A Year later

Exactly one year ago today I said Orevwa to Haiti.  In some ways it seems as though it has been a very long time since I was there, in other ways it feels like I just left, and at times it seems that there is a piece of me that is still there.

  

I had heard in the past that re-entry is often an important often neglected part of the mission experience and that reverse culture shock can be more difficult than culture shock.  These things I would agree with.  My past year has also involved multiple and somewhat complicated transitions, losses, and surprises, disappointments, discoveries and really almost constant change.     

Sometimes I go to the Haitian Creole liturgy here in New Orleans.  A few weeks ago there was a young American woman sitting behind me who I began talking with.  She had spent some time working in Haiti.  Today I met here at a local cafe and we talked for a couple of hours telling of our stories and experiences in Haiti.  They were the kind of stories which only someone who had been there could really understand or appreciate.  It is a gift when I can talk with people who have been there; such connections are energizing and important.  

It is also a gift when I have the chance to pale Kreyol because while I know I have forgotten some, I am making an effort to hold on to a langue I worked so hard to learn.  

I am grateful for the internet and for facebook where I get to see pictures and even an occasional video of the children.  The house which was Kay Ste. Ann was rented by NPH for one year, and now a new home has been built for the children, a brand new Kay St. Ann!  It looks great, at least the pictures I see over the internet make it look wonderful.  Here is a link to a video that NPH posted on facebook a few weeks ago.  The child is one I knew well, but because she has grown so much since I left, and because her name is changed to protect her identity, I did not know it was her at first. I was only completely certain of her identity when I saw the pictures at the very end of this video.  Young children really change a lot in a year.      https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=QHGZ0eQe0lI

A few weeks ago I wondered if the children especially because they are so very young would even remember me.  Very soon after I had that thought although I had not told anyone that I had been thinking that, a volunteer wrote on facebook, "A chorus of Ste. Anne kiddos announced to me this morning that you need to come back to Haiti! You are still remembered."  

My experiences have changed my thinking.  A couple of weeks ago there was a possible problem with the water in New Orleans and while the city was testing the tap water we were advised to boil it before drinking.  In some strange way, I felt this was a great reminder that most people in the world do not always have clean drinking water right in their own home.  I had a sense of solidarity, yet was skeptical that the water could have really gotten contaminated to the point of being dangerous; I just could not imagine that the water here could have something as serious as say Cholera. Once it was tested the city said that the water was fine.  Having been in Haiti, also prepared me for the days without electricity and air conditioning resulting from Hurricane Issac.  Sometimes I wish everyone could have an experience like I had in Haiti, and an opportunity to get at least a glimpse of what life is like for many of our brothers and sisters with whom we share this earth.  Sometimes I catch myself acting as though I have lost touch with my own experiences; I hate when I behave like an entitled American.  

It does seem impossible that an entire year has passed.  I am now working at Covenant House New Orleans and enjoying it.  The job I started last winter was really not a good fit for me for a variety of reasons.  I also moved from one local community to another, but on the same property.  I am now beginning to get somewhat settled and am finally emerging from the midst of many major transitions.  

My strongest emotion when I think of my time in Haiti, is gratitude   I am grateful for the experiences  for all the people I met, all that I learned and unlearned, and for all those who were supportive.  

Mesi   Bon Dye,  mesi anpil!   

runny noses

I remember when I first worked at Kay Saint Anne, and one of the babies had a runny nose.  I asked a worker for something to wipe the child's nose, expecting a tissue.  I never did learn the word for tissue in Haitian Creole since we never had any at work.  The worker took the bottom of the little shirt the baby wore and lifted it to the baby's face to wipe the runny nose.  This memory came to me the other day at work, when we were having a baby shower for a coworker.  One of the presents that someone gave to the expectant mother was a battery operated gadget designed to get the snot out of an infant's nose while playing pleasant music.  While someone was seriously commenting on what a practical gift this was, my mind could not help but wander back to Kay St. Anne.  Towards the end of my time in Haiti it became possible to locate toilet paper at Kay St. Anne relatively easily at least on most days, which I did use to wipe children's noses; no batteries needed.

Two years have passed since the earthquake.  Here is a slide show someone from Haiti posted on Facebook the other day, commemorating the 25th anniversary of NPH Haiti, as well as the second anniversary of the earthquake.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmLlwo0PFNQ&feature=share
Enjoy!

