Post written April 8, 2011
The truth is…
The truth is I am in Haiti. Yes Haiti; no, not with Jaline. A week and a half ago as Todd and his team from Avondale were preparing to leave for their Spring Break trip to Haiti, his only female chaperone, Vickie, was admitted to a hospital for an emergency appendectomy, landing her in the hospital for a couple of days and grounding her from any type of travel. Though I was apprehensive about taking her place, all the details for leaving for an international trip on such short notice were taken care of within 24 hours. Passport in hand, I was heading to Haiti for the first time.
The purpose of this trip was for 12 students to step out of their comfort zones and experience something that they would not be able to experience in their home state of Michigan. They came to Mission of Hope Haiti to serve, to paint and to love on the Haitian orphans. This trip is the result of an ongoing relationship that Avondale started with Haiti after the earthquake. The purpose of this trip, unfortunately, was not to see our daughter Jaline. It seems crazy that we could be here, less than an hour away and not see her, but logistically it would be difficult to make the connection, as our itinerary with MOH was already planned.
My intent is not to make this blog update about the Avondale trip.
If you would like to read about what happened over this amazing week, please do visit their blog at
http://avondale2011haiti@blogspot.com This post is about what happened today that connected me to Jaline.
I will warn you now, what you are about to read is emotional and long, so if you do not have time to take this in, please feel free to read it another time.
April 8, 2011
Barbancourt, Haiti
Today is our last full day here in Haiti. We have not really had an opportunity to visit an orphanage to play and hang out, so we are spending our afternoon at one in a village on our way back from our morning enjoying a beautiful Haitian beach. As we pull off the main road onto the bumpy graveled road, I begin to feel uneasy. The drive down seems long as we pass cement walls, houses, children and adults. I begin to notice I am uneasy because I am thinking about Jaline and what it was like for her before we moved her to Chances for Children’s crèche in Port-au-Prince. Unexpectedly, an emotion of sadness comes over me as I look at the children running alongside our truck and I begin cry. The truck stops and Todd announces to the group that we are in Barbancourt. Immediately, I begin to sob as I know that familiar name. It is the village where Todd found Jaline last August. The reality of Jaline’s home, only known to me in pictures, now begins to unfold. Our group disembarks from the truck, one by one, and I intentionally exit last. With a steady stream of tears, I reach for Todd’s hand and say, “I wasn’t prepared for this.” He replies, “I know. I will explain.” As we walk down a dirt path flanked with banana trees and vines, I’m torn between turning back and forging ahead. Though I don’t want to see what lies ahead, I know that I need to for the benefit of my daughter.
As we arrive I see a cement building on my left and a pink one right beside it. The first building reminds me of an open structure you would see in a park, roofed but no walls or windows. There is nothing inside. Todd turns to me and says it’s their chapel. I look further inside and wonder how children are moved to worship in such a dark depressing place. The pink building is where they sleep. Emotionally, I am not able to look deep into that place so I walk on. Each structure might be 250 square feet, housing 20 orphans. Outside of both buildings there is a steel bowl filled with some cups and plates. There are children’s clothes hanging on plants and trees. Across from the two buildings are a few tarps and sheets attempting to make living quarters for someone here. I see no toys. Children are everywhere. Some are village children and some are orphans, toddlers through teens. Most are clothed and a few are not. Some have tattered dresses, some only a top and a few boys clothed only with shorts. Orphans do not have the privilege of owning underwear so they go without, exposing many bare bums. Almost all have shoes on. A few adults begin to appear. I have not stopped sobbing. In Haiti, children naturally take your hand and walk along side where ever you are going as if you are family and they have always known you. As we walk past the orphanage the children are following us. We have picked up about 30 children as we follow the path that will eventually lead us to an open field. We cross a few irrigation streams and arrive at the open field.
The open field is the most beautiful landscape I have seen so far. There are lush trees and grazing farm animals all sitting at the foothills of a majestic stretch of mountains. I walk away from the group to the end of the field and I gaze into the mountains. They are beautiful, but in their beauty I am wrestling with something dark. I imagine what it is like for a mother and a father to walk down from those mountains and drop their children off at that horrible place I just passed. I wonder, “why this place?” I don’t know Jaline’s family so I can’t judge, but still it makes me wonder, and I can’t seem to move or leave this spot.
After a few minutes Todd comes up to me. He tells me that Jaline’s sister is here. She was dropped off at the same time as Jaline. I was aware that they were dropped off together, but hadn’t prepared myself to see her. We walk over to the crowd and he points her out to me. She looks just like her. Her hair is short yet braided into 12-15 little braids. She is wearing a shirt without pants and little pink Crocs, too small for her feet. Todd ends up picking her up along with another little boy. In the background kids have started a soccer game with some of the teens in our group. Others have flocked to all the “blans” (white people) waiting to have their nails painted or to play with their hair. The students on our team are amazing as they receive these children with open arms. I look to see one girl in particular, Sarah, who is clutching a small child while sobbing. I thought I was the only one covered in tears.
