Haiti H2O

By Sarah Hancock
Chatham College

My soon-to-be-friends were overflowing from the bed of the pickup truck in front of me as we drove along the perilous mountain roads in southern Haiti. In a cramped, non-descript white van, we followed the truck towards the small community of Plain Matin, where I, along with three other Chatham students, a few CMU students, and three students from Philadelphia would be spending Spring Break.
Lexi Ribar, Caitlin Moss, Ebony Williams, and I were introduced to the idea of the mission trip in July of 2010, and we made the final decision to go in October.  A few months and several short flights and long layovers later, we arrived in Port-au-Prince on March 4, 2011. I remember walking outside of the airport and trying to take in everything: the landscape, the devastation, the language, the culture. Before I left, I had not imagined what Haiti would look like; I had no idea what to expect. After surveying the airport parking lot, we piled into a 70’s style, western looking van and headed south-west towards Les Cayas, Haiti’s third largest city, and eventually Plain Matin.
The van acted as our American bubble as we maneuvered through the roads of Port-au-Prince. We drove through the city as if we were quickly walking through an exhibition at a museum seeing glimpses of Haitian culture; however, we were separated by our soft, leather seats; the cool air blowing from the vents; and the thick, tinted van windows. During this first car trip, most people on my mission team sat quietly, entranced by the scenes of Haiti surrounding us. Forgotten trash lay in thick bands on either side of the road as we passed tent cities, which housed families, friends, and enemies all living closely together under small tarps. Vendors, animals, and children waded through the trash as they walked through the city completing their daily chores. No smiles. No laughter. And we sat comfortably in an air conditioned van.
After a short break in Les Cayas, we transferred vehicles and began to follow the pick-up truck up the precarious mountain road. Finally, we reached our destination in Haiti: Plain Matin. We arrived after sun set, so we had no visual response to the community. Stumbling out of the pick-up truck and the van, we were directed towards a cinder block building.  Using rocks as steps, we climbed into the church and walked towards the center of the uneven concrete floors. I was surprised that this concrete building, the one with holes for windows and bigger holes for doors, was the community’s church. As our group gathered together in a circle, we were introduced to the Pastor of the community. Standing together, the Pastor instructed us to hold hands, and he began to pray for us. Tired and overwhelmed by the stark and strange surroundings, we were comforted by his prayer. Though the Pastor only spoke French and Creole, we were able to understand the essence his prayer.
Pastor finished his prayer, and looking up, I noticed that my eyes had adjusted to the dark. I surveyed the inside of the church, and I began to see children piling on top of one another to look inside the windows and doors. As I walked over to say “Hello”, they all began to touch me, and speak to me in mixed French and Creole. I have taken a few semesters of college French, so I was able to understand and answer their questions. They were enamored by my ability to speak their language, my white skin tone, and my very presence in their isolated community. The people were so grateful that we had even made the trip to their small town. Living in the remote mountains, they often feel as if the world has forgotten that they exist. The people of Plain Matin were thankful for our simple visit to their home.
My group had planned to help the community build a cistern behind their church. Before we left, we raised enough money and sent it to Plain Matin, so that the community could buy the supplies in anticipation of our arrival. When we woke up on the morning of our first full day in Plain Matin, however, we noticed that the community had already built the cistern with the money we had given them. Setting aside our initial intentions, we began to realize that the trip would be more than just laying bricks for a small community. As the week passed, my experience did became more than the quick glimpses from the initial car ride. By spending time in Plain Matin, I was able to interact with the Haitians in a unique way. Though we had barriers of language and culture, we were part of a family in Christ. We could pray, sing, and worship together, transcending our respective countries customs. We shared in moments of heartbreak, joy, and thankfulness.
My time in Plain Matin, however, did not erase the images of poverty and destruction; rather, it added a layer of meaning. The images I had seen were short segments of an actual Haitian’s life, and my time in Plain Matin added a background and a personality to the snip-its. I observed that the people of Plain Matin do live in poverty, but they are capable. They may not have access to the same education that I do, but the people are smart. Our mission trip to Plain Matin demonstrated the importance of relationships between people and between nations. During the rest of the week, I learned that these relationships depend on an understanding of the other’s needs, and that they require a realization and an acceptance of the other’s culture. My mission team built friendships with the people and acted as partners, who worked side-by-side depending on one another. In that week in March, we solidified our identity as a family, as children of God, and as a segment in each other’s lives.

