Port au Prince, Haiti Day 7 & 8, trip 2

Today has been stressful. I was to be picked up early and transported to Jacmel, via Leogane, with a “VIP” team (CEO’s) visiting the projects. Because the driver forgot to pick me up and because the “VIP” team would not wait 10 minutes for me to catch up, I missed my ride—and arrived 1.5 hours late for two days of intensive counseling—group and individual -- in very hard hit areas. The domino effect meant that there were many people expecting group or individual time with me, who never got it. I learned that the “VIP” team actually got mad they had to wait for me----I wonder if they have any idea how long people who lived the horrors of January 12 have waited for someone to come and listen to them, counsel them, care? I question any CEO’s leadership if they no longer have the insight to appreciate the importance of this. I have had lines of people waiting for me, and today, when one man had to be turned away after waiting 2 hours (because an insensitive security officer insisted I leave immediately, despite a later departure having been authorized) his face was so crestfallen I still cannot settle inside myself. I will go back tomorrow if that’s the only way to complete those sessions.

Driving yesterday, I saw a partial body, the lower torso only, a bloated mass in plaid shorts, very recently retrieved from rubble. Several days ago I saw what was barely recognizable as a body being pulled from the rubble of a massive building. How many lives ended like this, here? Crushed, torn apart, and decomposed beyond any semblance of their human form by the time they are found?

Almost every session begins with “I have not felt the same since the earthquake. My head has gone bad---I lose myself.” Complaints include pain, intrusive thoughts, loss of concentration, and forgetting things all the time, to the point of shame and frustration. I remind people that the memories, here, are still fresh. They are kept current by many reminders-reminders of horror, pain, loss, hardship, change. There is no where to be still yet— the earth continues to move enough that a pause to rest is difficult.

In Jacmel, a once jubilant seaside town, people are so reactive and so exhausted I am in sessions for 10 hours, straight. People describe the earth still moving, in their bodies –“I know its not the earth, but I feel it. I feel like the earth is moving, I am trembling again even when it isn’t happening.”

There are, still, hopeful moments. One of the first people I spoke with here approached me just before I left Jacmel to thank me for “her first night of sleep since the earthquake.” I woke up very early and swam in the sea….she was cooler than usual, which is perhaps due to the earthquake (one wonders these things)—and livelier than I remember this little bay. I took 15 minutes to just float, to be refreshed by her coolness and to allow her undulations to relax me into a more fluid state. I have been doing a lot of work with breath, spine and weight---many people complain of stiffness, pain, loss of movement, and the oceans natural healing is not accessible—nor safe—for everyone now. We work with restoring fluidity through our own bodies.

One women came to see me with her tiny baby. She had two—when she began running (in Leogane) the earth moved so violently she fell, killing one of her own babies. She is still “Sezi” (shocked) and believes that’s why she cannot nurse her child enough. He is dwindling---a tiny, skeletal-looking being who knew to look for her breast but gave up quickly, because he gets so exhausted. She clearly loves him and tried to support him, but is absent inside herself.

This is how the tragedy replicates itself, a fractal of suffering.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 6 trip 2

A quiet night, thank goodness. I slept at a friends home in heavily damaged Pacot –her small 2 bedroom apartment is home for 8 people, and the streets are cramped with families living in makeshift tents. The night was noisy, smelly and heavy. It felt strange in an uncomfortable way to walk out of a safe (or not, if you are one of the many people who cannot yet sleep indoors due to elevated stress and fear levels) dry apartment building and see tiny children laying asleep on thin plastic sheets right on the asphalt street.

More difficult stories. A man who was finishing work, a 5 minute drive, and had to run (20 minutes) to his lakou where his entire family lived in a quadrant—three houses collapsed, one on top of his son, one on top of his mother, the other on top of his sister. All yelling for help.

Choose?

His brave, dignified 83 year old mother instructed him to save his son first, and then told her hysterical daughter to wait until she and the son were freed because they would all help her (Her leg was pinned).

