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I’m not saying that my trip to Haiti was brave. I’m just
saying that it made me worry. Until I saw the children. As always, children
change everything.
Day 1
When I was first contacted by Susan Pocharski, Entertainment
Director at Ladies' Home Journal, asking me if I’d like to join them, CrocsCares, and Feed the Children for a trip to Haiti to deliver shoes to school
children, I was beyond honored and thrilled. Opportunities like these are rare
and there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation when I leaped back with YES! In addition, I was going
to be traveling with Real Housewife of New York, Countess LuAnn de Lesseps and mom bloggers, Nicole Feliciano and Catherine Connors, both whom I
look up to and admire greatly. I could hardly contain my excitement.
Minutes later, of course, (being me), I was scouring the CDC
and US Embassy websites for up-to-date info on all the shots I may need and the
security precautions I should take.
After all, I thought, Haiti is the most impoverished country in the
Western Hemisphere. Surely, there’s a lot to take into consideration. But in
reality… there’s not much disease or security measures to take into
consideration anymore than any other poverty-stricken and under-developed
country. A country lacking
infrastructure means more than unsettled financials, it means unsettled people…
and therefore, I’m assuming, unsettled tourists…
Once we got through customs and outside of the airport, it
seemed like instant mayhem. While I certainly wasn’t expecting a JFK type
arrival with a Carmel Car & Limo to greet me in a luxury sedan, I wasn’t
necessarily expecting a mob, of what I think was mostly men, covering the
walkway in which we had to walk through
to get to our cars that would caravan us through Port Au Prince to our hotel.
People were shoving, grabbing bags, even yanking us here and there to come with
them. My travel companions, including the lovely Sally Lee, Editor in Chief of LHJ, however, seemed unfazed. Though I did my best to cover it up, I knew
she could tell I was nervous, and I definitely was embarrassed. Buck up, Jenny, buck up. But, I felt so far from home… already. Perhaps
it’s because Sally had visited Haiti before, I thought… and as an activist, many
other third world countries, that this sort of chaos doesn’t penetrate anymore…
This is Haiti, everyone kept saying. It’s just chaos.
And it was. During the nearly 2.5 hour drive to our hotel in
Petionville (which is approximately 5 miles away from the airport), it was
instantly obvious that the devastation from the earthquake in 2010 is
ever-present. Tents on the sides of the road, a completely non-existent
National Palace and rubble… still… rubble and crumbled facades. What kind of state will these schools be in
that we’re visiting? What kinds of needs will these children have that we’ll be
delivering shoes to?
Oh, how I couldn’t wait to see the children. I realize it
sounds dramatic and maybe a little cheesy, but truly: I needed to touch a
child. I needed to see the one thing that I knew would calm me. Of course I was
missing my son, but it wasn’t a homesickness that made me ache to get to these
schools… It was a need to find a
commonality. A need, for even if only an instant, to connect with a group
of people whose lives are so different from mine, simply from a survival
standpoint. The love of a child though, that binds us together. It really makes
us the same. I’m not here to see the devastation and report back. I’m here to
give something.
Day 2
We started our drive to Dufrene early in the morning. Dufrene
is a remote and mountainous community about 2 hours outside of Port Au Prince.
If you type in Dufrene in Google, you’ll basically get nothing. There are generalities
as far as longitude and latitude on various sites, but specifics? Nothing.
According to Feed the Children, the hunger organization
partnered with Crocs Cares, there are roughly 13,000 people living in Dufrene
and about 1,670 households. Though Crocs has been donating shoes to Haiti since
2007, this was actually their first trip to this area. Because there is pretty
much only one, very windy, rocky, dirt road leading up and down the mountain to
this area, the access to water and health providers is very limited for these
families. In fact, the nearest location
to get water is an hour walk down and up the mountain. It is now Feed the
Children that reaches these families to provide food, health care and
educational supplies. Deliveries are
done once a month, sometimes twice a month depending on storage space.
The children at these schools are provided one meal a day
while at school and for most of them, this is there only meal for the entire
day.
We were all split up into about 5 different SUVs and trucks,
carrying the shoes we were going to be delivering. (We delivered around 600
shoes that day. Crocs shipped 4,000 for the community). Our caravan up the
mountain was led by country director for Feed the Children, Dr. Stephane
Villate. Dr. Villate provides direct oversite to this community (and others in
Haiti) and also oversees their clinic in Carrefour.
