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We all count ourselves fortunate to have had the opportunity to participate in this first phase of what we hope to be a long-serving project that will meaningfully change the lives of at least some of the Haitian people.

We struggle for words to describe the experience, and thus, we’ve found that the most effective adjectives are those that convey the inability to describe what we saw; unimaginable, incomprehensible, and inexpressible.  Despite the seeming impossibility of giving an account that would even do it justice, we attempt nonetheless.

As we stood on the edge of a ravine in the Canape Ver area, the suffering and loss was painfully obvious. Shanties that had been built precariously along the sharp descent had simply fallen into the base of the canyon, leaving maybe one out of every six still standing.  What were already humble and inadequate shelters were replaced by ever more inadequate makeshift tents made of plastic tarps, cardboard, and whatever could be found.

In the downtown area, the Ville, as it is called, between the shattered remnants of the National Palace, what was once the brilliant white symbol of Haiti’s future and a dingy patchwork of makeshift tents that had been a beautiful park, hundreds of thirsty people waited for a liter of water.

We paused at the remnants of the Ministry of Justice, essentially a mockery that there ever was such a thing.

Continuing past the collapsed National Cathedral, when it seemed like things couldn’t get worse, they did.  Looking down the streets was disheartening to say the least.  Second and third floors cantilevered over into the street at dangerous angles.  What we saw appeared more like an Apocalyptic wasteland than anything else, and it was only a portion of the total toll of destruction.

This, more than a month after, and absent the human suffering that permeated the hours and days following the quake, only a mere taste of which we were able to sense as we heard the wave of murmurs and shrieks that swept over the city during the early morning aftershocks.

Long before January 12th, and long before the torrent of emergency relief organizations descended on Port Au Prince and the surrounding area, there lived a beautiful culture of unconditionally happy people.  Despite their circumstances, their grins spread wide across their faces, and they were content to celebrate what they did have.  So, it stands to reason that the Haitian people remain buoyant and optimistic after a tragic natural disaster stole the lives of as much as 8% of the affected population, and displaced, if not left homeless, as much as 40%.

One of the first phrases we non-Creole speakers learned as we trudged along the dusty path, strewn with rubble and litter, towards the collapsed home of the Polikap family, was “Kanpe Fem,” “Stand Firm.”  It’s the kind of phrase that you can’t even say without thrusting a flexed arm triumphantly skyward and feeling superfluously strong.  Firmness, it seems, is a part of the Haitian make-up.  It would have to be, considering the many trials the people have weathered over the years, and it will have to be still, considering all that must be done to overcome the destruction wrought upon the country and its already meager infrastructure.

Often people describe natural disasters as “Acts of God,” yet in this case, at least, it seems that description is better couched in describing the miracles of exception.  From the Dominican bus driver, whose unconventional flat tire kept her from getting to her hotel in time to have it collapse upon her and her passengers… to the myriad of incredible rescues which preserved the lives of so many well beyond the timeframe for which any reasonable expectation would have offered a second chance at life.

I am courageous enough to say that I believe that the best “Acts of God” still remain to be seen.

More than the people of Haiti need homes and shelter, more than they need rice and beans, yes, even more than they need love and kindness, they need an opportunity to work and feel pride and satisfaction in what they do.  I watched 20 men fight vehemently over the 5 slots of opportunity to work hard labor all day long for $10, and the fight would have been exactly the same had we offered $5.  A wise man once said, “the most depraved type of human being… [is] the man without a purpose.”  If we, those who are unburied by a lack of opportunity and thus purpose, can succeed in guiding Haiti to become the kind of place where industry begets industry, and people are free and able to pursue their ambitions, a radical transformation can and will occur.

What we did took weeks of planning, thousands of dollars, and days of sweat and work, and yet we affected just a very small part of Haiti – not a city, not even a community but a neighborhood, yet it was a neighborhood where people have names, and hopes and dreams.  It was a neighborhood where we all felt fruits of the Spirit… charity, love, and brotherly kindness.  Much was given, but so much more was received.

If we carried away nothing else (and we didn’t, having given away essentially everything of value we had brought), we took home the knowledge that all too often we are caught up in the “thick of thin things.”  Arriving at home brought a simultaneous sensation of shame and gratitude.  With days and nights already past, living the lives to which we have become accustomed, there are still so many things that are difficult to reconcile.  But what is easy to settle on is the veracity of the immutable law of service, that one cannot stoop to help another without being lifted up himself.

In our minds we now carry a greater acknowledgement of the blessings that are ours.

In our hearts we hold a fuller compassion and understanding of the challenges others face.

In our souls we feel a more genuine love for our fellow man.

In our prayers we can have more sincerity.

In our dreams we are flush with optimism.

In our hopes we call out, “Haiti, Kanpe Fem!”

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