Wake up Neo: My Week in Haiti

Part 2

by David Bigbee

Our final night in Plain Matin ended on a grim note.  As our heads were running with ideas of what we would do for this community when we got home, our minds were jolted back into the present by the story of Pastor Farril’s wife.  She told her story of how she was persecuted by the community and her family.  She told of sickness, and having to turn away people who asked for money.  She told of contemplating suicide.  Our fairytale ending was shattered.  It’s easy to think that the life in Haiti is all that the people there know, that they are used to it, and that they are happy.  My first trip to Haiti, during a visitation we did with villagers, we asked a woman, “What is your favorite part of Haiti?”  Her reply: “Nothing.”

There were going to be no easy answers, no quick fixes, and no simple, clean solutions.  Problems in Haiti are complex, nuanced, and interconnected.  The suffering is intense and real and suddenly our visions for the future were daunting tasks.  There is just too much hurt to cover.  I know my heart breaks at that thought, and I’m sure all of yours do too.  Not a whole lot was said between us as we went to sleep that final night.

Our trip back to the United States went according to plan.  I love the experience of the Haitian marketplace in Cayes.  There is so much art, culture, food, people, and fast-talking salespeople all crammed into such a small space.  It’s Haitian overload.  We bought souvenirs, coffee, and art.  I was very happy to restock on Haitian coffee.  I like it extra strong, just like the Haitians make it.

A van ride, walks through baggage checks, customs, and a wait at an airport gate later, we were headed back home.  Our brains, as well as our skin, were fried, so there wasn’t a whole lot to say on the plane rides home.  Our trip was over, and before I knew it, I was back in my own bed.  Thoughts of Haiti swirled in my head as I drifted to sleep.  I missed it already.

After experiencing a place like Haiti, I think it’s impossible to really return to my everyday life.  Thoughts, ranging from faintly hopeful to despondent, dreams and even nightmares claw at me constantly.  The temptation is to view all this as negative.  It doesn’t feel good; it doesn’t feel comfortable.  It’s taxing, emotionally and spiritually to think about Haiti.  After a few days, I always find myself thinking How can I forget? But that’s asking the wrong question.  Forgetting doesn’t love, forgetting doesn’t transform, forgetting doesn’t help.  I will have had the experience, but missed the meaning, as Jeff often says.  The real question I should be asking myself is “How do I respond?”  It’s not an easy question to answer, especially with the dizzying array of pressures and obligations that surround me in America.

I’m trying to readapt to my “normal life”.  It seems so much less comfortable now. It’s very eerie to drive around in a luxury car with ignorantly smiling friends, listening to song after song about materialism (that admittedly, I really enjoy and listen to a lot), wearing nice clothes, eating deliciously prepared food almost instantly. And then to have a thought hit me about Haiti. While I go about my life, my friends in Haiti are going about theirs. My initial response is guilt. Here I am carrying things in my pocket worth more than what a Haitian family makes in a month.  I don’t deserve to have these things, especially while such amazing people suffer.  But guilt, I’ve learned, isn’t very conducive to action, to loving, to change. Guilt is paralyzing and causes people to dig their heels in. Why would I return to Haiti or respond to Haiti if it just reminds me of this guilt? Guilt is the first step in forgetting.

