Back From Haiti

Back from Haiti now for a week or so.  People ask me how it is there now, and my answer is… "It's Haiti".  The one thing that immediately struck me was the lack of obvious damage from the earthquake.  I really had to look hard to see evidence of the quake.  The Haitians did a very good job of cleaning up the debris, which I suspect that it was all bulldozed into the ocean.

The other observation was simply a lack of gratefulness among the people that I met.  I theorize that its a by-product of receiving so much international aid over the recent years that many Haitians have simply come to expect it.  They no longer see aid as coming from the helping hands of other people, but rather more as an entitlement.  This saddened me more than any thing else, but I suppose it's really my (our own) fault. I question how anyone would be able to find that balance of giving aid or assistance without effecting the cultural values of those that he or she is trying to help. What's the greater evil, withholding needed aid, or irrevocably altering a culture's value system and sense of self-respect?

Affirmation

Haitian girl looks back at the camera and smiles.  I've said it before, but the Haitian people surprised me in their beauty, resilience, and spirit.

 
In the Port-au-Prince airport I ordered a Bloody Mary prior to boarding my morning flight back to the States.  The Haitian girl at the restaurant wasn't sure of the exact cost, but thought that it was $6.00.  I paid and contently walked back to my table with a mediocre Bloody Mary in my hands.

Ten minutes later the girl rushed over to my table, some distance away from the bar and apologetically thrust into my hand the $2.00 that she apparently over-charged me for the drink. I immediately gave her the $2.00 and thanked her for her honesty, a small price to pay for the affirmation that she bestowed upon me.

Not The Sole Providence Of The Strong

 A mother holds her child in one of the hospital's pediatric tents

Again, last night I worked in the hospital's emergency room, my task was to suture lacerations as they came in; I was certainly not at a loss for work.  I trolled the triage area looking for anyone with a bloody dressing; a quick examination and I would usher them into my little work area within the tent.

Sitting on the pew-like benches was a tiny girl atop her father's lap.  She held a stained piece of cloth over her forehead with her own hand.  She couldn't have been more than 5-years old.  As I took a gentle look I silently prayed that I would be able to stick a Band-Aid on it and send her happily on her way.  This was not the case, she had a 4 cm "lac" to her forehead that was going to require a few interrupted sutures.  I cringed at the thought of having to cause this innocent little girl further pain in her life. 

I took them both back into the tent and laid her down on a worn cot so that I could get a better look using my headlamp, often the only light source that we have at night.  She was stoic, unafraid, staring at me with a look of curiosity, almost daring me to assault her bravery.  I wanted to sit a bit with her before I had to inject her with a syringe of lidocaine which is often the most painful part of the procedure.  We smiled at one another, she played with my light, and I patted her on the head.  The interpreter explained to her that it was going to sting a bit, but try to remain still.

She closed her eyes as the steel needle sunk into the gaping wound,  not so much as a wince.  Her face remained calm and passive almost as if she were asleep.  Her bravery penetrated me, this 5-year old girl, in the face of something that would make me cringe, laid there determined to be brave. 

It took only a few minutes to place the three sutures, but not even so much as a whimper.  In the end I touched her forehead and told her "finished"; her eyes fluttered open… a smile from me to her. Little fingers reached up to explore the new dressing.  Her father thanked me and he scooped her up in her arms and disappeared down the dark street.  Bravery is not the sole providence of the strong.

Rules To Live By

A young Haitian girl stands outside one of the hospital pediatric tents.

There's an art to living on top of people, one which I suspect actually gets taught in naval submarine schools and fire academies.  My existence for this trip to Haiti has been highlighted by the return of communal sleeping conditions to my life, something that I've not experienced since my days in Special Forces. I fear that I've grown accustom to 5-star hotel suites with multiple flat screens and ocean views. Those that know me are laughing right now.

The group that I'm with on this trip is camped out in a small, open room with 15-20 thinly mattress-ed metal frames placed within a foot of one another. My personal space extends from my bunk to 6-inches on every direction; I am the master of my kingdom.

