Haiti On My Mind

Haiti is on my mind tonight and has been a lot lately. Between releasing the Haley and Cam "Special Report" short story, which is loosely based on my experiences in Haiti, and this news story about busting child traffickers in Haiti and the Mardy family, many of my old memories of Haiti have surfaced. (Not to mention, a lot of conversations with my parents about the shots they need to get to serve their mission in Samoa, which are the same shots I had to get to go to Haiti and Cambodia.)

The news story today really struck a sad chord with me. I have met the Mardy family. I have heard Guesno Mardy speak first-hand about how his son was kidnapped out of the church building, and who he (correctly) suspected did it and why. I have been to one of his orphanages in Port-au-Prince, and helped work on a new, under construction, orphanage outside of town. (The picture above is of the orphanage. The picture below is of me making concrete to build an outside kitchen the orphanage could use until the inside one was functional.)

All of these memories are still emotional and tough to process. The things we saw and did were so far outside the realm of expected and normal that I know I'll never experience it all again. And with the exception of the friends I served with, there is no one who can relate to what we did there. (Unless another civilian knows what it feels like to disembark a plane in the dark and be told that there may or may not be snipers dialed in on you, even though you are only there to bring medical aid.)

I truly wish and pray that I could work in the field of anti-trafficking. My time as a volunteer in Haiti and Cambodia opened my eyes to a world I never could have imagined. I truly believe if people want to "strengthen the family" and "protect" the family, fighting trafficking and helping those the most at-risk for trafficking, is the best way to do that. I wish more people would investigate and educate themselves about where, why, and how often trafficking happens. You might be surprised to learn how close to home it happens. You don't have to be like me and fly off to developing countries to fight trafficking. You can fight it in your own neighborhoods. Because I can guarantee it happens in your town, regardless of how big or small it is.

I miss being of service to the world in such a measurable way. I often wonder if I am just a huge waste of space (single, unemployed, etc). I know I made the right choices when I chose not to serve in the Peace Corps, and I indefinitely postponed moving to China. But my desire to serve in those types of capacities has not lessened.

Now, to just figure out how to be of service again.

Haley and Cam Prequel Story Now Available!

Finally! A new installment in the Haley and Cam series!
This 50 page prequel starts before "You Heard It Here First" and is a look into Haley's life before she met Cam. It's based on my personal experiences in Haiti, with a lot of truth, and a lot of fiction thrown in. Any characters with similarities to real persons living or dead are merely coincidental. Although I did name many of the characters after my real life cohorts that I served with.
The book cover is of me with one of the little "Haitian Princesses" I met in the pediatrics tent at Generale Hospital.
It was cathartic for me to use this short story as a way to tell my experiences in Haiti in a personal, yet objective and unemotional way. The story definitely comes from a special place in my heart and is an experience I've long wanted to share.
I hope you enjoy this standalone prequel. (You don't need to have read the other 2 books for this one to make sense.) And I hope it holds you over and gets you excited for the next book, "Coming Up Next" to be finished and released in the fall.

Get it for just 99 cents on Amazon today!
"Special Report: Prequel to the Haley & Cam Series" 

Catching Dreams

For as long as I can remember, my biggest dream in life has been to "have" my own orphanage. I've wanted to work in an orphanage, or work with orphanages, ever since I was a child. I've always had a small plan in the back of my head that at a vaguely defined point in the future I would move to another country, and start my own orphanage.

Over time I've come to realize it takes a lot more than that dream to do these things. My entire (doomed) foray into the Peace Corps was about me wanting to go to a country where I'd get to work with orphanages. (And then they screwed that one up on me big time. But whatever.) I worked with orphans in Haiti in 2010. I visited an orphanage in Romania in 2001. I spent a month working at an orphanage/shelter in Cambodia in 2011.

(And I've memorized every line in the movie, "Annie."  - The good version with Carol Burnett. The rest are all frauds.)
But my professional career has never lent itself well to following this dream. The harder I tried to get into a field or industry that would allow me to work with underprivileged children overseas, the further I seemed to get from that field. Last year I even took a class in non-profit marketing so I could hopefully get a job in non-profit work. Instead I landed in a job writing about the stock market. This is what I mean about the farthest opposite ends of industry!
But my situation and fate have changed again.
And this time things are coming together nicely to allow me to follow my dreams and passions and move abroad. This won't be just some simple short-term volunteer gig. Things are coming together beautifully to allow me to take a job in a country with a lot orphanages.
In the past few days and weeks relationships have dissolved and opportunities have arisen, that make me feel liberated.
It's funny how I feel like I have to explain my decision to others. I'm not doing it to justify my choices. This is who I am and what I have always wanted to do. My daydreams never looked like a husband and 3 kids in the suburbs. My daydreams always included orphanages, foster kids, and traveling the world with my laptop. I've never been a 9-5 worker, living in a condo, commuting to the city type. My heart wants to be in a developing country, where I can't drink water from the faucet, and I can barely speak the language. It's just who I am. I want to be serving others, not living for a paycheck.
But first I have to survive the next several months. I expect it will all fly by fast while I plan the singles conference, and make these plans to move abroad.
Bring it on, World! Let's do it!

Haiti - 3 years later

It has been 3 years since the devastating earthquake hit Haiti. I still haven't forgotten one minute of my experiences there.

Rainy Days and Mondays (Don't) Always Get Me Down

Oh how I miss Cambodia today. What I wouldn't give for a real fruit drink and some fish amok. I woke up with a crazy craving for mango and pineapple and I won't be happy until I find some. Ooh and papaya sounds good too. I've just spent 20 minutes changing all of my profile pictures to Cambodia pics on different websites. I miss it!