The braver option, the right response, I think, is to recognize that working through the hell that is Haiti is worth the heaven that will come through that effort and through that interaction. I’ll never get to see the whole picture of the Kingdom, not while I’m alive at least. I’ll likely never even get to see Haiti come anywhere close to realizing its potential. The political and economic forces that keep Haiti down are not going away anytime soon. But as we worked in what felt like hell, we got to see heaven too. I remember distinctly the night that Pastor Paul surprised us to celebrate Jeff’s birthday.  It was simple.  We sang and ate cake.  But something special happened that night. Here we are: 18 people from America and maybe 12 Haitians packed into a shack the size of my bedroom—8 sticks in the ground with a tarp wrapped around them and a tin roof. There’s happy conversation, smiles, high fives, slaps on the back, laughing. Amidst all this terrible tragedy that our minds can hardly process, we’re laughing and eating birthday cake. For a brief moment, heaven burst a hole right into hell. Haitians, Americans, with nothing in common but their common creation by the Lord, laughing together uncontrollably. I look at Dave, and he’s looking around desperately for someone to listen to him, and he meets eyes with one of our Haitian interpreters, Lukener. He’s extremely excited, and he says exactly what we were all thinking but didn’t have the audacity to say. “Lukener! This is what Heaven is going to be like!”

Looking back on that moment, I know that’s the one memory I want to latch onto from this trip. That moment made it all worth it. Weeks of planning, a day of travelling each way, the nightmares I still have. But I wouldn’t trade this trip for anything because I wouldn’t trade that moment for anything. What Dave said was true because we did experience a little bit of heaven that night. We had laid a brick in God’s Kingdom. Good hearts, good people; the Good Lord had won, if only for a second. When I’m dancing in God’s Kingdom with my Haitian friends, I can look at the walls and say, “Hey! Do you remember when we laid that brick there? And that one! And that one!” It will be the most ineffably joyful moment.  I can’t even think of the words to describe it. I know that moment will happen because I’ve experienced a little bit of it already. That’s what motivates me. That’s what is most important.

Is guilt logical? Easy? Justifiable? All yes. But it’s not transformative. So even if I feel guilty, the solution is not to avoid it and hide, but rather to move past it because it’s insignificant in the perspective of the joy I can share in and experience through working in rhythm with the Lord.

Regardless of your response to this trip, I hope you know that through your service to the Lord hearts were changed.  I hope you remember to approach life with open hands, and that you keep the men, women, and children of Haiti in your prayers and hearts.  You could have gone anywhere for your spring break.  Heck, you could have stayed at a swanky boathouse in Fort Lauderdale.  You didn’t.  Instead, you followed Jesus.  You saw it through, and you didn’t blink.  I’m honored to call you my friends.  Jesu renmen ou.

Wake up Neo: My Week in Haiti

Part 1

by David Bigbee

I opened my eyes slightly as I woke up, and immediately my mind flooded with questions: Is that sunlight?  Where am I?  Was that day of travelling just a dream?  Instead of birds chirping, I heard voices speaking quickly.  In Creole.  Oh yeah—I’m in Haiti.

The day before, we had traveled from the United States to the building we now occupy. After our plane touched down in Port-au-Prince, we eagerly, yet nervously worked our way through customs and baggage claim.  I tried to act like I knew what I was doing.  I didn’t want to be the stupid American that makes a mistake and gets stared at—as if a group of 18 Americans huddled around baggage carts in the middle of a Haitian airport doesn’t draw enough attention.  As of this point, we had not left our nice, comfortable American bubble: we had transitioned from an airplane, to an airport, to an air conditioned bus.  We were all tired, but much too intrigued by the world just beyond our windows to sleep.

Have you ever noticed that a car window looks a whole lot like a TV screen?  Watching the scenes outside my window, I could distance myself from the people on the other side of the glass as we rode through the streets of Port-au-Prince. Immersed in the usual comforts of air conditioning, American music, and English speaking people, I felt as if the Haitian people just feet from me might as well have been a thousand miles away on some video about Haiti I had seen a million times. Some of us described this car trip as depressing, hopeless, and overwhelming.  We saw tent cities, rubble, garbage—no smiles.  We saw a presidential palace still in ruin: a haunting confirmation of the ever-present feeling that no one was really in charge.

