I remember the very first time I met a Voodoo priest- I'd live with him and his family for a good while. I'd stay with them during the day and eat what they ate, did what they did, lived life the way they lived life- all but accepting their faith of course as mine. But little did I know how soon I'd realize they were so similar to me. Their fears, their pains, their jokes, their sorrows- their fervent faith and search for God. Then the conversation I can never forget- Papa Sanaan and I talking about our faith. The 6 foot something, all muscle and a very deep voice voodoo priest could not intimidate me. In Creole we sat and talked and shared our life's ups and downs.... ironic how we had so many similarities. I remember the day my faith was reborn in the voodoo temple.
I remember the riots during the Aristide regime. I was there through them- alone, me, in the "Big City"... what was I thinking? I wasn't. I look back and remember the bodies in the street, the guns shots, the military trucks, the chaos everywhere- and especially the intersection we needed to cross but was blocked by gunfire. There I sit, in a pick up truck alone - a young white girl on a mission to "help Haiti". Never felt so inadequate to accomplish such a dream..... hiding in the truck I was asked what I doing there. Funny, I had asked myself that same question. I remember being lost in it all, hiding on the floor - paralyzed by it all- feeling very inadequate.
I remember the breathtaking view from Hotel Montana- what was once one of the most elite Hotels in all of Haiti. I remember the afternoon spent there, relaxing on the balcony with views over all the city. We ate amazing food, dined with very interesting people, and talked much about Haiti's "situation". (Has that conversation ever stopped?) I remember looking at the city, a city I could fit in between my fingers from the position I was in that day- taking pictures, taking more pictures, and more pictures. Ah- that day was beautiful, it was overwhelming and rang with mystery. I remember the day Haiti took my breath away again....
I remember my first word in Creole. It was "saucyet" which means "tickle". It came in very handy with the children- oh those children were every it seemed. An endless game, back and forth- they'd stare at me, my eyes would catch theirs, "SAUCYET" I'd yell.... chase after them and well- I was always out numbered. Through multiple visits I've worked with over 9,000 children in Haiti- still play duck duck goose every time I go. I remember "saucyet".
I remember the wondrous city of Jacmel- just through the mountains, after the long long winding road from PaP- the amazing coastal city exclaimed to all "Come visit". The beaches are beautiful, the sound of live Troubadou music fills the air and the taste of the fish they serve you for dinner is only unique to Haiti herself. It's a taste you have to try time and time again if you ever go back (and most likely you do). Jacmel..... artists painting in the streets, men making delicate pottery, bars open all day with cafes and promenades- and the festival for the new year----- we had such a great time. The sounds of RaRa bands in the streets. The people marching all together with their horns and instruments- chanting and singing- we were on the rooftop of our hotel- seeing it all below. How I longed to march along, dance with them- I felt the rhythm of the RaRa music within ... I remember Jacmel and the parties of '01.
I remember the schools I taught at in PaP- the hundreds of bright green shirts facing my way. Never nervous, we exchanged information- I hope I can call it teaching but that's up to the kids themselves. But I remember them thinking of me as if I was their hero, or celebrity. It bothered me- still does. Sure I get why, but truth is they are mine. They are stronger, tougher, more resilient than I could ever hope to be. They face life head on, hold nothing back, and take it as it comes- Haiti's young are my heroes- they are the stars I look up to, they are the future in my little life. I remember teaching the young in many of the block buildings of Port-au-Prince.
I remember the day I went to a "real" market- I was lost. People and people and more people. We went through one market only to enter another. And then came out of that one only to find our way through another. It was so busy the people barely noticed us- which is a good thing of course. Color everywhere, reds and blues, bright greens and purples. Fish cooked over fire and dead goats hung above us. We walked and walked and walked some more. Finally after a few hours, in the noon of the day when the sun is so hot- we came to a clearing. There, on a little hill was a small hut. A large lady sat in a chair in front. She saw me and I went to her, looked her in the eyes and said, Bonjou. She asked me what I was doing there- Again I had no idea..... amidst it all I felt so very small... it was a much different view than that which Hotel Montana had to offer. She laughed at me!!! What?? She laughed, said something else in Creole - and I walked on- feeling humiliated. I never felt so small. I remember the lively market of Port-au-Prince- where I discovered my true size.
I remember the secret church somewhere in the mountains of rural Haiti. We called it a secret because at night it held services but only during the day we couldn't seem to find it. It was a mystery indeed. At night I and a friend would walk through the banana trees, straight ahead, then take a right at the rock- there only by candlelight we heard the voices of Christians singing to Jesus. Songs that were familiar to us- we stood in the back taking it all in. Watching by candlelight the church worship with all they had within them. Taking it all in, almost surreal the atmosphere of the little room- we left as quietly as we came. I remember the worship of the secret church in the mountains- I'd never felt so close to heaven.
I remember celebrating my birthday with my twin sister in Haiti- can't get better than that! With pizza and coke we sat together, by the oscillating fan- laughing about our time together and pleading with the neighborhood children to stop starring in the windows at us. Somehow they made it into the house and too our cokes but not our pizza. We were happy- we were 22. Iremember blessed birthdays in Haiti - quaint and simple they were.
I remember Simonet, Haiti. A small little town on the side of the road you can only get to if you knew exactly where to turn. If you don't know you'd be searching for hours; the path leading down to it is so hidden. The children are everywhere and they are always ready to play. I remember the puppet show we did in the middle of the "street". Thanks to the hotel for the sheet and the socks which were made into puppets- The faces of the children were illuminated with wonder- wow- it doesn't take much to put a smile on their face. Their happiness that hour kept us going- despite the rocky area we were kneeling on and the sun hitting our face. Simple service on the street. I remember puppet shows and laughter in Simonet.
I remember the women selling fruit on the side of the road. It was my first summer in PaP- alone. Plenty of time to practice my Creole, plenty of places to go and walk to- my favorite of course being the corner where they were sitting. So one day I joined them. I just sat down- and didn't move for a very long time. I wanted to know how it felt to be them- such a stupid assumption I had I know- but I wanted to know what it was like to try and sell something on the street, to sit there all day waiting to sell one piece, and then go home- with about 30 others trying to do the same things all around you. I wanted to hear their conversations, see all the things passing by that they did- I remember that afternoon very well- I remember doing business in Haiti- it was hard.
Then- I remember hearing the news. January 12, 2010 I was at the gym. I saw the news on the TV in front of me. "A devastating earthquake has hit Haiti today, thousands are feared dead...." Silent, stunned, and scared I stood there - so far from my home in Haiti- I stood and watched it all on the TV. I remember exactly where I was January 12- and that day I thought of everything I've remembered above- my heart broke. There would be no more views from Hotel Montana, no artists found in the collapsed city of Jacmel, no children in the schools destroyed in Port-au-Prince. What happened to all the people I met? Are they alive? Where are they? How could I ever know? They will remain a memory forever ingrained in me- I simply wouldn't know the extent of what has happened to Haiti. I remember January 12, 2010.
I have dreams for Haiti, often times they run down my face. Now, 16 years later, I would give up anything for the opportunity to go back to everything I remember and do it all again. All the "things" I have now cannot compare to the moments and memories I have from my time in Haiti. If I could exchange this for that- I'd do it in a heartbeat, that's how much Haiti means to me.
Our lives and our days are not numbered. Spend yourself for the sake of others and you will never regret it.
Give freely of your time, your resources, and even your dreams- and let the world know you're here.
I remember exactly where I was January 12- and that day I thought of everything I've remembered above- my heart broke.
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