But let's talk about yesterday. By all counts, I had a bad day. Things went from small mistakes to big dumb problems. And I felt bad about it, I really did. I've always been very good about kicking myself while I'm down. I've never needed extra punishing because I've got that covered all by myself. So trust me when I say I felt really bad about my stupid mistake that got me in trouble. Thankfully no one else felt the need to kick me while I was down. For that I am grateful. It was all handled very nicely. But still, I felt awful. Today I still haven't felt the courage to get up and try again. I'm still feeling pretty stupid about my dumb mistake.

But there's the thing. In spite of how bad I felt and the situation, I could only feel so bad. I really had woken up yesterday thinking about the fact that everything has been so good for me lately. I've really managed to accomplish a lot professionally in the past few months, and it feels GREAT to be earning money again. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, nothing feels better than the ability to finally be able to support myself again. But then the poopy thing happened. It was a professional mistake, and on top of just feeling dumb about the mistake, I felt awful that I finally get some work and get happy and then I messed things up. Not so great, right?

But there was this other part of me that had to laugh and smile about the situation. After two years of unemployment and bad days, wondering if I would ever have a good day again, and now having had a few months of great days, one bad day isn't such a big deal. I am a little grateful for my bad day. It made me feel normal again. And it reminded me to be serious and more detail oriented. (After two years of not working, it can be really hard sometimes to focus and really "think" like I know I should. You'd be amazed how that skill needs to be kept up!)

I can't be too upset about my bad day. I'm just too darn grateful and happy about it. Don't get me wrong, my guilt and inferiority complex is still kicking me good. I worry each time I get an email, or the phone rings, that someone is about to call and yell at me about the mistake. (But so far, no one has. Like I said, it was handled very professionally. And it is possible my mistake meant nothing to everyone else. It was small, it got fixed. I'm beating myself up more than anyone else.)

I know a lot of my gratitude comes from the things I witnessed in Cambodia, and before that, Haiti. I know how much I have to be grateful for. It isn't hard to be happy when you are grateful. And I know that I've been blessed greatly with my new work, and the chances to travel to developing countries. Once you've seen true poverty, it isn't hard to see when you are having a good day.

Human Rights- will you sit back and let this happen?

I still think about this little girl in Haiti all the time, and how her life could have been so different with real health care. While Americans are whining we don't have free birth control pills, or free health care at all, this little girl died from a curable disease because of poverty and NO access to the real health care.

I'm a self-confessed news junkie. While I work from home writing on all matter of subjects my TV is on in the background, usually on CNN, and a little bit of CNBC (what? I write about the stock market!). This week I've had to turn off the TV altogether out of complete frustration. While I am sad that Whitney Houston died (albeit as a result of her own bad choices in life, a victim of her own free agency), I cannot stomach another "news" story about her funeral, autopsy, or legacy. Her legacy is this- she had free agency. She had talent. She chose to squander both on drugs and alcohol, and eventually died from her poor choices. What we should be doing is holding her up as an example of what not to do, and how to ruin a life, and traumatically hurt your own family by making selfish choices. But that isn't what is happening, is it? I refuse to say, "we're" making a memorial to her and buying her albums. I can't say "we're," because I refuse to be one of the people doing that. Sure, I listened to her music on Pandora on Saturday night, but I won't make her a legacy because she died from bad choices.
Meanwhile, around the world there are real people suffering from real problems that they did not bring upon themselves. They are suffering from a lack of human rights. Many of them do not have the ability to rise to middle-class wages, let alone skyrocket to stardom. Families starve, men, women, and children are trafficked, and innocent people are used as human shields against evil armies every single day.
I encourage you to stop and pay attention to those uncomfortable news stories that rarely make the headlines, but can often be found buried under "world news." Read the stories about the atrocities happening in less developed countries. You may think there is nothing you can do about it- but you are wrong. Just clicking on the story of the children living in dumps in Vietnam (many of which are Cambodian children that have been trafficked into Vietnam), instead of clicking on the story about Whitney Houston's pastor's memories, sends a message to the media about what WE care to read about. And the more we click, the more the media will cover the stories that matter, which will bring attention and spread light on the people who deserve the attention the most.

Flooding in Cambodia

A few stories for you to consider today-
Babies trafficked in Cambodia (personal letter written by the woman I worked for in Phnom Penh)
Help my friend Joel, a human rights lawyer and advocate in Cambodia, get justice for families that were kicked out of their homes by the government. Join the "event," and follow the instructions on how to send an email to people that matter.
Do you know about "fair trade chocolate" and the child slaves harvesting cocoa? Take a look at which companies you shouldn't be buying chocolate from!
And something very incredible and yet terrifying is happening in Syria. I know many Americans aren't big fans of following stories on the conflicts within Middle Eastern countries. They can be confusing and misleading. But a government has turned on its own people, shooting and fighting their own unarmed citizens. This is a HUGE deal. Other countries (Russia, Iran, Saudi Arabia for starters) have already gotten involved. Should and will the US?

Remembering Haiti

I've been thinking a lot about Haiti this week, and wondering what story or picture to share on the actual anniversary of the quake. Today is January 12, the second anniversary of that horrible event. And my heart misses Haiti more today than ever before.
I went back through my old posts and my personal writings and found an experience I had mostly forgotten. It happened at the beginning of my trip, and just got buried in my memories. I originally wrote about it here- Days 2-5 In Country- Croix de Bouquets. It was written and posted while I was still in Haiti, and happened roughly 3 weeks after the actual first earthquake. Due to the circumstances I wrote it under, it isn't my best work. (Did I really write 'site' instead of 'sight' that many times?) I'd like to retell the story now, and add in a few thoughts.

