It is always interesting to study mental health conditions within certain societies. I wonder what it is about the American life that stirs mental health conditions within its people. I understand that other societies suffer from similar disorders, that remain in the dark and unreported. But even so, I feel they do no compare to statistics we present. They say one in every six Americans will be depressed by x age. Many Americans also suffer from anxiety disorders and attention deficit hyperactive disorders. What part of the American lifestyle leaves one feeling a lack of fulfillment and satisfaction and what part of the American life leaves one feeling overwhelmed and unable to regain control of priorities? Given what we have, there is much to ponder. Perhaps that and everything else is not enough; perhaps selling our souls to the dollar was not enough.
I lay on the bench upstairs in the open room without put in windows. I sit against the wall upstairs. I lean my head where the window is supposed to be on the upstairs. I stare out into the mountains and aquamarine turquoise waters. They seem so pure. I close my eyes. The breeze is fundamentally perfect in such heat and no electricity. There is no anxiety here. There is no panic here. I feel at ease; I am ease. Yet people are poor here, they suffer from PTSD and much much fear, one unfamiliar to us. The people also suffer from trauma. They live in the now. Yet their resilience transcends all. It's indescribable. There is is always never-ending hope. And for many there is God. The Haitian people don’t panic. They have only one choice - to move on.
Friday, July 2, 2010
Through God all things are possible
I was hesitant for a few seconds about going to a home called Trinity House. I do not believe in proselytizing. They did not really proselytize either. I wondered if preaching about God was the way to go to help immediate problems and long term problems. I did not believe in enforcing religion upon others. I still have the same views. I feel differently about bringing God to these boys in the home. It reinstates hope. None of the children in any of the three homes died during the earthquake. There was a celebration with the boys. Two of the homes collapsed and are torn down. You can rebuild a home, not a child says the founder. The founder has taught these children through God anything is possible.
My travel buddy leaves Sunday. We go to chapel. I talk to the director he shows me the 25th anniversary celebration album. They never had the scheduled celebration; it was scheduled for a week after the earthquake. But survival of the children was celebration enough.
We take motorcycles closer into town. The eldest boy, M, in the home talks to me as we wait in the streets of Jacmel for a spot in the internet café so I may for first time reach out to the other world. He talks to me about God. His English is grand. He speaks not as a brainwashed robot but as his own person with utmost sincerity and openness. He says when people speak about God he feels so strong and so happy. His life is about God he tells me. God is the light. I am surprised to hear such things. I feel a special bond with his opening up to me. I tell him how I pray, he asks if I pray like the people in Iran. I’m glad he has God. I know God changed my life at an age close to his. They say he has changed and matured tremendously within the last two years. He says as long as we all believe in one God we are fine. We walk across the city, I take pictures of some of damaged houses post earthquake. He tries to bend down to tie my shoe, I quickly stop him. I am the one in a position of servitude to such people. I start tying all the younger boys shoes.
My travel buddy leaves Sunday. We go to chapel. I talk to the director he shows me the 25th anniversary celebration album. They never had the scheduled celebration; it was scheduled for a week after the earthquake. But survival of the children was celebration enough.
We take motorcycles closer into town. The eldest boy, M, in the home talks to me as we wait in the streets of Jacmel for a spot in the internet café so I may for first time reach out to the other world. He talks to me about God. His English is grand. He speaks not as a brainwashed robot but as his own person with utmost sincerity and openness. He says when people speak about God he feels so strong and so happy. His life is about God he tells me. God is the light. I am surprised to hear such things. I feel a special bond with his opening up to me. I tell him how I pray, he asks if I pray like the people in Iran. I’m glad he has God. I know God changed my life at an age close to his. They say he has changed and matured tremendously within the last two years. He says as long as we all believe in one God we are fine. We walk across the city, I take pictures of some of damaged houses post earthquake. He tries to bend down to tie my shoe, I quickly stop him. I am the one in a position of servitude to such people. I start tying all the younger boys shoes.
