What do you want to see different?

I have the immense privilege of leading youth group at my church every Saturday afternoon. Last year, we generally had 50-60 teens attend each week. This year, though, our numbers have jumped to an average 80 attendees. And this week, we had a whopping 100 kids at youth group! Something cool is going on here and I'm very excited to be part of it.



One of my goals for youth group is to instill in the hearts of these young people a love for God that translates into a love for their country. I have always felt that real change can only happen in Haiti when Haitians begin acting. What I and other missionaries can do here is great, but what Haitians can do is far more powerful. So this week, I asked all the kids to write down things that they want to see different in Haiti.




I spoke to them from Nehemiah, a man who heard about a need and decided to do something to make it different. But instead of focusing on the part of the story where Nehemiah overcomes all obstacles to rebuild the wall of Jerusalem, I asked them to look instead at the beginning of the book. The first thing that Nehemiah does after he learns of the destruction of the wall is pray. He prays, confessing his sins and the sins of his people. As a body, we knelt in the sweltering sanctuary of Quisqueya Chapel, and asked God to forgive us and to forgive Haiti of its sins: corruption, violence, laziness, pollution, selfishness, Voodoo...




I collected all the papers and with the help of my co-leaders, Ari and Miriam, read a few out loud to the group. Like Nehemiah, these kids are seeing problems and needs in Haiti and they want to see change.



Our youth wants to see "More roads, a better president, no kidnappings, respect for women, more green space, children to be treated equally no matter if they are rich or poor, no stray dogs, all the children in school, electricity 24/7, no more starving children, Haiti to be the 'Pearl of the Caribbean' again, no more hatred, peace, people to have homes to stay, no ghettos, more work for people, no more desperation."

My personal favorite said this:


Ah, to have faith like a child!

Goat thieves no more

There is a saying in Haiti, "MINUSTAH se volo kabrit." It means "The United Nations are goat thieves". They say that because when the UN first came into the country in full force and was on offensive in Cite Soleil and other high danger areas, their vehicles would occasionally run over goats and other livestock but the soldiers never tried to repay the owners. Imagine how devastating it would be to a poor family to lose their one animal!

At Sherrie's school on Delmas 31, the saying has changed. Now it goes like this: "MINUSTAH pote dlo" = "the UN brings water"! I walked out to the courtyard yesterday on my way to deliver meds to a student and there in the driveway was a UN water truck. Two Bolivians in full gear were standing by as a hose filled the giant cistern and all our 5 gallon buckets. Strange things happen to me all the time in Haiti, but this was a first: free Bolivian UN water delivery!

Feed my sheep

I got to accompany some of my favorite students from Quisqueya Christian School to a feeding program in my old neighborhood this week. Anytime small children are present, I'm excited. But I'm especially excited when those small children are being cared for by my students. I adore seeing them step out of their comfort zones and learn to truly love.

The African plain

Last week, I drove an hour outside Port-au-Prince with my friend Karen. Our destination was a little village where one of the children we have been following had recently been returned to his biological family. We wanted to check on him to make sure that he was healthy and safe at home.

Getting to the village was like stepping out of Haiti and into sub-Saharan Africa. We couldn't drive all the way to the village, so we parked on the dirt road and walked a half mile past the stream where women were bathing and washing clothes, through the fields of corn, and up to the village center which consisted of a little church, a water pump, and a sort of rotary where tire marks indicated the motorcycle route that passes through the village. As we walked around, I saw small children with red hair, indicative of kwashiorkor, protein deficieny. I saw scabies, infected cuts, and head fungus. When I asked Karen if she had ever considered doing clinics in the village, she blushed. "I was going to ask you if you'd be willing," she said. "But I figured you were too busy."

It's true that both Karen and I are busy, but we will make time. I want to get out to that village once a week and do simple care for the children like I do in the Ravine. One course of vitamins and worm pills would make a world of difference in this community! Thanks to donations from my Army friends, I have nearly all the medications I need to get started; all we are waiting for now is the approval of the town elder. Once he agrees and offers us a location to hold clinic, we will be there. I can't wait!

Real life again

Back in Port-au-Prince after my Jacmel adventure, it has been wonderful to return to my job of treating patients in the Ravine and at Sherrie's school. The old routine: coughs, colds, diarrhea, scabies, and removing nearly 100 stitches from Ivona's arm after her orthopedic surgery last week. She had the first of a series of surgeries to correct a bad wrist contracture that has made her hand practically useless since infancy.







I was very happy to see the kids again and the kids were very happy to see me again.





Well, most of them were happy...

It all ended with...

...a confused cameraman, the ambassador, and a shout-out.

On our last day of clinic in Jacmel, we treated patients all morning while a crew of Haitians began set-up for the closing ceremonies. Up front, where Stud Farm worked, we had patients sitting on long benches and medications arranged on a stage behind us for easy access and administration. Midway through the morning, just as we were hitting our stride, a camera crew arrived and planted themselves directly between the patients and the drugs. We could examine patients, but we couldn't get to the medications! Someone told the interviewer that I spoke Creole, so he pulled me in front of the camera and began peppering me with questions. I don't mind being interviewed, but could we at least wait until I'm done seeing patients?

