Haitian Happiness

-Megan Dorsey

Before our GROW trip, I had never been to Haiti let alone out of the United States.  Therefore, this was a trip of many firsts for me.  It was exciting, nerve racking, eye opening, and so incredibly worthwhile.  I’m eternally grateful for being given such a unique and life changing opportunity.  As I sit down to write this I’m finding that no words can properly convey how amazing this trip actually was.  Everything I write just seems silly.  No amount of storytelling will be able to paint the scene of an equally beautiful and destructed country.  Nor will it be able to express the feeling of being welcomed wholeheartedly into numerous Haitian homes, occasionally accompanied by a kiss on the cheek from the children!  All I can do is give whoever may be reading this the tiniest glimpse of what my time in Haiti was like and hope that maybe one day all of you will be able to experience something so amazing that it leaves you searching for adequate words.

I decided to begin with a short excerpt from my journal that I think not only sums up my feelings during the course of this trip in a raw, unembellished way, but also subtly foreshadows what the rest of this reflection is about (hint: think happy thoughts!).

“I remember hearing Jim speak at the Benefit Dinner about his first trip here and how although it was hot and not always comfortable, he knew he would be back.  That’s how I feel right now.  I’m writing this while lying in bed incredibly hot and sweaty.  I’m tired and dirty from spending the whole day walking the Haitian countryside. My feet are swollen and I’m sticky from bug spray but somehow I’ve never been this happy.”

When writing this reflection I used my journal as a guide but soon noticed that most of my journal entries consisted of stupid, sleepy rambling about dirty hair and big spiders.  However, I ran across one journal entry that had a tiny bit of profound thought included and therefore decided to run with that thought.  Over the course of the two weeks I spent in Haiti, one thing I witnessed on a daily basis was how happy everyone was.  They lived in tiny cramped houses made of cement, leaves, or sometimes-just tarps, yet I did not come across a single person who seemed to be unhappy.  This was a welcome change from my own country.  Everyone always wants more and everyone has something to be unhappy about.  It became abundantly clear while in Haiti that the cause of most American’s unhappiness is usually something petty.  We take so much for granted here. We complain when we don’t get to go to a particular concert or buy an expensive pair of shoes.  We even complain when we are lucky enough to attend college or make a decent living by working.  It’s interesting how we can have so much and still spend most of our time angry for what we don’t have while the folks in Haiti have so little and spend their time being thankful for what they do have. People in America could really use a lesson from the people that I met while in Haiti.

As I look back on my time in Haiti, a million memories come rushing back.  However, one memory stands out among the rest.  It was one of our last days out surveying and Claire and I were walking with Rosembert, one of the translators and Miss Luna, one of the community health workers.  We came upon a home where they were building a well.  Miss Luna walked over to the men working to ask if they knew the mother we were looking for.  We all followed and Rosembert and Claire quickly became engrossed in the well building.  Therefore, when Miss Luna motioned us towards the house indicating that the mother we were looking for was inside, I was the only one who noticed and subsequently followed.  Miss Luna and I sat down with the mother and her baby as numerous other family members looked on.  All we could do was wait for Claire and Rosembert to join us so we could begin the survey.  Typically when we visited a family’s home, we could communicate through our translator.  However, since my translator was currently engrossed in the well building project, I was at a loss.  As we sat there separated by a language barrier, the mother stood up and walked towards me with her baby.  She simply plopped the baby down on my lap and took her seat across from me again.  The baby happily looked up at me with a slobbery grin and big brown eyes and then suddenly realized she had no idea who the funny looking girl holding her was.  She burst into tears as we all began to laugh and I handed her back to her mother.  Suddenly the language barrier disappeared and we were communicating through acts of happiness.  The remaining time waiting for Rosembert and Claire was still void of words but it was no longer silent.  The laughter continued for many different reasons until Rosembert and Claire joined us and we were able to complete the survey.  This memory still makes me smile because although we couldn’t communicate in the traditional sense by using words, after the baby got us chuckling the communication flowed freely with shared smiles and laughs.  It made me realize that smiles and laughter are a universal language that we can share with anyone no matter what kind of barriers may be between us.

The common thread in all of my memories and stories from Haiti seems to be happiness.  The people in Haiti exude happiness and it’s infectious.  You can’t spend time with them without also feeling happy. I’ve come to the conclusion that Haiti is a happy place that’s been dealt a rough hand.  But after visiting this remarkable country, what I’ve found and what I hope I got across in this reflection, is the emphasis is on the happy.

