“But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.” Luke 18:16

My first impression of Haiti was the dirt. Everywhere I looked and everyone I saw in Port au Prince looked like they were covered in a film of dust. With the windows down I could already feel dirt and grim coating with the sweat running down my arms to create a film coating my arms and legs. Little did I know that when I returned to the states, I would miss the smell of that dirt. That I would pause whenever I caught a hint of the smell through the air and it would transport me back to this place and these people. That on hot days in the summer I would sit outside and hope to feel that same level of sun on my skin. But it wasn’t just the dirt and the heat that surprised me, it was the buildings if you could even call them that. 

They were nothing like back home. They looked like they could crumble at any given moment. With half-built walls and roofs that were more often tarps held up with four poles I couldn’t imagine people living in these “homes” that lined the streets. With people crowding the streets and cars honking as they swerve in and out of traffic I could not comprehend people living with their families a mere few feet away from this chaos with only scrap tin for walls and tarps for roofs. I was fascinated as I looked at the different “styles” of houses that were constructed with whatever people could get a hold of. While trying to take in everything that was buzzing by Pastor Daniel started explaining Haiti’s version of taxis called “tap taps.” These were the brightly colored cars that were filled to the brim like clown cars speeding by. When someone wanted out at or near where they were going they would “tap” on the roof and the driver would stop. 

We maneuvered our way out of the city limits and left the chaos of Port au Prince behind and found that the scenery changed from gray and brown dirt colored cement to a rich green. Plains of grass led up to the mountains where we learned people had fled for safety after the earthquake devastated the city. Before the earthquake, we learned that Port au Prince had tall multistory buildings more like we were used to, however, the earthquake took those to the ground and with it collapsed homes and businesses and killed thousands. After the mass exodus, many people decided to stay in the mountains and rebuild their lives there rather than return to the destruction and rubble that had been their homes and where so many lost their families.

But with the outbreak of the Zika virus the mountains were becoming a dangerous place to live for fear of Malaria and infection. These people had to constantly choose between one danger zone or another. I learned as much as I wanted to about Zika (admittedly not as much as my Mom would have liked) and I knew that this was not the common strain of malaria. Doctors had prescribed malaria pills and given me pamphlets about how to try and avoid or limit the possibility of contracting the virus but these people lived with this threat and worse every day. I asked Daniel about this and he said that malaria was the least of his concerns. He said that for people in Haiti, starvation, malnutrition, and even common infections were just as deadly as anything the CDC thought they needed to warn us about before.

 As we neared the mountain range Gil and Daniel continued to alternate taking turns giving us some background on where we were. We drove by a site of a mass grave where victims of the earthquake were laid to rest. In my typical American view of death, I expected funerals with flowers and gravestones with gardeners tending the area for the families. Here these families and friends had to bury their loved ones with strangers on the side of the highway and weren’t awarded the luxury of time to grieve.  For survival, they weren’t able to sit in their suffering but rather they needed to push forward and find a way to survive. I couldn’t comprehend that amount of sadness and hopelessness that these people must have suffered while watching their entire nation physically collapse around them whereas, back home we feel trapped and inconvenienced if our Wi-Fi isn’t as fast as we want.

As we passed through villages we didn’t just see signs of the old surviving but signs of new life. Kids running after our bus waving and trying to jump on the back. Smiling faces playing soccer in the streets or walking either to or from church as women in beautiful dresses held the hands of the smaller children or carried little ones on their hips. Possibly the most breathtaking view was when we made our way around a bend and got our first glimpse of the Haitian beaches. Crystal clear blue water, you could see where the soft sand beach met the refreshing waves. In this picturesque view of what the world would view as paradise it was hard to believe that we would soon be meeting children that faced the real threat of starvation every day. But that’s the funny thing about life- more often than not true pain and suffering can be hidden in a beautiful place or behind a smiling face.

Exhaustion must have crept over more than just me as everyone settled into silence or quiet conversation as we watched the views passing by. Gil sat explaining some of the history of Haiti and how Haiti was starting and struggling to rebuild after the earthquake to Christian and how Schools for Haiti wanted to play a role in the restoration. Driving past mass graves and overcrowded prisons I was shocked by how my American self was disturbed by the blase way they spoke about their situation. Prison here was a slow death sentence with overcrowding a building with no resources to sustain the inmates and health care was a luxury very few could afford.

The bus pulled off the one and only main “highway” that we had been driving along for the past hour. Pulling off we took a small dirt road up to a gate that surrounded the church that we were going to visit. Music was already pouring out of the windows signaling that we were late. Walking off the bus and grabbing our backpacks we went through the gate and climbed the steps into a cement brick building. This small three room building was so different from my church at home. At home, I entered a massive building that housed different rooms for different activities and each room was pumped full of air-conditioning in the warm months and heat for the cold. Children could be whisked away down the children’s ministry hallway to go play, and learn about Jesus in a fun child centered environment. Whereas, the adults would find comfortable seats in the large sanctuary where they were treated to the worship band, creative lights, and enthusiastic preaching used to create the “perfect environment” for a Sunday contemporary church service.