As I mentioned, the drive from the airport to the hotel was
anxiety producing simply because of the sheer pandemonium and the fact that I’m
99.9% sure I didn’t see 1 traffic light. The drive up the mountain to
Dufrene, however? Turbulent, tough and jittery, figuratively and literally. At certain
points, the cars (all stick shifts) would swerve and skid over the rocky gravel.
I can handle bumps, but for those
freaked out about driving on the edge of a mountain with no cell signal whatsoever
to a place where pretty much no one on the internet could find me (hand raised
here), it was a white knuckle/don’t look out the window situation for most of
the ride.
Then we got to the first school.
Ecole Bon Berger Ma Kako. Approximately 200 children. The school house was comprised of no more than 2 or 3 different
sections, which seemed to be split by ages. The youngest children were 4 and 5,
pre-K equivalent… the eldest children were early teens, I’m guessing middle
school.
Our set up and shoe drop was lead by Melissa Koester,
Manager of Crocs Cares, who has worked with Crocs to provide happy and healthy
feet to children and families around the world.
Crocs has donated to developing countries, areas that have been hit by
natural disaster and to families in the US who simply need a little help. Since
2007, they have donated more than three million pairs of shoes in more than 40
countries. Because Crocs are
lightweight, won’t absorb water, and provide basic protection against disease
and bacteria, they are “the perfect shoe” to help people in developing parts of
the world or those facing natural disasters.
As our team set up the area where we would fit the children
for shoes, we were able to visit them in their classroom. The students were
seated on long benches with a long wooden type plank in front of them for desks
in a classroom that was no bigger than 12 X12 feet. LuAnn, who is fluent in
French, greeted the class and they responded with a sweet and harmonious
welcome in Haitian Creole. We were guests, and we were told they (and their families, and
the entire village) knew that we were coming with a delivery, but their eyes
weren’t wide in a way that seemed excited. I’ve seen my son’s eyes
light up when a special guest, like the local Fire Chief or Sheriff, comes to
class for show and tell. It's exciting. This was different. This wasn’t show and tell. This wasn't a "treat" for them. We were there to help them. There eyes glimmered with that understanding.
Our translator asked the children what some of them
wanted to be when they grew up. My favorite was from a boy who said he wanted to
learn how to be an architect…. So he could learn how to build homes for his
family and friends. My heart dropped.
Here I am: A privileged mom from Los Angeles, having just
spent the previous months agonizing over whether or not to ”redshirt” Jonah and how oh, god forbid, sending him into the “lion’s den” too
early could affect his abilities, his life, and even his luck… FOREVER. Meanwhile,
just 10 hours by flight from my home, there is another boy who’s birthday is
probably in September too, who dreams of going to college in a country where the enrollment rate for primary school is 67%, of which less than 30% reach the 6th grade, BUT whose parents are hardly
thinking about whether he’s “ready” for kindergarten or not and if it will even
lead to him becoming the architect he dreams of becoming. Please. They’re
thinking he is going to school NO MATTER WHAT and no matter WHEN. Why? Because,
as I said, for most of these children, their one meal a day comes from the food
provided by Feed the Children.
According to Feed the Children, the benefits of the VitaMeal
they provide for the children in Haiti include:
- -Contains a balance of
carbohydrates, protein, fat, and fiber
- -Provides essential fatty
acids required for normal brain development, skin health, and immune defense
- -Provides electrolytes
necessary for maintaining normal fluid balance and muscle function
- -Includes 25 essential
vitamins and minerals, including vitamin A for normal sight and immune
functions, as well as bone nutrients for normal growth and skeletal
development
Other stats include:
-
More than 800 million
people in the world, mostly children, are hungry
-
Every six seconds a
child dies of malnutrition
- The consequences of malnutrition are
severe and include growth stunting, anemia, decreased learning capacity and a
weakened immune system
Served in big tin bowls, every child was eating what looked
like 2-3 cups of beans and rice. I noticed that they were all eating fast…
shoveling the food in their mouths, actually. One little boy was caught trying
to eat his AND the girl’s sitting next to him (Until the teacher stopped him). Some
children even carried containers with them; we were told many do this so they
can save some for themselves for later and/or they can bring food home to their
families. One meal a day for these babies… Could my pre-kindergartner, with an
appetite for anything and everything (food and life) sustain energy and health
on one meal a day? Would my 5 year old think of saving some for me… if this was
all he/we would have? Disbelief over what these children knew at a young age
would be an understatement….