His mother did not make it—they could not retrieve her before nightfall; only her 2 severed arms . As he gave her water before he had to stop digging (he was alone, with an injured son, and no equipment, and each time the aftershocks came more of the house threatened to fall so that he had to step back) she said “I will not make it. Free your sister” which he did first thing in the morning. He grapples the most with the few minutes after the houses fell , when they might have been alone, no-one to talk to them on the outside, no one to comfort them. Did they know I was coming to try and save them, or did they think they were all alone?

Another 11 year old girl was in the kitchen with her cook and father. Her father was killed instantly, and her cook threw herself on top of her to protect her. She lived, the cook did not. She spent the night under the weight of her cook’s dead body and rubble, knowing her father lay dead nearby. The cook left behind 2 small children (who will be cared for by the family).

Each story weaves a collective history that has altered Haiti forever. 35 seconds and the world is completely changed. One of my good friends said “The Haiti we said goodnight to on January 11^th—she’s gone. She cannot come back”.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 5 Trip 2

My bones are beginning to get it.

Last night an earthquake, 4.7 again but felt stronger (rumors are 4.9) really shook the house. At 1:35 am I was sound, sound asleep. I felt like I was some small ingredient in a frying pan being tossed or flipped--like a pancake, but many times, rapidly.

I ran to the door and my friends appeared to be calm in the tent so I sat with the nannies by the wide open door. When I went back to bed, it shook again, not as strong, but enough to get me out of bed, again. I slept a few hours at the foot of the nannies bed so we could all be together, listening to one them try to call her little girl who was sleeping downtown, camped outside, with other family. She couldn't call out and every time the phone ring, the call was dropped. We tried my phone, didn't work. We are hoping the nannies will bring their children to the house so they can all sleep together, although they are also thinking about sending them to the provinces, where "the world doesn't tremble."

This is all anyone talks about today. I arrived to work just before 8 am. My door remains open, and in just over 90 minutes I have had 6 people come to talk with me. "Bon jou Amber, ou byen durmi? M pa durmi. M santi mem bagay chak fwa. M santi stress. M santi pe".

Good morning Amber, did you sleep well? I did not sleep. I felt the same thing I felt before. I feel stress. I fee fear.

Fortunately, almost everyone is reporting that, while they still experience stress and fear, it is diminishing each time, their reactions are dampening. I explain this is good, I explain that we are wise when we can stay awake enough to run if we need to, but can rest a bit, maybe even "calm" a little, when we have a quiet or relatively safe moment, even a few hours to sleep.

The environment is in charge now, no pa ka fe lot bagay.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 4 Trip 2

Woke up to a 4.7 earthquake at 4:30'ish this morning--I managed to fall back asleep shortly afterwards, as the persistence of the 4 walls around me and the ceiling above to remain walls and ceiling convinced me nothing would fall on me. I also really, really needed the sleep. I'm tired.

There were several aftershocks and its been so painful to see distress levels elevate--several people ran to me after a particularly strong aftershock, pale, sweating, teary-eyed, terrified. We centered, using somatic psychology methods and supplies I am blessed to have because I live in an amazing, awake, caring and generous community (Thank you Santa Fe). Everything became an anchor today: post trauma stabilizer donated by The Flower Essence Society and arranged by my bestest friend Karen Brown, rescue remedy donated by Dr May Ting of Santa Fe, and lavender oils crafted by Christa Obuchoswki of Aroma Botanica. There was also Deep Sleep, thanks to the generosity of Herbs etc. who sent me down here with 50 bottles, and Rescue Pastilles I bought at a significant discount from Pharmaca. I am also sharing Thieves that very dear friend Lola Moonfrog gave me, and many assorted bottles of essential oils, mists and balms from my beautiful dance and drum community at the Railyard, collected by Sister Naja Harrell. One more important donation: Trader Joe's gave me "beucoups" (???) bags of their trek mix, and one of the members of the administrative team distributes them daily to all the local (Haitian) staff. Everyone has their favorite mix now!

Mesi Anpil Santa Fe, nap kenbe ansam.

Tonight my friends are sleeping outside with their beautiful, precious children because the earthquake was just too scary. I am inside with the nanny's, who sleep beside an open door on a futon. I feel very comfortable inside, and we agree if there is another quake I WILL get out of bed and run outside to join them at the tent, so we are all together. I am not allowed to close my door so that I can hear them yell "RUN AMBO!" (their nickname for me, courtesy of their children).

