Stevenson

It is time to formally introduce you to the amazing men that make Haiti Mama possible. 

This post is dedicated to our beloved Stevenson; a man of great integrity and loyalty.  

On Stevenson's first day with Haiti Mama, he and six other social work interns, joined me at an orphanage in Port au Prince. No one had been there before, and we are all still haunted by the experience. There were 93 kids living in one institution; they all presented with disconcertingly low affect, they were all under-nourished, there were obvious and serious red flags of sexual abuse; and the director was terrifyingly mentally ill. She screamed and cried to me about their financial situation and blamed her brother for stealing all of the money sent for the kids every month. It was a mess. 

When I was able to pull myself away from the disorganized, screaming director- I immediately went searching for my new guy; Stevenson. I found him and Max, sitting silently in the one inch of shade that existed in the entire yard. They were emotional. Angry. 

Years of social work stateside and 23 orphanages in Haiti had callused me to the shock of injustice. But, this was the second orphanage Stevenson had ever been to, and it literally killed his soul. 

His reaction changed the course of our day; which changed the course of our lives forever. He said: "It's not fair. These kids have families. Why is my country letting them live like this? How can this be happening? It's not fair. Where are their parents? I won't go back in there, I will not condone it." 

I walked back into the orphanage, and grabbed Patrick who had been with me for all 23 orphanages. He immediately started reporting every observable sign of sexual abuse taking place. I stopped him and said; "The new interns are practically in tears outside. We gotta get outta here and go talk about all this. But, I need to talk with a few kids first." 

Every kid we talked to had family they remembered. Some reported the orphanage didn't give them any access to contact them. Some reported family members making plans and promises to bring them home, but losing all contact since. One little boy cried because he wanted to be with his little sister again. He said: "Please help me get back to my little sister, she needs me."  

The second my troop of interns and I walked outside of those gates; they erupted and started screaming in Creole. I wanted to make sure Stevenson had the opportunity to debrief; but I also knew that Haitian men are incapable of processing cognitively or emotionally at lunch time. So, I told them all to meet me Place Boyer and I left to go buy 8 plates of food.  

At the park, Stevenson spoke with calm, humble words of wisdom. He asked contemplative questions about systems and government. He listened to everyone intently. He was passionate that the children needed their families. It was hard for the group to move past the injustice they had witnessed. I tried to guide them into solution focused conversation: 

"That orphanage was horrible. I don't know how to fix it. My problem is- I don't want to fix orphanages, because I think the whole system is bad. We can't focus on what will make all these orphanages better- we need to focus on an alternative solution to the problem. There are still kids on the street. There are still parents that can't feed their kids. What could we do INSTEAD?"

The following video tells you exactly what happened next. When I say: "I was doing a social work training in the park..."  it was actually 'Stevenson's first day, horrible orphanage debriefing' that brought us to 12 homeless boys.

Stevenson hasn't missed a day of work since. 

Stevenson is diligent, organized and responsible. He is quick to laugh, slow to anger and always on time. He treats our families like family- they all call him Sonson. He is always the first to catch manipulation and dishonesty. He is protective when he believes there are any safety concerns for our families or staff, and he has been a pivotal player in guiding our practice with competency in Haitian culture. Stevenson is a leader. He is equally parts strong and humble. I have spent time at his home with his family many times, they are all respectful, hospitable, generous and warm. Stevenson says he will die with Haiti Mama (meaning he will work with us forever); and we couldn't imagine a day without him.  

Since We've Been Gone

guns in my house

Last night, Talia, my boys and I returned home around 8:30 PM.
David, who stays with us as our safety net was already home.
Talia and I had a board meeting/conference call set for 9 PM, so we were hustling to get Everest and Miles to bed. We didn't have electricity, so the house was dark. We were using flash lights to find pajamas and toothbrushes. I heard a mans voice coming from our black living room that wasn't David, and I turned my flashlight toward the sound.
The man was walking toward me with intention.
His build, height and hair resembled our friend, Oz- so I greeted him thinking it had to be my friend.
But, in the light my flashlight was casting I saw an angry stranger- and there was a pistol pointed at my face. Two other men came in behind him with shot guns and dispersed into the house.
Talia says- I said: "This is happening. There are guns in my house."

