We left on November 19th, 2010. We flew from Shreveport to Dallas to Miami to Port Au Prince. We took a 4 and a half hour bus ride to our first night's lodgings- The Guest House in Les Cayes, Haiti. We were greeted by Pumpkin Soup and Avocado. But, not our host as he fell asleep and was unable to join us (probably a good thing). The next morning, er, afternoon, we are on Haitian Time after all, we left to join our new family in Dasmas.
A brutal 1.5 hour ride exposed to the sun in the back of a truck with all our gear and tin for the new roof, we are in Dasmas. For the next few days we lived in the church, ate in the church, and thrived in the community. We gave to them and they gave to us. But, the stories of me and Haiti could go long into the night. I want to focus on one story, one boy who touched my heart...His name was JLow. He was young, I'm not sure how old to be exact, we never really exchanged any words. It was hard to get him to talk. He had a manor about him, he had large teeth spread in an overbite that made his chin almost disappear. He guarded his face with his hands, either as a defense mechanism or as simply a nervous habit. I met him when other kids his age were at school. This could mean he wasn't one of the lucky ones able to attend the local school. This could be because of no interest in education, but more than likely no money. JLow was obviously a simple and loving child, smiling at the big white people that had come to his village. But JLow's family was poor, even for Haitian standards.
We first met him at the well. Dasmas is considered fortunate becuase they have a deep water well, which means clean, free, and easily accesible water for the communities all around. We met him at the well as he was sent to fetch water...for what we don't know, but water being the breath of life, we are assured this was one of many trips of his today. He had two old antifreeze tubs. They were worn with use, but perfectly acceptible to fill with water. We walked to the well to fill our bucket and he eargly let us cut in line and he served us by pumping the water for our needs. That's when we saw them. His pants, blue jeans shorts ripped in the front below the crotch and all the way down the leg, ripped in the back at the belt loop, all the way down the leg. He had no underwear, his hiney exposed to the world. Where there should have been two leg holes, in place was three flaps of fabric, at the mercy of the wind. Did this discourage him, no. Did it make him hide his head in shame, no. What it did do is call out to us for to be the hands and feet.
We guided him back to the church where our belongs were located. He tentatively clutched a hand and started walking. He ear to ear smile faded as three of us, three white people lead him to the back room of the church. There we had to local translators to help us. This, however, did not seem to relax JLow any. For his once shining and smiling face was replaced with a down trodden and scared look. His eyes no longer met ours, and his feet barely shuffled the floor. Resistance was in each of his heart beats. We found for him a new shirt and a new pair of shorts. The shirt too big and the shorts had to be cinched tight to fit. But, he had clothes that covered and clothes that he could grow into. Still with a sad and defeated face he left, his old clothes in his mouth, and a water bottle each hand. Head down, he walked back home. My thoughts of our good dead were over shadowed by the seemingly emotional harm we had inflicted upon this beautiful child. The image of his face as he walked away, with his eyes missing the joy they once had, weighed my heart to the ground. It was now my turn to turn and shuffle away in sadness.
I questioned our motives, our abilities, our insistence to meddle in places oft left alone. I guarded my self from other attempts for fear of irrevocable damaging another child's or adult's persona. And I bowed my head and continued to work. JLow stuck in my mind that day.
Toward the end of the day, when both sets of schools had let out. When the sun started to dip behind the banana trees bringing with it the days first respite from the heat, people started to emerge. They came out, young and old, to watch what these new additions to the villiage were doing and how they were progessing. This usually involved sitting around, talking, maybe a pick-up game of soccer. All this in the field by the school. Inevitabley a game of chase with the younger kids woulds start. It goes to show from sea to shining sea chase is still chase and kids are still kids. As I was picking up the tools used earlier, something caught my eye. It was JLow, in his old ragged shirt, that fit him, and in his new shorts that were still big, but covered everything. He was playing with kids from the school. Playing with his new friends. They were playing chase and running around. His smile had returned, and as he ran his heart out, trying to dodge and weave his was around, his pant fell. His little, black booty was bare and exposed as he ran at top speed from his friends. But, he was happy! His face was back, his eyes danced, and his smile shown brighter that before. He found the confidence of new clothes and we found the grateful heart of a child. One of the adults retied the pants ensuring no more slips ups as he ran, and he was off again. Nothing could stop him now. He was my favorite story of Haiti. His story is why I travel to places like that. His story is why I fight the odds of cholera, rebels, and a host of other dangers and worries. His story is why my mother doesn't sleep at night. Is it it worth it? Every damn time!
