Returning from Ayiti

It’s been almost a month since our plane touched down onto the runway on a cold, rainy night at Dulles after eleven rich days in Ayiti. I have found myself returning to many of the moments we spent there – some funny, some tragic, some challenging, some centering – and have been grateful, above all, for the trip.

I usually compile a list of lessons learned after each alternative break I do, so I have something to say when people ask that inevitable question: “How was your trip!???” Here’s what I’ve found myself telling people this time around:

International aid is even more complex than I thought… and I thought it was pretty complex before. After reading The Crisis Caravan by Linda Polman this Fall, I was sort of braced to see the work of some international NGOs with a skeptical (and perhaps even judgmental) eye. Nothing about our trip changed that: we saw many instances of well-intentioned help fall flat, either because the aid was not community-based, or was not comprehensive enough to really meet need.

We sought to do our best by our friends in Limonade, Cima and Port-au-Prince, and we found that the only way we could do so was through building capacity, strengthening relationships, and sharing knowledge with each other. And that led to good things; but I realize too how much more there is to be done. The work we did with RAFAVAL, a vibrant group of women who are using everything they have to make their business and school succeed, was gratifying. Still, it struck me again and again that while the tasks we had were challenging, their independence, livelihoods and their children’s futures were all dependent on their tasks ahead, and what they were able to make happen.

Speaking of relationships: this was my fourth trip to Ayiti; my third in the past 19 months. And it felt, finally, like a visit to friends rather than an adventure in a new place. So many hugs! So many “how’ve you been!?”s. Visiting people whom I’d met before not only proved to both of us that this commitment is for real; it also allowed me to get to know them, their families, their community, better. And that is a gift and will only make our partnership stronger and more productive in the future.

Speaking of the future: others on this blog have mentioned our conversation with the ICC Director in Ayiti, Wesley Romulus. One of the things I’ve known since my first full-time volunteer gig in Philadelphia – and then learned hard-core while volunteering long-term in South Africa – is that you have to be steeped in the community before presuming to address any community needs. But this can be frustrating for us hurry-hurry-go-go North American types. I have often had to remind myself and students that community work is a process, with a heavy emphasis on developing relationships, but Mr. Romulus said it so beautifully. He said something like this: “Imagine you are preparing a beautiful banquet for your friends. Would you consider the time you spend at the grocery store a waste? Of course not! Well, the time you spend here, getting to know people and what we are like, is your time at the grocery store.” Well said.

And, speaking of getting to know people: the Ayitian worldview has been so important for me to learn about and soak in a bit. Coming back was like whiplash – not in the culture shock sense where taking in disparity is so hard to do – but in remembering how much of my life I spend interacting with people through this nutso medium of the interwebs. Screen time and the urgency of emails sometimes feels like the bane of my existence, and after 11 luscious days where internet access was infrequent and urgency was focused on things other than timeframe, I have struggled to adjust. I long for a shift in our culture where getting to know people, sharing time face to face and a trust in the process can come more to the forefront.

As a side note, our conversation with our friend and cultural interpreter, Djaloki, has continued to blow my mind. I’ve been digging into Celtic, Buddhist and other kinds of spirituality and worldviews lately, and it is so stunningly simple, how connected they all are to the Ayitian lens and Vodou ways of being in the world.

Next up for the W&M Haiti Compact is to continue our work, strengthening our partnerships and preparing for our next trip. For now, though, I am also content to continue letting Ayiti remain with me. As I drove into work this morning, the sun was just brimming over the horizon: this mammoth, glowing red sun, slowly becoming smaller and more yellow as it rose in the sky. It brought me right back to our last night in Port-au-Prince, when we watched the moon rise from the roof of our guest house: mammoth, deep orange, and slowly becoming smaller and more yellow as it rose. Even with the 1350 mile distance between us, a part of me is still there on that roof, in that room with the women of RAFAVAL, in the church in the tent camp. And just as truly, Ayiti walks with me here.

(photos of the moon never do it full justice. trust me: it was awesome.)

32 days.

Hello world! It's good to be back on the blog and looking forward to round two of the W&M Haiti Compact alternative break.

Our new partnership with Sonje Ayiti is exciting and not a little bit intimidating. When we got our work plan from their director, Gabrielle Vincent, we got the confirmation of what we learned when we met this May: this is one powerhouse woman running a real get-down-to-business organization. And so we're getting down to business ourselves. I've been getting resources together for business plan writing, and look forward to bringing at least three ideas to our meeting this week. I'm also excited to hear more about what the group working on education is simmering these days.

I've been thinking a lot about international service lately, thanks to a recent book club read of The Crisis Caravan: What's Wrong with Humanitarian Aid, by Linda Polman. Polman focuses on the harm done in the process of providing (mostly crisis-related) aid, and I must say that my stomach dropped several times as I made my way through the book. It is not pretty, how (mostly) well-intentioned NGOs have ended up supporting dictatorships, financing war and stepping on each other in a race to give (or fix?) without bothering to coordinate with local leaders or each other, or find out what's actually needed.

I must admit that the more I get into this stuff (that is, the meaningful and challenging world of working with alternative breaks like it's my job), the more complex I see it all is. We know that our trip to Haiti is not going to make a huge impact that changes the course of Haiti forever: we are a group of nine energetic, compassionate and well-educated people. But we are just nine people, and preparing to work in a cross-cultural situation, in a country where our own country has meddled off and on for a hundred years, for a very short term.

Unlike the organizations discussed in The Crisis Caravan, we aren't feeling the pressures of crisis responders, and as part of the national Haiti Compact, we've been intentional about our work in Haiti: long-term, in partnership with Haitian-led organizations, capacity-building and will not displace local labor.

And so, we will make an impact, thanks to our partnerships with those in Haiti who know their communities and let us participate with them in the good things they do. For the women who are part of RAFAVAL, our business and marketing ideas will help them make progress with their sales. For the children attending the one-tent school, our assistance will give tools to their teachers who can help them learn. And we know that we will be impacted for the better, too - as will those who hear what we experience and can join us as advocates for Haiti.

One huge lesson I've been reminded of by The Crisis Caravan: even with the best of intentions, failing to work with those who know what's best for the community, or to abide by values and practices that recognize power differentials, can result in disastrous consequences.

But I suspect that among the many things we learn (or are reminded of) on our trip, we will know that even though our kinship with those in Haiti is a complex relationship, we are indeed sisters and brothers. I'm excited to go back.