We'll be flying down to Port-au-Prince tomorrow for a day of sightseeing and to shoot a bit for a newspaper story I'm finishing up, then heading back home on Tuesday. Luckily, we've got some great (yes, I know I've overused that adjective) friends from the mission going with us and it should be a fun time in Haiti's capital. Actually, it's one of the poorest and most dangerous cities in the world, so I suppose most people don't look at PAP as much of a tourist spot. But any place in Haiti that has restaurants, ice cream, paved roads and air conditioning is pretty good in my book!
Thanks so much to all of you who have been praying for us and keeping up with us these past few weeks. As always, God has used the time in redemptive ways. We're excited about the direction our journey is taking and about all the good that is happening at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission.
As for me, I'm ready for cold weather and some Thanksgiving turkey.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Solidarity (a tiny bit)
It’s been a long and busy week for us, but a good one. Erika and I have truly enjoyed the fellowship of the staff here, and we’ve been able to participate in some great times of prayer and encouragement for them.
That said, I am tired and (I must reluctantly admit) I am already looking forward to going home. I relish my time here and there’s plenty of work yet to be done, but it has been a long year with so little time to rest. The end of this trip will mark the beginning of a sort of respite for us – even if it just means working ordinary, 40-hour weeks for a while.
The American missionary staff here continues to impress me – especially those who sincerely love the nationals and also desire to live as humbly and simply as they can, developing something like solidarity.
For me, the task of documentary photography offers just a glimpse of that solidarity. Earlier this week, I met Yolanda, a disabled, single mother of two. Yolanda cannot afford rent so sleeps on the floor of a house of voodoo. Though her twisted legs often give out underneath her, she walks with her girls to the mission each day to get a bowl of rice for her two daughters – crossing mud flats, a swift river, and what seems like a few miles of terrain to get here.
I made the trek twice – once to find her house, and again early the next morning to document her trip. I was muddy, exhausted, and I destroyed a good pair of sandals (Andy, you knew better than to wear sandals in the wet season…). I cannot imagine walking it in her shoes.
To document her story required stepping into it, if only for a fleeting moment. My Haitian guide told me I was a very magnanimous American for working so hard to learn her story. I thought that was funny, because by those standards she might just be the biggest hero in Haiti.
Some images from her day:
That said, I am tired and (I must reluctantly admit) I am already looking forward to going home. I relish my time here and there’s plenty of work yet to be done, but it has been a long year with so little time to rest. The end of this trip will mark the beginning of a sort of respite for us – even if it just means working ordinary, 40-hour weeks for a while.
The American missionary staff here continues to impress me – especially those who sincerely love the nationals and also desire to live as humbly and simply as they can, developing something like solidarity.
For me, the task of documentary photography offers just a glimpse of that solidarity. Earlier this week, I met Yolanda, a disabled, single mother of two. Yolanda cannot afford rent so sleeps on the floor of a house of voodoo. Though her twisted legs often give out underneath her, she walks with her girls to the mission each day to get a bowl of rice for her two daughters – crossing mud flats, a swift river, and what seems like a few miles of terrain to get here.
I made the trek twice – once to find her house, and again early the next morning to document her trip. I was muddy, exhausted, and I destroyed a good pair of sandals (Andy, you knew better than to wear sandals in the wet season…). I cannot imagine walking it in her shoes.
To document her story required stepping into it, if only for a fleeting moment. My Haitian guide told me I was a very magnanimous American for working so hard to learn her story. I thought that was funny, because by those standards she might just be the biggest hero in Haiti.
Some images from her day:
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
A Funeral
The mission and its gifted staff save a lot of lives, but sometimes one gets away.
Naomi was born with no hands or feet, and her mother (supposedly) died shortly after the delivery. The baby could not hold down food. Though she likely would have survived in a U.S. hospital, no one expected her to live in Haiti more than a few hours. Remarkably, she held on for a week – and received more affection during that week than many babies get in a lifetime.
When she died, a parade of short-term missionaries took her to the town cemetery and put her in a shallow hole between two crypts. She was buried in a plywood casket.
The relief of her departure overshadowed the mourning, and Naomi finally got in death something that she never had in life: hands and feet.