Then I started screaming for David. Every time I did, the man shook the gun closer to my face and acted like he was going to hit me with it. Miles, who was standing next to me began to scream in fear.
I picked Miles up, held him against my chest- looked at the man in the eyes and said:
"Papa- tout bagay pou ou. Tout bagay. Pa gen pwoblem. Allay."
"Papa, everything is for you. Everything. I have no problem. Go."
The anger in his eyes released slightly, and he showed me and Talia where he wanted us to sit with the boys. Everest was silent the entire time, he put his hands up and kept them in the air when any guns were pointed at him. Miles kept screaming,

David came around the corner with shot gun at his back. The man made him lay down and they tied him up. Then the man with the shot gun started to tie me up. I am not sure what he was attempting, but he started by wrapping a bandanna around my face then moved it down to my mouth and slipped to my neck. None of it served any function in my mind, so I told him: "Pa bezwen sa. Pa gen pwoblem. Tout bagay pou ou. Fe le rapide!" ("You don't need that. I have no problem. Everything is for you. Do it fast!") He tightened it around my neck.

I knew this little guy with the big shot gun was the biggest threat to us. He wanted to hurt me. He just wasn't sure how to do it. He ripped the necklace off of my neck. I told him my children's names were written on it. He threw it back at me. He ripped the ring off of my finger. I told him I found the ring on a street in Haiti and that I was a poor white person.

Miles kept screaming. The little man with the shot gun demanded I make him stop crying. I snapped. I started yelling: "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!" He wound up the shot gun to hit me with it. But, one of the other guys stopped him. David coached me to calm down.  Talia prayed out loud to Jesus. Miles kept screaming that the bad guys were going to steal his blankie. We couldn't convince him otherwise. For the next 20 minutes, we all sat on the floor, rocked in the dark, my babies in our laps, guns pointed at us, praying for our lives.

The men stayed in our house for over an hour. They were very disappointed by the lack of valuables we possess. They kept asking us where our money was hidden. David explained that we really didn't have any, he told them about Haiti Mama. They wandered around the house thirsty for more, opening cupboards and even digging through the fridge. I told them there was beer in the bottom they could have. They declined my offer.

At this point, David was singing Itsy Bitsy Spider to Miles on repeat, and he had finally stopped screaming. The tension in house had lessened. But, they were still convinced there was more to find. They started going to the balcony and whistling for whoever was outside on look out. We all felt hopeful that they were finally going to leave. It was then that I realized that the keys to our car were in the backpack the man was carrying on his back. I asked him if he would please leave them for us. He stopped, took off the backpack and dug through everything he was stealing for us, found the keys and left them.

Then, the little guy with the big shot gun came in from the balcony, stood next to us, and cocked his gun. That was the worst moment of my life. Throughout the whole robbery, I felt like it was a horrible sign that the men weren't wearing masks or hiding their identity at all. When he cocked his gun, it seemed their intention was to kill us at the end.

The two other guys said something to him that I couldn't understand and he said "okay."
Then they told David he needed to unlock the gate so they could leave (they had climbed our rock wall to enter), and they escorted us into Talia's room to while they made their escape. In that room, we prayed God would keep David safe alone with them. And we prayed that God would raise up a generation of Haitians who have more opportunity. We prayed the street kids Haiti Mama serves would be given grace to become something more than this. We prayed that God would keep David safe some more.

Then... the electricity turned on. It was surreal. All of sudden there was light. David came back in, told us they were leaving and to start packing up what we needed for the night. I found Miles blankie and showed him that they didn't steal it, and we booked it out of the house in 6 minutes. Talia was able to stay cool, calm and collected and remember things like diapers as I numbly walked around in circles.

We are safe at a hotel now. Our board of directors directed us to buy flights home so we can regroup and reconstruct. We leave tomorrow at 5 PM.

Those men stole everything. Our phones, computers, tv, dvd players, Everest and Miles clothes, all of our backpacks, all of Davids shoes, and the little bit of cash we had on us.
But, we are alive. But, life feels scary right now.

As the Executive Director of Haiti Mama, I would like to make a formal statement regarding this:
The true victims here are the oppressed men who have no education, no opportunity, and no hope. If the society they come from wasn't so corrupt and unjust- this wouldn't have happened. We work with street kids. Boys who are destined to become men like this. We are giving those boys every opportunity to become something more. Something better. This only makes me want it more. But, I feel lost between my beautiful Haitian boys who deserve so much more and my beautiful American boys who deserve so much. Pray for us.

Talia and I agree on these things:
1. This evil can not defeat what God is doing through Haiti Mama.
2. We can't live in this country without intense security. (like an armed guard)
3. We need a lot more support to afford safety here.
4. We are not going to give up.