The background-
I was working with the construction team in a town just outside of Port au Prince called Croix de Bouquets (roughly translates to "Woods Cross," which was a nice thought of home to all the Utahans). It was my second day waking up in Haiti. I went with two men from our task force in a small moving van (Uhaul size) back into town to pick up some extra supplies. I was still a little green on how to handle myself.
We parked in the construction district. A little neighborhood where you can buy every kind of home building supply Haiti has to offer. Considering the devastation in the country, this was a very busy area. But not as busy as you might think- people had no money to buy materials. They weren't looking to repair their homes. They needed to rebuild their homes altogether. The arrival of a large truck and 2 white people caused quite a stir (our 3rd companion was of Haitian descent).

Just another common scene in Haiti

I had barely opened the truck door. I hadn't even stepped out of the truck yet when a man walked up and started talking crazy to me. The two men I was traveling with had already exited the cab of the truck and had stepped no more than 2-3 feet away from me. Suddenly, without any warning, there were 20 men surrounding me. I tried not to look too scared or shaken, but in my head I was screaming, "HOLY CRAP!" There was a lot of yelling, and a little shoving among the men. I was grabbed by our driver, and forced back into the truck. We quickly drove around the corner, away from the group. The driver (of Haitian descent) went back to find out what was happening. We learned that the crazy man wasn't from that neighborhood. The other local men were yelling at him to stop talking to me and to get away so that their neighborhood wouldn't get a bad reputation. Haitians are interesting like that. They will start a fight to stop a fight, not realizing how it makes them all look to outsiders.
I silently vowed in that moment to never allow myself to get out of the sight of my companions again. Not even by a few feet like that. Later in the day, I would find myself making that same vow again.
We went about our work trying to find the right materials. We went from shop to shop (or what was left of the shops). We quickly learned that the presence of two "blanc blancs" (whiteys) was driving the prices up. Materials could be had, but we were paying the American tax. The driver sent my companion and I down the street so he could bargain without our assistance.

The "stores" where we bought our supplies were below this building. I think at one time the stores had been in the building.

A few minutes later, we met a man from New York who now lived in Haiti. He spoke perfect English. He told us his wife had been badly hurt in the "event." (Something I came to discover while there. The Haitians all referred to the earthquake as the "event." I never heard them call it the earthquake.) His wife was a school teacher, and was at school when the event happened. The school fell to one side. She grabbed a child and held on to him for several hours, saving his life. Her foot got caught on something while she hung upside down, holding the child, until help came. Her husband suspected that her foot was broken.
At first I wondered why this man would just come up to us and start telling us about his wife. It didn't take long to learn that when Haitians saw "blanc blancs" they just assumed they had food and/or medical supplies. Just by virtue of being there, this man assumed we had medical knowledge.
I was (and still am) a very out of practice EMT. I didn't have a medical kit on me, but I can still tell if a foot is broken. I agreed to go look at his wife and see if I could help. I looked at her foot and could see it wasn't broken. It wasn't even sprained, it was just badly bruised and swollen. But how do you tell a woman who lives in under a tarp in the back yard of her destroyed house to "ice it, keep it elevated, and try not to walk on it?" Especially in a city with no electricity or ice anywhere? I told her instead that she was very brave and a hero, and to not walk on it, and try to take some advil, if she can find any.
We had walked off the main road into the backyards of a few homes. The houses were giant piles of rubble and debris. The residents (mostly family members of the woman) had managed to get a few sheets and tarps out of the homes to string up tents. 
I stood up after helping her and turned around to find a line of people waiting for me. I was completely overwhelmed. I didn't have a medical kit or anything useful with me. (I had been sent out to buy building materials!) But how can you just walk away from a line of people looking desperate and sad? There was a little girl with a raging fever, and probably malaria. Another woman with paperwork showing she had been diagnosed with cancer before the earthquake but doesn't know what to do now. A little girl with a sore on her leg with worms crawling out of it. A young mother handed me her baby and said, "he doesn't see good." My completely uneducated diagnosis? From his severely pointy cone shaped head, and his inability to control is tongue, arms, or head muscles? He has cerebral palsy. Treatable and manageable in the States. In a tent city with no medical care? He will die in a few months.
What do you do? How do you stomach all of this? The answer? You just keep moving. I talked to each person. Pretended I was helping them. We found a bottle of Advil and gave each person one pill each.
Later that day, after finally finding a few construction supplies (emphasis on few), we headed back to Croix de Bouquets, where were were staying at an unfinished orphanage.
In Haiti it is very common to see broken down cars EVERYWHERE. Apparently Haiti is where old cars go to die. Not surprisingly, our box truck broke down. We had just turned off the busy main road on to a very, very bumpy dirt road. Our broken down truck was blocking the road and in the way. It was blazing hot outside and even hotter in the cab of the truck, so we hopped out to stand in the shade.
Out of nowhere, a young man appeared. I would guess he was between 16-21. He wore a bright yellow soccer (futbol) jersey and had crazy puffy hair. He didn't look like most Haitians. For some reason that still sticks out in my mind. He looked like the kind of teenage boy that causes trouble in bad neighborhoods in the States. I don't know why I still remember that so clearly.
He kept indicating that he was hungry by pulling up his shirt and pointing at his stomach. He kept saying “Manger!” (eat!) I remember thinking it was odd that he was speaking in Creole, when he looked so much like an American teenager. We had no food to share with him, but he wouldn't stop. He kept insisting we help him, and then starting banging on the truck. He hugged my white companion. He knelt in front of me and started kissing my hands. He banged on the truck again. Finally we figured out that he thought we had food in the back of the truck. After all, it does look like a food drop truck! We opened the back of the truck to show him that all we had was a few sheets of corrugated sheet metal. I thought for sure he would go away.
But no! He kept insisting. Suddenly more men arrived. Remembering that earlier in the day when a bunch of men suddenly swarmed like that it meant they were there to protect me, I thought for a split second that this was a good thing. But instead what had been one young man insisting on food, was now several angry men. Thankfully (and in answer to all of everyone's prayers for our safety) our “tow truck” arrived right at that moment. Our “tow truck” was actually an ancient school bus. The bus driver (a Haitian) jumped out, ran over, grabbed me by the arm, and seriously PUSHED me into the bus. Several of the helpers he had brought followed me, blocking me in the bus, clearly trying to keep me inside and protect me. I might add, the same treatment was not given to my other 2 companions. They came and joined me in the bus, but they were not forced in like I was.

