Sudan Day 3-4

I am in Khartoum, Sudan now. This was a really long and not an easy trip. Too many long layovers—which must, I’ve decided, make a significant contribution to jetlag, as I normally don’t get jetlagged, and its been a tough adjustment.

It might also be this land--- Sudan feels, to me, like stepping into the arms of the ancient mother. I was here three years ago, in Khartoum and Darfur, and I was especially captivated by the sand in Darfur (which is here, also, but less visible due to development). The sand is the color of dawn and runs like silk through my hands. In these ancient places, it almost seems as if the sand has absorbed the memories of many millions of years of sunrises and sunsets, of stars in the sky, of footsteps and camel-steps and the advance and receding of older oceans. I have asked a friend currently based in Darfur, but headed back here tomorrow, to bring me some sand, so I can touch all those memories.

The people here are magnificent. Walking through a market (souk) here is like seeing all of humanity in a few faces---skin tone and color, features, ethnicities, all strikingly different face to face, and yet the elements of the many tribes and races and religions and ethnicities that have belonged here can sometimes be seen in one face. I find the Sudanese people unusually warm and generous.

We are here (my friend and colleague John Fawcett and I) to teach a 4 day training on staff care. To hopefully bring some energy to the idea that not only beneficiaries--- but also staff -–living and working in complex emergencies/humanitarian responses must also be cared for, supported, and tended to. The group we are working with brings amazing history and resource to the workshop. Many work in Darfur; several have survived abductions. One of the women is someone I worked with (briefly) 3 years ago in Darfur---we recognized each other, but didn't quite recognize that we recognized each other, until she gave her introduction. She was able to answer my questions about the whereabouts and safety of the people I knew while there, who I have remained concerned about since leaving---and have been really concerned about since many NGO's were expelled from the area, leaving so many Darfurians without aid, work, support, witness. She agreed to carry letters back for me.

We talked about aspects of Sudanese culture that serve as protective factors from the harm that can be caused by exposure to stress, and one particularly moving example was of the practice of seeking counsel from a wise person. It was his description of this practice, delivered with reverence about a practice he described only having heard about, that was moving. Many of the traditions and practices have been lost or sacrificed to politically induced, cultural changes. A focus of our afternoon discussion was on how to “grow” the seed, the kernel, of these practices so that at least the core or essence of them is preserved. This seems a good inquiry for all of us.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 12, Trip 6

Last day in Haiti, and the final trip of this piece of work (developing staff support) that began very soon after the earthquake.

Yesterday was "meant" to be a quiet last day spent with friends, in closure, taking care of things that needed tending to.

Instead, chaos. Traffic--which feels terminally congested beyond any normal measure of congestion, since the onslaught of International Aid, was incomprehensibly immobilized. ANPIL ANPIL BLOKIS. Everything took 1-2 hours more than usual. And I had three stops, throughout the day, to close this work.

When a friend promising transportation didn't come through, when those who came through with rides were caught in the nightmarish "BLOKIS", I was late for everything. And then, at the end of the day, my only way home was a ride in an insufficiently "upkept" car, with no defrost, barely functioning windshield wipers, driven by a lovely many who did not know the area I needed to get to at all.

A torrential downpour, horizontal and vertical lightning, immense thunderbooms resulted in flooded roads. Flooded roads that were swarming with vehicles trying to get home at the end of the day. We sat, for 30 minutes at a time, to budge a few feet.

The driver, unfamiliar with an automatic (especially an old, worn out automatic) vehicle, could barely see due to a fogged up and unyieldingly wet windshield, glare, and his increasingly "tet chaje" (literally, charged head). After the first hour, the car broke down, and as just as they were a collective relief when traffic began to move, we were blocking the road.