The bus took us to Pastor Paul’s house, which had electricity, couches, and great food—fairly similar to our American lifestyles. From there, we took trucks up to Plain Matin.  We saw some Haitians as we got our stuff moved into the church for the night, but we didn’t get to shake their hands, or learn their names, or see their faces, or hear their stories.  Which brings us to this morning.  We all woke up and began to realize that our American bubble was about to be burst: it was the beginning of a great adventure.

A combination of roosters, sunlight and Haitian morning chatter woke me up. My green cot creaked as I sat up to check my unfamiliar surroundings.  I rubbed the sleepiness out of my eyes and was greeted with sheepish, confused smiles by the people I would soon be calling my friends. I decided the first thing I wanted to do was journal.  I pulled my notebook and pen out of my backpack and began to write down my thoughts.  “Day 1: Boy, it was cold last night!”.  I didn’t anticipate it being as cold as it was up in the mountains of Plain Matin, but it seemed fitting.  In the past 24 hours, I had gone from Pittsburgh weather, which was cold enough that I could see my breath; to the muggy, permeating warmth of the Haitian sun; to a brief, but torrential downpour; to a cold night curled up in my sleeping bag.  The weather foretold of the experiences that awaited us.  Haiti is a nation of extremes: extreme poverty, extreme suffering, extreme beauty, extreme perseverance.  In just a week’s time, we would see and experience each of these extremes for ourselves and step foot back on American soil with a new heart, a heart that was repeatedly broken and restored as we witnessed the realities of life in the Haitian countryside.

From that point, whether you jumped in or you were pushed in, you were immersed in Haiti.  We were told to leave our expectations at home, but undoubtedly they came along with us.  Just as undoubtedly, though, those expectations were left trampled like the garbage under a tap-tap with fifteen Haitians in the back.  Hm, I wonder if they really do eat spaghetti for breakfast turns pretty quickly to Uhh, a bug just landed in my spaghetti.

Our first real interaction with the Haitians in Plain Matin came that morning, as the church building was seemingly flooded with curious children.  Shockingly, word had gotten out that a bunch of blans were in the community.  A few “Sak pase?”s and “Ki jan oule?”s later, we all seemed to stand around, unsure of exactly what to do.  What to do with a bunch of adorable Haitian kids that we can’t really talk to?  Thankfully, someone’s babysitting instincts kicked in.  Bust out the crayons and coloring books!  I was watching one boy as he started drawing.  After a few moments, he realized I was looking over his shoulder, and he turned and said something to me in Creole.  I’m not sure of the exact translation, but considering the look on his face, I’m pretty sure it was something to the effect of,“What the heck are you looking at?”  Classic.

It was a great way to start our trip, but we were in Haiti for more than feel-good moments and photo-ops.  We piggy-backed onto a program with the Croix Rouge, which is the Haitian version of Red Cross.  They were sending volunteers out into the countryside to inform people, in light of the recent cholera outbreak, of clean water handling, cooking, and sanitation practices.  They passed out posters, soap, and water sanitation tablets.  We journeyed out into the countryside that day in groups of three accompanied by interpreters.  This was the first time I truly appreciated the fantastic view we had in Plain Matin—rolling hills that seem to go on forever paths winding every which way, dotted every once in a while by a small house made of sticks, tin, and mud.  After much yelling from hill to hill, an impromptu meeting of Haitians seemed to form out of nowhere.  While the volunteer explained the information and handed out the soap and posters, I wondered to myself how it was possible that they didn’t know this information already.  Sanitation practices seemed second nature to me.  But these people are subsistence farmers.  They work tirelessly just to feed themselves and their family.  When would they have time to learn and organize these things?  As I shook the people’s hands as we left the meeting, I realized how hard those hands had worked, how much these people persevere in just their daily lives.  It is saddening, and left me feeling helpless, especially considering the dubious sustainability of passing out soap and water tablets.  After we repeated the process a few times, we headed back in for lunch.  Fittingly, it rained.

That first morning is a perfect microcosm of our time in Plain Matin.  We laughed.  We felt the joy of seeing kids just being kids, regardless of the circumstances they live in.  We felt the heartbreak of seeing the poorest living conditions in this hemisphere.  But it always came back to a communal table.  Haitians, Americans, sharing the love of Christ, eating, talking, engaging.

