Journal Entry – Thursday August 4, 2011
I have an image burned in my mind. It has haunted me all afternoon, and I suspect it will haunt me for a long time to come.
It is an image from Cite Soleil.
Cite Soleil means “Sun City.”
Sounds pretty exotic.
It’s not.
Cite Soleil lies on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. It is the worst slum in the nation of Haiti, where 300,000 of the poorest of the poor live in indescribable conditions. It is often referred to as “the dump.”
I had been trying to imagine what exactly could be worse than anything we’d already seen in Port-au-Prince itself. I couldn’t have even begun to imagine this.
Bethany summed it up best when she said, “I didn’t know anything like this actually existed anywhere in the world.”
The visuals – and the smells – would be haunting enough, but that’s not what got to me. What got to me was the fact that among the throngs that crowded us and followed us to the house dedications – the throngs of little children who wanted to hold your hand, give you gifts of little trinkets they had made, and have their picture taken so you would not forget them – among these children there were children that I now know. They have been with us for four days. I know their names, I have sat and had broken English-to-Creole, Creole-to-English conversations with them. They have hugged us, they have shown us their gratitude and their amazing smiles. And now I see the world in which they have returned to, and the world in which they live.
And I know their names.
As I sit here writing this, I can recount dozens of names in my head of children I now know in Cite Soleil.
The image that haunts me is from my last look back as I headed to the bus. In the midst of the hovels and the scattered debris was Christela DeBouquette, smiling and waving goodbye, and then turning and walking into what I presume must be her home.
Dear God.
I’m glad the storm did not come in, but even under the best of conditions, I think about where all those kids – the 200 HFHC kids, and the 100,000+ other children in Cite Soleil – are laying their heads down tonight – while I go back to my comfy little U.S. culture that knows nothing of these children, or the lives that they are living.
Goodnight, children. I will not forget you. WE will not forget you. We will be back. And we will keep on doing whatever we can to make things right. To make things better. To give you hope. And to make sure you know that you are loved.
