Sometimes I go to the airport to get the orphanage mail that arrives on a plane from a small airline that provides mail services to missionary and church programs. Sometimes I chat with the people who are also at the airport. There are regulars who I see each time I go, others who also wait for mail to come for their organization or church, and people who trying to make a living by the benches under the metal shelter where we wait for the mail and others wait for their arriving family and friends. There are people who exchange money, sell things, and a couple of people who ask for money from anyone they think might give them some. I do not carry much money when I go to the airport and I do not as a rule give money to those who ask, in part because I fear that if I did it once then they would only come to always expect it and others would ask too. It is difficult to know what is best in these situations. On occasion I have explained that I am working at an orphanage and the little money I do have goes to the children there; some people seem satisfied with this explanation while others are understandably disappointed. One man regularly asks if I can give him a job or know if anyone is hiring; unemployment is so high that many capable and willing people can’t find regular work.
Recently I heard the story of a young man at the airport, who I would have guessed had been born with a developmental disability, but from what he told me his problems are likely the result of an accident and (probable brain) injury. Certainly in the United States he would qualify for Social Security Disability and at least be provided with the means to meet his most basic of needs. In Haiti there are no such programs, so he comes to the airport to ask tourists and travelers and anyone he sees for money. On a very hot afternoon when I had been waiting for an unusually long time, he told me he was thirsty. I had consumed all of the water in the water bottle I carry with me, so it was easy to imagine that he was truly thirsty; there are not public drinking fountains available like one would typically find in at an American airport. I gave him what I believed was enough money to purchase a couple of bags of water (drinking water here is commonly sold in small sealed plastic bags.) While I handed it to him, aware that I would likely encounter him again, I asked him please not to ask me for money every time I come to the airport. He happily agreed and went to purchase drinking water.
This week, when the orphanage chauffeur pulled up in front of the airport waiting area to let me out of the truck, so that I could wait for the mail, the young man was standing there on the nearby sidewalk. His face lit up, as he put his hand out to shake mine, telling me he was happy to see me. Seeing his wide smile, which has a child-like quality to it, brought me a sense of joy and I could not have been more sincere as I replied, “mwen kontan wè ou tou.” We chatted for a few minutes as I asked how his week was and how is his family. He did not ask me for money or anything other than a handshake, but gave me such a welcoming smile that I was glad to be at the airport, and grateful that (even if imperfectly) I can speak and understand his language.
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