The stresses continue to pile on--another earthquake and aftershocks (although I remind people that more smaller quakes release pressure and maybe, just maybe, decrease the chance of another big one), people losing jobs because some businesses cannot keep the same level of staffing as previously, a few more buildings fell, so there is the sound of destruction and the likelihood of injury and death, the smell of decomposing bodies now overpowered by dust, urine and feces. Many local Haitian staff experience unbearable workloads, and suddenly must share their office space with the many expats who have flooded Potoprens since January 13th.

I met with the IDEO team today, and again, will be updating my website soon. Their plans to provide mental health services to Haiti are impressive, thoughtful and deeply necessary. They have found some additional support to help them with start up costs of a psycho-trauma center, and still need assistance for the massive task of coordinating the mental health response for Haiti. For everything they are doing, they still need support: financing, training, and simply, support. I played APPEAR TO ME for them and after one listen, they called their families to listen, too. Smiles and tears. One colleague described it as "Zen", the other as "pure prayer." Everyone is delighted to hear Yanvalu. Tomorrow I will play it for the URAMEL team, and this weekend, for Boby Duval.

Night time-hopefully we sleep without the deep, low, screeching rumble that forewarns the shaking, trembling, agitation of our ground.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 3 Trip 2

Today was a "day off" (whatever that means in this situation) and I spent it with dear friends who have just returned home after evacuating their children to schools elsewhere. I had planned to sleep a little longer than unusual, but awoke to the lovely sound of early morning rain...and as I began my habitual "snuggling" deeper into the comfort of my bed, I suddenly remembered where I was.

Rain! Shit. Its pouring. I ran downstairs, crying, because I know many people sleeping on the streets, comforting children on the streets, every formerly open space in this city a sea of makeshift tents with little to no protection against the elements. I ask the my friends nanny if the rain is everywhere, crying, I ask what is everyone going to do in this rain? She replies that she has already called down to her children who live in a tent on Delmas and there is no rain there--Don't cry, Madame Amber, the rain is only here. It will be ok. We are ok, today.

I am struck by the reality that she is comforting and consoling me when her own children have no real home to stay dry in. And I am learning that these stories of caring and compassion are common here.

My friends and I drove around the entire city this afternoon----downtown, champs de mars, juvenat, pacot, la saline, canape vert, delmas. Everywhere, everywhere, gaping holes where familiar buildings once stood, some cleaned up quickly by early responders, others still a massive pile of concrete pieces and assorted papers, furniture, statues, wires, etc. In some places, the stench of decomposition and feces is still thick. In other places, people bathe in mud puddles in the middle of the road.

Everywhere, their is dust and despair.

We visited the building that once stood beside my own home in Juvenat, the same building where the young many I worked with on my first visit lay trapped for 15 hours, listening to the last words of his mentor and two of his mentors three children. I learned that the children's mother, who I met many years ago, was driving up Delmas when the earthquake happened, and because all traffic stopped, ran for two hours to her home on the other side of town. When she arrived to a collapsed building she began to dig with her bare hands. When the young man was freed, they began to dig together, and others appeared to help, including a rescue team. In the space of 48 hours she dug and dug, and she freed a nanny and her baby daughter, whose legs were broken. As they dug deeper and it became obvious that her two children and husband lay deep in a labyrinth of rubble, the rescue team declined to help, because the building was too unstable in the ongoing aftershocks. Two "passers by" from the neighborhood ended up helping her. For 36 hours they dug themselves into the rubble, climbing into the bottom layers of the collapsed building, to help this complete stranger find her family. She offered them every piece of jewelry she had on, her clothes, money---they refused. "Please Madam--we will help you find your family." They freed the bodies of her husband and one child; they were unable to find her third child.

Today we met an American rescue and recovery team who are now trying to find her oldest child's body so she can join her family when they are laid to rest. I listened as they asked my friend to describe the lay-out of the apartment so they could get to the room where the dead child lay.

