Some days are better than others. It's just that simple. Most days I wake up, hit the ground running filled with excitement and anticipation for the day ahead. As you might imagine, now that we are home to 58 children, a day can go any which way. That's part of the excitement ~ no two days are ever the same. Most days, my social-work-trained mind can keep healthy boundaries, and keep me emotionally removed from some of the more difficult things we deal with here. For some reason, this past week seemed especially challenging.
Dealing with the death of a 28 year old woman - the wife of one of our employees - from something, who knows what, that she should never have died from - or at least likely wouldn't have died from if she had been in a different geographic location. Learning that her two year old child left behind was sleeping on the mud floor of a neighbors house, alone. Hearing that the father had suddenly fallen ill, too - not more than a week after the death of his wife. Rumors abound about the spirits - his wife's ghost, essentially - having come back to claim her husband, as she just couldn't bear the afterlife without him.
My visit to the house to check on him and to run some rapid diagnostic tests to see if I could help pinpoint what had suddenly stricken him, reducing him to a catatonic state, shaking and trembling running up and down his limbs. The Loa were entering and exiting his body, I was told, as the women standing about him in a semi-circle struck his body with the branches and leaves of trees, sold to them by a bokor, or voudou priest. Never in my wildest dreams would I imagine finding myself among a group of people trying to send the spirits away, so as to save their son, their brother - from death. Nothing had prepared me for negotiating with a group of 20 Haitians engaged in their cultural practice of voudou to allow me, this foreigner - this blan - to intervene.
But, that's exactly what I did. I've learned that in most cases, if you can make people smile or laugh, you can pretty much win them over. Building trust and rapport with people is something I seem to do with relative ease. So, when I opened up my backpack and started pulling out my various instruments, malaria test kits, HIV test kits, gloves, a thermometer, and a pulse/O2 gadget, I put things quite simply. I apologized first for interrupting their service. I explained to them that I understood that they had to follow a very specific process to send the spirits away. I told them I'd heard a lot about this "magic" they practice, and told them that we blan have our magic, too. And our magic was everything I had just pulled out of my bag. With their permission, I beseeched, I would quickly assess the man and leave them to finish with their spirits. To my surprise, they all obliged. When I asked them to step out of the room (maybe 10' X 10'), they all did without question or exception.
This man, whom I've known for two years, had no idea who I was. He's maybe 30 years old. He was not able to respond to my questions. Completely disoriented. I ran my tests without his consent (sometimes you do what you have to do). The results were disappointing. Without disclosing what I found, I knew I had figured out the cause of death of his wife. And went next to find his daughter.
Fortunately, his daughter is not ill. Be Like Brit will provide for her and bring her home, here. His wishes after his wife passed were that his daughter come to live with us, as he was not able to provide for her. Falling ill soon after, we've honored that. So while I apologize for my somber account of the last few days, I do so recognizing the only silver lining I can find in this cloud. The spirits, whatever form they may take, live on in the life of this beautiful child who now calls our home her own. The only solace one can find in the senselessness of casual death is the hope - no, the reality - that this little girl will have a chance.
So many times people say to us, all well intending, that these children are "so lucky to be with you." Perhaps. But one must never forget how they made their way to us. That's not the result of luck. It's the result of stories like the one I've just recounted. It's the result of tragedy, death, illness, starvation - hunger. But, in true Haiti fashion, it is also the result of one woman's wish, a family's love and commitment to honoring the legacy of that young woman who died too soon. Like Brit and like the mother of our little girl, in their death, beautiful things emerge. And their spirits live on.
On a happier note, we are just a few children away from reaching our goal of 66 children. 33 boys and 33 girls - symbolic of the 33 days Brit was missing in the rubble of the Hotel Montana...
Today, that number represents hope, life, and opportunity. From the most tragic of tragedy comes the hopes, dreams, and aspirations of 66 beautiful children, on this mountain overlooking the sea in Grand-Goâve, Haiti.
Thank you for helping us help the children of Haiti at Be Like Brit.