Here, there was one room filled with a few wooden benches and a couple dozen small kid sized plastic chairs. The kids were seated in their chairs in front of the wooden benches and the adults all sat behind them fanning themselves and signing loudly in Creole. The worship band was one singer on a microphone and two musicians one with a drum and the other with a tambourine. This was a stark contrast to our large worship band that hosted auditions every year and rotated their members to suit people’s schedules and availability.

As I looked around the room I found eyes staring back at me. We were probably a sight to see- these strange white people interrupting their Sunday service and distracting the kids with our presence. Not knowing what to do, I looked at Erin, Mel, and Caillie who were standing around me. Erin grabbed my hand and dragged me over to the front row of benches that were mercifully empty. Inwardly cringing as all eyes still stared our way I wished we had just stood in the back until a little hand reached back and grabbed the hem of my skirt. We were now sitting directly behind the group of youngest kids. I met Erin working in our Children’s Ministry, Chesapeake Kids, so as a Preschool teacher and active Children’s leader Erin was at home. 

With the interruption of our arrival over as we all found seats scattered around the room the music continued and members began clapping and signing enthusiastically. There was no inhibition in the way they danced or lifted their voices and arms worshipping. At home it was sometimes a struggle to raise my hands openly in my own church where the lights were off and the music loud enough that I didn’t have to hear my own voice. Here, it appeared everyone was far too preoccupied with their own worship to care for who or what was going on around them. It was beautiful. 

Looking at the little one who still held the hem of my skirt while they sang to the song I didn’t understand they couldn’t have been older than 4 or 5. I noticed little eyes stealing glances at me and my fellow blans (Creole for white). I couldn’t do anything more than blankly smile and wave whenever I made eye contact with one of those little ones. I’m still slightly embarrassed to say that my first interaction in Haiti was not self-initiated, but rather, the little girl who held my skirt snaked her hand up and grabbed my hand. With a gentle and reassuring squeeze I looked at her while Daniel got up to pray and saw her bright smile just staring back at me.

I smiled back and both her and her neighbor broke into a fit of the giggles. I looked down the row and saw tears streaming down Erin’s face as a little boy held on to her skirt with both hands. I can still remember what she told me, “God sent me here for these kids. He wants me to tell them that He loves them. I need to learn how to say this in their own language.” 

Christian was introduced and got up and preached the sermon he had prepared. From what I heard later it sounded pretty good. I swear I had tried to listen and pay attention, but what started out as one little girl’s hand ended up being a little boy in my lap, one girl clutching my skirt, and the same little girl refusing to let go of the hand she had already claimed as she pushed off her friend trying to grab another part of my arm. The little boy in my lap looked so confused as he took the bandana that he had and wiped the sweat that was dripping down my face and starting to soak through my shirt. He and all of his friends were perfectly dry and didn’t seem to mind the boiling heat that we were struggling with in the cement box we were currently being baked in.

I wasn’t the only one from our group that had seemed to find kids vying for our attention. Everywhere I looked as the service was dismissed kids with smiling faces joyfully climbed into laps and started chattering away in a language none of us knew. Sandee had found herself a baby who couldn’t have been more than a few months old. As she slept on her chest Sandee rocked back and forth obviously at ease with watching the little one sleep. McKenzie and the guys on our team pulled out the soccer balls that had been blown up and started a game with some of the older kids. Caillie had little ones all around her and one was wearing her hat. Kristina was all smiles as she was talking to some of the older girls. I don’t know if they knew what she was saying but they looked so happy to have someone come and try to talk to them. Tammy (who we all call Gammy) was taking selfies with some of the kids near where we were sitting. Basically, we were all starting to feel the awkwardness melt away as we adapted to kids being kids no matter where they are. 

Erin being a natural teacher had a group of kids sitting on the floor with her and was attempting to show the kids how to make hearts by putting your two hands together. I found Erin spent most of her time in Haiti on the ground and rarely without a group of kids captivated listening to whatever she was teaching. They seemed to feel her desire to love and to teach them even if communicating was a challenge. Something as simple as making hearts with your hands had giggles and smiles erupting out of all the kids. Maybe they were laughing because they thought we sounded funny or that they thought the whole idea was kinda strange, but you couldn’t deny the look of accomplishment from one of the little boys that figured it out. He immediately turned to his neighbors and pushed his friend’s fingers in the correct way so that he could make the heart as well.