Is this real? I can't even grasp what I am hearing. They are describing her car, which they have seen down in there, and their attempts to retrieve a few personal things, to safely remove what is left of a child, and to return home to their own families, who demand "they come home without a scratch." They are parents, too, many miles from home, in an unfamiliar place, digging for the pieces of lives shattered over a month ago.

Tonight, its raining again

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 2 Trip 2

Its been a long day. When the word got out that I had returned I had non-stop sessions. People describe a weariness, a plateau of sorts, as they feel a bit more stability and yet continue to be surrounded by a city fallen down. "I go on because I must but its not easy." Men, Women, children--all exhausted. How long can so many people remain exhausted and continue to clean up their home and try to rebuild their lives?

The groundskeeper returned today and described a very long night because he felt the earth moving most of the night. At times he could not discern if the earth moved, or the memory of the earthquake "moved in his body." Many people describe feeling the earth trembling and knowing that its not--that its inside their bodies. Dizziness accompanies this sensation.

Back to the groundskeeper--he was again unable to sleep and this caused him distress as he felt he "was going backwards." He described the details of the long night; his fear, his conversations with God; his attempts to rub the tightness between his eyes away--tightness from not being able to close is eyes and rest them for more than a little while, literal pain in his eyelids because they are forced open so much, pain in his body from sleeping in a seated position because the ground is now wet and he is afraid the water will run over him and carry him away. He has sent his child to the provinces, where he has shelter, because of the rains. He is alone now.

We talked about "the long road", and patience, and trusting that we may not know answers, or why, and the importance of faith in holding on. He has learned that prayer, and the little bottle of oil he carries in his pocket, helps. He described how he used the oil between his eyes to calm the tension, to help them rest, and how he smells it when he feels the trembling because it calms his spirit. He says its a bottle of "good memories." He asked if I could return for a long time--a year maybe--so that everyone on the team had someone to listen to them.

I wonder about recording stories, so the world can be inspired by this bravery. Every day for every Haitian is an act of profound courage.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 1 Trip 2

Touched down today at 12 noon, on the second commercial flight to land. I was meant to be here earlier, but many flights scheduled for today cancelled or made dramatic changes to departure time--my originally scheduled flight actually left 2 hours early! So, I missed it. Thankfully I found a seat on American Airlines.

I have one thing to say after landing at the badly damaged international airport: Bless the US Air Force. Our arrival was very smooth, from circling while we waited for clearance, to being guided into the crowded airport to find a disembarkation place, and---for the first time in 12 years of landing here, a jetway met our plane! Despite the obvious destruction to the airport, we were led through a spotlessly clean, fresh brand new partial airport complete with signs in Kreyol and English, someone to guide us, an escalator, friendly USAF service members, the same local band that has always played cheerful, soulful traditional music, and, efficiency and welcome. The bags were off the plane in record time---and there were a lot of them! Despite there no longer being a conveyor belt to offload luggage, and our waiting for our bags in what looked like a brand new warehouse space, the system--based entirely on people----was friendly, fast and even fun! It was a bit of a zoo, but instead of stressing and grumbling, people laughed and helped one another, and a few of us even danced a ti danse.

My first day back has been heartwarming. I was greeted with hugs, happy "Bon swa Amber, m'te tan ou, m kontant ou la" (Hello Amber, I waited for you, I am happy you're here"). I instantly met with several people who were visibly lighter, livelier and eager to share how little things we talked about or methods I taught them or something we shared still supported them. Gratitude.

While this lightens my heart, I still experience moments of strong sadness and find myself suddenly moved to tears. Their is still so much destruction, filth, reports of increased rapes by gangs who are re-organizing in the chaos, and loss. The grief seems like a tiny flower pushing up through the heavy soil of the initial shock. Tiny, and heavy, too----a flower bowed towards the earth because the sun is invisible.

I encourage those of you reading this to check out the song "APPEAR TO ME" on one of my very favorite Band's--Round Mountain--website (downloading it supports local Haitian NGO's). I listened to that song repeatedly on my journey. It invokes in me the softness of a certain time of night during ceremony, when the wind picks up, a gently provocative breeze, and shadows and moonlight and stars whisper the presence of Spirit. There is a depth, a stillness, and the yearning that calls humans to seek the presence of God, Spirit, Great Spirit, Allah, The Divine, Goddess, Divine Mother---every manifestation of divine love there is in this world. Its the bareness of being human in an ocean of mystery. The song is an invocation to grace.

