Until the next time, Haiti, thanks for the memories...

I always dread the goodbyes. They're never easy, and today was just like last year when it was time to leave...hugs with kids--sometimes 2 or 3 children squeezed together all at once--followed by the dreaded ugly cry! Their sweet faces and bubbly personalities are a forever part of my memory book. At the same time, I was thankful for my dark glasses. 😎

But Karen had one last goodbye surprise. Being the good Newfie that she is, she has a stash of mummering clothes on hand. As I came into the kitchen with the last of my bags, she jumped out from behind the door sporting her wolf like rubber mask, which of course also had red hair! I was actually thankful she scared me half to death--made me forget about leaving for a minute...

To lighten the load on the brain and the heart, there's always "the drive."The drive back to the airport was much less eventful than when I arrived, but eye opening nonetheless. Streets were again crowded with people and cars. People were walking to the rice fields, hoes in hand, and others were setting up their roadside canteens, restaurants, boutiques, and gambling kiosks. Passing through one town, horns were honking like rush hour in the big cities. We were bumper to bumper, literally, as our driver 'nudged' the back end of the truck in front of us. People were staring, horns were still honking, and I was afraid that if we didn't move in a hurry, I would witness an episode of road rage, Haitian style. Luckily, our driver quickly swerved out into the street around the truck causing the tie up, and we were on our way again.

The drive was fairly smooth, or at least as smooth as it can be for Haitian highways. Close to the airport we passed a convoy of 7 United Nations trucks, fully 'stocked' with police officers in Brazilian uniforms, and then we finally passed the busy police checkpoint on the last main stretch of road before the airport. It's handy driving with a Haitian police officer--Daniel got out and flashed his badge to get us in the fast lane.

Saying goodbye leaves a lasting impact, because as much as I want to go back, there are no guarantees every year. And it's not just to see the children, either. Beate and Karen have become great friends to me, and I think there are times during the week that Karen feels like Beate and I are two more kids to supervise! Those are the lighter moments of the week where we broke into offices-- literally--ate mango slushies like kids in a candy store, and drove to Luckner's store in the back of the truck.

The other moments, the ones that are hard to see, are the ones you can't dwell on. Every day we saw a woman sleeping on a blanket on the rocks by the bridge at the orphanage. She wore the same camel coloured skirt every day, but she had it pulled up to her chest so it served as a dress that just barely covered her tiny body. We saw her bathing in the brown water of the canal, her dress lying on the bank beside her. This is one of the realities and frustrations of Haitian culture. Karen is unable to simply give her food or clothing, for fear that it would be stolen from her anyway, or people would hurt her if they knew it came from a 'blanc,' (a white person), because to them, blancs are rich, and Haitians would then expect this woman to be able to get more things from Karen. Knowing Karen, though, she'll find a way...

Haiti is truly a beautiful country, with beautiful people, and bright spirits. Beate and I talked about how easy it was to get lost in the simplicity of life there. Other than my own family, there was nothing I missed. Sleeping outside on the second floor was very peaceful, and I never tired waking up to the backyard view that was the mango trees and the mountains. It didn't take long to just "roll" with the daily life that moved at a much slower speed.  But I know this is not a trip for everyone. The important thing is to find your own "Haiti," or "HATS," although you'll be hard pressed to find people like Karen and Beate! There are always people who need help, and you often don't have to go far to find them. You also don't need to spend money to lend a helping hand; kind words, thoughtful deeds, or the gift of your time, can be priceless for some people. Sometimes in the toughest of times, you just need to remember to carry kindness in your heart.❤️😉

So, until the next time, Haiti, thanks for the memories....hugs from Haiti 💕

These boots are made for walking...in the rain

An incredibly hot Sunday morning at church--38 degrees-- turned Intro an afternoon of two spectacular thunder and lightning storms with about 3 hours worth of hard, steady rain--I don't know what that really amounts to, but that's sometimes how we measure things in Canada--in how long it lasts! 