And yet in this place that some would say God has forgotten about, I see something remarkable. There is a boy, about four years old, holding a small bag of purified water over a toddler’s mouth, allowing him to drink. There is no water or food visible to me throughout our visit so I am astonished that a child who has so little has the generosity to share something, something very rare, with a child smaller than himself.
I look at Jaline’s sister in Todd’s arms and hold my hands out to her. She reciprocates with open arms. As I take her, I see that she is not wearing panties and the shirt (which is a flannel pj top) that is covering her, barely comes past her bum. When I put her on my right hip, I put her legs in front of me and cover her bottom giving her the decency that she deserves. Once when I switched her to the other side, she took the back of her shirt and pulled in down, which made me smile because it showed me that she had even the slightest bit of self respect.
She is light and smaller than what I had imagined. I guess since I knew that she was older than Jaline, I was thinking maybe she would be bigger. We were told she was around six yet the little girl I was holding felt very much like a three year old I carried to preschool several years ago. Todd says she is worse than when he lost saw her last, void of emotion, sad and skinny. We walk around the field and end up sitting on a rock. She is nuzzled into me and I say to her, “Fatigue?” (“tired” in French) and she nods her head yes. I wish she’d fall asleep in my arms. I try to rock her lightly to see if indeed she will succumb, but she does not. Perhaps she wasn’t tired in the sense of wanting sleep. Perhaps she was tired of being alone, of not being held or even tired of being hungry.
While holding her I repeated to her several times that she was a “petite belle fille”, a little beautiful girl. She looked down on my wrist and spotted my chain bracelet that has a charm with the word, “grow” on it. I bought these bracelets for each of my family members with different words for us to pray for Jaline. We have all had them since December. She touched it and tried to move it off my wrist, but it wouldn’t slide off, it had to be detached. I took it off my wrist and put it on hers and there was a slight smile. She loved looking at it on her wrist.
I held her the entire time that I am there.
Our group stayed for a couple hours and then unfortunately had to leave. This was heartbreaking for both the orphans and our team. Some are carrying babies who are sick, some holding hands with a train of children in their wake. We wish we could have stayed longer. These children are soaking up the love and attention like a dried out sponge absorbing a rainfall. God created us to be social. He created the sensitivities of our skin to receive a gentle touch or a hug which signals something in us that is pleasant and good. If even lab monkeys wither away without being nurtured by their mommies, then what happens to these children, created in the image of God, if they are not loved and nurtured? This injustice is wreaking havoc on many of the teens and adults in our group as we prepare to leave.
The time has come for me to put Jaline’s sister down. I gesture to take the bracelet off of her wrist, but she takes her other hand and moves it up her arm. I begin to cry once again because I know from past experiences that when Todd has left things with Jaline on previous visits it is taken and most likely sold or traded in the market. I am not willing to part with my bracelet so that it can be stripped from her. We continue to walk back to the orphanage and once again, I try and remove the bracelet. She pulls at it again. I’m overcome with emotion because it seems as though I am being selfish when in reality it’s just that I don’t want them to take it from her.
I put her down and take her arm. As I take the bracelet off of her I motion, “Wait” with my hand. I remove the bracelet off of her wrist and attach it to her ankle where it can’t fall off. I say, “Bonne?” and she nods her head yes with a faint smile on her face. At that moment I close my eyes and ask God to keep this bracelet on her ankle and pray that it will not be removed. I find our translator and ask him to tell the orphan workers to please not take it off of her. They understand and agree. I have him repeat it once more so they understand.
I put her down and head down the path towards our truck. I look back once more and wave and she just stares at me. I am heartbroken. Our team is heartbroken as we all leave clutching children and enter the truck. One leaves her sunglasses and one leaves his Cincinnati Reds hat.
Jordan, one of the students from Avondale, began a photography project at home where he took a yellow post it note, had someone write their answer to, “The truth is…” and photographs the post it note, focused in the foreground with the person holding the note in front of their face. The next picture is focused on the person holding the note. What started out as a project, quickly became liked by many on Facebook. Some of the answers are moving and profound. As I sat there holding this little girl I begin to feel the way Todd described when he first met Jaline. There is something about her, though physically she is not really responsive, something sweet and tender happens as she looks into my eyes. It’s stretching my heart and I am in complete awe that Todd was able to tear himself away from Jaline the 5 times he visited her here. I don’t think I have that strength.
And the truth is…I wouldn’t stop at one because my heart has room for more. That is the truth, but the reality is that I do not have $18K for another adoption nor do I have a house big enough to house a large brood. What does that mean? Does that mean we step out in faith and let God provide? Something is happening, but I am not sure what. Haiti has captured my family and we seem to be getting deeper and deeper involved with the country and the people and I never expected to fall in love.
Jaline's sister Malalina