Today I had a good time speaking Haitian Creole to a sister who speaks perfect Parisian French, but who could some how, amazingly enough understand my very poor Haitian Creole.  
If you are still reading this despite the fact that I have been back in theUS for three months and my posts are infrequent,thank you, mesi!
Take care, Kathleen

New Job, New Year

I started a new job on Tuesday.  It is a clinical position, which will allow me to use my counseling skills to serve people who have substance abuse problems.  Before I left the house on my first day of  work someone asked me if I would haven an office or a cubical.  Without giving it much thought I stated that I would surely have an office, explaining that for clinical work a cubical does not have adequate privacy especially for conducting counseling session.  I was wrong; the therapists each have a cubical in one large room where we all conduct individual counseling sessions (actually, at the current time I am sharing a small cubical).  I remembered my office in Philadelphia where the walls went all the way to the ceiling and I could close the door, and even turn on a little sound machine that made white noise making it more difficult for anyone standing outside the door the listen in on the content of a therapy session.  After a nostalgic moment, I thought of my therapy situation in Haiti, when I had a tent and tried not to do play therapy when the older children were at recess because if I did I would have to constantly ask the older children not to watch through the tent window. When I did not have the tent, which occurred when I first started doing play therapy in Haiti and again after my tent fell down, I had to find a space in the containers which rarely provided the ideal space or  the privacy I wanted and were often very hot.  If I compare my current work situation to what I had in Philadelphia, I will only feel frustrated, if on the other hand I compare it to Haiti I will feel grateful. So many things are like this.

Today I went to a Haitian Creole Sunday liturgy here in New Orleans.  Although I am from time to time listening to daily news in Creole through the internet and reading things written in Haitian Creole, I think I am starting to lose a little bit of the language.  I feel like I worked so hard to learn what I know, even though I am not quite fluent, that I want to try to maintain the skills I have.  A toddler was looking at me during mass, and I played peek-a-boo with her for a moment.  She reminded me of the little ones at Kay St. Anne.  When I knew the to a couple of the songs during the liturgy I felt a real sense of joy, as I sang along (although not too loudly of course since I don't sing well in any language.)  

In general I am doing quite well.  There have been many things to adjust to as I have been transitioning in so many ways for quite some time now. On Christmas day my maternal grandfather passed away. I miss him a great deal and am saddened by his loss, and am very grateful for the gift  of having known him.  

Certainly 2011 for me a year with a lot of loss and so many funerals.  The cycle of life we see everywhere, and the paschal mystery shows that dying leads to new life, death to resurrection.  So, I begin this new year with a sense of hope and a sense of gratitude for all that I have, for all those I know and have known, and for life itself.  Haiti certainly has taught me not to take anything or anyone for granted and witnessed to me that it is always possible to have a sense of hope and joy.  

Happy New Year!  

Anniversary of Death

Today is the one year anniversary of Katiana's death, the little child who died of Cholera while residing at Kay St. Anne.  Often I think of her, and pray for her twin sister.  Her death still feels so sad and senseless.

Let us not forget the many children and adults who continue to die of preventable illness like Cholera, in places of our world where simple things like quality drinking water and basic sanitation are still lacking.     

Seven Sorrows of Mary

On Monday myself and another sister who is also transferring into the Marinaites of Holy Cross, were welcomed by the congregation in a beautiful simple prayer service held at a nursing facility where many of the older Marianite sisters live.  In addition to the congregation's constitutions, and spirituality handbook, we were each given a set of Seven Dolor beads.  At first glance they look like rosary beads however there are seven beads in each of the seven sections and when praying with them one reflects on the Seven Sorrows of Mary.  These are situations which during Jesus' life and at his death, like a sword pierced the heart of his mother.    The seven sorrows are: The prophecy of Simeon, the flight into Egypt, the loss of the child Jesus, Mary meets Jesus carrying his cross, the crucifixion, Jesus is taken down from the cross and the body of Jesus is placed in the tomb. (for more information on the seven sorrows go to: http://www.marianites.org/spirituality/seven-sorrows-of-mary/ )

When I used these beads for my prayer, my mind wandered frequently to Haiti.  It seems to me that the suffering many people experience regularly in Haiti, which I witnessed during my 14 months there, is much like the seven sorrows Mary experienced.