Again, things escalated outside of the bus for no good reason. We allowed one of the angry men to come inside the busy and see that there was no food in it. This did not make anyone happy or help the situation.
I looked out the window and realized one of the men was holding a machete. NOT GOOD.
Because I really was too stupid to know better, I took a picture of it.
And then, just as strangely and quickly as the incident started, it dissolved. Machete boy stomped off in the opposite direction. We used a rope to tie the box truck to the ancient school bus. (And by “we” I mean the men on the outside of the bus, while I was kept safely on the inside.)
That wasn't the end of the boy in the yellow jersey or machete boy. Two weeks later, I was back out at the orphanage again. We had two helicopters land in the field to make an exchange with each other. (As strange as that may sound to you now, it was completely uneventful to us then.) The exciting arrival of two helicopters brought every man, woman, and child in Croix de Bouquets running to see what was happening. It was like the circus had come to town or something. They stayed on the outside perimeter of our fence, staring in awe as the helicopters landed and parked for a while. We the volunteers kept on working, but maybe had a little fun checking the birds out for a minute or two. It can be hard to stay focused when you know you have a huge audience watching you like that. I looked over after a few minutes and suddenly saw a bright yellow shirt again. We were working in a large field, with a very small fence around it. The school bus (our favorite form of transportation) was parked along the far side of the field. I had to walk in plain sight to get behind it, but I scurried over there anyway. From my almost hiding place I could clearly see machete boy and the yellow jersey boy in the crowd. And it was obvious to anyone looking that they were up to no good.

The view of the orphanage from the front gate

Just like box trucks meant food and supplies, so do helicopters. The Haitians couldn't tell that these weren't supply helicopters. And there was no doubt in our minds that the 2 boys were going to figure out how they could get some supplies out of us.
Truth be told, a huge supply drop had been made the night before and was locked up in the orphanage. But those were supplies for the orphans that were coming to live there in the next 2-3 days. They were not meant for the community. And truth be told again, they were not locked up very well. It was an unfinished building with a dozen ways in or out. We needed to worry about protecting the supplies, and ourselves. We decided that the only people who needed to hide were me and the 2 guys that had been out with me that day. For what seemed like an hour (but was probably just a few minutes) we hid behind the bus where no one could see us. We didn't want the 2 guys to see us and remember us, and think we had held out on them. We quickly told the helicopter pilots what was going on, and that we were worried something might happen. They completely understood and left as fast as they could. Sadly, the reason they had landed there in the first place was because when they had gone to their original drop points, the crowds were too big and rowdy and they couldn't safely land. They had to fly back and land to discuss a new plan, which is how they ended up with us.
I still remember the anger and fear I felt when I saw those two men. I had no doubt in my mind that if they saw me or could get close enough to me they would hurt me to get what they wanted. But then there was the flipside of that experience as well. To just be standing alone and have people line up in the most humble and desperate manner you have ever seen, asking for medical care.
I still follow the news about the recovery efforts down there. Much of the aid money that was sent to Haiti was never distributed because the Haitian government couldn't get its act together in time. The money "expired" in a way. Having been there and seen the different sides of the people, I understand how that happened. People react very differently in desperate situations.
I will forever be grateful for the experience I had to go down there and serve the people. I am forever grateful to those family and friends who sent money and supplies to help me go. I went there just a few weeks after getting laid off from my job. I had no way of knowing then how long it would be before I would find a job again. (2 years and counting!) I can say for certain that what I experienced and witnessed there changed my perspective so much that I have been able to handle unemployment far better than I would have otherwise. I will always be grateful for all that I have. Even the worst homeless beggar in the US still has it better than nearly every tent city Haitian. And that is something I will never forget.

Remembering Haiti Part 2

Standing at the top of the hill of the golf course, overlooking what remains of Port au Prince.

Some of my memories of Haiti are still hard to talk about. Each day brought challenges and scenes out of a nightmare. Don't be fooled by the smiles in the pictures. Oftentimes we were smiling out of exhaustion, or out of nothing but love and faith. Or simply just because it is a habit- there's a camera, you smile.
One of the more other worldly experiences came on the day we were invited to go to a camp at a golf course. We had been hearing about a golf course that was providing shelter, food, and medical care to anywhere between 5,000 and 75,000 people. As with many things in Haiti, the reports were confusing and we had no idea what to expect. But off we went, to see what we could see, and serve who needed to be served.
Somewhere along the way I was either too tired to compute everything I was hearing, or maybe I was just never told the whole story. But after 2 weeks of hearing a lot of Creole and French, I was just fine hearing words that made no sense to me and going with it. To my ears, the golf course was being called the "jean penh camp" (say it with a French "jean"). I just assumed this was a French or Creole word and didn't ask. So when I walked up the hill to the golf clubhouse and this happened a minute later, you can understand my confusion-

Sean Penn meets Brig General Keen

Don't recognize him? That would be actor Sean Penn. He was directing and financing the golf course operation, providing shelter and food to the thousands of people there.
But before the entourage and paparazzi attacked him, he was just a guy walking next to me into the tennis courts area. (The tennis courts had high fences around them that could be locked. That was where all the food was being stored.) Maybe confusion isn't the right word for what I felt right then. It was more a blank stare, complete stupor of thought, and a shrug. It was Haiti, strange things happened all the time. A celebrity offering me his granola bar while we stood next to a tent full of orphans? That was just Haiti.
But on to what we actually saw at the golf course.

