Exhaust and smoke coat my tongue and fill my nose as we wait for a break in the stream of people-filled trucks and over-packed motos driving past. We are at an intersection with no traffic lights headed toward a sea of crimson, yellow and muted orange, the murmur of sellers' voices and bustle of buyers competing with the growling engines. I watch dust float around my feet, and my sight snags on the trash lining the street. Then we are moving, cars flying past in our wake.
Every step I took that day, our second day in Haiti, felt like walking across shifting tectonic plates. The earth beneath my feet was the same, and yet it didn't fit the pattern of bumps, inclines or dips that I once knew. Familiarities were everywhere, from my shampoo brand in the grocery store to the Under Armour T-shirt sold in the street market, but they appeared in sharp, almost painful contrast to the poverty I saw all around.
That morning, we had completed our first day of camp. Meeting the kids was a welcome first step into a world starkly different from my own. From the second we met them, all they wanted was to be close to us.
The camp was split into three stations: English, crafts and games. That day, I was assigned to English with Brooke. During our class, we focused on teaching the names of colors, animals and body parts, which was difficult because of the language barrier. Although it seemed as though the kids were getting it, I wasn't convinced that it would last once they stepped outside the classroom.
At the end of each day, we would gather in the courtyard for a group activity. That day, our group leader asked us to lead the kids in singing "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes," which we had taught them in the morning. As soon as we started, smiles jumped to their faces. They sang loudly and exaggerated the movements in their excitement as they got to show off what they had learned. In their pride at remembering, there was pure, unadulterated joy.
And it was a tectonic plate shifting under my feet: the juxtaposition of trash-lined streets and exhaust-polluted air with the bright chorus of children's voices coloring the world with hope.
That is what Haiti was like for me. I was constantly caught in the in-between. At night, we would hear dogs fighting over scraps in the alleys. But we would also hear the people singing and laughing as they partied until dawn to "Despacito" on repeat. Or we'd visit a refugee camp where the children would crowd around us and hang on to our clothes and arms and play with us. But we would see the rips in their clothing and gaunt build of their bodies and know they carried infinitely more than their little shoulders should ever have to bear.
Sometimes, I'd see things that made my chest ache. Sometimes, I'd see things that lined my eyes with awed tears. Sometimes, I'd see things that threw me into a rage, angry at the injustice of it all, furious because it wasn't fair.
Haitians understand the tectonic plates shifting, can find their balance even as the earth quakes. They know what it is to be entrenched in hardship and still find beauty in it. They are some of the strongest people I've ever met, but all I could think about that second day in Haiti was that they shouldn't have to be.
And despite all that they faced, their kindness was overwhelming. I saw it in that first morning when a child would go out to the street vendors and come back with one snack to share with all their friends. These children came from the poorest families in Saint Marc, and still, they were more generous than most people here who have everything.
Over the course of the next nine days, I came to love this place and its people deeply. In the coming stories you read from others who went on this trip, I think you'll find that we all did. Haiti became a part of us, one that drives us each day to appreciate every moment and the privilege in which we live. Haiti is the reason I study and work and push myself, because I have hope that one day I will get to use what I've learned to change what I saw.
In the face of the pandemic, Haitians are struggling even more than they were two years ago. As much as the pandemic has taken away from those of us in developed countries, that loss is exponentially greater in places like Haiti where everyday life already poses unimaginable difficulties.
I hope that you will consider making a donation. Your generosity can go a long way toward helping these communities and means a lot to all of us who went on the trip.
"At the end of the day, it’s not about what you have or even what you’ve accomplished. It’s about what you’ve done with those accomplishments. It’s about who you’ve lifted up, who you’ve made better. It’s about what you’ve given back."
– Denzel Washington
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