My mind goes to the mother of Kevin (name changed to protect confidentiality) the child who was sent to the United States for open heart surgery but died about ten months later.  A couple of weeks before his death, when I went to visit him at St. Damien Hospital, she was so concerned for her son.  She took my hand in hers and held it to Kevin's chest, so that I could feel that his heart was beating too quickly and too hard.  Like Mary hearing the prophecy of Simeon, I think this mother was confused and concerned for the well being of her son. The previous November she had been told that his heart was fixed and he could be expected to now live a normal life.  Now his rapid heart beat spoke of a different reality.

It was just about this time last year, when I spent a week working in the Cholera tents.  People who lived a distance quickly needed to get to re-hydration centers quickly once someone became ill.  I remember a mother who had come with her three children all of whom had Cholera; one of whom took a long time to recover.  Fr. Rick would sometimes tell stories of people dying as they arrived because they came from such distances by the time they arrived they were too dehydrated to recover.  Like Mary and Joseph fleeing into Egypt, for many people the difficult journey to a cholera hospital is an urgent a matter of life and death. During the days I volunteered in the cholera tents, I did so, because it was not safe to travel even the short distance to the baby house because of political unrest in the country, which greatly complicated the situation for the deathly ill people needing to make such a dangerous trip.             

People lose their children in Haiti.  Sometimes, extreme poverty leads a loving parent to place their children in an orphanage, abandon them in a hospital, or even send them to work at a young age with a family that is a little better off, certainly too I heard stories of children and parents unable to find one another in the immediate after math of the earthquake, and death rates among children are quite high as well.  I remember the pained expression on the face of a father as he left his three young children at Kay Ste. Anne; with the understanding that the program would work to eventually reunite him with his children (by this point this was the decided mission.)  I never knew his whole story, but I believe the mother of the children had died, probably in the earthquake.  As he walked out of the house, he appeared to me to be on the verge of tears, something I rarely saw among Haitian men.  The loss of his children from his care must have pierced his heart, as it had Mary's when she and Joseph were separated from young Jesus as they searched and eventually found him in the temple.   In this particular unique situation, the father decided after only a couple of weeks to take his children back home, that struggling to support them in extreme poverty was better for him and his children then leaving them in the care of the program.

The face of an older child comes to my mind, a young person who grieved the death of both of his parents, and then experienced physical abuse, neglect, and rejection at the hands of the relatives who were supposed to care for him.  Even though he is in a safe place where he is cared for now, he like many in our world continues to carry a heavy cross created by grief, loss, poverty, rejection and abuse.

The images of little babies I met one Saturday when I helped in a clinic come to me.  One baby was being cared for by her aunt because the baby's mother had died.  The aunt did not have money for formula to feed the baby, who was tiny, undernourished and suffering.  Another baby in the clinic that day was even smaller and the sister/nurse I was with predicted that the baby would soon die.  So many loving care givers feel so helpless as they watch their children suffer and die, because they lack of basic necessities 

So often morning liturgy was a funeral and sometimes for very small children.  I remember one mother who attended morning liturgy the morning following the death of her child.  Her little girl lay in a body bag there on the floor of the chapel.  As is common in the culture, the mother wept and wailed.  At one point she pulled out a cute little dress that had belonged to her little girl and held it up for all of us to see.  As this mother held her dead child's dress up, her grief was not unlike the grief Mary experienced when holding the body of her dead son in her arms.

This week it will be a year since we buried Katiana, laid her body in the ground just outside the chapel on the grounds of St. Damien hospital.  Cholera quickly killed this four year old who had a wonderful giggle and eyes that suggested to me she had seen pain and suffering beyond my imagining.  I think often of her surviving twin sister and think that the pain of such a loss in my mind is like Mary's pain when the body of Jesus was laid in the tomb.