By the time the students finished their meal and our area
for shoe fitting was set up, and we were ready to go. The children were brought
out to us in a line, starting with the youngest grades. Helping them into the
chairs, instantly I noticed their skin… Many had deep wounds… wounds that were
probably from typical 4-5 year old activity like running, or skipping, but
because of their living conditions and lack of medical supplies like Neosporin
or even band aids, their cuts were terribly infected. It didn’t stop me from
touching them, lifting them up, taking off their socks and switching their tiny
feet from their ill fitting shoes into appropriately sized Crocs.
During the “shoe drop,” which lasted about 2 hours, I
specifically recall one little boy that had a tiny terry clothe washcloth
pinned to his shirt. I could tell that was his blankie. It made me smile. My
boy has a blankie. It is an old, grey El Al airplane blanket and is ugly,
dirty, and frayed. And he loves it.
Haiti. Los Angeles. Blankies. Boys. Commonality…. With a
heavy dose of reality.
At one point, the school director sat down a 5 year old boy
who appeared to be extremely bloated for his small size. It didn’t seem
normal—his overly extended belly and round face. And then we found out, it
wasn’t. This boy hasn’t actually been at school for months. But his mother (who
looked like she wasn’t more than 20 years old) had heard that we were coming,
and wanted him to be seen by Dr. Villate.
Dr. Villate set up a little area for him where he examined
the boy… his belly, his extremities. He
told us that this boy, who he has seen before, was suffering from an extreme
heart condition (which is clearly affecting
his other organs). He told us that he was going to come back later that
week and drive the boy and his family to the hospital where he can get examined
further. It is likely he said, that the boy will need open heart surgery. The
look on his mother’s face was something I’ll never forget. She looked
petrified, yet entirely composed and still. Her hard life has forced her to be
strong. There’s no cracking. No pleading, just fear at a stand still.
This woman embodied “keeping it together.” I was heartbroken and envious of her her strength all at once.
Before leaving Bon Berger, I left the school director with
about 80 mini notepads and pencils (I purchased from Target before my trip)
that I thought he might be able to share with the children. I wanted to leave
behind something… from me.
I’m a writer. I tell stories. Maybe one of these
children will want to tell their story too...
Our drive to the next school, took about 45 minutes. It
seemed like we were at the top of the mountain at one point. 2 hours down, you
could see all of Port Au Prince. Pere Koatalem was a much bigger school than Bon Berger. With 450 children, it made sense that the school was actually a three story concrete building. However, after the earthquake, the building was condemned and no longer safe. Now their classes are held in wooden type barracks that were constructed by various UN and disaster relief organizations.
It was about 2pm in the
afternoon when we arrived at Pere Koatalem. As I mentioned, there was no
running water or electricity where we were, so none of us had eaten/ drank or
gone to the bathroom since leaving the hotel at 8am. And of course, the only bathroom (for miles around) was on the third floor of this building, in the back of a library... that hadn't been used since 2010.
I'm sharing this portion not because I think I deserve a
pat on the back for going into a condemned building… but to share the fact that
the one and only time I laughed that day was when I pulled down my pants,
hovering over a mosquito infested toilet, and I realized that this was the one
area on my body I didn’t spray with bug repellent. Oh, well.
The children at Pere Koatalem definitely spoke more English
than the Bon Berger students. In fact, I will never forget a group of girls,
all about 12-14 years old, who sat down. Looking at their feet, we would try to
judge their size and fit them appropriately. I remember bringing one of the
girls a pair of purple Crocs, (which fit), but she shook her head “No.”
Clearly, she wasn’t interested in them.
“You don’t like them?” I asked confused.
She pointed to a black pair. I brought them over.
“But they’re too small.”
She pointed to the black Crocs again and said, "Black," with a smile.
She wanted me to find a black pair… and every other 13 year
old girl there wanted black and they were not getting up until they got black.
Hey, I get it. Girls will be girls, and teenagers are teenagers…. no matter where
you go and what is going on…. Again, commonality.