What transpired after (for three hours after) was sometimes stressful, sometimes amusing, sometimes fascinating, and sometimes very uncomfortable. People yelled, honked, screamed. Driver of large vehicles sat on their horns--some barely missed us if they were moving and didn't see us to to the downpour, the lightning, the dark I called friends, at times calm, at times on the verge of tears, at times angry. All I wanted to do was be home with my dear friends and family here, and watch the sky turn evening colors from the same porch that has given me solace for many years---especially since January 12th. Its the place where I sat every evening when I first came here, and stayed on this safe and comfortable home, alone. Its where the 350+ stories and 25+ group histories moved through me as tears, rage, incomprehension, weariness, inspiration, hope, human connection.

We finally made it after multiple arguments (within and outside of our car) and I am still waiting to hear that the driver and a friend made it back down ok.

I arrived very late. Dinner was ready. A cold prestige. Conversation. Tears. And my finally realizing that, despite my almost agreeing to remain a week longer and coming a phone call close to changing my ticket, its time to come home. Yes, Haiti is home, and--I have been here more than my home in Santa Fe since January, and I am as tired as I am inspired by this place I cherish. I am also forever changed.

Kunyala, m bezwen tann pou refleji. Now its time to reflect, write, rest.

I will be back, sooner than later, as projects and contracts keep emerging. My heart has grown 100 times in its capacity to listen and to love every time it breaks here---and it is still breaking, and still growing. When I packed late last night, I found all my notes, from the first "PFA" session, til now. All the sessions (group and individual), all the workshops and trainings, all the meetings, all the reports and recommendations and journaling. Two legal pads full of words, names, people's emotions, needs, and contact information, ideas, concerns, things I want to remember, symbols I doodle.

I reverently reviewed each page, then burned them. Ale. Like the Spirits we aid to fly when they cross over, I pray for each story, each tear, each breath that breathed in dust, death, decay while waiting to be rescued or trying to rescue others, to fly. I cannot carry them home.

Ayiti Cheri, map la chak jou. Kembe. Map torne anko, demen, si bondye vle.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 10, Trip 6

Just came from Hotel Oluffson where RAM was warming up for their weekly Thursday night fet. Its very, very hopeful to hear that very familiar music again--music that carries Haiti's root rhythms---in the very same place, same day, same time, as has happened for years.

The NGO Staff Support Working Group that has been meeting monthly since January had requested that this months meeting be a self-care (practical) training. Today we spent a day at Management Sciences for Health, in a brand new, cool and comfortable conference room, where I provided this training. It was amazing--another splash of hope. We worked together (particularly MSH's lovely HR Director, Joelle Larco) to make this workshop happen for as many psychologists, medical professionals, HR folks and others (who are over-extended, tired, and generally spent) as possible.

I think it would be a boring read for me to review the workshop; its sufficient to say we covered some good and succinct information about stress, trauma, secondary trauma, and somatic therapies, and--played and practiced a variety of self care (body and arts based) practices to calm, relax, balance, energize, center, ground and restore. It was my intention that the day be a "mini-retreat" for all the participants. It succeeded----and while it certainly wasn't a magic wand to erase the ongoing intensity and challenge of their work, and the never-ending suffering of so many Haitians--it was a day of communion, laughter, and healing.

I will share two particularly hopeful moments:

One of the participants, after a review of types of trauma, said "Bon--we are experiencing all of these in Haiti now----it just makes me wonder how we are still here, still standing?"

So I asked the group to answer that question--to ask it of themselves, present moment, and here is our list:

Po ki sa n'ap rete kampe (Why are we still standing?)

or

What makes us resilient?

Faith of God

Hope

Prayer

Close relationships with others

Contact with others

Open to other cultures

Music and Dance

Laughter and Humor

Generosity

Wanting to give back

Feeling Lucky

Counting blessings

Reason-to-live (Raison d'etre)

Our Resiliency

Our Haitian Culture

Soccer and The World Cup

"Seize the moment"

Profite la vie

Mete Tet ansam--SOLIDARITY

At the end of the workshop, I facilitated a group activity where we identified shared strengths or resources (in small groups) and shared them with the larger group, in a very creative fashion.

Each of the 3 group created a song----and the songs were brilliant. I was very sad not to have had a video camera with me as I have never seen such brilliance, heart, and inspiration ever--anywhere--with this particular activity. I would have loved to record them to share with the group--as a reminder of their resiliency--and as a teaching tool for others interested in resiliency.