An excerpt of a journal entry:

A couple thoughts I had today while walking:

Haiti may be seen as an “unsafe” country, and it may be for “foreigners”.  But everyday, children of all ages are walking to school by themselves.  I have seen a few parents walking with their children in school uniforms but the majority of the time, kids are walking by themselves or with their group of friends.  There was a little girl that was walking with us for about 10 minutes today.  Not because we were “blan” but because that’s the way to her house.  She was so sassy and confident, just struttin' her stuff on her everyday walk.  Even in P-au-P the kids are walking to school.  It definitely says something about the culture and these communities; that kids are safe to walk 10-15 minutes each day by themselves to school without their parents having to worry.  It also says something about the importance of education to these kids.  Who knows how far they walk somedays!

Last year we drove past this group of homes that looked like a bunch of silos.  Metal, round homes.  I didn’t think much of it; some foreign company probably financed these homes.  But today we walked into them to locate a mother for our survey.  The "village" was fenced in, with what seemed to be a community farm/garden and a little convenience store at the front.  As you walked down the road to the village center (where all the homes were), we passed a pavilion like structure which was either unfinished or open for the weather.  Rosembert was talking to me about the village.  Granted, it was a little rough to understand his whole story but from the gist of it, it seemed that the village was not as helpful as it may have intended to be.  Rosembert mentioned the difference between a need and a desire.  The people who built the village obviously had a desire to help the people.  But was there a need?  The village structure itself seemed very nice; about 4 homes in a circle with a middle structure ( a concrete slab with a thatched roof over it) similar to a gazebo.  Then there was another larger middle structure in the very center of the entire village.  But after walking through the entire zone of service last year and this year, and seeing all these different villages it seems to be completely contradictory to the way everyone else lives.  They seemed to be closed off from the rest of the community.  Even the homes themselves are so similar, the families are unable to personalize the homes with the bright colors and soft curtains many of the other homes have here. Was this a need or a desire of these people?

My First Trip to Haiti - Claire Cioni

The months leading up to the GROW internship were filled with planning, preparations, travel arrangements, and budgeting. With so much going on, I never really stopped to think about what it would be like to actually be in Haiti or what it would be like to finally see Maison de Naissance – the place I’ve been fundraising for and hearing about nonstop for the past few years. Now, as my time in Haiti wraps up, I can honestly say I couldn’t have asked for a better experience.

            The culture and society of Haiti was alarmingly different than my life at home. Yet, although I was surrounded by a life style that was completely foreign to me, I never once felt sorry for, or pitied, anyone. I think to go into another culture and pity them would be of utmost disrespect. And who is to say that my privileged lifestyle is necessarily superior? From what I saw, Haitian life is not easy; it is based on hard work and resilience. Families stay close and look out for one another. Energy is not wasted on many of the unnecessary stresses that I subject myself to in my life at home. And above all, they seem happy. Also, they are extraordinarily talented at balancing very large baskets of bread, clothes, food, and donkeys (kidding) on their heads! Haiti isn’t the luckiest of countries; they’ve been dealt a rough hand. Yet, the people continually pick themselves up, brush themselves off, and push onward – a quality that I admire greatly and hope to mimic.

Our project was centered about gathering data from women, who gave birth in 2012, in the service zone of Maison de Naissance. This gave us the unique opportunity to visit different communities and work with both translators and community health workers, all while walking the beautiful Haitian countryside. This gave me a closer look into what their life was really like. I immediately noticed many striking similarities: children taunting and teasing each other, mothers holding onto their babies lovingly, and conversation between neighbors or friends. These similarities proved that laughter, love, and friendship are universal concepts.

There are so many little things I want to remember from this trip: the beauty of the immense mountains, the precious uniforms on the school children, a certain intern (ahem, Megan) falling into a bush after crossing a log over a river, the kiss on the cheek I received from a tiny little Haitian boy as he approached me on his porch, the sounds of a baby being born (simultaneously painful and amazing), and many many many more. But most of all, I think it’s the people I’ve met who will stick in my memories the most – the patience of the translators, community health workers and drivers, the kindness of the mothers and families, and the many random people we interacted with.

Overall, I can’t say enough good things about my stay in Haiti. The country and people of Haiti will stay very dear to me for a long time, and I don’t even care if that sounds cheesey. 

GROW 2013

New year, new GROW team, new adventures!

We are almost done with this years trip but we hope to put up some reflections up soon.  Until then, I just wanted to introduce this years project.

