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From under a tent in Haiti…

Grace Village, Haiti

Yesterday, my last full day in Haiti, I experienced something I never want to experience again.  News reports predicted it.  I knew that it was just a matter of time.  Still, I was unprepared for the intensity of what I experienced and felt.  It rained.

On this recent trip to Haiti I spent my time in Grace Village, the 2^nd largest refugee camp in Haiti after the earthquake.  As the rain began Sunday evening about 20,000 displaced Haitians ran to take cover under tarps, in tents, and even under a scraggly tree in the middle of the compound.  The light rain intensified into a storm, then a downpour, then into what I can only describe as an onslaught of rain, wind, thunder and lightning.  The makeshift roads and pathways in this seven month old community soon became a decent size current of rain and mud sweeping through and between the thousands of tarps and tents.  I was in one of those tents.  I heard the rain slam against the roof and like thousands of others in that storm, I prayed that the tarp would hold.

This rainstorm wasn’t part of a hurricane.  From first drop to the end of the storm was maybe 30 minutes.  The damage it caused was, technically, minimal compared to the earthquake itself or other, longer, more intense storms that have happened in Haiti since January 12^th.  But I couldn’t help but wonder about the damage storm after storm can have on the psyche and attitude of people who faced the hardship of extreme poverty even before the earthquake.

Inside that tent, with rain pelting the roof, I interviewed a proud Haitian man named Filma.  In addition to his home, Filma lost two of his four children in the earthquake.  He, his wife, and two remaining children lost their home and now were settled into the refugee camp.  All Filma wanted was a job…and a chance to re-build his life.  I have no idea if that opportunity will ever come.

Like the rain and erosion that, over time, gave us the Grand Canyon, I could feel each drop of rain relentlessly breaking my heart and trampling my spirit.  If I lived in this camp, with no end to the misery in sight, I don’t think I could survive much longer than a week or two before I’d get mad, and bitter, and angry, and frustrated, and…give up.  And I began to pray, “God, how can you allow this to happen?  These are people created in your image and they’re barely going to survive – they may not even survive –“… and then a single word refocused my attention.  The next word in my prayer was going to be “unless”…as in “Unless something or someone intervenes.”

But what does intervening really look like?  Does it mean more short term mission teams going to Haiti to bring food?  Does it mean building homes for the refugees?  Does it mean giving more money?  I think the answer is both “yes” and “no”.  I’m still thinking it all through…but the more I learn about poverty (and the more I have these kinds of experiences) the more I’m coming to the realization that many times what I have considered to be “good things” in helping someone rise out of poverty might be having the exact opposite result of my intentions.

More to come…

David