These heavy rains have been a regular occurrence throughout the week--we are in rainy season, after all. Usually, though, we keep doing what we're doing until it passes, and it's no big deal. So when Karen decided it was a good day to go through the donations to get shoes for school and church, along with backpacks, we called the kids together under one small roof to give out the goods, because at that point, the sun was beaming. ☀️😎

It's challenging enough trying to get my own 3 kids ready for September, but multiply that by 5, add in a few excited 4-8 year olds, along with the older kids, and there's gonna be some chaos, despite Beate's top notch organizational skills. Then throw in the sudden change from sunshine to  a repeat of yesterday's high winds, rain, thunder, and lightning with kids running for cover, trying to avoid the sporadic leaks in the roof they were sitting under. Beate and I were frantically trying to gather the suitcases with the shoes in them to get them out of the rain and back to the storage depot. I was trying to go as quickly as I could without killing myself on my rubber sandals, which my feet were sliding out of because of the rain. When we stopped, we could do nothing but laugh, because the kids didn't care, and there we all were-- squished together trying to wait out the rain. ⛈

The best moment came, however, when little 5 year old Markenson, who came to Karen with his brother from the mountains last September, put on his first EVER pair of rubber boots! He didn't know what they were, and when he put them on, they pretty much went up to his knees, but it didn't slow him down one bit! He ran to the boys' house, faster than I have seen him run this week, much to the cheers and delight of his brothers and sisters still waiting under the roof. This was another one of those moments where, if you don't smile and laugh along with the children, you would have tears in your eyes knowing his story...

Markenson and his brother, Dickieson, 2, were brought to Karen by their father. They have 3 older siblings who still live in the mountains with their father, but their mother died not long after Dickieson was born, and their father was unable to care for them all. It is truly a selfless, yet unimaginable choice to have to make, when, as a parent, you have to put your children in someone else's care.

These two brothers are lovIng, funny, and very busy, and boy can they dance! They were the stars of the dance party last week, and when Markenson wasn't dancing, he spent a lot of time sitting in my lap, making faces and telling stories. He is very free with his hugs, and his smile is one that is painted on my heart. He is so good to look out for his little brother, and I'm glad Karen has given them the gift of a good life with more brothers and sisters, as well as an education...and we can't forget the rubber boots! 

So, it took almost 3 hours to get everyone their shoes, because one storm came just after the first one.  The kids finally left with smiles on their faces, and although we were soaked to our bones, we were happy to have another chore done. This was an afternoon of back to school shopping I will never forget, and a little boy and his boots that will forever be a part of my lifetime highlight reel! Hugs from Haiti! 💕🌦

"It is all about the children..."

Karen has the words in black letters right on her wall as you come in her front door, and they are painted on the walls outside the orphanage--it is all about the children. As a mother of 18 children here, all under the age of 18, and two daughters in Canada, it most certainly is all about the children for her and anyone who is involved, or visits, here. It is one of the main reasons that I the mother, and I the teacher, am drawn back to this beautiful home here in Deschapelles, surrounded by the mountains in what is the Artibonite Valley.

   It has been a hot, busy week. The daily sunshine and hot temperatures, along with the incredibly high humidity, has sucked the life out of me on some days, but hearing the giggles and chatter of those boys and girls, was often the key to a second wind for me.

   Keeping kids busy in the classroom or at home is no different than here, except that the age range is quite broad, and not completely understanding the language makes it just about impossible to know who you're supposed to side with in the struggle over who gets the red crayon, or who gets to sit on your lap next. And it doesn't take long for these little tricksters to realize that, for them, it's a good thing that I might not know all the rules, like, "No, you're actually not allowed to use chalk to draw on that wooden table!" 

    The consequences of being lost in translation happened to me a few times when I was with the children. Luckily, though, it was never 'arms and legs' type situations, as my grandmother would say. I lost a few battles, along with a couple of games of "trouble," but I did manage to develop some pretty sick multitasking skills--in the moments you're awaiting your turn on the "trouble" board, you can manage to put a piece or two in a puzzle, and even manage a turn with a crayon, all before it was my turn to "pop" the plastic "trouble" bubble!

