The heat. I'm telling you.... Minnesota winter where you are wearing a jacket, to Haiti where you are sweating when your naked has been a serious transition.
So today, on the 2 mile walk to the bus- I puked. Every Haitian that works for us walks further than this everyday. It's embarrassing that I can't keep up after 3 months stateside.
I spent 45 minutes in an air conditioned white people grocery store trying to regain my composure because I had clients to see.
I eventually got to Bristo. A forgotten ghetto village right outside of Petionville with 1000's of cement shacks built into a mountain side. I sat with Stevenson and Rony in a 4 ft x 10 ft outdoor hallway on buckets. We talked and planned with the family and they left with Mama Linderson to house hunt. Because I'm white, I had to stay behind. But you are never alone in Haiti. We've been working with this family long enough that the pregnant mamas in the neighborhood now have newborns in their arms. They are braiding hair and nursing at the same time, laughing and trying to include me in the conversation as much as my creole will allow.
Mama Linderson came back with a stressed look on her face. When I asked, my guys told me it was because she didn't want to me to spend too much money. I love Mama Linderson because like me, she hates to receive- and always wants to give.
We asked her to consider letting us help her rent a larger apt so she could help us as a foster mama when we have kids that need a place to go.
She said she would do it in a small apartment without any problem, too. She is ready to help us.
Baby showed up at Linderson's house while we were preparing to leave and told me his new house is around the corner. He recently moved in with his uncle. Baby is my baby. I want to break all of my own rules every time I look at him and bring him home. He breaks my heart. We've been working with him for a year too, and we've yet to find a family member that can consistently provide him with what he needs.
But, he beams when he tells me his living with his uncle Felix now, so I have so much hope for this moment.
I follow my Baby- through winding mountain passages, down stairs, around a corner I have to squeeze my belly through. Down more stairs, more cement, more darkness, darker, darker....
Then, the smell overcame us all. Feces, piss, dirty standing water, the stench of poverty. Stevenson and I had been in that moment together before with other families, the first home visit never ceases to amaze. But, Rony started objecting immediately- "they can not be living this way..."
Further down we went, into a dungeon of standing water used for a toilet. Rony pulled back a curtain and woke Uncle Felix up... He and a women slept on sheets laid across the damp floor.
Rony talked to Felix and got his story. Like all of Baby's family- there are in this neverending back and forth between Port au Prince and Belle Anse looking for work, fighting their plight. No one stays anywhere for longer than six months, they're poverty nomads of some sort.
Baby, my Baby- had decorated his new home- with a newspaper clipping from my hometown about my work in Haiti.
I always wait to cry until after we leave these places, the second I could smell open air the tears were rolling down my face.
All 11 of our boys have an incredible story. Of survival. Of resilience. Strength. Patience. Hope.
Baby smile will knock you into next Tuesday, and he's going home to sleep in piss tonight.
The newspaper decorating his wall haunts me and I feel like I've done nothing for this boy I love so much. How is this better than sleeping under the stars?
We will move forward with Mama Linderson's two bedroom, and I will ask her to take Baby in permanently. She is the most loving and generous woman I've ever met, and Baby hasn't had a real place to call since his mother passed away.
Pray. Please pray.