Backpack

A couple of months ago, one of the workers at Kay St. Anne offered to wash my green back pack for me.  I felt a bit embarrassed when I realized how dirty it had gradually gotten.  This is the knapsack I took almost everywhere I went in Haiti.  When she offered I politely said, "non mesi," (no thank you.)  Aware that I would be returning to the states soon, I told her that I would wash it when I returned home.  Well, since I am home, in the place where I actually am now officially living, and have finally after many weeks am no longer living out of suitcases (Mesi Bon Dye/thanks be to God), I washed my back pack.  It contained an amazing amount of Haitian dust, some of which came out easily turning the water brown. I washed it by hand and might throw it in the washer when I do a load of dark clothes soon.  I doubt all of the dust will come out even in the washer-machine though because it just seems to be so deeply embedded in the fabric.  It is one thing to take the bag out of Haiti, but deep down there may always be some of Haiti in that bag.  Even if I do manage to get every speck of dust out of the knapsack, I still think it is an adequate metaphor because I know I can't possibly wash all of the Haiti out of myself.      

Peace Pole

You have probably seen a peace pole somewhere.  On each of the four sides in four different languages are words about peace on the Earth.  There is one here on the grounds of teh convent in New Orleans where I am staying and will be officially moving to  in a few weeks.  One of the four languages happens to be Haitian Creole.  Near the foot of the peace pole there are flowers some of which are the very same kind that grow near the chapel on the grounds of St. Damien Hospital in Tabarre Haiti.  I recognize them because some mornings before liturgy in Haiti, I would pick some of those flowers to place on the body bags; so many mornings daily liturgy was a funeral.  I am grateful that since I left Haiti, I have yet to go into a church for daily liturgy and see body bags containing Cholera victims or dead babies on the floor.  I find that I am grateful for things that I never would have thought tobe grateful for prior to going to Haiti.  Today near the peace pole and the flowers that I saw a beautiful orange butterfly; a much welcomed reminder to me of resurrection and transformation.       

Weather

Everything in America looks different to me because I spent time in Haiti.  The other day, when someone commented that the roads near her house were not well maintained, my mind wandered to the dirt roads in the neighborhood of Kay Ste. Ann and bouncing in the seat or in the back of the truck on the way home from school with the children.  While I could easily acknowledge the imperfections in the road probably due to warm summers and cold winters, the roads looked quite good to me, since these things are relative.  When someone talked about how bad the mosquitoes were in Philadelphia last summer, I acknowledge how annoying that must have been, but my thought was yes, but, at least, here it is highly unusual for them to carry malaria or other serious illnesses.  I did here from a volunteer in Haiti yesterday that a couple of children at St. Louie have Malaria, and also that there have been some recent difficulties with the safety of the drinking water for the children.  How strange it seems to me now, that here, I take a warm shower in water that is actually perfectly safe to drink.   

I took this right after the snow started yesterday; we actually had a couple of inches on the ground this morning.  It is very beautiful! 

If the conveniences and other cultural aspects related to reentry and reverse culture shock were not apparent enough, I only had to look out my window yesterday to be once again reminded that I am clearly not in Haiti anymore.  Snow in October, while there are still leaves on the tress, highly unusual for Philadelphia.  Today when I look out the window it looks like autumn and winter at the same time, as there is still snow on the ground and many of the trees are dazzling with their fall colors shining in the sun.  I am enjoying it as there was no winter or fall in Haiti, and New Orleans does not get the significant seasonal changes either.  Actually it will be nice to be in a place that is considerably cooler than Haiti, and considerably warmer than Philadelphia.  I enjoy all kinds of weather, though, so I go where my heart leads.

Here is the website for the Marianites of Holy Cross, the congregation I will be transferring to:
http://www.marianites.org/


 

Orevwa Ayiti, Cheri!

Tuesday evening there was a at party at Kay Ste. Anne to say, "mesi, orevwa," (thank you and good bye) to me.  The children sang and they danced.  It was so touching.  They presented me with a booklet of drawings that children had made with notes on the back of the pages from many of the workers.  At the party, I laughed with the children and cried as I said my farewells.  I miss them a great deal. 

 Using money that people had given me for Haiti, I was able to put new mats down for the children to play on and bought a tent like play house and some new puzzles and other toys for the playroom I had set up many months ago.  Thank you to all who gave me money for the children of Haiti.  Thank you too for all of you who were encouraging and supported me with your prayers and compassion.