    Don't get me wrong, though...I am not afraid to admit that after close to an hour, my head was spinning, my brain was frazzled, and so was my hair, as some of the girls perched themselves on the table to comb, brush, and braid my hair, while snuggly 3 year old Magdala, crawled up into my lap at the same time. 

    This scene was replayed last night as both Beate and I spent most of our evening after supper in the HATS hair salon on the steps of the children's home. At peak times, we had as many as three stylists each, who were frantically brushing, combing, and styling our hair. Sitting in my lap the whole time was little Markenson, who kept looking at my head in shock and awe at times, but he kept me occupied with songs and little conversations in my best attempt at broken Creole.

   Close to an hour later, Beate and I were led by the hands from the salon to the main house to show Mama Karen our hairstyles. The boys and girls were quite proud of their accomplishments, and I was eventually sent from the salon sporting an off centre ponytail and combed out bangs, and a few less strands of hair on my head! 

   Before heading off to bed ourselves, Beate and I made the rounds in the girls' house, getting and giving hugs, and singing a few good night songs. I know I went off to bed with a happy heart and a felling of contentment that comes from those smiling faces and bubbly personalities.

   Like driving in Haiti, sometimes being the supervisor of the children is not for the faint of heart, but you just have be able to "roll with it," and you won't be sorry you did because it IS all about the children, and they warm your heart! Hugs from Haiti💕

It's Thursday, and there's a party goin' on

I think I would rather the roosters and the rest of Old MacDonald's animals from this morning rather than the blaring, booming bass, and the somewhat distorted music of the nearby disco! Do they not realize I was awake at 430 this morning, so my time for disco music passed about two hours ago! Here on the compound we had our own dance party at the much more reasonable hour of 7pm, and the children most definitely put Beate and I to shame. Our moves were so 'white' compared to theirs! Even tiny 3 year old Markenson has the smooth moves of a Latin dancer, complete with hip action, followed by the splits to top it all off! That's not an easy feet for a little boy at the best of times, but it's even more amazing when his little body drops to the splits on concrete...

   It was so cute to see the children, from little to big, all strutting their stuff to the sounds of rap and dance music coming from J.J.'s little white speakers. Dresses were twirling, little bums were shaking, and there were smiles all around. Beate and I are thinking maybe the kids can give us some lessons before we leave, because the moves we THOUGHT we had brought nothing but giggles and finger pointing from the children. Talk about a blow to the ego!

     It was good to get out after the hour long downpour of a much needed rain, complete with thunder and lightning. There's something hypnotic and rhythmic, though, when you watch palm trees blow  in a storm, and it's like the long leaves on the branches are doing their own tropical dance. We gladly weIcomed the rain and the clear air, because I think it's finally cold enough for t-shirts tonight.

     From the sounds of the thunder, to the dance party in our own yard, to the DJ sounds from the disco, it's been another fulfilling day. I guess, for now, though, I'll have to put my pretend dance moves away and hope that I can pick up some skills from the children, so that I'll be better prepared for the next time a dance party breaks out in my presence. If only I could be a fly on the wall,or the bar stool, at the disco on the other side of the bridge, maybe I could learn a thing or two, because it's Thursday, and there's a party goin' on! Hugs from Haiti 💕

Buckle up, we're going on a road trip!

You know when you're a kid and your parents tell you they're taking you for ice cream, and you're so excited thinking about what flavour you want, and whether or not you want sprinkles....Well, I got just as excited when Karen said she was taking us on a little road trip to St. Marc.

    St. Marc is a bustling town where Karen does her banking and occasionally picks up groceries. But as the saying goes, it's not just the destination...sometimes it's the journey; however, on this road trip, it's definitely both! 

     I don't know if you take a different kind of road test to get your license in Newfoundland, but Karen certainly navigates the highway type roads and busy town streets as if she's been driving them since she first got her license in Springdale! There is nothing I can compare to driving here. Successful driving here is a mix of confidence, skill, courage, faith, a little bit of luck, and even a sense of humour! You also need great concentration to weave around the gazillion potholes all over the road. I told Beate that it looks like someone drove through the streets dropping grenades at random places. At times, I think a small child could disappear in some of them! Maybe it's a little like Cape Breton roads after a hard winter!