(first image by Erika Olsen, rest by Andy Olsen)
Naomi was born with no hands or feet, and her mother (supposedly) died shortly after the delivery. The baby could not hold down food. Though she likely would have survived in a U.S. hospital, no one expected her to live in Haiti more than a few hours. Remarkably, she held on for a week – and received more affection during that week than many babies get in a lifetime.
When she died, a parade of short-term missionaries took her to the town cemetery and put her in a shallow hole between two crypts. She was buried in a plywood casket.
The relief of her departure overshadowed the mourning, and Naomi finally got in death something that she never had in life: hands and feet.
(first image by Erika Olsen, rest by Andy Olsen)
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Burning Food
Sometimes, this place makes no sense.
Environment alone sometimes makes it nearly impossible to get anything done in this country. Power goes out, Internet and phones die, generators break down, tropical downpours force everyone inside, rivers rise, roads churn into mud, transportation is impossible.
So you’d think that, in a country where nothing is easy and even finding a mouthful of food can be an unbearable chore, at least the government would cut people a little slack. Especially the people who invest their entire lives in helping others – people like us.
But even sensibility can wash away during the rainy season. Which might explain why the Ministry of Health would force an NGO to burn roomfulls of medicines and food because they are “expired” or set to expire in a couple of weeks. Though in the States it is common knowledge that items like peanut butter are edible and even tasty well beyond their “freshness date,” the Haitian government believes that peanut butter in fact turns poisonous on that date, and thus it cannot be fed or given to anyone. Same goes for things like Tylenol, powdered milk, medical blood test strips, and yes – decaf coffee.
So their solution is for organizations like ours to burn mountains of food and medicine as gawking crowds of sick and hungry people look on.
To be sure, the mission is very aware of the government’s dislike of expired goods and we are vigilant to never have them in our warehouses or pharmacy. We do all we can to respect the authorities over us. That is why we regularly remind donors in the States that we cannot accept expired goods as donations.
But at the same time, if a malnourished boy is starving before your eyes and you have a box of powdered milk that is set to expire tomorrow, would you give it to him? Or would you pour it on the dirt at his feet?
The Ministry of Health, apparently, prefers the dirt over its own people.
Photos:
Hundreds of jars of peanut butter the government ordered burned.
A shot from the beach road in St. Louis du Nord.
A drummer in a voodoo parade honoring the “Demon Anniversary,” a voodoo holiday that falls somewhere around Halloween. His hat says “Jesus is my Boss.”
Some mission staff walking the dark streets of St. Louis du Nord, shopping for gasoline to power a backup generator.
Environment alone sometimes makes it nearly impossible to get anything done in this country. Power goes out, Internet and phones die, generators break down, tropical downpours force everyone inside, rivers rise, roads churn into mud, transportation is impossible.
So you’d think that, in a country where nothing is easy and even finding a mouthful of food can be an unbearable chore, at least the government would cut people a little slack. Especially the people who invest their entire lives in helping others – people like us.
But even sensibility can wash away during the rainy season. Which might explain why the Ministry of Health would force an NGO to burn roomfulls of medicines and food because they are “expired” or set to expire in a couple of weeks. Though in the States it is common knowledge that items like peanut butter are edible and even tasty well beyond their “freshness date,” the Haitian government believes that peanut butter in fact turns poisonous on that date, and thus it cannot be fed or given to anyone. Same goes for things like Tylenol, powdered milk, medical blood test strips, and yes – decaf coffee.
So their solution is for organizations like ours to burn mountains of food and medicine as gawking crowds of sick and hungry people look on.
To be sure, the mission is very aware of the government’s dislike of expired goods and we are vigilant to never have them in our warehouses or pharmacy. We do all we can to respect the authorities over us. That is why we regularly remind donors in the States that we cannot accept expired goods as donations.
But at the same time, if a malnourished boy is starving before your eyes and you have a box of powdered milk that is set to expire tomorrow, would you give it to him? Or would you pour it on the dirt at his feet?
The Ministry of Health, apparently, prefers the dirt over its own people.
Photos:
Hundreds of jars of peanut butter the government ordered burned.
A shot from the beach road in St. Louis du Nord.
A drummer in a voodoo parade honoring the “Demon Anniversary,” a voodoo holiday that falls somewhere around Halloween. His hat says “Jesus is my Boss.”
Some mission staff walking the dark streets of St. Louis du Nord, shopping for gasoline to power a backup generator.
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