port au Prince, Haiti Day 8, Trip 5

As I write this blog I am also preparing to board my plane for the first leg of a three flight journey home. I have not written this trip, both because it was short, and also because internet was down most of the time. But there is another reason—the nature of this trip was quite different from others.

I did not do much individual work with local people. When I returned to Haiti this time, there was a shift—a “quieting” is the only way I can describe it---amongst those I usually work with.

Most of my work this time was programmatic; however, I arrived to find that while many Haitians were certainly still dealing with stress, trauma, loss and grief, they were quite busy in the remaking of their lives. The expatriate community, on the other hand—humanitarian workers, many of whom have been there since January—was unraveling. After a requested group session for several humanitarian workers, it was as if the flood gates were opened. I was consistently busy providing session for people who were experiencing burn out, secondary trauma, PTSD and depression.

We have been hearing that the magnitude of this disaster has trumped all others in terms of human horror and loss, levels of destruction, and complexity. If that is true, the evidence is in the distressed state of many of the humanitarian workers—especially those who were deployed early on—who work hard and courageously to assist the Haitian people.

There are many reasons for these levels of distress—some I have already addressed in previous blogs. Simply put for today—the lack of leadership and of a cohesive, Haitian informed response is contributing to a widening gap between the international and national community. Buddha taught us that separation creates suffering. This is painfully visible in Haiti. One expat described her experience as her face pressed hard against the pane of a glass window, waving to her Haitian counterparts and colleagues and would-be-friends, frantically gesturing to demonstrate how much she wanted to interact, to know, to touch Haiti. All the while, jobs demand we adhere to policies, procedures, and external agendas that may not reflect the long term and deeper needs of the Haitian people who want their lives, their capital city, their country to become country---to restore kay nou, our home—and to share it with the many visitors there today.

There are no illusions that Haiti will ever be what she was, but there is an understandable desire that a proud history and a commitment to place will be foundational to however Haiti’s future is built.

What does it mean that the hearts of so many who deployed to assist are breaking? What is it like to live in fear of the place and people you are helping, because a primary concern of employing organizations is liability, and fulfilling donors agendas so that numbers on paper are emphasized over human relationship?

I suspect the rein of the NGO’s will soon be over. I suspect this disaster will demonstrate that this is not a viable system. I originally left this professional world over 20 years ago because I was criticized and ostracized for believing, and promoting, the idea that any humanitarian worker should strive to work him/herself out of a job in 10-20 years, depending on the context. I suspect that the private sector will become the future of development of places, people, even in humanitarian emergencies.

I had this dream my last night in Haiti: I was showing my Father some of the places and people and things I love in Haiti. In one very green area, I was showing him beautiful black lilies on a strange, rustic, makeshift bookshelf sitting out in the open. These flowers were unique to this area of Haiti. Suddenly, two of them moved--crawled. They were actually gigantic tarantulas.

We stepped back, quickly, as I heard myself telling my Father "Watch Out!" They are going to jump! They bite"

Sure enough, they jumped for us--but we backed away fast enough and they missed us.

When I awoke, this phrase was in my early morning mind:

The dark soul of pain is where the longest light lives.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 2, Trip 5

The night I arrived, I dreamed the earth was moving--I kept waking up from a dream that felt like I was trapped in a square space that could not stop shaking.

The night before I arrived I dreamed of many women dressed in white, wearing white moshwa, preparing for ceremony.

Haiti feels different. I'll write bluntly: there are way too many foreigners here. Once again, Haiti is being parceled out to various interests---some for profit; some not for profit, and I feel the trampling of sacred ground by 1000's of hooves. Greedy hooves.

Local friends are losing jobs to foreigners--"experts", arriving to Haiti for the first time.

Doctors closing practices and leaving the country because there is too much free medical care here. Reports that things are not improving, and the inevitable "WHY--there is so much money pouring in here?"

Why? Because many of the people here weren't invited, have no previous relationship to Haiti, have their own agenda or mission or protocol and no time to gather input from local people. I wish someone would stand at the airport with a sign that says: "IF YOU ARE NOT INVITED GO HOME". And really make people go home. No new NGO's, no Missionaries on a quest to convert Haitians, no more self proclaimed experts.

The fault is not all in the arriving masses--there is, as I have written before, simply no governance, no body in control of screening, planning short or long term, and balancing the needs, ideas, and activities of people, government, NGO's, private sector, etc. So the earth trembles under the thundering hooves, scrambling to get their piece.

And, there is a lot of fear.

A recent return to kidnapping for ransom has terrified some members of the international community. The consequences of kidnaping are horrible, and, doesn't anyone see the irony in the legendary amounts of money "pouring in" (where?), the massive influx of foreigners driving nice cars and driving prices sky-high, and the lack of visible, meaningful change? Why are so many people still camping under torn pieces of tarp when we have been raising the concern about the rains since January 13th?

I say, if you're that scared, go home. Fear produces fear. We don't need any more fear here.

A friend of mine has started a brilliant project. For $10.00 a truckload, he buys rubble, dumps and spreads it over his formerly flood-prone land, and large tractors flatten, "squoosh" and distribute it. When they find bodies or body parts, they give them a proper burial. The land is already flat and the smell recedes with time. The flooding risk is almost entirely eliminated now, and they are beginning to move tents to this higher, drier ground. Eventually, they will build houses here.

I cannot ignore the obvious and perhaps cliche image of the Phoenix, rising from the ashes. Homes --eventually a community--built on debris, death, destruction: this is transformation.