    But going to the bank in St. Marc doesn't happen without Karen picking up one of her off duty security men--she doesn't go to St. Marc for $20 withdrawals, if you know what I mean! So, we pick up Ronald (Ro-nel) at his home not far from the orphanage. It is hard to imagine his 'security' persona, because he has one of the widest smiles and pleasant faces I have seen, yet, obviously, he gets things done when he needs to.

     When we finally get to St. Marc, I understand why Karen brought him along. It's Wednesday--market day--and there is barely an empty space on the streets and sidewalks. Karen said some people begin the trek down the mountain at 2am carrying their goods on their backs, so that they get set up in the market on time. Say what you will about the poor living conditions, but it's another example of how some people are determined not to be defined by their situations. The market was alive with conversation, sometimes heated ones, and the smells of chicken and meat cooking in pots on sidewalk canteens. Just like home, you could pretty much figure out which ones were crowd favourites--there were lineups that would rival the morning coffee rush at Tim Horton's!

     I think there was divine intervention for Karen to have found us a parking spot just outside the grocery store. The mid 40 degree heat here was heightened by the exhausts of so many cars, so we made a quick exit to the air conditioned Haitian Sobeys. It's much like home, except for the security guard at the exit with his mirrored Terminator type sunglasses, earpiece, and 'no fooling around' look on his face. I didn't want to know what else he had in the pocketed military style navy pants.

    After packing up our boxes of cornflakes, diapers, and some other goodies--coke and a chocolate bar for Ronald, who kept watch of the truck--we were on our way to the all important stop at the bank.   

     Karen, Ronald, Beate, and I traveled in a single line--me in the middle of the pack--balancing our steps between the narrow edge of the sidewalk and the busy street, constantly watching out for "motos" (motorbikes) and anything else on wheels.

   Standing outside the big white concrete building that is the "Banque Nationale," I see the first security guard, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark bottoms, with a no nonsense look on his face. He is also holding a metal detector wand that he uses on people going into the bank carrying any type of bag. Certainly gives me the impression that going to the bank here is serious stuff.

     When we come to the darkened glass doors, however, he does greet us with a quiet hello and waves us through. Besides the sign reminding people that guns and cell phone usage are prohibited, Karen said we also need to be very quiet when we talk--too much noise, I think, indicates potential commotion, and we certainly don't want the other guard and his shotgun to think there's any commotion! 

    So, as Karen once told me last year, sometimes you need to take pictures with your eyes, so that's what I did as best I could. Employees and clients were quietly cordial, sometimes exchanging handshakes and smiles of familiarity. The lady who helps Karen there was friendly enough, and quickly acknowledged her with a smile, then began the formal process of making the withdrawal, which includes much paperwork and the 4 of us quietly waiting in the waiting area by the main desk.

   About a half an hour later, Karen gets "the nod" indicating her withdrawal is ready. She followed the bank lady to a separate room, and shortly thereafter, a smile and goodbye--we were on our way, with Ronald carrying the goods! 

    It was a quick, uneventful exit back into the crowded streets, as we made our way in single file again, back to Karen's white truck. Phew...a little excitement coupled with some nerves, but that's all part of the adventure.

    I had a little feeling of pride and sense of accomplishment on the way home, after realizing that what is a simple outing to the bank and grocery store at home, is not without its challenges and risks, or maybe adventure, here. But no matter where Karen offers to take me, I'm willing to buckle up--we're going on a road trip! Hugs from Haiti 😉💕

Oatmeal, pancakes, and lessons in Creole!