The first and really only rule is to be overly considerate.  Here are some things to think about:

• No unnecessary banging around of things during sleep hours.  Even the slightest rustling of stuff can be annoying to those that are trying to sleep.
• iPods can be heard by neighbors, also typing on keyboards.  Take it elsewhere.
• Be mindful of your neighbor's kingdom… no border excursions however unintentional.
• Keep your things packed and neat. You're not setting up house - it's temporary. 
• Flush the toilet.  Even if there's no water in the tank, that's what the big barrel of water and bucket are for sitting right next to it.  The water goes in the bowl, not the tank. Also, in most third world bathrooms- the paper goes in the trash not the bowl.  Get used to it.
• Learn to love cold water bucket showers. Close your eyes an imagine a tropical waterfall.  It lessens the shock.
• Personal hygiene.  It's not a competition to see how nasty we can all be. Wash yourself, especially your hands as often as you can.
• Pick-up communal spaces, and especially don't leave stuff for others to have to deal with.  Leave it cleaner than you found it. Pack it out baby!!
• Pitch in, pitch in, pitch in.  Someone has to take the trash out and sweep the floors. You know it needs to get done.  Don't ignore it.
• Keep valuables secured.  You never know who will come strolling though your living spaces, and  other cultures look differently upon opportune acquisitions than we do in the west.
• Share electrical outlets.

Watching

I've spent the last several nights working in a Haitian emergency room along side some very talented and caring physicians and nurses.  Last night an unconscious man was brought in by car and carefully laid on a stretcher outside our rain-soaked tent. Dressed in mud-soaked jeans and a worn t-shirt he had simply collapsed while crossing the street. His family brought him to us.  There was no neurologic function, his blood pressure was very high, and his heart rate was slow; all indications that he had burst a blood vessel in his head.  There was nothing that we could do for the man.

The family listened intently as the news was passed through a Creole translator.  They asked if there was some machine that we could put him on, some medication that they could procure that might give him a chance to come back to them. "We're sorry, there is really nothing we can do".  The family went away to get some other clothes so that their father/friend/husband didn't have to die in wet jeans and a soiled t-shirt.

He lay there and I watched.  All night, breath after breath… I watched.  I watched as the man took his last breath, nothing more than a small gasp really.  It stopped raining; I left the tent to get some coffee.

Finding My Feet

I saw this shot and of a girl on the streets of Port-au-Prince and it absolutely floored me

Today was the first time that I've ever come directly home from a deployment to a third-world country, as the normal practice is to spend a day or so someplace decompressing before you introduce yourself back home to your family.  I landed in Miami airport today, directly from Port-au-Prince, and the first thing that I noticed is that it smelled of perfume, a foreign smell to most parts of Haiti these days. 

Even after arriving in Atlanta I had an overwhelming sense of un-balance, a feeling of being overwhelmed and even foreign.  I know that after I get a full-night's sleep that I'll be better in the morning, but in the meantime I'm continuing to try to get my feet firmly underneath me.

Happy Birthday to my 6-year old son today!!!

Aftershocks

 

The cathedral in Port-au-Prince; the destruction is immense.  Worshipers are camped out around the building throughout the day and night, although I'm uncertain what they pray for.

We've been having a lot of aftershocks lately. I'm not a seismologist, so I can't say for certain that's what they are, but they seem to come at night and violently rip you from your sleep.  Night after night they've been getting stronger and stronger making me consider things before I go to sleep at night, like do I have a clear path to the door?  How many steps is it to the exit, and what if anything should I bring with me?  What are the alternate ways to outside and how do I get to them? I've seen too many flattened buildings, to include hotels, not to have these weigh heavily on my mind.

I leave on Thursday morning.

Fist-Bumps and Missing Teeth

A long day today, I spent most of it in a hospital west of the city looking at a variety of post-earthquake patients who had lost limbs.  One little boy in particular captured my attention.  He had recently lost his right leg above the knee and was learning to use his new crutches.  From what I could gather he had lost all of his family; he was 9-years old and alone in the world. I saw him and we immediately bonded, he awkwardly shuffled his crutches around so he could return my fist-bump.  He got it done; his name was Sebastian. 

As we stood there side-by-side in the sticky Haitian heat; he looked up at me and smiled, he was missing his two front teeth. I took comfort in the fact that they fell out naturally and finally there was something that was not a result of the earthquake.  I remember thinking, if there were any kid that I would adopt and take away from this place it would be my resilient little hero balancing on a set of crutches next to me.  My thoughts went back to the starfish parable; I can save this one.