This is the day the Lord has made - Arrival, Day 2
I had a feeling our journey to Fermathe from the airport was along rich neighborhoods. We drive from Fermathe to PAP to Jacmel, a three hour van ride. We encounter the real ghettos. Trash piled up to create new islands separating traffic on the road, as we saw rubble do the day before. Interesting unique system I tell myself, works to be pragmatic and creative. These are the ghetto’s I think. Much is to come. We pass by makeshift housing. It is lined up in a row like a lego town. These people seem to be living this way pre earthquake. There is a line of houses, perhaps 5feet by 5feet with blue tarp held up by thin wood logs, and carpet and curtains for the doorway and no windows. A naked girl bathes right outside. She lathers herself in soap. We pass by heavy construction areas, UN dominates the road. I want to say thank you, you provided locals with jobs. I do not want to say thank you, I’m not sure why other patches have been neglected. Perhaps they haven’t made their way down south yet.
We arrive in Jacmel, I think the driver is just reversing yet he is going into the metal gates. We are greeted by the Haitian director. He hugs us and says welcome. We walk onto the house patio, the boys have lined up. We are told to wait. I think we are going to walk by and shake each of their hands and introduce ourselves to one another. They start clapping, the sing a song. I feel emotional. “This is the day the Lord has made, let us be rejoice … ” the rest is in Creole and French. The all come and hug us one by one. We are given a tour of the house. We see the tents outside where I will be teaching for the outreach school, free for town children in poverty, and a makeshift tent for the slave children. Two ladies take pictures of the children and wave a peace sign saying Merci. I don’t quite understand how we operate as Americans sometimes, we dislike our governmental policies, but we treat others as projects of our own. I feel the common bond in humanity has been loosened.
The icon painting class has started, I meet the other teacher/guest at the house. I awake to drums. The neighborhood girls have come by for dance class. The dance instructors move in very different ways, each muscle rapidly flexing, torso and back in different directions. One boy is shy, J, I feel he may become my favorite. We read on the second floor, it is cooler there. The second level for schooling is uninhabited; the school children who come Mon to Fri aren’t allowed to be in buildings post earthquake until approved by government for foundational support purposes. I read more of my book, Darfur Diaries. The director of the house takes us to the beach. We swore it would be two minutes away not half an hour walk. Each beach we see is a striking calming beauty. I want to bike here daily, pray, read and reflect. They want to take us swimming tomorrow. It starts to rain as we head back. We eat mangoes. I wash dishes outside with the boy in the raincoat. I have only learned 2 names today.
We arrive in Jacmel, I think the driver is just reversing yet he is going into the metal gates. We are greeted by the Haitian director. He hugs us and says welcome. We walk onto the house patio, the boys have lined up. We are told to wait. I think we are going to walk by and shake each of their hands and introduce ourselves to one another. They start clapping, the sing a song. I feel emotional. “This is the day the Lord has made, let us be rejoice … ” the rest is in Creole and French. The all come and hug us one by one. We are given a tour of the house. We see the tents outside where I will be teaching for the outreach school, free for town children in poverty, and a makeshift tent for the slave children. Two ladies take pictures of the children and wave a peace sign saying Merci. I don’t quite understand how we operate as Americans sometimes, we dislike our governmental policies, but we treat others as projects of our own. I feel the common bond in humanity has been loosened.
The icon painting class has started, I meet the other teacher/guest at the house. I awake to drums. The neighborhood girls have come by for dance class. The dance instructors move in very different ways, each muscle rapidly flexing, torso and back in different directions. One boy is shy, J, I feel he may become my favorite. We read on the second floor, it is cooler there. The second level for schooling is uninhabited; the school children who come Mon to Fri aren’t allowed to be in buildings post earthquake until approved by government for foundational support purposes. I read more of my book, Darfur Diaries. The director of the house takes us to the beach. We swore it would be two minutes away not half an hour walk. Each beach we see is a striking calming beauty. I want to bike here daily, pray, read and reflect. They want to take us swimming tomorrow. It starts to rain as we head back. We eat mangoes. I wash dishes outside with the boy in the raincoat. I have only learned 2 names today.