Last year, we focused on the demographics of those within MN's zone of service.  This year, we wanted to focus on the babies that had been born in 2012 and the vaccination status of those children.  The results we will find will help give us a better understanding of those that use MN's services and the overall vaccination status of many of the babies that were born this past year.  So far the results look great.  Even better, is the fact that we get to work closely with the translators and community health workers of MN, developing friendships with these people despite the language differences :)

- Emma Flowers

Emma Flowers Reflection

As I sit down to type this reflection, I pulled out my journal that I brought along on the trip.  A lot has happened since the trip to Haiti.  I finished the summer in Kirksville, the apartment I had been living in ALL summer caught on fire, I moved, I started my internship on campus, and have started my job search.  My trip to Haiti seems like a lifetime ago.  But flipping through the pages of the journal, the memories of that 10 day trip fly by.  I have had many opportunities to talk to friends and family about the trip but no words could ever get across the full impact the trip had on me.  I could talk for days about everything I experienced and learned but I’d like to keep this reflection short and sweet!

            First off, I had never been out of the country before my trip to Haiti.  I was so excited to get to go on this trip; the group we had going was great and the opportunity to see Maison de Naissance was even better.  When I told people I was going to Haiti, many of them were more concerned than excited for me.  Going to a third world country is not what many people would like to do for a “study abroad” or “internship”.  But I could not have been more excited.  I knew I was going to be experiencing a lot of firsts and a lot of things I could not have prepared for.  I simply went in with an open mind. 

            To summarize the first few days, we landed in Port-Au-Prince, made it through the hectic airport, found our driver who took us to a guesthouse for the first night.  After having our first Haitian dinner of mystery meat and rice, we applied a few layers of bug spray and went to bed.  In the morning we woke up, applied some more bug spray, and took a driving tour of Port-Au-Prince.  It was here that I first recorded the extreme inequalities in Haiti.  For most of the drive we saw people selling many different things from the side of the road; paintings and other souvenirs along with fruit and other food.  Our driver, Zo, weaved through the people and other cars in the street, up the hills of P-Au-P and took us to the top of a hill.  This hill was the site of Hotel Montana.  It was here that Jim, our wonderful “guide” of the trip, explained that this was a very popular, expensive hotel that was destroyed in the earthquake.  It had been restored and was open.  Women were lounging by the pool, drink in hand.  The restaurant/bar area had a beautiful view of P-Au-P and the ocean from atop the hill.  It was a gorgeous view.  But I had a hard time appreciating it, knowing that a stone’s throw away, people were begging for money and food.  It was easy to see how this place is the poorest country in the western hemisphere.

            We hopped back into Zo’s van and started our trip to Les Cayes.  The Haitian countryside is beautiful.  It is one of the hilliest places I have ever seen.  We stopped at a little gas station/restaurant type spot for lunch.  I got some chicken and rice with this delicious sauce that the Haitians seemed to have at EVERY meal!  We continued on our way and finally arrived at Brenda Hospital.   We settled into our rooms we would have for the rest of the trip and relaxed in the library to discuss the plans for the week.  

To be continued...

Saturday, May 12th 2012 (Emily Davis)

Today we visited Maison de Naissance for the first time. 

We left the Brenda Hospital compound out a heavy red metal gate, scrunched in an MN Land Rover to drive through Les Cayes. We passed trees and street signs painted green and white for Carnival, middle aged women vendors selling piles of green mangos, and clothes lines of western hand-me-downs. Moving out of town motos sped past us as we drove over the bridge of a river headed for the ocean a few miles away, where brown bodies bathed and scrubbed rags over sharp rocks. Turning off the paved highway we jostled north on the bumpy gravel and rock main road to the clinic through smoke from burning trash, waving at little kids walking to school in their pressed uniforms and farmers hacking rice stalks with rusted machetes, all not too curious about the truck full of blons rumbling by.   

Finally we got our fist view of the clinic, rolling under the carved metal gate with the mom and baby insignia. The whole place is much smaller than I expected; clean, white-washed walls, a thatched gazeebo waiting area, and a clear serene stream running through the back of the property. It's a weekend so there aren't many people there- only a few women in labor walking around, waiting for the right time to push. 

We walk up the blindingly white steps and get a fast tour of the clinic, formally meet our three translators and the community health promoters, and jump right in- reading over the most up-to-date version of the community maternal health survey we hope to give. Translation is slow going, particularly because simply comprehending and explaining statistical methods and their goals is complicated enough in english (why do we need to take every left fork? Is surveying every tenth house enough to get a good idea of the population?) It's hard to tell when a CHW understands a procedure or idea fully or if they are just trying to be agreeable. But facial expressions tell al lot; frustration, incredulity, a joke. Often there will be a heated creole debate among the Haitians and one of the older, sassy health promoters will speak up to be translated, asking essential questions of us in her wise yet spunky tone: "Is it ethical to only offer aqua tabs in compensation for taking the survey?" or "People will expect you to do something about their lack of food if you ask them how many times a month they are hungry." Once someone brings up a cultural concept that it's possible for a women to be pregnant for four or five years and how will we deal with that when asking about number of pregnancies? Things that we think will be a huge deal like asking about infant mortality turn out not to be taboo because it happens so often here. 