In the end, we exchanged fist-bumps and toothless smiles.  I silently said a little blessing wishing Sabastian well and walked away.  I want to go home.

Not Soon To Forget

I spent the morning in a 77,000-man tent city that was occupying what used to be a country club golf course.  The irony of the once manicured lawns now housing Haiti's most desperate was not lost on me.

To describe what a tent city is like is next to impossible, at least for me and my limited literary skills.  The heat was unbearable as we struggled up hill after hill making our way down tiny alleys between the makeshift dwellings constructed of plastic tarps, dirty sheets, and sticks. Children played in the filth and dust as parents sold packs of gum or candy in front of their "tents".  Inside, behind the plastic, were the family's entire possessions; a mud-covered mattress, a handful of dented pots, and some soiled blankets. 

The smell of rotting garbage, urine, and human and animal feces all combined in the baking Haitian sun to form an oder like nothing I've ever experienced in my lifetime.  Flies picked at my face and body until I couldn't take it anymore, and I certainly didn't want to think about were the flies had just come from. The children smiled but the adults mumbled the same pleas for help over and over, reaching out to you with dirty, emaciated fingers trying to touch your arm to get your attention.  This is a degree of misery that I've never seen before, and have vowed to not soon forget.  No words that I can craft are capable of describing the human suffering witnessed today. 

Rock Star

Children hanging out on a rubble pile over-looking the street below

I spent much of the day riding around looking at neighborhoods that I hadn't seen before.  I bought a case of Coca-Cola in cool, old-style bottles for $14, and a couple of bottles of Argentine wine for $8 apiece, all of which I thought was reasonable.  Weeks ago a case of bottled water ran me $32! 

Again, some homes are rubble piles while others are untouched.  The locals say that it's because people wanted to have the largest and most ostentatious house at the lowest price, and as a result they skimped on construction materials.  I'd like to say that it's karma, but I believe that stupidity, greed, and ego would be a better explanation.

Another common occurrence was that someone would build a two-story dwelling and open a small store on the ground floor while living on the second floor.  As the store became more prosperous the family began to add floors to the building, many more than the structure was designed for. It was not uncommon for these buildings to rise seven or even eight floors and house generations of the family.

 This shot was just naturally perfect.  I loved it the second I took it.

In my travels yesterday I visited a children's mission where I was witness to hundreds of pre-school and school-aged Haitian children sitting in wooden classrooms doing their assignments with stubby pencils.  I walked in and was greeted by a thunderous roar from the kids.  I asked if I could take a few pictures and broke out my flash.  As I snapped the first shot and the flash fired the kids erupted in a thunderclap of glee. It was not long before I felt like a rock star with all of the cheering and shouting on my behalf.  So this is what its like to be Sting.

The Difference A Wall Makes

I'm sitting in the hotel restaurant having just woken up, taken a hot shower, eaten a full breakfast and now seated down in the cafe with a wireless connection and my third cup of warm coffee. Barely 100 yards away, on the other side of the hotel's wall is a massive tent city where there are thousands of inhabitants, living like insects, constructing homes with whatever they can find, washing once a week out of a bucket of muddy water along side the road. At night there are no lights, only dimly flickering candles that cast shadows of sleeping children within the "tents", most laying on torn-up cardboard boxes, covered with a sheet to keep the mosquitoes away.

I stood at the media live-shot position last night that uses the tent city as a back-drop, and could help but be struck at the vast differences in existence; in essence, the difference a wall makes.

One Little Boy and a Starfish

One little boy sits amid a tent city of thousands

With the immensity of Haiti's destruction, I often wonder if my efforts are futile. A close friend offered the following...

One morning an elderly man was walking on a nearly deserted beach. He came upon a boy surrounded by thousands and thousands of starfish. As eagerly as he could, the youngster was picking them up and throwing them back into the ocean.

Puzzled, the older man looked at the young boy and asked, "Little boy, what are you doing?"

The youth responded without looking up, "I'm trying to save these starfish, sir."

The old man chuckled aloud, and queried, "Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?"

Holding a starfish in his hand, the boy turned to the man and, gently tossing the starfish into the water, said, "It will make a difference to that one!"

A Compasionate Moment

A husband sleeps next to his wife's bed as she slowly recovers from her wounds. It's the family members that are providing the vast majoring of the care here in post-earthquake Haiti.