  There was a volunteer from the states who painted a mural in the chapel during the last week or so that I was there.  There had been some earthquake damage in the chapel by the hospital where the volunteers and others gather for liturgy each morning.  The mural speaks to me of hope and transformation which continues to take place in Haiti.  Sometimes it is hard to get a good sense of what it changing in Haiti on the larger scale, but in the lives of individual children, and in the Father Wasson Angels of Light program as a whole I must say I have seen much hope and positive changes during the fourteen months that I was there.  If nothing else, I know that the time I spent in Haiti, the contact I had with the people of Haiti, the experiences I had have certainly transformed me and I am grateful   

    
When I told people in Haiti, I was leaving they typically asked me when I was coming back.  I told them I would not be returning, and then said, maybe someday, "si Dye vle."  This seemed to satisfy most, as if God wants is a common comment among the people of Haiti who have so much trust in the will of God.

On Thursday afternoon, I flew Portauprince to Miami, and then my flight to Philadelphia was delayed.  I arrived in Philly very early Friday morning. 

I heard from an American women who is volunteering as a nurse with the FWAL program.  Even though the children had a good-bye party for me and knew for quite some time that I was leaving, and even though I explained to some of them that I was going so far away that I would take two airplanes to get there, when they saw the nurse and one of the driver's for the program, the children asked the driver if he would go and get me and bring me back to St. Anne.  Just thinking about that, causes me to want to laugh and cry at the same time.  

Please continue to keep the people of Haiti in your prayers.  Please pray for me too, as I reenter into the so called "first world," and also begin a major transition of transferring from my current religious congregation, the Sisters of the Holy Redeemer to the Marianites of Holy Cross.  After a long discernment process, I truly have a sense of peace that this is what God is inviting me to at this point in my life, but farewells and transitions are rarely easy.  

 Thank you again, to everyone who was supportive to me in any way during my time in Haiti.  I am grateful to for all of the people in Haiti, who taught me so very much. I am not sure how regularly I will update this, if at all since I am no longer in Haiti.  Thank you for reading it. May you experience God's presence on your life's journey wherever it leads you.  Many Blessings!  Take care. 
Love and Prayers,
Kathleen

Reflections as I prepare for my final days in Haiti

There are somethings about Haiti I will surely miss.  There are other things I will not miss, and there are many things I will probably miss with a sense of ambivalence.Needless to say I will miss the children at St. Anne and St. Louie.  I will miss their smiles, their laughter.  I will miss the ways the young children stand behind me while I pretend to look for them and they call out while giggling "Se Kathleen pa we m" (Sister Kathleen doesn't see me.)  I will miss seeing children for play therapy, but I won't miss the challenge of finding a place to conduct therapy with an acceptable amount of privacy. I will miss the workers at St. Anne.  I will miss the morning liturgies in the chapel at St. Damien, but it will be very nice to attend daily liturgy where I know there is nearly a zero percent chance (as apposed to a nearly 95% chance) that morning mass will be a funeral for dead babies and or cholera victims.  I will miss the volunteers here a great deal, but I won't miss people who did not go to mass asking me how many bodies there were at mass.  I will miss speaking Creole and learning new words but I won't miss the frustration I feel when I really don't understand what someone is telling me even though they have repeated themselves several times.  I will miss the sound of the rain on the metal roof, but not miss the rain falling through the roof onto the floor of these little houses. The list could go on, but I don't really want to bore you.  Mostly I will miss the people.  

 There were a lot of visitors here this weekend because a Dominican sister from the United States who worked for NPH many years ago, now in her 90s returned for a visit since the Cholera hospital is being named for her.  There was a very lovely liturgy held on the grounds of St. Luke and St. Philomen hospitals nearby.  Teenagers and young adults she had cared for when they were babies came to the mass; it was very touching.  As I looked around at the land where the liturgy was held I thought about how,so much has changed since I arrived 14 months ago.  When I first came, the FWAL children had their summer camp program on those grounds, and very soon after my arrival moved to where St. Louie and the FWAL school currently stand.  A couple of months later, tents were placed on that property to treat people suffering from Cholera.  Now, there are more permanent structures there.  When I look at how much some of the children have grown and changed in the past fourteen months, it is amazing.  It is a privilege to have witnessed such growth.  Although I can't quite name all of the ways yet, I feel that my time here has changed me as well.

Please continue to pray for the people of Haiti.  Please pray for me as well, as I say my goodbyes here in the coming days.  I hope that you are well.  Thank you for all those who have been supportive to me in so many ways during my time here; be assured of my continued gratitude and prayers.