept is. I see the reality of people I work with and know and love every day. This is their reality. My reality is that I have chosen to be a part of this life with them for some moments, and even in that never fully understand it. Though my perspective is different, reality doesn’t change.
Haiti reminds me of the importance of putting your actions behind your words. How it might be easy for me to hide in a coffee shop or wonder aloud at the injustices in the world, but it really doesn’t change much. In order to change, we have to put in the work. It can be long and painstaking, it can cause us to suffer. But, man, this honesty that I am met with in Haiti is something I need so desperately. I cannot hide. I am who I am here; I am only capable of what I can bring. I have realized rather quickly that if you bring something without love, it is nothing.
So often we feel badly for nations who are unlike our developed countries. We wonder what it must be like to go to sleep without food or lose someone to a disease with a common cure. While these are worthy reflections, I find myself caught between two realities. There is one that says my life is only good if I have access to all of these things, if I can spend money and do things I need to do, if I can put myself first. The other reality is here and it is honest. It tells me that while our needs are important, that nothing can truly replace our character, our honesty, and the amount of love we give away.
Ithad been a long summer. The sun scoured down on all of us, as we worked tirelessly to complete water projects in that beautiful Caribbean island. In our little red truck, nicknamed El Tigre Rojo, we drove from San Pedro in the Dominican Republic to our current place in Port-Au-Prince, Haiti. We'd just spent the last 3 weeks working in a steamy, grimy city and we were ready to head back to our next location.
We'd dropped off a few people at the airport that morning. At that time, we were all trying to spend some time at home over the summer for seasonal work. After that, it was only me, Ryan, and our friends Zach and Philipson. Ryan had procured a broken leg just a few weeks before then and his leg was bound up in a make-shift cast. I laughed as he brushed up against me, all of us trying to squish into the truck out of Port-Au-Prince.
There's this stretch of road as you drive out of Port that is filled with potholes and bumpy video game like stretches. It is full of beauty, though, too. There are little villages scattered about, banana trees, hills of red dirt and people all around. For me, it is like taking a deep breath of fresh(er) air. During this particular drive out, as I was filling up my proverbial lungs with that fresh air, a large thud brought me back to reality. Our truck had stopped. In the middle of the road.
Did I mention my husband was in a leg cast with crutches?
Quickly, the situation was resolved enough to push the truck, with Ryan steering the large truck, close enough to a gas station to coast in there.
Though it would seem like we'd run out of gas, this was not the problem. It was the issue of no water in the radiator! While this is an easy enough fix, I don't think I will ever forget what happened for the next 15 minutes. It went like this: asking where we could park our car and trying to coast there. Being told to move our car. Getting out of the car and looking for water. Finding out there was a well on property. Looking for a bucket. Finding rope to tie to the bucket. Dropping the bucket into the well. Pulling up a very small amount of water. Pouring that into another bucket for someone else to pour into the car. And then repeat.
About 45 minutes later, we were all back in the car, laughing at the what we had to do to fix this problem. We carried on and crossed the border back into the Dominican Republic and the rest is history.
This story is good for me. This season has been one of extreme ups and downs for me- adjusting to life in a new way and feeling like there is supposed to be a "quick fix" button for me to push in order for me to coast my way through these issues. However, it just hasn't been like that. With each obstacle I have faced, there are 100 little nuances that need to be taken care of, as well.
I am the car in this story today. I need some seemingly easy care, but I can't seem to get it together to get up the hill. I need help from my people. I need a quick fix, but what I get is a bucket to drop down into that deep part of myself that I don't want to think about at the moment. For deep healing, though, I've gotta do it. I am wrestling with giving up, attempting to drive my car and keep moving forward without the necessary items I need just so I don't have to deal with digging into that well of mine. That's not going to happen though-- because, you know, the truck is broken down. My heart and my body are screaming out the same thing, too. Take care of me! So, I have been trying to do this. To hone in and focus.
To be honest, I just didn't think it would take so much work.
That's the thing about getting well. We have to want it bad enough to truly seek those deep places that aren't really open in our hearts. We have to be willing to do the difficult work, even though we think there could be an easier way to do these things. Easy and efficent does not always equal whole and healing.
Today, I am in need of a little water. And, for the first time in a while I am willing to do whatever it takes to make sure I get it.
When I went to Tanzania so long ago, I remember logging everything in the journal I had purchased before I went on my 3 month trip. With each entry, I gained perspective and hope. That summer I learned and observed so much, and I was able to process it because of my own dedication to making time to write.
Fast forward to now, the end of the year 2016. Since that summer in Tanzania, so much has changed. I am married to that same adventureous man I made the initial trek with, and together we have been working in Haiti and the Dominican Republic since late 2010. I stopped journaling around 2013.
Things got really hard and messy and complicated. When I went to write, I could no longer eek out what I was witnessing or what I was learning. That stretch lasted until about...oh, November 2016. I am back in the USA for a season and in this time, I have learned a lot about myself and had so much time to think about what I have learned in these years backlogged.
So, I have decided to start a different kind of journal. This one is messy, confusing at times and full of adventure. It is not really chronological, nor is it neat and tidy. This journal will, however, hold the stories so dear to my heart and the lessons I have taken away from them (along with the questions I have from these experiences). Feel free to tag along with me, or not- because these stories are coming out one way or another :).
overthinker and under-planned; development worker, believer, friend, wife, sister, daughter; learning a lot every day.