Before we left, (and we were done with the shoe drop) a
little boy came up to my leg and tugged on my shirt. He was crying. Because of
the language barrier, I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Catherine and I
looked down at his feet… they were stuffed into his tennis shoes. Maybe he
needed help tying his shoes? So I sat him on my lap, we tied his shoes, and he
stopped crying. The children loved looking at themselves in the iPhone camera
so I showed him our picture. He sort of smiled and then an older sibling, I
think, grabbed his hand and walked him away.
It occurred to me as we were driving back down the mountain
that maybe he was crying because he lost his Crocs or someone took them. To
this moment, I am so upset with myself for that not occurring to me while he was in my arms… He was
missing his shoes. What if he is
punished when he gets home for not bringing a new pair home? Or what if
something was hurting him? I’ll never know or understand… and for some reason,
I just cannot let that image of him crying go.
It’ll sit with me for a while.
Though it was close to sunset, the ride back down the
mountain seemed less frightening… and we saw a baby goat being born on the side
of the road. Like literally, in action. It was raw and spiritual, a blatant
reminder how far apart this world is from mine. We were done visiting with the
children, and I felt very far from home again.
Day 3
I have to be honest, I was ready to go home. Like, get me on
the plane NOW ready. I left on a Monday, flew to New York, spent the night in
New York, flew from JFK to Haiti with the group Tuesday, spent Tuesday night,
Wednesday day and night in Haiti, and we were flying back to New York on
Thursday afternoon. I wasn’t going to be home until Friday. I have spent 5 days
away from Jonah before, but never without talking to him for 2 days straight.
While I was in Haiti, with the exception of a text upon landing and taking off
and a few emails here and there, I did not speak to anyone at home.
Looking out at the Manhattan skyline from my friend Lauren’s rooftop deck in Brooklyn on Thursday night, I couldn’t
even imagine that just 24 hours before that, our team followed a young girl, Darline Alceus back
to her house where she lives, in tiny dirt-floor hut, with 11 family members. That’s her WORLD. And this, Brooklyn bridge, Chinese food delivery,
and all, is mine for the night.
When I finally arrived back at LAX, on Friday, P and J greeted me in Baggage claim and like
any reunion it was bittersweet and exceptionally special. I hugged both of them
tighter than I ever had and thanked the sun, moon, and stars for having a
deeply caring boyfriend and a perfectly healthy son.
As we drove up the 405 and past the iconic Getty, I lost it.
Tears rolled down my face. Holy shit, this is where I live? This gorgeous
building, solid, white, majestic, it’s for me? For this community? For anyone?
The site of it just made me cry. Cliche as it may sound,
everything around me looked different and precious.
It wasn’t long, however, until I was reminded about the
harsh reality of being privileged. Here I was, minutes home after a pretty
intense, and at times, unsafe journey and my 5 year old wanted nothing more
than for me to “download a new game!” on my iPhone. Just like that. “Download
it now, Mommy. Now.”
The days after coming home were hard for me. Without missing
a beat, I turned into the “there are starving children in Africa,” parent who
returned a request, a demand, a plea, with a “too bad” attitude, and “You don’t
know how good you have it,” tone. Eventually, I found the words, and patience,
to convey to Jonah the importance of perspective and being thankful. But his/mine/ our entitlement has hardly
dissipated—and I think about this often.
Like anything eye-opening, this trip to Haiti made me want
to be better and do more. I don’t feel like I changed any one life by giving a
pair of shoes, because, let’s face it, there’s SO much these families need. But
if my helping to deliver one pair of shoes offers a child or his/her family
even a shred of ease, an opportunity, or at best, a chance at safety, then it
was WORTH IT.
Thank you, thank you, thank you Ladies' Home Journal, Crocs Cares,
and Feed the Children… for everything.
And even more thanks to the beautiful people and children I met in Haiti... Without knowing, you taught me an invaluable lesson about what, in this life, I truly need to worry about.
How You Can Help
You can give Crocs to a needy child. Go to LHJ.com/Haiti to enter LHJ Facebook contest and Crocs Cares will donate up to 5,000 pairs of shoes!
Find out more about our journey and mission in this month's Ladies' Home Journal (with my favorite - Tina Fey- On the cover!)
