And Then There Were Seven

On January 21, 2013 we welcomed our first child in to the Be Like Brit Orphanage here in Grand Goâve, Haiti.  This date was significant in that it just so happens to be Brit’s birthday.  Believe me when I say that the timing was serendipitous.  We had considered trying to bring a child in on that day for obvious reasons, but decided that we would wait for it to happen naturally – to not confine ourselves to a boxed window of time for the sake of symbolism.  So, when it just so happened that Kervins came to us on January 21, 2013, it’s clear that fate played a hand.

Kervins on his first day of school!

As the program director, one of my duties is to search for children who might be eligible for our program here at Be Like Brit.  In a place like Haiti, when word gets out that the new orphanage on the hill is ready to bring children inside its protective walls, the response is overwhelming.  For the first week or so, women brought children in by the dozens, some with heart-wrenching stories of abandonment, desertion, unemployment, starvation, and of course, death.    Others, though, seemed eerily happy at the prospect of bringing their child to our doorstep; they may not have as dire a need as some of the other women, but rather regarded the opportunity to come to Be Like Brit as what we might recognize in the West as the equivalent of admission into a prestigious boarding school or elite club.

Overwhelmed by the response, and quite frankly a bit taken aback by how freely women would offer up their children to us, seemingly without emotion or consideration, I decided to shift my approach.  Instead of asking women to come to us, I made up my mind to reach out to the community myself.  Alongside my Haitian sidekick Rosenie, we took to the roads and mountains in our area in search of children we had heard needed to be helped.

I’m no stranger to community outreach work.  I’ve conducted research in some of the poorest areas of New Orleans with chronically homeless, mentally ill, HIV-positive, and substance dependent individuals.  I’ve witnessed what I thought were tough conditions. 

A decade ago or so I worked in international business in China, Vietnam, Malaysia, and the Philippines.  I’ve certainly seen some of the world’s worst slums; some of the most vulnerable and exploited people in factories and on assembly lines working 15 hours a day for pennies and housed en masse in tenuous dormitory housing.

Most recently I spent three months in Rwanda working with an orphanage there, and was exposed to the harsh realities of life in East Africa in a post-Genocidal society still reeling from civil war and the unraveling of the social fabric of the country.

I figured I’d be prepared for whatever I might find in the hills and mountains of Haiti.  I was wrong.

While I don’t mean to bring my readers “down” – the reality, the truth – is that the conditions in which the Haitian people live in are among the worst in the world.  Time and again, as we would round a corner and come upon the next “house” where we knew orphaned children were living, my level of tolerance would be breached, like the levees in New Orleans, and the flood of emotion and visceral reaction to what I found before me was exceeded time and again.

So, one by one, I interviewed these families.  I interviewed the children through the use of an interpreter.  I tried to get some insights into their life, though in all honesty, one doesn’t really need an interview guide and assessment tool to figure out if this particular family or group needs help.  It’s obvious in the smell that invades all five of your senses.  It’s in the sights that make your stomach turn and your eyes wince.  It’s in the tears that well up in your eyes when you bid a one room house of 10 a “Bonswa” and a “Mesi” while you climb back into your ATV and record notes on people who can’t even sign their own name in order to give away their children.

The decision on whether to bring them to Be Like Brit or not is never one taken lightly.  It’s never easy.  I never feel great about taking a child or children from the only home and family they know.  Moreover, it’s never easy on the children.  The first night with each of our new children is almost invariably a long one.  Tears, confusion, lost little eyes looking for something, anythingfamiliar. 

But then there’s the second day, and the third day.  And watching these children transform from naked, hungry, and neglected to clothed, fed, loved, smiling, playful, happy children – even in as little amount of time as a week or two is why I am here in Haiti doing what I am doing. 

And then there’s this morning:  After an emotional week for all of us, especially the children who find themselves here, waking up early, dressing well for church, eating breakfast, laughing and smiling all along the way – this is when I feel good about my decision.

After a few takes, almost everyone is smiling for the camera!

Don’t get me wrong.  I recognize that there is an adjustment period for everyone involved.  For those who arrive new, they must get used to their new environment.  From the taken for granted things in our everyday lives like turning on a sink to brush your teeth, or sitting on a toilet and flushing it away, to flipping on a light switch when it’s dark – all of this is new and amazing to them.  For those who are already here, the status quo gets shifted, and our obligations as caregivers and providers grow exponentially in negotiating that delicate balance of making everyone feel safe, loved, worthy.

I loved my work in Rwanda.  I got to spend three months with 100 children.  They were an established, existing organization.  I didn’t have to hear their stories, meet their families or be witness to their squalor.  Starting from scratch, every detail on every child makes its way through me.  In that way, I feel very blessed and very fortunate.  I will know each of their names, each of their families, each of their histories.  I will know them.  Because of this, I have been able to forge the greatest of relationships with each of the children that Be Like Brit now cares for.

Being a part of this process is unlike anything I had imagined.  Even when it’s hard – and we all knew it would be hard – it is the most precious and wonderful way to spend a day, a week, and now – a month!

First there was one, and now we are seven.  Our work is important, our work is good.  And our work depends on the continued support of readers like you.  Thank you for helping realize Brit’s dream, and through that, letting me live mine.

All smiles! 

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan