Farewell to Haiti
On Wednesday I will be leaving Haiti and returning to the United States. The past four months have been the most rewarding of my life. I have been challenged by having to live in a different environment, speak a different language, and get used to improvising when things don’t go according to plan. Something as simple as sending an email can take days to accomplish due to the internet connection, and when working in this environment I was forced to be very independent and make decisions according to my best judgement. These challenges have made me very resourceful, and I feel like I am equipped for any workplace in the future.
There are many images of Haiti which will remain with me for the rest of my life: the colors of the marketplace, the brightly painted tap-taps which have more than twenty people crammed into the bed of a pickup truck, the cheerful and upbeat sound of Kompa music, the smell of burning trash everywhere, the candles at a Vodou ceremony, the wonderful taste of an ice cold Prestige beer, the not so wonderful taste of donkey meat, the sound of drums as we marched to the beat in a Rara parade down the mountain in Cange, the wails of grief at a funeral, the greeting exchanged when meeting an old woman riding a mule on a mountain path, and the exhilarating feel of wind in my face as I ride on a motorcycle, trying to take everything in. Haiti is so much more than just the stereotypical images of poverty, piles of trash, arid mountains, and shacks. It is teeming with vibrant colors and joy. People celebrate their life, their health, their families, and their communities. There is a palpable sense of joy in the dancing at parties or the singing in church. Haitians are not resigned to life, but rather embrace it.
I do not want to downplay the poverty which exists here. I have seen so much sickness and hunger that sometimes I feel as if I am numb to it, because it is so much a part of everyday life. But there are so many gains being made to combat all of that. I work in a hospital that is providing healthcare to the people of the Central Plateau. I see joyful parents with their newborn baby and anxious expectant mothers waiting for their appointments. I live in the building that houses the pharmacy, so when I walk out of my front door I see people waiting to have their prescriptions filled. I’ve seen a man being carried by four men on a homemade stretcher, from a village a seven hour walk away. He was brought to Cange because he knew he could receive quality treatment at the hospital. I’ve seen an orphan boy who is one of my friends waiting to get the cast taken off of his arm. Despite not having any way to pay, he is able to receive free treatment. There has been a sharp increase in cholera cases in the surrounding villages, which have been treated at the Cange hospital. Cange itself hasn’t had a single case due to the chlorinated water system. People here say they only feel safe drinking the water in Cange. I’ve felt the success of a job well done as water began to flow out of the system we worked to repair in Bel Aire, which had been broken for months. Not every endeavor has been a success, and it can be hard to see the impact of day to day efforts, but in the moments when you see that people’s lives are getting better, everything is worth it.
The most meaningful experience for me has been the relationships I’ve formed with people in the community and my feeling of belonging. I have made some incredible friendships, and I am very sad to go. The kids in Cange are so much fun, and it makes me smile every time I’m walking somewhere and hear one of them shout my name and wave. Their smiles and laughter are infectious, and I don’t know if I’ve ever met kids with such a sense of humor.
Community events have been so much fun, especially soccer games. Hundreds of kids come to watch, screaming and cheering like crazy. I played violin with the youth orchestra, and experienced music as a universal activity that can bring people together. Church is a joyful occasion, especially the annual Parish Fête, when there was lots of singing and dancing, then an offering where all the women in the church processed down the aisle with a food offering. The offerings ranged from huge bunches of bananas to dead chickens to bottles of rum to a live goat. We went to parties that lasted into the early hours of the night, my favorite being a party on the street with a hastily constructed stage for the DJ. Local politicians had contributed donations to the party committee, and Ashley and I made a measly contribution of $20. During the party the DJ made an announcement, saying that whenever Ashley and I are in Cange, “we are home.”
I do feel as if I am home here, and I will miss walking down the street and being greeted with a “bonjou” or “bonswa” by so many familiar faces. I will miss my friends on the water team, who have become like brothers to me. I will miss the ladies in the kitchen, who have cooked every meal for me for the past four months. Though I may not have believed some of the things I ate here if you told me about it a few years ago, I am so grateful for all of the meals they prepared. Their kindness and sassy personalities will be greatly missed. Finally, I will miss Ashley who has been by my side every day. We make such a great team, and I think we complemented each other’s strengths well. I am so in awe of Ashley’s work ethic, kindness, and engineering skills. I was so lucky to be able to do my internship with her. It will be strange not to see her every day after living together for so many months.
As I say goodbye to Haiti, its mountains and its people, I do not know when I will return. But I do know that all that I have experienced and all of the people I love here will never leave me. Ayiti, mwen renmen ou anpil. Mwen pral manke ou. Mèsi pou yo te lakay mwen.
