As a graduate student, I am annually blessed with the beloved Spring Break. Throughout undergrad, I made a trip each year to some warm and southern locale – Florida, Texas, and Costa Rica. Each trip was generally filled with typical Spring Break debauchery: libations, tanning, friends and bad decisions.
Now that I’m a graduate student, it is time to class it up a bit. Last year’s spring break brought me to Ireland for Guinness, sightseeing, and St. Patrick’s Day. This year, I decided to take on a much different spring break destination: Haiti. My connections to Haiti are great. Not only is my hopefully-soon-to-be-brother the cutest Haitian to ever live, but my parents also incepted a foundation, along with many in my fantastically supportive hometown, that provides administrative and financial assistance to an orphanage devastated by the earthquake. This trip to Haiti was one of learning and growth, experience and education: a far cry from spring break trips of yesteryear.
As I entered the country through the ramshackle Port au Prince airport last Friday, I was filled with a variety of emotions. In a few seconds, I would be walking the streets of a devastated capitol city, spending my days at an orphanage protected by tarps with rooms sectioned by the few standing walls that still remained, and meeting inspiring people that would forever change my worldview. But I also felt capable. Capable of absorbing this experience, wandering this city, and understanding a new perspective.
I have not only witnessed but also lived in the developing world and thus expected Haiti to feel like the rest of them. I have perceived the sadness and desperation that so comfortably partners up to a life of poverty. I have strolled the Killing Fields and been a spectator of eerie rooms of the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum. I have helped children into the hospital in Cambodia, unable to walk or cry or eat because they are so ill. Food that to many seems inedible has been swallowed with a forced smile. I have seen the name of a child I spent the past week making paper cranes with erased off of the white board in the ICU, signifying their death. Tents as houses and shacks as shelter are things that not only have I seen, but have found refuge in myself. But Haiti was different.
Debris, cement, and rock from a devastating earthquake more than a year ago still cover the streets. Tent cities spread across blocks providing asylum for thousands. There is no denying the immense loss experienced last January as you walk through the streets. Yet, it is a country filled with hope, relationships, family and love. One can feel the passion and resiliency rising from the rubble. The desire to experience success, overcome adversity, to rebuild homes and lives, and to provide for those without palpates throughout the sweltering city. The dichotomy of what you physically see and what you spiritually feel can be overwhelming and immensely empowering.
I spent the week subsisting on rice and beans, fried plantains, and tough chicken. I’ve never enjoyed being adventurous with food and if I don’t have to eat it, I’d rather not. The kids at the orphanage introduced us to all sorts of things through their ‘Creolenglish’. How I wish I could pick up a language as quickly as those children. To witness bilingual children in an orphanage when I myself, boasting a Masters degree, can only speak one, is humbling.
Days were spent at the orphanage, handing out toothbrushes and Dum Dums (entirely Western and perfectly ironic of us, I know), school supplies and fruit snacks (Vitamin C for all!) books and t-shirts. I sang songs until my throat hurt, played cards for hours, and greatly expanded the number of handclaps I know. At this point, I’m pretty sure I rival any other American girl, even the 3rd graders who spend all of recess practicing and learning. My lap and hands were fought over, something I thoroughly enjoyed.
The beaches of Jacmel were visited via curvy mountain roads through beautiful countryside. Indeed, it is possible to live in the mountains and at the beach if you live in Haiti. I enjoyed ice cold Prestige and the warm waters of the Caribbean, as perfectly ripe coconuts freed themselves of trees. Jacmel provided me with a glimpse of what Haiti could be – and perhaps, was.
I have yet to process through all of the emotions and experiences of Haiti. Sometimes, I have an aversion to sharing my experiences with others because it makes my time there seem less sacred, less important, less real, less MINE. At other times, I feel as though I can only express this trip through contradictions and oxymoron, making it impossible for anyone to understand what the experience was like and what it meant to me.
Haiti has altered me. If only I could alter Haiti.
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