Early on the first day of Kwanzaa, the 40 members of the International Medical Relief - Haiti team arrived at the Miami Airport. Given the large amount of people and luggage, we were extremely well organized. We moved through security with ease, and bought our last lattes, biscuits, and cinnamon buns of 2011.
I was thrust into a test of my limited French during the AirFrance flight. All announcements were spoken in French, followed by curtailed English summaries. I had expected to hear Haitian Creole, but learned that most affluent people from Haiti (those who could afford plane tickets and passports) were well-educated, and received academic lectures in French only.
From my prior trip to Africa, I knew a notable perquisite of international travel was the airplane food. During the 90 minute flight, I pretended to read the SkyMagazine (printed en Français), sipped hot tea and nibbled on a blueberry muffin, while poorly phonating "s'il vous plait" and "merci beaucoup" to the multilingual, impeccably dressed flight attendants. They collected our food trays as the aircraft descended over Cite Soleil, one the most dangerous and impoverished areas of Port au Prince.
Upon arrival, we were greeted by a small band playing guitars and steel drums; a warm welcome to an even warmer climate. We retrieved our baggage from claim, though it was difficult to maintain control of the luggage. The airport employees were desperate for American tips and insisted on our acceptance of their help. Some heated conflict developed outside the bus over the dispersal and amount of money given. Our security officers cleared up the confusion, and we headed to the base camp.
The base camp, run by a forward-thinking, community- rooted, eco-friendly organization, was prepared and ready for 40 volunteers to unpack and settle into the living quarters. We received a tour of the grounds, including showers and bathrooms. Already uncomfortable using public facilities, I was a bit squeamish with the system of placing sawdust in the outdoor latrine, rather than a flush. But this was Haiti, not America. I came to Haiti to provide care, not to ensure my own comfort. If this was how one uses a facility in Haiti, so be it.
While some made beds and organized, a few volunteers walked 40 minutes to an orphanage to distribute chewable vitamins, toothbrushes, and toothpaste. I was fatigued, and opted to stay at the camp. When the group came back, they shared what they experienced. They passed a corpse in the road, apparently who had expired earlier that day. In the US, one last a lifetime without viewing a deceased body, but this was Haiti. Between the rogue violence, prevalence of disease, lack of access to healthcare, and the mass casualties from the 2010 earthquake, an average citizen may encounter a deceased body every day. Once at the orphanage, my teammates enjoyed playing and visiting with the children. They were excited to receive the items, and proceeded to eat the toothpaste and vitamins like candy.
At night, a group came to express the history of Haiti through spoken word and visual aids. They performed the history of Haiti, describing how the European lust for gold had triggered the slave trade, and graphically described the rapes, lynchings, and torture of Haitian native residents and African slaves brought to the Caribbean. I could tell that a few group members were uncomfortable with the implications of Christian missionaries and Europeans in these acts, but this was Haiti. How would we effectively understand the struggles of our patients, if we didn't acknowledge how history may contribute to their perceptions, expectations, and challenges.
We ate dinner, packed supplies, and slipped under mosquito nets for rest in preparation for our first clinic day.
[to be continued]
No comments:
Post a Comment