He has not forgotten me.

Tonight, I told my mom about my first day as a Social Worker in Haiti; in conversation she asked: "How does that get done in Haiti?" I thought. Then replied, "God. That's seriously the only way anything gets done in Haiti."

June 3rd, 2014:

My day was planned by the God that loves Haiti.
It began with our journey to pick up Moses.
On the back of a motorcycle.

The air was thick and wet, the flowers that bloom in the hills of Haiti are a new, beautiful smell to my nostrils; and I now have complete trust in "my driver", Nicolas (Neek-o-la); it has become obvious that God gave him the job of weaving me through Haiti. I hired him for the summer. He is my first paid Haiti Mama employee- my moto driver, navigator, translator, guards-dollars converter, Haitian culture coach. He asked me for $200/month to work for me everyday. Done. (He has no idea how much he is helping me- he's just happy)

The orphanage I visited this morning was hard on me. I knew it was going to be. The desperate feeling of  "there's nothing I can do to fix this" is an emotion I have never learned to cope with. But, because I can't deal with that feeling: I always do SOMETHING. This morning, all I could do was cuddle and cry. I picked these babies up, walked to the end of the balcony furthest away from any staff with them in my arms, rubbed their backs, cuddled and cried. We brought Moses home, because he is starving. Because he is unable to eat without a feeding tube, because he most likely needs surgery, because he definitely needs medical interventions to survive. We brought him home because God sent Rhyan there to find him. All the those babies need more, but Moses is in crisis.

I asked the Haitian staff for a blanket for Moses as we were leaving. They did one better and gave him a bomber jacket. He came home on a moto, and I think I was the only person who's culture translated how awesome that was.

Taking Moses home. 

 From there, I continued on a solo mission and Rhyan brought Moses home to assess if he is at all able to take food by mouth. Which he is not.

God sent a request for me to visit a family on the other side of Port-au-Prince at 11 pm on my first night. I offered to take the trip, and assess.

God purposefully used this as my grand tour. I spent 5 hours weaving through chaos on a moto with Nicolas to provide a little Social Work in Haiti, but I couldn't have asked for a better way to get to know Port-au-Prince. When we stopped to buy me a sim card in a hole in the wall, and the men explained that I needed to take the card to another hole in another wall to have them cut it to fit my phone; I asked what the Creole word for "crazy" is. It's fou. "Fouuuuuu Haaaaiti!" and "Bondye beni ou" (God Bless You) are the two things I've learned to say through repetition so far.

Nicolas in stripes helping me at the
Verizon Store. Haha! 

I was sent to an extremely impoverished area, to meet a mother and son. Beddly, the 9 year old boy is severely disabled, and his mother doesn't feel capable of caring for him any longer. My assignment was to assess if the son needed to be moved to an orphanage. This community is far off the beaten path. The people there have no access to anything. Upon arrival I met a group of people suffering from Chikugunya in isolation. I will have much more to tell you about Beddly and his mother, as I am currently navigating Haiti to understand how I can do what is best for them. But, the most powerful moment of my day came from the grandfather of this family.

I was feeding Beddly an avocado, when grandpa walked into my sight. He was convulsing from his fever. His hands were aggressively flailing, and he could not maintain his motor function. As I first watched in fear, a woman that spoke English told me he had gotten dressed in his nice clothes to see me. I ran to him. I took his hand, held him as steady as I could, and brought him to my chair. Through convulsions he showed me how badly his knees were hurting from Chikugunya. I fed him three Tylenol and rubbed his back.

When the medicine kicked in, his muscles settled. He mumbled something in Creole over and over, and the woman who spoke English there started to cry. Through a shaking voice she translated his words.

He was saying "Glory be to God, He has not forgotten me."

I could write you a 1000 stories more. But I am going to finish the blog post while the power is still turned on.

The people had nothing, but a little girl brought me a 7-up, and they chopped me down a coconut to drink.
White girl be sweating. Thank you, Haiti for understanding.

Thank you for your support. I am thankful for the donations that brought me here. Thank you for letting me do this.