Our second day was a Sunday.  Dressed in our Sunday best, we entered the church weary of what to expect.  A common observation was how nicely the Haitians were dressed, how clean their clothes were.  “Chapel Dan” shared a message of how Americans and Haitians had come together, and despite distance, language barriers, and cultural barriers, we had one voice.  His message was only further driven home as, in addition to clapping along with the Haitians, we were able to recognize a few hymns, so that we could sing along in English.  Our common thread is our creator, our Lord, our Savior and our desire to praise Him. Two groups that could not be more different both praising God. The same God who somehow managed to put them both in one place.

The next three days were work days.  In comparison with the spiritual transformations going on, our actual “work” almost seems to blend into the background in retrospect.  Heck, when we got there, the Haitians had already built what we intended to build.  We weren’t really necessary.  We carried buckets of water, applied stucco to the outside walls, built up concrete block in the space between the walls and the roof. But Haitians could have completed those tasks themselves.  Friends here in the U.S. point this out and say, “Why didn’t you use the money you used for airline tickets to just give to them?  Wouldn’t that have been better?” But our purpose for being there is far beyond the material.  By being present, working with the Haitians in solidarity, their cause becomes our cause.  We now have a vision for what is possible in Plain Matin, a vision that would not have been possible if we had simply sent money.  We have relationships, memories, and ideas that will eventually build this community up beyond what simply money could.  Our presence was invaluable.

My name is David Bigbee and I am currently the intern at Haiti H2O: Hope to Opportunity. I go to Fox Chapel Presbyterian Church and graduated from Fox Chapel Area High School this past June. I first got involved with Haiti H2O when I went on a trip to Haiti led by Haiti H2O with FCPC in July of 2009.
I have felt called to missions for a long time, and had been intrigued by the possibility of committing a year between high school and college to service or mission. I have been taught from an early age that God has given gifts to us that we might use those gifts for the good of the world and the good of His kingdom. We not only have skills, money, and time, but also love and fellowship we can share with those we encounter. I have always felt that this was the most fulfilling way to live.
I was very active during high school in the youth program at FCPC, going on retreats, mission trips, and serving as a leader for middle schoolers for three years. I was hoping to find a way to continue serving God and others, and at the same time gain experience for what I may do later in life. Influenced particularly by the news of the tragic January earthquake and wanting to strengthen bonds with friends I had made in Haiti on my previous trip, I approached Haiti H2O about a possible internship.
I am very excited for and honored by the opportunity to serve the beautiful people of Haiti while exploring what I may want to do with my life years down the road. I know that I will learn a lot about how a non-profit operates, about how to make mission work meaningful and influential, and more about God and myself. I look forward to creating partnerships and friendships with those I work with, both here and in Haiti, that will last for years to come.

Brother Jeff,

It is so comforting to hear from you! Thank you for your unconditional support to our community! We are priviledged to have such wonderful ambassadors as Haiti H2O and the teams you bring. The Lord continue to protect, bless, and enable you to be His and our ambassadors among your community!

We are doing pretty well, considering all the challenges that hunt us and what is happening around us. Thanks be to the Lord who has done great things for us. We are still going strong and kicking!

Indeed, this has been a difficult year for the Haitian community! The earth shook again in Port-au-prince both yersterday and today (Nov. 11and 12). Several students were injured yersterday morning and most schools had to dismiss soon after the quake. Fear of earthquake, fear of hurricane, fear of flooding, fear of cholera, fear of insecurity . . . there is enough to cause ulcer in many among the population.

The stuccoing of the church in plaine Martin is well under way. However, part of the roof was blown off by Tomas. Tomas also devastated many of our trees and plantations and has either damaged or destroyed many houses in the South and Grand’Anse departments. More severe hunger looms the days to come since so many of our staple food gardens and fruit trees were destroyed. Lord, have mercy!

You have a blessed weekend, Brother!

Best regards to the rest of your community!

Paul