The same thing happened the next day when we visited the hospital in Jacmel to donate some of our unused supplies. I was trying to show the troops around and explain things to them, but a journalist kept following me and thrusting his little tape recorder in my face.

Back to the first story. I finished my interview and promptly went back to seeing patients. One of the colonels must have gently told the camera crew that they were creating an obstruction because they did eventually move. And I was perfectly happy to see them go.



At noon, the closing ceremony began. The soldiers were permitted to sit this time, but I was not allowed to sit with them. Oh no, I had to sit in the front row of the tent, alongside Colonel Hershey, Commander Strong, and US Ambassador Merten. To my relief, there was a band that performed the national anthem and no one asked me to translate for the soldiers. They were simply left in the dark for speech after speech. I sat by Colonel Hershey, whispering bits of translation to her, and getting very hot as the sun crept into my side of the tent.


When Colonel Hershey was invited up to address the dignitaries, officials, and press, she took me with her and I translated into Creole as she spoke. She kept it brief and I was grateful.


The last person to speak was Ambassador Merten. He addressed the crowd in French, congratulating the troops for an exceptionally successful mission and all the support teams, especially the Haitian police and Coast Guard, for their assistance. At the end of his speech, he called up the 3 Commisioners to give them plaques of recognition for their role in the MEDRETE. And then he asked for Madame Keziah Furth. I walked up, shook his hand, and as he passed me the plaque, I heard the US soldiers.


Throughout the entire ceremony, they had been silent, applauding politely when they saw everyone else applauding. When Colonel Hershey was awarded 2 plaques, they clapped. When a plaque was announced for the entire MEDRETE team, they clapped. But when my name was announced, they leapt to their feet and gave me a shout-out. If you've never experienced an Army shout-out, I'm sorry, I can't do it justice. Imagine a score of deep male voices shouting out a secret code of Army brotherhood, something that you can't imitate and you can't fully understand. But when you look at their faces, you realize that you don't need to. And it's all you can do to keep from crying.

That was how my time in Jacmel ended.

It all started with...

...the national anthem, a bloody hand, and a bottle of valium.

I went to Jacmel with the task of overseeing the volunteer translators and arranging referrals for surgery and other care that was beyond the scope of the US Army medical team. However, by the end of my very first day on the ground, it was obvious that my job was a little bit more than just a coordinator.



I arrived in Marigot, the small town an hour out of Jacmel where the Army was holding its first 5 days of clinic in an elementary school. When I got there, work was already under way, so I walked through and quickly introduced myself to each room. There was dental, optometry, pediatrics, women's and family health, general medical, and the pharmacy. At each stop, I just stuck my head in and offered my name and my role as volunteer and referral coordinator. I think most of them immediately forgot about me as they went back to work.

Twenty minutes later, all work stopped for the opening ceremony. The soldiers stood at attention as the Haitian flag was raised and the Haitians sang their national anthem. Then the Master of Ceremonies asked for the US flag and anthem. Major Heck, standing near me, whispered, "We don't have anyone who can sing. We're in trouble!" Jokingly, I said, "Well, gosh, I can sing." And of course, next thing you know, I'm standing in front of the podium leading the Army in the Star Spangled Banner.



It didn't stop there. The speeches began and I asked the Master of Ceremonies, who is fluent in English, French and Creole, if she was going to translate so the soldiers could understand. "No," she said, with a wicked grin. "You are!" So I had the joy of translating speeches made by the judge of Marigot, the mayor of Marigot, the representative of the Southeast department of Haiti, and a high ranking official with the Minister of Health. The poor soldiers were standing in 90 degree heat for the entire ceremony, so I tried to keep my English versions short - OK, that's really an excuse for the fact that I simply could not remember everything that each official has said in his 10 minute speech even though I took notes. You can see from the expression on my face how thrilled I was to be translating those speeches!



Needless to say, everyone knew who I was by the end of the opening ceremony.

Later in the day, I was approached by one of the docs asking if there was anywhere in the area to get more powerful pain medications. One of the medics has a back injury and was in excruciating pain. For security reasons, the soldiers were not allowed outside the compound without an armed escort, but I could walk around freely. I went down the street to the local pharmacy and bought valium for the medic. Over the next 4 days, I visited the pharmacy at least once a day for different requests, but usually for valium, both for the soldier and for a seizing patient.



My reputation for being able to make the impossible happen was cemented that afternoon when a man appeared at the gates with his hand wrapped in bloody cloth. He had been in a machete fight. The slice went between his pinky and ring fingers, all the way through his palm and into his wrist. I won't post the photos because they are too graphic, but his pinky finger and palm could be turned almost 180 degrees to his hand. If we sent him to the hospital, most likely, he would not be able to have it surgically repaired and he would lose the hand and maybe die from infection. But we had a plastic surgeon in our unit! If we could only get our hands on the supplies needed to do the surgery, he could do it.

I went to the local clinic and spoke with the director. He allowed us to use the clinic's sterile gloves and sutures, while we borrowed lidocaine from the dentists and sterile water from our pharmacy. It took over an hour, but Dr Pitman and his assistant Andy did a masterful job putting that hand back together.




That was it. In one day, I became the go-to person for all questions and needs out of the ordinary. And I loved it!