I walked through the community, weaving in between houses and trying to keep up with my two friends who knew where they were going. Some of the walls we passed were brightly painted pink and caribbean teal, but most of them were that concrete grey. The direct sunlight hit right down on us and there was no shade around. We walked up a small hill, covered in white rocks, and yelled out the Haitian Creole phrase for "You there?"
We'd arrived at Georgette's house. She answered back with the phrase for "Come on in!" and we opened the two sheets blocking her porch.
Georgette has stood out to me since the day I met her. She has a look about her, you can just tell she has been through so much in her life. Her community surrounding her call her "Ti Fanm" affectionately, meaning "Little Girl," due to her short stature. Though she is little, she has so much life behind her eyes. I learned a lot, even that day on her porch.
She was upset. Her daughter, one of the kids in our children's program, was pregnant. The man was older. Her daughter couldn't attend school any longer. She'd just sold her bed to help send her daughter to school. She was without a job, without choices.
I remember how much admiration I had for my friend, Clelie, who was with me. She so calmly assured Georgette that her life would be ok, yet also spoke sternly to her, with love like a mother. I listened on, mostly understanding their fast paced Creole conversation and vacillating between wanting to burst into tears and just bottle it up. What a world this woman faced every day.
We left her house with a hug and a smile. We had a plan of how to help her and her daughter work through the 9 months that would follow. But, even more than that, we had a connection with her.
Georgette began coming to our ministry house randomly. She'd stop by for a little food, offer to wash some of our clothes, hang out with us, and share about her life. She'd shared about her old hopes and dreams. She'd bring her other, younger daughter by when she was visiting. The way she spoke was as if she was a 75 year old woman, looking back at her life. But, it wasn't until I started to know her more that I realized she'd lived all that life in a mere 32 years.
Heartache, disappointment, being taken advantage of, being told she was worth nothing without a husband, struggling to find something to eat, taking care of her children...feeling alone and desperate and in need of help all at the same time.
Georgette represents a large majority of women in Haiti, and really many women in the developing world. She has more rights than some, far less rights than others around the world.
As I got to know Georgette more, I liked her more. She became this hilarious light in my life and shared her broken and hard story with me. Even though there were times I was not in Haiti, she'd still write me (and writes me still) updating me with pictures of her new grandson, her life, and her work. Becoming friends with Georgette has unpeeled a layer of definitions that I always held close to my heart, being in this line of work. I had clung to words like "empowerment," "freedom," and "opportunity," but I had such conceptual and American views on what those words meant. Not that American women do not know struggle, but knowing Haitian women opened up an additional world to me.
I have always been passionate about the rights of the marginalized. Women's freedoms are (obviously) very personal to me. However, meeting Georgette and the women in her community showed me that being passionate about women's rights means more than caring about myself. It means so much more- sisterhood transcends cultural and linguistic barriers. It is about knowing that somehow, as Lilla Watson once said, "my liberty is bound up in yours."
I have realized, through my friendships with women in Haiti (and the DR, and around the world), that my life is different through knowing the struggles of the international community. My freedom has truly been bound up with theirs- and the staggering differences between my freedoms and theirs shocks me consistently.
This has been an inspirational cornerstone for me these days. Today, as the Women's March on Washington happened and I proudly (metaphorically) stood with my sisters as they brought attention to some issues that certainly warrant it, I also received a text from Ryan.
It was a picture of Georgette. Working on her bags with our small business, Fanm Konbit.
When I met her just over a year or so ago, she was angry and sad. She was hopeless and wanting out. She had given up.
Through the love of a community, through the efforts of many realizing their liberation being bound up with up hers, through the empowering and fearless and ferocious love of God, she has begun to come up out of her heaviness of hopelessness and into a light of liberation.
Let's not just throw around these catch phrases of empowerment and freedom, without realizing what painstaking work this is. Giving someone else freedom might mean losing your own privilege or what you believe you deserve. But, its worth it.
Because what happens when we aim to empower and help free those we see in shackles, something interesting happens: they free us from the chains we don't realize we wear.
The Love of God is such that He gives us this fellowship- this love and devotion- that we would set folks free and in the same breath become more free ourselves.
I thank God for Georgette and the work she is doing in Haiti. For the life she is living now. For the ways she has taught me to be more real and truer to myself; for the ways she's shown me beauty in weakness and defeat. I am most thankful for this sisterhood of wonderful women, all over the world, but especially in Haiti. What a family to have.