Time is really a fool’s folly. We have been back for 7 days. We were in Haiti for 10. We had been preparing for countless. None of it is meaningful. How do you account for an incredible journey that was long in the future, a blip in the present and is now winding a tapestry into the past. It is hard to even synthesize the journey and to relay the experiences to all concerned and curious friends, family and supporters. It is even harder to adjust to this life of time, order, roads, unlimited foods, material goods and even excess, having journeyed from and managed well enough in a land without.
Sojourners in the shadow of the ‘tremblement du monde,” we were not in the physically ravaged areas of the country, but there were still signs everywhere; cracks in buildings, fear to return to school and mostly tales of loss. Your vehicle stops next to a young boy whose shoes are worn out. He asks if you have another pair. You don’t. You ask his name and he tells you, adding that his mother died of illness and his father died in the quake. He then says, “I go with you.” It’s heartbreaking and you hear the tale over and over. In most cases, there are relatives, in others there are none, and you can only hope they are being cared for, somehow.
People would ask before our departure, why, if we were not going to do relief work, we had any business going. For many of us, it was hard to answer, even though the trip had been planned well in advance of the earthquake. Our hearts still tugged to be offering helping hands in Port au Prince, but without the necessary training, we would have been more of a burden than a help. We all considered a detour to assist, but knew that we had to stay true to our original mission and to our village, Chermaitre.
In going to Haiti, we had several goals. One, to involve the Vassar students, the seniors who had spent many years on the project, and to make all their years of hard work tangible; truly to allow them to see the fruits of their labor. Two, to expose the younger students to the joys and sorrow that is Haiti, to feel the project and help plan its future and to be able to relay their enthusiasm to new members, and to have them experience a project “that is bigger than themselves.” Three, to buy art and continue our support of the local artisans and art market. And, four, most importantly and extensively, to view our project on the ground; to see for ourselves its impact and determine the next phase.
Chermaitre is our canvas, our own art project. Over the years, we have splashed this canvas with paint, not sure exactly the end result or even the method, but with each visit, we are able to refine our technique, our colours in consultation with our Haitian partners, until we achieve the desired effect or a distinct image we wish. Our success is measured not so much in what is already on the canvas, but in what we have learned to be able to proactively and beneficently alter that image. Each time we come to Chermaitre, we know that we are closer to that final image, unafraid to paint over the bits of canvas that do not mesh. Each time we come, we learn what to do and what not to do for the next time, making sure not to impose our own values in the process.
To come this far and learn this much, took all 16 individuals; each contributing in his or her own way and all equally important to the process. As individuals in sometimes trying circumstances, we all had our own battles to wage within ourselves and the expected “should have/could have/ would have” moments, but as a group we were cohesive, strong and complemented one another quite well. We all looked out for each other and represented the project with integrity. I feel incredibly privileged to have been part of this group and am proud of every single student and member for their contributions and for their dedication.
We can now enjoy being deet free, flushing toilets at will, and running showers when desired, but truth be told, I miss my mosquito tent (but not the cement floor), and I miss the people and sounds of Haiti, yelling out “16” in the count off, and singing about the food. When I was there, I was sometimes here, in spirit, worrying about my family, wondering how they were getting on without me. Now that I know they were fine, my mind is there, and I am ready to return. Mwen ap ale Ayiti.
Caryn