The songs (crafted in only 10 minutes) were beautifully rhythmic and harmonized, creative, silly, poignant and simple. The words did everything from integrate the song and dance "Amba Decom" (Under the Rubble) that Haitians created to acknowledge the experience of being under the rubble with both blatant clarity and tremendous humor; to invite a call-and-response movement and singing choir where we shaped the rising sun while we sang "We have the sun, we have the light" (for anyone whose never been to Haiti--the light here rivals the magical light that many artists seek in New Mexico).

I wished my friend and colleague Melissa had been here to see this, as this was the hope she reminded us was essential to traversing this 6 month marker where hopelessness tends to overtake survivors. This 5 minutes of song was a sound bath of joy, heart and hope----and hope is not a word I use easily. Especially here, where there are still so many trauma, hardship, change and loss reminders. Body parts, long removed from their human form, still found daily; over 75,000 Haitians missing. Rubble neatly piled by the road, and suddenly in the road when these seasonal rains become a torrential downpour. People shaking their insufficient tarps out after one of these rains, in an attempt to make their sleeping space a wee bit drier.

Amidst all of this, and despite the tragic sloth-like response of those leaders with the power (and money) to change these inhumane conditions and experiences:

"No problem, no problem, no problem

We don't have a problem--

We have each other.

We have the sun, we have the light.

We have the trees, we have God.

No problem, no problem, no problem

We don't have a problem (we can't fix):

We have each other.

I

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 7, Trip 6

Have been in Cap Haitien to connect with my Lakou (community) and take a friend to Plan du Nord for the annual pilgrimage to honor Ogou. Plan du Nord is the site of mud baths in a river whose origin is in the mountains above Cap Haitien---I have heard the origin of the river is near the dwelling place of Ogou. This dwelling place sits below the Citdaelle, Haiti's majestic fortress that was built between 1805 and 1820 to protect the newly liberated nation.

I have visited Plan du Nord (google this for more information) each year since 2005, sometimes at a time other than the fet (festival) which takes place during the time of Ogou (St. Jacques) July 23-25 every year. It is always packed.

This year, sadly, there were not nearly enough people as is usual, except at the actual baths--where it seemed more crowded and more difficult to navigate. My friends told me that the high number of deaths and the economic impact of the earthquake has impacted this important spiritual and cultural event this year. Entering the area was sad, and vendors and practitioners seemed to vie for business and attention more so than usual.

The baths, however, were packed--and while I asked why, no-one knew. We speculated that perhaps the devastation and never-ending distress caused by this event has caused more people to seek healing--or, as in the case of Plan du Nord, rebirth.

The baths are intense. I imagine years ago they were healing and purifying as mud is--now, they are filthy. Despite my deep respect for this tradition, which occurs very near my own Lakou Jissou, the public health professional in me squirms at the idea of entering this dirty muddy water. I observe, offering my prayers and lighting my candles for Ogou Feray, espwi ki danse tet'm.

The following day we held our own Fet Ogou. After ManChoun's death 2 years ago, our Lakou is naturally figuring out how to operate (for lack of a better word) with the three designated successors (myself, Mawiyah and Lolo) being quite part time. Family members, previously uninvolved, have necessarily stepped up to offer logistical support--and, at times, there are misunderstandings between their understanding of our tradition, and ours---ours being what ManChoun taught us.

ManChoun may have been the last of the true Mambos. She was the embodiment of benevolence, and taught is the tradition with one hand----which means, kindness only. The practice is based in love and universality, which she carried in her heart, spirit and actions at all times. We had some hiccups preparing for the ceremony, and, it was a beautiful and varied gathering.