Meeting the general. Nice guy, nice troops. Didn't stop me from wanting to slip my bodyguards.

Sadness.
Thousands and thousands of people living in tents, built from bed sheets, sticks, and plastic tarps if they were lucky. The US Army was providing security, OxFam was providing the food and medical care, and several other organizations were helping out as well. They had suffered from some unfortunate violence and rape deep within the camp, and the volunteers, especially the females, were provided military security as we walked through the camp. For whatever reason, I was tired of having a bodyguard by my side and did my best to sneak away from the young 19 year old boys with their huge machine guns, and just walk around alone. The boys were enjoying having American female companionship and more than willing to keep a close eye on me. I'd give them the slip, but they'd find me a minute later. I'm thinking my blond hair didn't help me much.
The camp was crowded, but well organized. The tennis courts and club house were high on top of a hill, and the golf course itself down at the bottom. There were hundreds of acres, all covered by tent shelters. The occupants had managed to place their tents in lines, allowing for roads and intersections. There were even road signs and names, written on cardboard and hanging on the side of tents. Periodically you would find a small area where a clinic had been set up, or a small area for kids (or grown men) to play soccer in. Our people were sent to the clinic areas throughout the camp to provide medical care. (With armed escorts from the Army.) We sat on buckets (no chairs anywhere), and the patients lined up 20-50 deep, waiting for help. In so many cases there wasn't really anything we could do for them. They had been through a horrible trauma, and wanted help. They were sleeping in a crowded, disgusting area, sleeping on the ground. I have no doubt that they felt sick and miserable. They wanted someone to make them feel better. But with no real illness for us to treat, we would just take their temperatures and blood pressure, ask a few questions, determine who was really sick, and treat as necessary. Oftentimes we put bandaids on sore arms or knees, or dispensed Tylenol and Advil with a bottle of clean water. We'd hold the babies while their mothers were treated. The poor mothers hadn't been able to put their babies down for weeks. We were literally "lifting the load" for them. I remember watching the mother's arms drop down as I took a baby from her. They were so tired and exhausted and overwhelmed. They had lost their homes, livelihoods, and family members, forced to live in a makeshift tent with no privacy, unable to put their squirmy babies down. More than anything it is the mothers that I remember, and the looks on their faces when we would help them, or care for their babies. There were so many times where I would take a few steps away and turn my back to everyone, unable to keep my tears and sobs to myself. I would take a deep breath, regroup, and turn back around with a smile, and keep helping. If it was that hard for me to see, can you imagine what it was like to live in?

There was a picnic shelter at the top of the hill that was used as a hospital or clinic. I spent a few hours up there, treating patients the best that I could. I saw some awful injuries and illnesses in there. I remember there was a baby in a box. As long as he or she was in the box s/he didn't cry. But if anyone dared moved him/her, s/he would start bawling. So I sat there holding a blood pressure cuff, attempting to entertain the baby. (Even in the box there was crying.) After a few minutes I realized there was something else wrong. The baby was favoring one leg to lean on. I moved around so that the baby was forced to move as well. After another few minutes I realized that one of the baby's legs wasn't moving right. I risked the bawling, picked the baby up, and took it to a doctor. We realized the baby likely had a dislocated leg or hip, and it was taken away from me to fix. I don't remember why I didn't stay with the baby. I think I was pulled in another direction to go help with something else. The small incident stayed heavy on my heart for a long time. Where was the mother? How long would it have taken for someone else to figure out why the baby wanted to be left alone?
Things like that sadly happened a lot in Haiti. The walking wounded were everywhere. People were unable to get medical care until a doctor literally tripped over them and found them. People relying on food handouts from other nations. Can you even imagine what it must feel like to be dependent on a group of volunteers from the other side of the world, who held a yard sale, raised a few dollars, and flew to your little island country to share it?

Remembering Haiti (part 1)

On January 12, it will be the 2 year anniversary of the devastating earthquake in Haiti.
For the past few weeks my life has been overwhelmed with studying politics and the stock market. But for the last few days all I have thought about is Haiti. I still think about what I saw and experienced there. It was a life-changing experience for me. I'd give anything to go back again. I want to see the progress (or lack of it) for myself. I'd give anything to find some of my old patients. And my heart just aches to see the orphanage we helped build.
I can't remember the name of the girl in this picture. I remember so many things about her. We were close in age. Her chart said she weighed about 60 lbs, or maybe it was kilos? She was slowly and quietly dying from HIV and malnutrition, among other things. If you look closely you can see I'm holding a plastic baggy of water. I'd squeeze it into her mouth every few minutes. After she had managed to get a few mouthfuls down, she would start talking to me. She didn't want water. She wanted Tampico. And she would tell us where we could go find some. I came back the next day with some Tampico, but she had already passed away. She was "my" patient. No one else seemed to be caring for her (or anyone else in that unit- where people were basically sent to die quietly). I would keep coming back to bring her water or change her diaper. She would always just smile up at me and hold my hand. I never thought to write down her name. I never thought I would forget it. But here we are 2 years later, and I can't remember it anymore. But I still remember vividly that even as she was dying she still had spunk.
Over the next few days, maybe weeks, I hope to share more of my Haiti memories and pictures.