There are some things that don't taste as good unless they come out of Germaine's kitchen, and oatmeal and pancakes are just two of my favourites. There is something special and distinct about the taste of the large, thin pancakes that come hot off the griddle. No need for butter, though...just a splash of syrup, some hot coffee off the stove, and a seat at the table to enjoy the taste of a Haitian breakfast that I could never come close to duplicating at home. The only thing that could possibly rival the taste of pancakes is a bottomless bowl of Haitian oatmeal. After only one year here, my nose recognizes the sweet, warm smell of oatmeal on the stove. This oatmeal is like a great bowl of plain vanilla ice cream--no need to add anything. It's one of those things that tastes good all by itself.

    But it's not just about the food. Beate and I have become students of the oldest boy, J.J. (Gee-Gee). After filling our bellies this morning, Beate and I took turns having him test us on the first page of Beate's book, "Creole made Easy"! I am proud to say we passed page one with flying colours...high fives all around! "Nou vle aprann Creole"--We want to learn Creole. But we didn't want to strain our brains too much with 'Creole school,' because I know mine is already a little soggy from these mid 40 degree temperatures, so we're saving page 2 for "demen"--tomorrow!  

    More importantly and exciting, we had a special visitor this morning--Ti-Fi! Beate and I walked her from the girls' house ('kay' in Creole) to the main house. In just a day, we have noticed a difference in her spirit. This morning, she was sitting up holding her hand out to me as soon as I went into the house for Beate and I to take her out. She was a little steadier on her feet, and a few times, I caught a glimpse of her old familiar smile that lights up her face. 

   When she came to the main house, she sat close, and she nodded her head most times when we asked questions. She loves the contact of holding our hands, and today she was full of hugs! There was nothing sweeter than feeling her hand come around the back of my shoulder to give me a gentle 'tap, tap' on the back, then two arms to give me a hug... It was so encouraging to see some change in her in such a short time, and I hope this is the beginning of the road back to normal for her...

    In the meantime, I am enjoying the few minutes of down time before Karen takes us on a little road trip to the bank. As the drive from the airport was an adventure, so, too, is any little road trip off the compound. Eyes open and always aware, I go back to giving thanks for some of my most favourite, yet simple things while I'm here--oatmeal, pancakes, lessons in Creole, and special visits! Hugs from Haiti 👍😉

Love this life

Love this life...funny to quote a message on a silver bracelet I bought at Kohl's on the stopover in Fort Lauderdale, but in just these past two days, I found myself looking at it often, reminding myself of all the true gifts in my life. Here, however, there have been moments where I catch myself with eyes watering when I really think about the stories of these amazing children, especially one of the girls, Ti-Fi (Tee-fee). 

    I can't go through this week and write these stories without talking about her. All the children here have a story, and Ti-Fi is no different--Karen told us last year that Ti-Fi was dropped off at the school in a uniform, and no one ever came to pick her up. Maybe that was someone's best option at the time, but to me, as a mother, it's unimaginable. She is a sweet, kind, funny, and determined girl of about 14. What was special to me about Ti-Fi was that, last year, on my first visit here, she was the first child to come to me when I got out of the van, giving me a big hug, and taking me by the hand to lead me around the yard! She melted my heart as she made me feel so welcome. I quickly realized she did not speak words, but she got her point across through utterances, body language, and sometimes stubborn determination. Yet her smile and her bright brown eyes needed no translation...

    But sweet Ti-Fi is now sick. Karen has had her to the hospital, and she has had medical attention as best as is available for a country like this. My heart is sad for her, and Beate and I have been trying to find the smile and personality that now seems lost inside. But I keep remembering that you have to have hope, as Karen always does, and when Karen took Beate and I to see her, as soon as we said hello, she sat up and reached out for us to hold our hands in hers...and her grip was so strong....As we sat beside her, the three of us squished together on her mattress, Ti-Fi in the middle, we talked and massaged her legs, and she looked at us with her big brown eyes that had the hint of her familiar smile. I was afraid to look at her or Beate, because my eyes began to fill. But also in that moment, I felt the strength that wasn't just in her grip...it was in HER. I saw that even more when we went to get her for the morning devotions--we held her under the arms, but we had a hard time keeping up as she was trying to run. She sat between me and Beate, holding the book of songs, alternating with holding our hands. And although I was overwhelmed, I realized that all I can do in the brief time I'm here are those simple things like say hello, hold her hand, or 'squish in' beside her like we did last night. And I think the 'squishing' is as good for the soul as the hugs!