Mesi Anpil Round Mountain.

Santa Fe

I've returned home for a week before heading back to Haiti. I hadn't intended to write while here, but today, a day I spent with clients who are refugees from Iraq, I experienced a depth to the human spirit that I am absolutely certain I cannot describe in words. I'll try.

I met with a client today who I have known for two years. After almost 12 years of working as a psychotherapist and dance movement therapist with survivors of torture, his story of torture and violence is one of the most devastating I have ever heard. We have, at times, had to work very intensively so that flashbacks and nightmares did not overtake his life. He is a very, very strong man who has lost more than I can comprehend, and who struggles here in the U.S. because our systems are sometimes unforgiving. His suffering is at times immense.

He left me a message this weekend and said "Hello I miss you where are you? Maybe you are in Haiti." I realized I had not let him know of my departure when I was hurrying to prepare for my trip and left within 48 hours notice.

I reached him yesterday and he asked "How are you? You must be tired." He asked a few questions that I realized would be better answered in person, so we scheduled a session today.

After we spoke briefly about his questions, he asked me about Haiti. He said "I cannot stay long today, I wanted to see how you are. I see you are tired."

I told him I was fine to have a full session. He looked away. When he looked back at me he said "My wife cries every time she watches the news of Haiti. Are there really so many children without parents?" I said "Yes, it seems so--it will take awhile to know for sure." He asked "have you seen these children?" When I said yes, he said "Don't you want to bring them all here?"

I said yes, that my husband and I have been trying to adopt children and would be happy to share our home with children from Haiti who may need parents now.

After a pause, he continued. "I cannot bear to think of those children. I hope you can bring some here."

Another pause. He turned away again, then looked back at me with tears in his eyes. "God must watch you closely. If you are going back there, I will ask him to take care of you. I am sure that he loves you."

Santo Domingo, Day 12

I arrived here yesterday to catch my flight home today. I envisioned relaxing at the pool before I returned to emails and my report. I sat by the pool but didn't relax; there is way too much energy vibrating my body. Even though its the same pool I sat by before I went into Port au Prince, I was more aware of the large cement building right beside me---and what that might look like if it fell down.

I've seen earthquake damage before, but not so recent. I am just now assimilating how vast the damage in Haiti is; that most of the buildings that have dotted that mountainous terrain, made the city a familiar place for me, are gone. Perception is such a subtle but profound influence on our view of, seeing of, understanding of, the world. It adds depth to meaning. It changes meaning.

The demand for mental health or counseling services is so high. This is new in Haiti. This is not to say that the work in mental health, trauma, and community mental health hasn't been in high demand before--it has, during many of the terrible political and disaster situations that have occurred in Haiti's recently history. But every person I spoke with was as worried about all the people sharing the ground where they sleep, all their family, all their friends, as they were about themselves. "We are all traumatized" they said, circling a finger near an ear to gesture the intense sound and activity going on inside their head. "When will it stop?; when will we feel normal again, when everything is gone, when the ground still moves, when we cannot plan for the future, when there are not enough answers?"

I am grateful to see two articles today on yahoo news and elsewhere on "Helping Haiti's

Fragile Minds". Fragile is a good word. Much of the work I did was, of course, stabilization--temporary stabilization. Basic, practical psychological first aid, and tending to practical needs as best I can. An entire nation that does not feel safe...maybe those in the farther provinces do, in terms of earth shifts, but they are still watching their landscape change dramatically with the influx of people, some joining family, some who simply don't know where else to go.

Haiti has always been a risk taker--the first country to abolish slavery, the first black republic. The strength and fire I experience in her people has, in my view, been part of their fierce resilience. We all learn from the risks Haiti has taken, and continues to take---she is a world leader in ways many of us neglect to contemplate or appreciate or even notice. Look up, world, a sister needs our help, our love, our respect, our commitment. We have so much to learn from Haiti's ability to mache, mache, mache.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 10

Just packed after a long day of what was meant to be writing, but ended up being many more sessions. Its humbling to be approached by so many people who do not usually access psychology; to sit with drivers, groundskeepers, cooks, managers, community organizers, accountants, and others who are willing to open up about things raw and frightening and distressing and very, very human.