Dear Haiti - I miss you

Dear Haiti,

You've been on my mind all day. Including some pretty intense flashbacks that made me want to sit down and cry. The first trigger was getting an email this morning saying that our operation in Haiti has closed up shop. They have determined that it is too dangerous and unsafe to continue building a much needed hospital for you. Knowing how very badly you needed a new, up to date, functioning hospital this just breaks my heart. As my fellow volunteer Claire said, "I wasn't ready for that closure." I've been waiting almost a year for "closure" with you. And I was so badly hoping it would be a hospital. I'm sorry we failed you Haiti. I wish we could do so much more.

The second trigger was a funny one. A happy one in many respects. I was helping my cousin renovate her basement, and I had to fill a hole with concrete. Just hearing the word concrete makes me think "2 parts sand, 1 part gravel, 1 part water." And then, "who can I make carry the heavy parts for me?" Mixing concrete and Haiti will forever be intertwined in my mind.

Sitting on the floor of my cousin's house, working manual labor for the first time in a very long time, it just all reminded me of Haiti. How much I miss you. How hard the work was, how hard we worked, and yet we never seemed to finish. There was just so much to do. On one hand, I never want to have to work that hard ever again. And yet, on the other hand, it is all I want to do. All I want to do is work until I am exhausted and can barely move, if it means making a life changing difference for someone else.

Photo taken by Justin Lyon at www.amelialyon.com

There are still nights where I allow myself to sit in the dark and relive an entire memory. Sometimes it is holding a patient's hand in a hospital. Sometimes it is watching the children play soccer in the field while we built the outdoor kitchen at the orphanage. Last night I dreamed about sitting on that scary a** school bus with "Chu" driving, and bouncing up and down those roads. There was a hardware store we passed a dozen times in Croix de Bouquets, but we never went in it. (I don't think it was ever open.) I can still remember the vivid colors, the paintings outside, and the beautiful tropical flowers hanging from the pots. It was one of the few beautiful and intact buildings I saw. I vividly dreamed about that crazy building. I still remember the total fear I felt when Brad passed out on me. (It's been a year, can I admit it was Brad now?) I remember feeling the little earthquake that last night we slept on the roof at the orphanage. Holy Hannah that scared the crap out of me. I remember so many details vividly that it still hurts sometimes.

And yet, there are huge details I've forgotten. I look at my pictures and I forget the names of the men in them. I thought I'd never forget them. I've forgotten big things, and yet can remember tiny details about others. The Super Bowl- that I remember clearly. Especially that overwhelming feeling of pride and love I felt for the soldiers standing around me as the Star Spangled Banner was played on the "tv." I cried like a baby, and wanted to hug each of those men. Not many Americans will ever know what it feels like first-hand to be protected up close and personal by our own military.

In this picture, I'm actually in the back of an Army transport, taking the picture. The US Army was moving the mob back so that we could get out of our truck and get inside the hospital. 

Oh Haiti. I want to do so much more for you. I wish I had a job just so I could send you more money. I send you what I can, as often as I can. If I could find a program that would send me back down there, I'd be there in a heart beat. Get well, Haiti. Get better. We're here for you and want to help.

Love,
Erin

Feeling alive

December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors)

I was standing in the infants hospital tent in Haiti. It was blistering hot inside, and crowded beyond belief. The tent took up half the road, and was snugged up against the curb. We were walking on broken brick road, with cribs and children's beds up against the tent walls. Beside each bed was one small chair with a mother in it. Each mother carefully protected her little child and begged for the needed medical care. But in one little crib at the end of the hot, smelly tent, was a little girl with no mother beside her. I fell in love with her at first sight. She only wore a diaper, and lied on her back, mindlessly staring at the ceiling, while the incessant flies buzzed about and landed on her. She was just a tiny thing, maybe 9 lbs at the most. I asked around trying to find her mother, but no one knew where she was, "she gone," was the only answer I could find. So I picked up the little girl's chart and tried to make sense of it. She had a fever and a disease. That was all I knew. I took the little frail thing from her crib. And as soon as I snuggled her up against me she looked right up into my eyes and smiled. We were instant friends. She cooed and laughed at me. I cooed and laughed right back. She wrapped her little hand around my finger and just smiled at me. What can I say? I was in love! My companion for the day pulled out the camera and documented the moment. I couldn't put my little angel girl down. She was just too perfect in my arms.
She was the moment I realized I would never be the same. I would never take my life, no matter how difficult or easy it is, for granted again. I was suddenly alive and my life was filled with purpose.

Wordless Wednesday

PTSD - the gift that keeps on giving

I figure I should probably quickly quell any rumors or concerns I may have unintentionally started on Facebook. I put up a simple status update today that I know will ring true with several of my Haiti friends right now. And it probably freaked several other people out.

The status-
Low flying military helicopter overhead shakes my house. I panic. Train rumbles by, shakes my house. I panic. Nice to know my Haiti PTSD is still going strong. Damn earthquakes. (God Bless Haiti)

I appreciated that one of the nurses from our trip made a funny comment about it. (PTSD is a souvenir you didn't have to buy.) For those who don't know what PTSD is, it stands for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It is a condition developed after traumatic experiences. Everyone who gets it will get it in their own special way. No two people are the same in how they exhibit it.** 

I've talked to several of my friends from Haiti, and many of us are dealing with our own special cases of PTSD. For the most part it is coming out in nightmares, or for some a tendency to feel guilty when eating, and in one friend's case, a difficult time looking at blood. There have been reports of depression as well. For me, it is a teeny tiny panic attack when my house shakes. And some of the most creative bad dreams I have ever had. In every single dream I have been married to an ex-boyfriend, pregnant, and fighting off some bizarre problem. My favorite one involved my dad riding around my backyard on a pig, while trying to cut its head off with a sword. (The scary part was that I was married to the ex-boyfriend.)