It's strange and challenging and so wonderful actually being here and trying to leverage cultural values, norms, and understandings. It's obvious these health promoters really care about the community and that they truly value their work even though it's rainy and muggy and so hot and the crazy Americans are making them trek all over the zone through the muddy rice fields all day. The CHW's, nurses, administration, and a lot of the community really see the clinic as a grassroots effort to bring health, connecting with and preserving the well being of their neighbors and extended families. As I sit at MN and every day that I'm out walking amongst the gut-wrenching rural poverty of the MN zone of service, I'm feeling blessed that I get to witness and be a part of this local solidarity and compassion. 

Friday, May 11, 2012 (Margaret)

I definitely have pre-arrival jitters. I have what National Office called an irrational "fear of dirt and danger" that is part of culture shock. I always curse myself for feeling this way, but it's the way I feel. The only thing to do to get rid of this fear, I know from past experience traveling out of my comfort zone, is to squarely face it. I think it will be very important for me to experience Haiti--to erase the stereotypes in my mind and to actually meet some of my fellow human beings from this part of the world.
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Haiti is green and brown and more mountainous than I expected. Most of the mountains are more like rolling hills. The Port au Prince airport where we got off the plane is really more like an intermittently air conditioned walkway, which ends in a stuffy shuttle bus crammed with passengers that takes you to a warehouse where you pick up your luggage. Right after we made it through customs, men fought over who was going to help us load our luggage onto carts and push it. About two dozen or so men in red collared shirts crowded around the exit. As soon as we opened the door to go outside, they swarmed. The guy we had already promised could help us shouted at the others in Creole and attempted to shoo them away. There was pushing and shoving and a heat that was stifling. We bought a cell phone ("Digicel") for $20 and were on our way to Wall's Guesthouse.

Port au Prince is chaos. That's the only word I can think of that accurately describes the city (without really saying anything at all). Our driver, Zo, gave us a tour of the city in the van. Although it would have been dangerous, I think I would have preferred a walking tour. Being in the van allowed me to glimpse reality through a fiberglass lens. And somehow, reality seemed unreal. It was like watching a movie unfolding around me. A young man walked up to my window, his face touching it, and kissed my reflection. I froze, not knowing how to react. Was this even real? Was the Haitian heat getting to my head? He lifted his hands to the window, spreading his fingers like a gecko and cocking his head to one side. He lifted up his shirt and rubbed his hand over his stomach. He was just hungry, but I find it interesting that my mind jumped to insanity before rationality in terms of assessing his actions. In P-a-P it is quite hard to tell the difference sometimes.

The roads are uneven and rocky and littered and wet from muddy water. Smoking piles of burning trash mixed with concrete rocks pop up everywhere. Women wearing colorful skirts and headwraps walk slowly and carefully down the road in dusty sandals, balancing baskets of mangoes and bundles of laundry on their heads. I am jealous of this ability. Sometimes, I am reminded of the South African townships, as if there is some universality in absolute poverty. But the townships are flat. This place is steep and there are palm trees. Buildings seem to jut out every which way.

The 4 hour drive to Les Cayes is difficult for me. All I can do is stare out the window and think, and my thoughts attack me. As in South Africa, I am critical once again of my skin color, my country, my home, my way of life. I have the thought that my education is overwhelmingly inadequate and inapplicable. I wish I had grown up here, where life may be difficult but no one goes to hell. Where priorities are straight and common sense is abundant and only the fittest survive. My head buzzes with angry, stinging thoughts. And maybe they don't even dislike their lives, I think. Maybe they are happy. Maybe they should look at the white people in the white van zooming by and feel pity for us.

We stop at a gas station along the side of the highway and order a hot meal of chicken, rice and beans, and fried plantain...a very typical meal here. Rain begins to clatter down, hard, on the metal roof. Just as soon as it has started raining, it stops again. The sun stays shining the whole time. Later I am to think of this and compare Haiti's weather patterns to its people. Like rain, disaster and misfortune strike the citizens of Haiti unexpectedly and often. But Haitians don't stay cloudy for long. They pick up the pieces and move on because they have very few other options. They are raised resilient and bright and beautiful, and their strength inspires me.

We drive on, in and out of rain patches, weaving around colorful buses, vehicles crammed with sitting or standing Haitians, motorcycles, bikes, and walkers. There are very few cars out here...I get the impression that very few could make it on these roads. When we finally make it to Les Cayes, I breathe a sigh of relief. It's not as crowded or as dirty here. Brenda Hospital feels a little like home.