They are burning a lot now--trash, bodies, debris. Everyone of us coughs with a little wheeze. I walked again, today, with 4 beautiful prayer ties made by dear friends in Santa Fe. Found an elder mango tree, an old and earthquake fallen deciduous tree, a vibrant pink flowering tree, and a banana tree. Last night the woman who cooks and cares for my friends home and I lit the sweetgrass and sage and placed the first prayer tie on their land; today I placed them around the neighborhood of the Hotel Montana. Roads in this area opened today after heavy machinery cleared large debris; the stench was stronger with so much stuff stirred up.

The damage here is mind boggling; houses and apartment buildings literally hanging over the edge of the land, a 4 story residence pancaked into complete flatness. Tiny scrawny kittens roam this area--I wonder where they belonged? There are so many starving animals, silently withering away in a slow death. No one talks about them with such a immense loss of human life, so they will just disappear.

My friends and I still estimate 500,000 people dead. So many of them will also just disappear, in a land where Spirits remain close to us, troubled if they are not given the proper passage to Guinee. I envision a day of mourning, and many ceremonies--perhaps one in each major lakou, simultaneously, to honor and bid farewell so that these Spirits can find their way home. Kanaval is coming, soon----how impossible to imagine the celebration at this time, and how equally impossible to imagine there might be no collective expression of the historic and cultural acknowledgement of the long fight for freedom.

Ayiti, Cheri, nap kembe, ansamn.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 10

Its the morning of my 10th day here. I depart tomorrow for the DR and a week + at home, to return here next week. I am noticing a strong pull not to go. Some of the people I have been working with cried when I told them I had to go home and tend to things there for a few days. "But when you're here we can talk, we can let these things out, we can say whatever we want to say."

I am not fond of generalizing, and, having worked in community mental health here for many years, I have never heard so many heartfelt requests for

"psychology" or "ti conse" (a little counseling). Haitians are resilient; they are accustomed to extreme challenges and to not only "mache" (moving on"), but laughing, dancing, finding the grace to accept big hardships.

This time, the fear is overwhelming. We had an aftershock Thursday night that I experienced like ghosts knocking quickly around the walls of my room. Very loud. Downtown, they felt the earth shaking again, and were terrified. Many of yesterdays sessions focused on "how do we move on, how do we lose this fear, when the earth keeps trembling?" "WHEN IS THIS GOING TO BE OVER?" Each day, more pieces of bodies fall out of the debris being moved, resignation that some loved ones bodies will never be found. Another after shock, another building that teeters on the edge of a hillside appears closer to falling. Many people still await tents, daily access to food and water, latrines. "Port a podies" (however that's spelled) have begun appearing near the camps; supplies are moving and getting put, and, the need is massive.

There are moments of hope. The man who lost his children and never recovered their bodies slept, even after the aftershock, from 10pm-530 am. Another began singing to his child at night, and they found themselves singing and dancing with others camped around them. He told me this: "Mizik mache nan san." "Music walks in your blood..in other words, it moves your soul.

"Thats how I am going to maintain hope."

I learned another Haitian proverb yesterday from someone who tries to do one small helpful thing each day, to see something be "a little bit better".

Ou pa fe omelet san kaze ze.

You cannot make an omelette without breaking an egg.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 8

Today I awoke early enough to meditate, and found myself holding my heart and crying. The pool of sadness is deep, deep, deep.

We were encouraged yesterday by the emergency response logistics coordinator--who is an amazing person to have around--to walk around the neighborhood (we are near the Hotel Montana). We began a new project today with the local neighborhood--they formed a committee and are cleaning up the smaller debris which has blocked the road. I walked through the hot, dusty, stinky clean-up and whenever I spoke with someone and commented on the challenge of this work, they replied "nou oblige." "We are obliged." I have heard this many times--this is our home, our heart. We are here and we have work to do. Kembe la. We stand, we are strong, we endure.