Personally, I think fearing an earthquake is a healthy response! You go spend 3 weeks of your life living in fear of buildings crumbling and seeing overwhelming destruction from an earthquake, not to mention feeling several minor quakes, and see if you don't seize up when your house rumbles! 

So before anyone goes freaking out about my PTSD comment on Facebook, please understand, I'm fine. I know that my fellow Haiti volunteers got the joke, or at the least, feel my pain. We're all still dealing with things in our own special way. Now, if I just didn't have to live next to an Army base and a train track, my life would be a lot calmer! Good thing I am moving soon! (And far away from a fault line!)



**(Please, please, please do not think that what is currently being shown on "Grey's Anatomy" is realistic. If someone, especially a doctor, had symptoms that severe, they would not be working in a hospital, and would be sent to live under careful observation and serious medication.)

You Never Know Who is Watching

Today I was substitute teaching the CTR4 class in Primary (this would be the 4-5 year old Sunday School class to the non-LDS). I have a "4 yr old boyfriend" in that class, as well as a few little girls that call me "fairy godmother." I like to call them my little 4 year old fan club. It's not every day that a single woman with no kids gets to have a 4 yr old fan club. I love them!
Our lesson was on How to Be Like Jesus. I asked each child to give me an example of how to be like Jesus. My little boyfriend raised his hand and said, "We can be like our Erin Ann who went to Haiti to help the little babies who got sick after the earthquake." {long sidenote as he demonstrates an earthquake} "Because Erin Ann wants to be like Jesus and to take care of all the little children and love everyone."
Needless to say, I cried (and laughed, because it wouldn't be a 4 yr old boy if he didn't demonstrate an earthquake in the middle). And I'm feeling just a little bit more pressure to set a good example for my 4 yr old fan club.

Haiti photos and the Super Bowl Story

Friday night I went to a photo exhibit benefiting Healing Hands for Haiti, the organization we worked with in Haiti. The photos were taken by "Dr Joel," one of the guys on our trip. He's both a photographer and an M.D., how cool is that? A few photos were also contributed by Misha Tulek, an LDS Church member from NYC that spotted our group in Haiti, and joined up and stayed with us a few days. The photography was incredible and brought back some very powerful images and feelings about Haiti for me.
It was also a lot of fun to join up with several Haiti friends and go out for a mini-reunion of sorts. One of our awesome nurses, Kim, is leaving to serve a mission for the LDS Church in Hungary next week. We wanted to get together before she left. It was fun to be with so many wonderful friends again. The communications student in me had fun watching the interpersonal communications in the group. We were all so used to being in a close physical proximity to each other, and that seems to have carried over. Personal space? Invaded! And yet, while standing so close, we're asking each other simple get to know you questions. We shared very intense emotions and experiences in Haiti, but didn't learn much about "real world" stuff. So this was a great evening of laughing, sharing memories, and actually getting to know each other. I haven't laughed or smiled so much in one evening in a long time. It really was great to spend time with Haiti friends who just get it!
*Sidenote* We had dinner at ACME Burger in SLC. I have been there before and have enjoyed the food and great service. When I called to set up the reservation for 20 they asked for a credit card. No big deal. But unfortunately we only had 10 show up. Not like we could control who didn't show, right? Well, the restaurant wasn't that busy. No line or people waiting, and plenty of empty tables. Once we were sure that our group was final, we released the extra tables from our reservation. Then when our bills came the restaurant had tacked on a $10 charge to each bill for the incomplete party of 20. I just think that is rude. And in spite of how much I used to like them, I won't be going back again.

Now for the Super Bowl in Haiti story. I've been waiting till I could get a picture of that night before I tell you the story. And now I have one, so here goes. (I stole said picture from someone's facebook page. But now I can't remember who!)

Basically it goes like this. As you have heard by now we were camped out in a soccer field with the US Army 82nd Airborne division, Golf battery. (I had to say that a lot while we were there.) We wanted to be able to thank them appropriately, but were very limited in how to thank them. They can't take gifts, money, etc. They are just the US Army doing their jobs. But someone within our group came up with a brilliant plan. It involved flying in reps from Direct TV (from Puerto Rico, I believe) into the Dominican Republic, bussed into Haiti, to set up a satellite dish for us. After all, we were in a professional sports field and had a big blank white scoreboard to use as the perfect screen. We (and by we I mean someone that wasn't me, but some awesome guys in our camp) bought American brand chips and sodas and ice (oh how we love "glace"). There were even some friendly football games between our guys and the Army guys held in the field.
When game time came, we all grabbed our sleeping mats and bug spray, and gathered round the big screen- Task Force and Army alike! We watched the Super Bowl together right there in our little field. It was truly one of the most memorable, and by far enjoyable, nights of the trip. We had a great respect for each other already. It was a really wonderful experience to get to relax side by side with them. There were a few friendly wagers placed on the game. And a bullhorn or two used to cheer on a favorite side. Oh and let's not forget Dan Merino giving our soldiers a shout out on the air!
But for me the best part of the entire night was hearing the National Anthem in a field in Haiti with US Air Force C-130's and US Navy helicopters flying overhead, while US soldiers all stood at attention, saluting the flag on the screen. It brought tears to my eyes then, and it brings tears to my eyes now. At that moment, like no other in my life, I was grateful for the US Military. Still am, and always will be.
It was a great night and a lot of fun, even if I did fall asleep more than once! (it was a very late night for all of us who were used to going to bed when the sun went down!) And hands-down the best Super Bowl viewing party ever.
It almost doesn't seem real that just a few weeks ago I was living in a tent in a soccer field in Haiti. I look at the pictures and it feels like a very vivid dream. Seeing my counterparts again made it all feel real again, and brought back the emotions I knew so well. I shared something very intense, awful, and personal with one person. For the first time we acknowledged it to each other. Just to be able to look at that person and know I'm not alone in what I felt meant so much to me. Haiti will always have a very special place in my heart, as will the volunteers I shared it with.