     So although I still feel a bit of sadness and helplessness, I'm keeping as much hope in my heart as I can that she will get better soon. and it brings me back to the simple, yet important message on that little silver bracelet...love this life.... 🙏🏻 Hugs from Haiti...

2 accidents and a wedding, to hugs and smiling faces

2 accidents and a wedding, but we weren't involved in either! But I have to 'back up' to our arrival at the airport to tell the story.

     I was pretty proud of myself flying into Port Au Prince alone this year, even though my HATS partner, Beate, would be arriving less than an hour after me. But as soon as I got off the plane into the airport, I heard the comforting Caribbean sounds of a Haitian 5 man band, followed by the very kind, smiling face of the man at customs. I was prepared for chaos downstairs at the rather small baggage carousel, but I was again pleasantly surprised at myself for navigating the crowd and sounds of Haitian Creole, to  get my own cart from the kiosk, and eventually load it with the 3 stuffed suitcases and duffle bag. There is no greater feeling than seeing ALL your bags survive the day and a half of traveling on two different airlines through 3 countries! #nosmallfeat 

    That feeling of accomplishment and joy  was only heightened when I saw the tall, blond, smiley face that is Beate! "Old friends" from one week spent at HATS  together last year, Beate and I gathered ourselves and our bags of donations to find Daniel and his welcoming, friendly police officer face, who would get us through the maze of people outside the airport to our 'wheels' for the ride to HATS, just over 2 hours away.

     Driving in Haiti is not for the faint of heart. Get in, sit down, hold on, and keep your eyes open, because the ride never disappoints, and this year was no exception. Not far outside of the congested streets of Port Au Prince, I saw a parade of people, led by a trombone player, only to discover he was leading a wedding party over the rocky paths on the side of the road to a chapel nearby. Except for the trombone player and the background, this looked like any other bridal party--smiling faces wearing their finest dress, off to celebrate a happy occasion. I wondered if this was a sign of hope and happiness emerging in this struggling country...you have to have hope...

    Continuing along, it wasn't far before the celebratory mood of the wedding party we saw was replaced with the look of despair on the faces of two fairly young Haitian men, whose car was in a mangled state by a pole on the side of the road. Thankful we didn't come along moments earlier, we were also glad to see the boys had no obvious injuries, but the same could not be said for their Volkswagen sized car--demolished windshield and enormous dent in the driver's side. But less than 10 minutes later, we were again thankful for having to have slowed down going by the first accident, so that we missed the second one. This time, 2 vehicles, a small crowd of people, and a huge amount of damage--if you can imagine what happens when a school bus of people t-bones a small truck! People were standing at the side of the road, waiting for help, as other roadside 'entrepreneurs' rushed to 'help' with their bottles of water. 

   Thankfully, the rest of the drive was much less eventful. Beate and I noticed some small progress being made along the route, where more some more stable houses seemed to be in the construction phase. People were still building on the mountainsides, but it was encouraging to see some homes that looked like they might better withstand unsettling weather. Still a lONG way to go, but you have to have hope...

    Finally, we crossed the last bridge over the familiar brown water of the canal that runs outside the orphanage. I was so excited to see the children and how they've grown, hoping they hadn't  forgotten me completely. I was not disappointed, although Karen changed things up this year. There were no children in the yard singing songs waiting for us. Trying not to be disappointed, we followed Karen in to her office, totally oblivious to the little bodies hiding in every possible empty space they could find. They were SO patient and quiet--so many children and not a peep out of one until together they yelled,"surprise!" Then the giggles and hugs followed, and they were so proud they 'got us'! Thank goodness they're huggers--some of the best I've met, and I'm so thankful to be here. My heart is full again, and I already feel the blessings of having the privilege to be part of such an amazing second home. Here's to hugs and smiling faces! :) Hugs from Haiti 💕