As we were all playing Mark was snapping pictures acting as our trusty photographer and Brent was nowhere to be found. I later found Brent on top of the bus assembling some soccer goals we would be bringing to the school the next day. All too soon Mel and McKenzie were packing up the soccer balls and we were told it was time to get back on the bus. We wouldn’t see these kids anymore- this was just a stop on our journey to where we were going; and we would become a blip in the story of these kids lives; at most maybe a couple laughs that they’ll remember from the passing of the big white bus that had been filled with some goofy sweaty blans.

Once unloaded at the Decameron which was where we would be calling homebase for the next week we began the process of navigating around the language barrier to get all 8 of our hotel rooms checked in. The rest of the team helped unload the bus and drag the luggage in while Christian, Daniel, and I worked on getting everything in order with the incredibly patient hotel staff that spoke limited English.  Keys were distributed to our team and as everyone went off two by two to their rooms with their own bags I turned and saw what was left for me and Caillie to drag off to our room- that was upstairs. All the hefty donation bags that would be living in our room with us for the week still gathered in the lobby. Twenty-one bags filled with donations and two of us to lug them from the hotel lobby to our second-floor room that was three buildings over…

Three poor bellhops offered to help Caillie and I to our room. As we walked up we realized that with no elevators these would need to be carried up a flight of stairs before being deposited into our room. In turn, we all grabbed a bag and started the process of dragging, pulling, dropping, and eventually carrying the bags up a flight of stairs. Christian taking pity on the situation ended up taking some of the bags to his room which was on the main floor. One of the biggest surprises looking back on that week would be how Caillie and I functioned in that small room with the amount of luggage taking up the majority of the space. The hotels while they were gigantic and lavish by Haitian standards wouldn’t seem “impressive” by American standards. You walked into a small hallway off of which is the bathroom with shower, sink, and toilet. After that would be the two double beds cozied together with a nightstand, a small table, and chair before you reached the little balcony looking over the beach and sea. Factoring in the twelve donation bags as well as our own belongings we spent the week climbing over luggage or each other to get in and out of the room.

With little room to move and barely any sleep in our systems we pulled on our swimsuits and went to explore. Taking one look at the pool we veered off to the beach and the sea waves. The sand was hot and burned my feet as we made our way towards the sea but as we waded into the water my feet were the last thing I could think about. The view was spectacular and the water felt amazing. The crystal blue water crashing over our exhausted bodies we floated for what seemed like forever until we figured out that we needed to get back and get ready for dinner and our team meeting. I could feel the dust and the dirt being washed away with each wave. 

When it was time to meet up for dinner I sat in the lobby and tried logging on to the Wi-Fi. That would be the only spot that we would be able to get Wi-Fi and the only place I could communicate with everyone back home. Logging on I shot out some necessary “We made it safe and sound” text messages to my parents. Familiar faces of my team gathered in the seats around me with the same idea in mind to let everyone back home know we were safe. The parents in the group were seen trying to Facetime or call their kids back home, husbands calling their wives (or wives calling their husbands), and the rest of us letting parents know that no ransom money was needed…yet.

The dining hall was set up with a buffet all-you-can eat style format where you could come and collect whatever you wanted to try and eat as much as you could handle. While I welcomed the idea of choices and liked to see what was offered at every meal throughout the duration of the trip, seeing all the excess food just sit in the buffet tables after a long day of work with children and families struggling to find food would make it difficult at times to stomach eating anything. With full stomachs and increasingly heavier eyelids the team met up for our first team meeting in Haiti. The meeting was much more subdued as we looked around at each other. No longer could we have loud endless debates about what Haiti was going to be-now we were here and with the small taste we had seen that day it was clear, we might be in over our heads.

As we all looked at each other and went over what each of us would be doing I couldn’t have been the only one thinking that our “simple” VBS plan and curriculum didn’t seem as if it would be as easy as we thought. I had seen how long and how much patience it took Erin to teach a small handful of children how to make hearts out of their fingertips, how would we be able to explain much more difficult crafts and activities to dozens of children at a time?

I can only imagine God’s look of smiling exasperation as he watched me start to panic about something as small as a language barrier. To the God who created the universe and commands the wind and the waves, something as simple as language barriers and crafts to worry about must have been amusing. We probably looked like a group of small children stumbling into their father’s workshop with plastic toy hammers and expecting to build a car in seven days. Haiti was His mission and He wasn’t going to let good intentions go to waste or even get in the way of the work. Even if we had some limitations or short-sighted expectations about what we thought we should be able to accomplish He saw the bigger picture. We all had these grand expectations for what we were going to do for God and yet here we were entirely unprepared, probably unqualified, and not realizing that God wasn’t just doing a work in Haiti He was doing a work in each of us. But before we could start seeing what He was going to reveal to us we would have to survive that first day.