I walked to the Hotel Montana and, convinced I had taken a wrong turn (despite my having been there many many times) I finally asked a US soldier where the hotel had been. The stench should have cued me. He pointed to a massive pile of rubble peeking above a very large red gate. It wasn't just the pile of rubble--I expected that--the entire landscape has changed. I did not recognize the road, the earth the environment, despite my knowing the area well. My book club used to be here! I had a moment of complete disorientation, and, looking across the valley, saw an apartment building much like the one I used to live in. Half of it was "broken off" and hanging towards the edge of the mountain. I felt dizzy. My God, this must have been awful to feel the 34 seconds of violent lurching, shaking, and rolling. It looks, here, like the whole world fell down.

One person returned to talk to me today and said he had rested, for the first time. He practiced some very simple grounding techniques I taught him. We spoke of a healing, memorial garden for his lost children and he "arranged the flowers" in his mind, and heart. We will look for a place tomorrow to plant the flowers.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 7

The internet connection is still spotty. I have begun exploring the area where I am working and there are still places where the smell of death permeates my nose. I believe there will be 1/2 million people dead--some never accounted for. How many restavek children or elder Marchan w/o a home or w/o people just disappeared?

I have heard some strong evidence of resiliency and of spirit. In some communities, 45-100 families are all sleeping outside in a shared space, taking turns buying food for all, cooking, providing security. Those who still have jobs give more.

I met several mental health professionals yesterday who came to a meeting I convened to begin to identify local resources for the many requests I receive for "trauma counseling". They sat through the meeting and asked if I could meet with them afterwards. They asked if I could "evaluate them" to see how much they were affected, and if they should work. They are all sleeping on the streets They all work at local ngo's and are tasked with tending to their staffs fear and trauma. They are all beginning to provide psychosocial programs in the tent cities. No rest, no time to process their own experience, and the demands of an entire country mourning the loss of an estimated 90% of schools, thousands of schoolchildren, a significant percentage of Haiti's professionals crushed in government buildings, schools, hospitals.

Today, a local security guard and gardener, who lost two children when his house fell and has never found them. Sleeping in the road near his former house, still waiting for his children. He tries to sleep, sitting up; he is too scared to lie down. He starts awake all night, thinking he hears them calling him, or walking towards him. He waits each night for them to come home, or for the proof that they never will.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 5

The internet was down last night so I was unable to blog. It sounds like air traffic is increasing---helicopters, big planes, little planes, all day and perhaps through the night. Haiti used to be receive such infrequent air traffic, all I heard was song, voices, birds, drumming, breezes, dogs and roosters.

I drove through the city today and the destruction is unfathomable. Strange, eerie, surreal images of a once poor but bustling city----a bust and a random office chair still standing in front of a crumbled Ministry of Justice. A person searching through papers scattered in the dust of a former office building, looking for????? Maybe someone he loved worked there; perhaps there is a trace.

I met a friend of many years today and she is almost transparent with shock and grief. Both her parents and in laws lost everything; 3 family members died, many friends and colleagues gone, and not yet found, or only found recently. Most of her people have left but she and her husband remain to offer their cars to NGO's in desperate need of transportation, to "be here for Haiti; we have to rebuild. We cannot leave."

A young man from the city began his session today with "I have no hope. I watched my parents and brother die when the house fell; everything is gone." He has a few months work with an NGO; then what? Stars for a ceiling, just enough money to eat, nothing to rebuild, or to buy a tent or mattress. He is so tired from not sleeping at night, from worrying about where to shave, go to the bathroom, lay down as opposed to sit up--but he won't nap. "This job is all I have--if I sleep they will fire me".

I've requested a large tent to create a resting space, a quiet space for those who share this unimaginably difficult reality. The choice to sleep a few hours when the work day ends, or during lunch.

Tomorrow, more stories and I listen for a thread of hope. There is nothing easy to say to the things people are sharing. I reflect on my contemplative training: listen, listen, listen. I offer a few reflections, ask to learn about loved ones lost, to know their names, and maybe an idea comes into the space--a way to rest, cope, regain hope.