We surprised the community with our arrival, because so much has been uncertain and chaotic here since January 12th. They were sad that Fet Ogou might not take place. Despite some of the tensions we experience in planning with others who don't know or practice, the ceremony was lovely and a clear indication that ManChoun was guiding us. Its hard to describe ceremony in words---there is so much energy, there is vitality, color, pleasant and unpleasant smells, death, blood, pure white bright flowing skirts, play, provocation, dirt, incessant rhythm, sweat, joy. We danced until Spirit entered the space and made visual the tensions and misunderstandings we are working through. This is what Spirit does---in your face opportunities to find clarity, to divine, to come clean, to change and transform, to act, to reflect. The laughter and joy that emerged through the convergence of so much energy and so many people was a relief and a healing. The tension and provocation and challenging that took place was a raw and direct reminder of where we are.

Vodou is spirit---the practice of connecting to essence, and ancestry, of knowing how to act and how actions are not single events locked into time and space dimension but energies that continue to play out through kyros time and through the spaces in between---the crossroads, the intersection between life and death, spirit and humanity, past and present, present and future, tragedy and joy, the potent space Buddhists might call nothingness and Vodouists might call timelessness and others might experience as everything, all at once---Ever present, we all encounter, breath by breath and life by life.

Port au Prince, Haiti Day 4, Trip 6

Today we finished a three day "Psychological First Aid" (PFA) training with the Uramel Psychotrauma center. We is myself and Dr. Melissa Brymer of UCLA/NCTSN, a colleague and friend, who is one of the those who originally operationalized Psychological First Aid, a concept that originated in the forties (or fifties?). Melissa was one of the very first people to reach out to me after January 12th, and her support has been invaluable for my work here, and for my own heart.

I began promoting the idea of this training shortly after the earthquake, to both Melissa and to my beloved colleagues at The Uramel Psychotrauma Center. Having first trained with Melissa, through NCTSN, many years ago, I knew the value of this work in the immediacy of a disaster. In the first three months after the earthquake, I provided over 350 individual PFA sessions and 20 something group sessions. It became clearer and clearer to me that this model would benefit Haiti not only in the immediate post disaster phase, but also long term, if local professionals and paraprofessionals are trained to do this work --and train others to do this work -- in anticipation of (likely) future disasters and troubles.

The training was a wonderful experience, and much of this is due to Melissa's amazing skills as a trainer/facilitator, and her intimacy with this work. The first day was challenging--as first days often are. Melissa had "warned" me about the possibility of the sense of a loss of hope, quite common worldwide at this 6 month moment, and while this made sense intellectually, I was quite stunned when myself, along with my Haitian colleagues, friends and family, "dropped in" to the reality of how much hopelessness is emerging in Haiti, now.

After three days, however, there has been a shift--and I find it impossible to describe in the limited realm of words what shifted, and how. I told Melissa that I believe PFA itself instills hope--seeing the energy and engagement of the participants on day 2 and 3 when the material began to "take form"; when their practice sessions revealed amazing sensitivity, skill and enthusiasm; and when conversations about the many ways PFA can "shapeshift" its supportiveness while still adhering to a clear and comprehensive model (which my Haitian colleagues deeply value) -- all this contributed to a sense of hope, energy, vitality and life in the room.

There is something bigger that happened, also--but again, no words. I do think PFA can describe itself as a model that increases and enhances hope--whatever that means. Perhaps its the simplicity and universality of the work, embedded in a rich and complex model, that enables this.

As I write, my dance and drum community (The Railyard Community in Santa Fe, under the leadership of Elise and Eric Gent) is fundraising for Trauma Resources International. Many of my dear dance class-mates are performing, as are dancers, drummers musicians and others from New York, West Africa and elsewhere. The proceeds of this fundraiser will enable TRI to continue to support trainings for the Uramel Psychotrauma center (we are currently working on a three year plan for community-based mental health) as well as continue to support the therapeutic program for children in Carrefour, very near the epicenter; and contribute to the work we are doing in partnership with Atletik Payi Ayiti ("ADH") in Cite Soleil.

The convergence of hope---the "tet ansam" (all of us together) spirit of our PFA training; the dance; the drums; the ceremonies we are preparing for this weekend---tout bagay li fe espwa. Nou pa ka pede espwa paske "espwa li bagay final tout nou pede."

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.