In the beginning

Blog written March 25th 2021.

Our second medical mission to Haiti was in April of 2002, 15 months after the earthquake that killed as many as five hundred thousand people and resulted in more than seventy thousand traumatic amputations (this means with out a doctor). Our medical team was focused on orthopedics; surgeries, casts, braces, walkers, crutches and making prosthetic limbs for amputees on site in one or two days using old limbs donated to our group, “Phoenix rising for Haiti”. I brought my sewing machine to Haiti as my carry on, on the plane, and was using it hours a day. The prosthetists would create a fitted sleeve with plaster and resin for the individual stumps, then search through the pile of old limbs to find one that could work. I would then repair or replace the straps, velcro and buckles on the old limbs to make them usable. Thousands of Haitians live entire lives with missing limbs relying on crutches to get around, unable to work and looked down on by society. Medical care is expensive and is required to be paid for cash up front, if you need help. With an unemployment rate as high as 80% nation wide, it is clear why this sad statistic is a reality.

This trip was emotionally devastating for me. The reality of immense wide spread suffering simply because of national poverty, was like a lead blanket of sorrow smothering my soul. There are so many people in Haiti who have merely broken their leg and because they were unable to get it set and casted, they are now crippled because their bones healed together in the broken position. As we worked in a building on the side of a road near the North West Haiti Christian Mission, children, mostly boys would congregate and beg from the foreigners staying or working there. There were dozens of them reaching out their hands with hunger and desperation in their eyes, pleading for just one dollar or something to eat. I imagined California where I live. I saw the masses of people with rainbow hair and flowered nails in the malls with handfuls of bags containing frivolous purchases and eating ice cream and Crispy Cream donuts. I imagined our church potlucks with obscene, copious amounts of rich foods, and people eating so much they were over weight. The reality of selfishness, self indulgence and gluttony among clueless abundant Americans made me very sad. There is so much surplus in one place, and I couldn’t even give these kids something, anything to eat.

As I sat at my machine dripping sweat in the 90 degree heat and 85 percent humidity I felt overwhelmed with grief. I had visited some of the dwellings of a few of these children. I refer to them as dwellings because houses they were not. I felt helpless and hopeless. I wanted to scream at America to wake up and give just a little of their over abundance to alleviate the suffering of those that are hungry and injured. “It’s just not fair” I thought. “Why don’t people care? If these children were on the street in California, wouldn’t someone stop to help?” Americans often only want to help Americans. AMERICA FIRST. Well, America has clean water. Americans can poop in a porcelain toilet and with the flip on a handle it’s taken care of. America has flood channels in the event of heavy rains to keep neighborhoods safe. Not so in Haiti. Even a homeless person in America can drink from a fountain and use a public restroom. Even a homeless person has access to community meals, shelter in the storms, and if they fall and break a leg they are taken to a hospital and the leg is fixed for free! In Haiti, these children must drink and bathe in a contaminated river, their only affordable source of water. They do not have toilets and must dig holes to bury their waste, which then bubbles up and contaminates their environment in the frequent heavy rains of the Caribbean. These children also do not have access to medical care because they have no money. I learned that 99% of schools in Haiti are privately owned schools run for profit. Only around 20% of the population can afford these schools. It’s upwards of $30.00-$160.00 (American dollars) per month tuition, depending on the grade level, and they must buy uniforms yearly($30-$80 Am$). Books, and writing supplies are not included and some schools even require students to access the internet in order to receive assignments. This is absurd for the vast majority of citizens, meaning 80% percent of Haitian children never learn to read or write, perpetuating the cycle of abject poverty.

Now, I was sitting in front of my sewing machine, sewing on a limb for a 12 year old boy who had been stuck in the rubble of the Port Au Prince earthquake for nine days. His young mother who had given birth to him at age 12, had been bringing him water and trying to get him help. His whole right arm was crushed and out of sight buried beneath a two foot thick slab of concrete, which had been the floor above them. After nine days the boy began to convulse. So, in desperation his young mother took a piece of sharp mettle from the wreckage and sawed and severed off his arm just below the shoulder releasing him from his prison so she could carry him somewhere he could get help. He survived and they fled to the North, ending up as a patient in our free clinic. As I was working on his prosthetic arm I was sheading tears, not noticeable mixed with the dripping sweat. Thinking of all the unimaginable suffering, my whole being was overwhelmed with sorrow.

Suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was a little Haitian boy about six years old. He had found his way into the open workshop. His sweet round face smiled gently as he pulled a wisp of hair up from my face and tucked it behind my ear.

“Whats sa matter Madam? You look vewee sad. You cry!” His dark eyes and smooth, shinny skin framed his beautiful white teeth showing through his gentle smile.

“Madam, why you sad?” I looked at him and broke down crying, blurting out that “America has so much and I can’t even give you boys something to eat!! I want to help and I can’t!” He took a long deep breath and his smile slowly grew larger.

“Please don’t worry Madam……….. God knows all things!” you know? “Bondye Konnen tout bagay” His smile was full of peace and his words penetrated my sorrow and the lead weight lifted off my heart. “You help a lot Madam!” “I pray for you!” Then he put his hand on my head and began to pray in Creole in the name of Jesus. Although at that time I knew minimal Creole, I understood what he was saying, and his calm and peaceful smile soothed my aching heart. He finished praying, kissed me on the cheek and left. I never saw him again. A strong sense of peace came over me and the things that were troubling me turned into a calm confidence. I no longer felt hopeless or helpless, because this sweet little poverty stricken boy had blessed me. He had reminded me that God is in control and through God anything is possible. And God ended up making soo much happen through my husband and me in Haiti. This small boys’ words became a sort of motto for me. Once back in California his words settled permanently deep in my heart.

I ended up writing a song entitled BONYE KONNEN TOUT BAGAY/GOD KNOWS ALL THINGS, …and He does!

Here is the song.