Comment vas-tu?

I just returned from my first French class.  It was challenging and stimulating.  My brain felt alive and I loved it.

At first, it gave me a glimpse into the environment in which kids have to try to learn in here in Haiti.  Motorcycles in the background.  Fans on.  Doors and windows open - too hot to close them (and this was at six o'clock at night, can only imagine what it is like during the day).  The teacher using the old fashion chalk-board.  His hands covered in chalk.  No lefty desk in the room, giving me a cramp in my neck and reducing me to write with my right hand (a challenge that I actually have learned to enjoy, and sadly, it doesn't look much worse then my sloppy, left-handed writing).  So many distractions.  Many things that could have made it difficult to for us to learn.  However, non of that  seemed to matter as we ended up having a great learning experience.

yes, I know it's hard to tell where the left
hand stopped and the right hand started

There are six people in the class.  Two from Spain, one from the Dominican Republic, one from Gautemala, and two from the USA (which includes me).  The teacher is from Haiti.  He speaks French, Haitian Creole, some Spanish, and some English.  Considering the fact that he started off the class only speaking French, I thought we might be in for a long ride.  But surprisingly, everything flowed extremely well.

The teacher's English and Spanish weren't the strongest, but somehow things worked... worked amazingly well.  It was really like he was teaching two classes within one room, at the same time.  We had unknowingly sat with the Spanish speaking people on one side and the English speaking people on the other.  And as would have it, I was sitting next to the guy from Guatemala who happened to know a decent amount of English.  Between the English he knew and the Creole I knew, we seamlessly fell into a translation chain.  If the teacher said something in French that we didn't understand, then I would ask him in Creole for clarification.  Then, using English, I would tell the guy next to me what it meant and he would then use Spanish to tell the others.  And they could do this for me in return.  It was amazing how well this impromptu translation chain seemed to work.

We probably all sounded foolish when we were trying to pronounce words, but no one seemed to care (if there had only been audio to capture it).  Everyone was eager to learn and dove in, fully engaging in the class.  It was an great learning environment to be a part of.

As I was taking this all in, trying to scribble down some notes with my non-dominate hand, learning a little bit of Spanish along the way, I realized the icing on the cake...this class is not only going to be a great experience, but it is going to help me help other people.  No better feeling...

---

As I returned home, I saw a boy standing outside of our house studying under one of our street lights.  It was a quick reminder of the obstacles that people here in Haiti have to overcome to complete school and how fortunate I am to have had the education that I had and how fortunate I am to be able to take this French class.  I will be sure to make the most of it.

Excitement. Disappointment. Glimmer of Hope.

The past 48 hours have been a roller-coaster ride.  Excitement. Utter disappointment.  Discomfort. Hope. 

Yesterday morning I set out to bring a boy who needs corrective surgery to a hospital up north that would be able to do it with a group of visiting doctors.  The boy's name is Bahdjon.  I met him a year ago during my volunteer work with Merrimack College / Project Medishare.  He was born with deformities in both of his feet and one of his knees.  This has left him unable to walk and he must crawl around or be carried in order to get places.

Because of these differences in his body, he has been abandoned by his father.  He is unable to attend school, and even with the crutches that we provided him, he does not leave his house much.

I try not to get too attached or too personally involved with people down here, but for whatever reason, Bahdjon has been one of my exceptions.  While he is quiet, I connect with him.  He isn't able to do much, but I have seen glimpses of the fire inside of him that is so eager to become an independent man.

So when I heard about an orthopedic surgical group coming down to Haiti who could potentially help him, I was very excited... yet cautiously optimistic.  

Anyone who has worked in Haiti or developing countries before knows why the caution.  Just because there would be a group that could help him, does not mean that the surgery would necessarily happen for him.  

First, the surgery that needed to be performed to fix his feet is normally done when someone is an infant or toddler.  Bahdjon is well past this time frame, making the surgery much more difficult.  Second, getting Bahdjon to the facility that would be performing the surgery was no easy matter.  He lives three hours away from the hospital that would be doing the surgery and I live five hours away from him.  Not having a transportation system in place that could bring him, I would have to bring him.  Anyone who has traveled in Haiti understands the difficulty of this travel.  Third, the surgery would only be the first step in the corrective treatment.  He would need extensive in-patient and out-patient physical therapy to teach his body how to adapt to the drastic changes it would be receiving. We would need to find a facility that could both the surgery and the rehab.  Lastly, because of this lengthy rehab, Bahjon and his mother would have to stay in the town providing the services.  This meant leaving their home and her other children for at least three months.  This meant finding a place that could also provide him housing during rehab.

But even with all these obstacles, yesterday, we were on our way to a hospital in northern Haiti.  Bahdjon, his mother, her four-month-old baby and myself were heading there with the hope and preparation for this life-changing surgery.

You could feel the energy inside of Bahjon rising as we got into the car.  This normally quite boy was still quiet, however, you could feel the excitement growing within him as the hope for getting corrective surgery was now a real potential.  

However, that hope and excitement came crashing down when we arrived to the hospital last night.  Within five minutes of arriving, I was informed that the orthopedic surgeon scheduled to do the surgery had not come.  The doctor who did come didn't think it was important to notify the surgical coordinator that there was not going to be an orthopedist coming.  I tried to not show too much shock, but I was devastated.  It was so challenging just to even get him there.  Months of planning.  Multiple, difficult conversations with his family.  Hours of driving.  Overcoming numerous barriers.  Bahdjon and his mother were preparing to stay there for three months.  Preparing to have life-changing surgery.  But it was not to be.

I didn't have the heart to tell Bahdjon and his mom this devastating news.  So I hopped back in the car with them and headed over the the patient housing where we would be staying for the night.  Explaining that, in the morning we would go to the hospital to get him evaluated.  And like we had been telling him all along, that there was no guarantee the surgery would take place.  But I knew that there was no chance the surgery would be taking place.

I wanted to just lay down and call it quits.  It had been so hard to get them to this point.  Would I be able to do it again?  Would they trust in me again?  Would this trip be a total waste of their time?  I wasn't sure what to expect the following morning, but I was going to go through with the evaluation with the doctor who had come.

When we went to the hospital this morning things did not get immediately better.  There was a lot of confusion as to where we needed to go and what we needed to do.  To the hospital's credit, it was very big and served a lot of people.  But due to it's size, I felt like we were getting lost.  Even with the help of someone who worked there, I felt hopeless.   Completely at the mercy of the hospital staff.   Sitting there waiting for three hours, not sure where to go, what to do.  We hadn't eaten breakfast.  We were tired and hungry.  All I wanted to do was pack up and leave.  Thinking that by the time we saw someone all I would want to do would be to eat and go home.  (This was my first time experiencing this, but this is what Haitians deal with every time they go to the hospital.)

But we stuck around.  We had been in the right place.  And we were seen by the american surgeon.  Having spoken with him the night before, he did his due diligence in evaluating Bahjon.  Took some pictures, assessed motion and strength and started detailing a potential surgical plan.  He was confident that they could help.  And he was confident that he would be returning in January with the orthopedic team.  A glimmer of hope.

- - - - - -

This experience was not directly a part of my work with Community Coalition for Haiti.  However, because of the many obstacles that people in Haiti face when trying to receive needed healthcare, this experience directly relates to the work I am doing down here with CCH. Of the many things we need, we need your financial support.  We need your help to ensure that adequate healthcare is not dependent on visiting doctors.  We need your help to ensure that we can provide the care that is needed.  We need your help to ensure that everyone can have a chance to live a healthy an independent life.  Please consider supporting my work in Haiti. No matter how big or how small, your donation matters.