One Heart in the Right Place

 one of my favorite little girls in the pediatrics tent at general hospital

This morning I had the chance to speak to a group of students at BYU regarding my Haiti experiences. I brought along my favorite translator, Neil, to help me out. These students are working on a plan to go to Haiti this summer to make a difference doing things from "holding babies" to "enabling the Haitians." Their faculty adviser, Prof Woodworth, asked Neil and I to be counselors of sorts to the group. And Neil and I are both hoping to possibly join them when they go down to help. If you are looking to make a difference or to help in Haiti, please support this group! You can find them at Sustain Haiti on Facebook or their blog at http://sustainhaiti.blogspot.com


Also, if you haven't already, check out my guest post for therhouse adoption advocacy blog today!

More on the Task Force

Another article about the task force this week. This time in the LDS Church News, and with a terrible picture of me at the top! http://www.ldschurchnews.com/articles/58790/Home-from-Haiti-for-Latter-day-Saint-volunteers.html

This one line from the story cracks me up. "a member of the Utah Hospital Task Force, dances to entertain Haitian people at one of the improvised clinics in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Such entertainment helped many Haitians experience a moment of normalcy." Um, because it is normal for white guys to do silly dances to entertain Haitians?

Images of Haiti Photo Exhibition

Come out and support Haiti!

Friday, March 5

5:30-8:00 pm

Alpine Art Studio (downtown SLC

430 E South Temple, SLC

On March 5, 2010, Alpine Art in downtown Salt Lake City will join photographers Joel Addams and Misha Tulek in presenting images of Haiti during the month after the devastating earthquake of January 2010. Admission is free, but a $10 donation is encouraged to benefit the locally founded Healing Hands for Haiti and the Red Cross, both groups that Joel and Misha worked with in Haiti. Joel has been photographing for seven years and is currently represented by Aurora Photos, Getty Images, and Corbis. Misha Tulek, recently completed an internship with internationally-recognized photographer James Nachtwey and now freelances out of New York City.

Healing Hands for Haiti has been focused on providing prosthetics, orthopedic devices and rehabilitation for Haitians in need for over ten years. They have also extended the benefits of their organization by employing local Haitians at their medical and production facilities. Before the earthquake, the majority of the prosthetic devices used by patients were crafted in their own facility in Haiti. In addition to providing mobility devices to people who would otherwise be unable to function in a country where manual labor is a way of life, Healing Hands for Haiti also provides opportunities for the people of Haiti to gain vocational skills that enable them to support their families.

Alpine Art is an established fine art gallery and custom framing shop in downtown Salt Lake City, Utah. Alpine Art has a history of donating time, space and framing to a variety of charities. It has recently donated to A Night for Sight, The Salt Lake Fire Department, Kindred Spirits, the Ronald McDonald House, the Odyssey House, New Orleans relief (Crossroads Missions), National MS Society, HRC, Utah AIDS foundation, and High Road to Human Rights.

Finally, my first non-Haiti post

I managed to go two weeks in Haiti without so much as indigestion or a hiccup, but one night out with my family to a sushi place, and I've got a "tummy issue" going on. (As does my brother, mother, and sister.) So not fair.

I guess this means we are back to life as usual. I'm back to job-hunting, back to watching way too much TV, and back to my lovely case of insomnia. The hard part about job hunting post-Haiti is wanting to do something more important with my life. It is hard to convince myself that I can just work for money for any job. I still have this overwhelming desire to serve, to change the world, and make a difference. But as a career adviser once told me, "Even Superman had a day job."

So I've reconciled my ideals, motivations, and expectations. It is now my first priority goals to adopt a young child from Haiti, and to become a foster parent. (As long as I am unemployed I am not in a situation to become a foster parent, as soon as I have a job and income again, I will be able to take a child in to my home.) To assist in reaching these goals, I am now more focused on finding companies that provide superior benefits. (My last 3 employers did not offer superior benefits. Trust me, it makes a difference.)

But if I could have my way, money wouldn't matter, and I'd be back in a tent in Haiti tonight!

Haiti news links

As I wrap up my Haiti blogging I thought I'd share a few of the news articles about Haiti, the orphans, and our organization.


Haiti
Sean Penn Talks to Larry King 
Health Crisis in Haiti

Adoptions/Orphans
Couple Dies Picking Up Newly Adopted Son


Utah Hospital Task Force
LDS Church News- Home From Haiti  (includes a really bad picture of me)
One of our volunteers blogged from Haiti daily for MormonTimes.com http://www.mormontimes.com/mormon_voices/guest_blog/?id=13114


Meridian Magazine special features on our trip and on Haiti- http://www.ldsmag.com/haiti/

Photography- our group had two professional photographers with us that have now posted their pictures on their sites.  (on both sites you will need to look at portfolios, then haiti)
Misha Tulek  (#6 is my favorite, #10 breaks my heart)
Joel Addams (served double duty as doctor and photographer!)

And not that my photography is any great thing, but if you'd like to see the rest of my Haiti photos, you can see them here- http://www.tinyurl.com/erininhaiti