Late at night I walk through the hospital checking on patients as they sleep on stained cots, their family members are laying on the ground next to them. I'm constantly approached by panicked family members begging me in very broken English to come and look at their loved ones. They grab at my hand and plead, "Doctor, doctor...please come. Come please". I fight to be compassionate, but the urge to dismiss their concerns is strong. I follow a "real physician" into the shadows of a darkened tent, a single candle burns on a rickety table covered with medical refuse from the day before. I watch the physician deal with the panicked father/son/brother as it's evident that the cause of his angst was an IV bag that has run it's course. The physician smiles and pats the man's shoulder telling him as best that he can through a smile and a gesture that it's OK. The man relaxes and I'm standing there in awe. Certainly the physician is medically talented, but to be able to muster that sort of focused compassion amidst all of the suffering was truly inspiring for me. Simply awesome.

Making Do

I've been spending the last couple of days working in a Haitian hospital, needless to say the conditions are pretty desperate. There is an army of healthcare professionals that has descended on this country, bringing with them countless tons of medical supplies. Still the conditions remain austere and physicians, paramedics and nurses must often scrounge around to find the appropriate equipment to do their jobs. It's forcing us to think harder, to make due without, and to improvise with what we have on-hand. More often than not the availability of supplies and equipment dictate what procedures we can and cannot do for the patient. We don't run a lot of labs, only those that are absolutely essential. We may not have the appropriate sized catheter or even the next one up or down: we'll make the one that we have work. No laryngoscope blades? Time to refresh ourselves on digital intubation. This is austere medicine at its finest, and it's challenging our knowledge and inventiveness, and in the end making us all better physicians and medics.

A Shared Existence

A boyfriend or husband helps a girl place a basket on her head so that she can walk the streets and sell their fruit.

There's a current rush by organizations and companies to get into Haiti and plant their flag, to show that they were here as part of the international relief effort. Some of these organizations treat this as a windfall public relations opportunity, swooping in to grab some video footage for their website or fund raising campaign, and then retreating back to where they came from. Certainly this is not true of every organization working in Haiti, but it is still very prevalent among security companies, recovery organizations, and even some church-based relief. I find this sad in a way, and it angers me a bit, but I suppose it's their karma that they will have to deal with. On some other level it is all of our karma, we reap what we sow, and in the end we are all responsible together.

The Other Side Of The Line

Two young girls living in a tent shanty-town

I've traveled back to Haiti, this time with my camera and MacBook Pro. I just need to get out and shoot a bit. From what I've seen, this city can occupy a photographer for a lifetime. The street scenes are rich with humanity and color, and there seems no end to interesting subjects.

Everyone asks me what I think of the Haitian people and I always tell the same story, that of every Haitian smiles and waves back at you. Maybe I'm simple, but I really like this aspect of the country; it's something that is becoming rare in the United States. The more jaded of the population claim that Haitians only smile if you have something in your hand. Maybe that's so, but my hands are rarely empty so I can't prove the theory.

I can't describe the destruction, part of me actually refuses to even try. The story here is life; the fact that people, everyone, have lost loved ones and still continue to endure. I have to admit that before coming to Haiti I was pretty down on the country and it's people. How can a single island be divided by an arbitrary line, and one half prosper while the other remains mired in desperation and suffering? Over time I've come to admire the people who live and struggle on this side of the line, they endure, rebuild, and move on.

Right Intention

I tell people that my three week trip to Haiti was good for the soul, but I'm now having issues with that statement. It sounds as if I am recommending that people should go to Haiti for their own personal fulfillment or enlightenment, placing the needs of the earthquake victims a distant second to one's own ego. This is clearly not desirable and seems to contradict the Buddhist Eight-Fold Path, Right Intention.

I spoke with a freelance photographer while I was there and she claimed that her goal was to return to the civilized world all but naked, both physically and emotionally. In other words, she planned to give away all of her clothes, luggage, money, and other possessions that she brought with her save for her camera and the most basic attire that would allow her to travel back to the United States. Emotionally she wanted to give completely and wholly of herself until she had nothing left to give, at which point she would board a plane heading home. I stood there amazed at the dedication of this one person, her commitment to help the people of Haiti If you asked the question, What would Jesus or Buddha do...? Yea, that would be it.