I had a golden glow, and not because of the sun...

I can't believe it's already been over a week since my last blog post. These days are flying by quickly. But honestly, I'm not too sad about that.

I haven't written too much in the last month. Here's the real low-down. The life of a missionary, or any humanitarian doing work like this I suppose, isn't as romantic as you may imagine it to be. Or I imagined it to be. Your days spent helping the downtrodden, sick, and poor. It seems like more time is spent overcoming the irritations and frustrations of working in a foreign country. Because when you live and work in a country that is foreign to you, things just happen.

I have been utterly useless the past 3-4 weeks. Among other things, I got jaundice. Who gets jaundice??? Well, babies do. I did. But when you are an adult...? I'm in a foreign country. Things just happen. One day, I was hanging out with some of the boys. For some odd reason, I took a look in the mirror. Odd reason because these days, there's absolutely no need to look in a mirror. I notice the outer whites of my eyes were yellow, so I asked Junior, "Do you see this? Are my eyes yellow?" His response, "Oui Mami Jamie. Jaune." Yes, yellow. So I looked it up, and jaundice appeared first, and the other major symptoms it listed fit me to a T. I wasn't too worried, until a made a comment about it on facebook. Jaundice itself isn't dangerous. Just inconvenient because it makes your skin itchy, and creepy because my eyes were yellow, though I did have a nice golden glow to my skin. But it means that something else is really wrong, and with your liver. So while I had my suspicions about what was going on and believed I was going to be fine, I felt like I was getting death threats. "Your liver is shutting down!" It didn't help that the family doctor wanted me to fly home pronto. Yikes.

Now, my skin no longer itches and I've gone back to the white girl in Haiti status. And except for a minor part of my eyes, they have cleared up. But I was knocked off my butt for a while, and so it's good to finally be feeling better.

This run in Haiti has been a bit rough for me, in many ways, yes. I've heard people tell me, and I've heard of people saying, that I shouldn't have to be living under these circumstances (no plumbing, being so sick here...). I actually get mad when I hear these comments. It would seem to me that some of the first posts I had written while here would deter those comments. Having no running water is...well...it's just different. Never in my life have I claimed to be entitled to have running water. And if you really know me, you'll know that I really don't care about that part too much. I am the girl who dared myself to go a week without showering while working at a camp - and succeeded. I am the girl who walked 75 miles through the desert for a week and took only one shower that entire time (I relied solely on baby wipes. I didn't even have a bucket bath). Maybe you didn't want to know this about me, but being dirty doesn't scare me. Especially when being clean only last for 10 minutes. Today I was driving past a tent city. There was a person bathing outside their tent, wearing only shorts. It was a woman. She was right next to the road. I'm grateful to have privacy. Running water, as it turns out, is not a necessity, and I am not entitled to it. And neither are you. *Note I said "running water" and not solely "water."

My health. I remember learning about missionaries traveling by boat to other countries. More of them than not would die on the journey there, and never even start what they had purposed to do. They knew what they were getting into. Whatever their aim, they risked their lives for it. Today we worry that experience "won't be smooth." If I risked my safety while here, I would be lectured. I'm not asking for a death sentence, but I didn't sign up to have a smooth year. You don't decide to live in a third world country for a year expecting things to go as planned. Things happen. Jaundice, weird fungi growths, muggings and threats. In my opinion, setting out to value human life, to add value to others' lives, is worth some discomfort. I wish we could be a more compassionate people and be willing to bear some discomfort to make other peoples' lives a little better. And I'm not even talking about people in third world countries, though certainly they have need more than anyone else perhaps, but I'm talking about the family across town in the ghetto and I'm talking about your neighbor. But, I suppose, if you really want that $400 new Apple gadget rather than spend that money so that a child can go to school, well, I guess you are entitled to it, right?

Happy Birthday Rosemanite!

This is Rosemanite. Today was her birthday. She turned 8. I find myself wondering if this is the first birthday she has ever celebrated.

Yesterday I took the kids in small groups to make cards for Rosemanite, and today we presented them to her, and sang Happy Birthday. At first, she showed little emotion, but as time went on, it was clear she was having a good time. As we taped the cards and pictures on the wall by her bed, I asked if she was happy. Her eyes opened wide and she gave me a big, "Oui!" I felt bad that I had no gifts for her, so I rummaged around my room for something for her. Every time a kid is in my room, they are constantly asking for things of mine, so I gathered a couple things, miraculously found some tissue paper to wrap them in, and she opened gifts that were for her. I feel immense pride in presenting things to the children that they can call their own. Perhaps it is an American mindset, but I can't fathom not having a single thing to call my own. These kids share everything, so as I see it, they are finally given something to call their own. Although, what is humble to watch is that though they love acquiring things, they are often quick to share whatever they have with others. I really hope that today, Rosemanite felt special and loved.

I think I shouted it out every ten minutes that it was her birthday, and busted out singing to her several times (which, if you know me, is a big deal. I don't sing in public). Of course the other kids were going to ask me when their birthday is. It was disheartening to me when Robert and Belo asked me. Not only did I not know off the top of my head when their birthday is, but I have no way of knowing at all when they were born. From what I've been told, Robert was found on the street and brought to us by a security guard. Recently, I sat down with Robert and learned some of his story. His father and mother had both died. He has a younger brother, but has no idea where he is (Robert is 7 or 8 I believe). He had been living on the streets. He can be a bit rougher than some of the other kids, though by that, I am simply saying he is a young boy. He needs to learn to knock when he comes in my room. Today he walked in at the most inopportune moment. He didn't care, but I did :-) But he has a heart of gold. He is a good boy who really has a desire to learn in school and make a better life for himself. Personally, I love him so much because he reminds me of my brother, the way he's always running around making funny noises, doing cartwheels and crazy jumps wanting people to watch him. I'm in the process of teaching him how to walk on his hands. If all else fails, he could become a great circus performer :-)

Return to Hades..I mean, Haiti

It's been a month and a half since my last post. I have much to catch you up on. To give you a brief summary of the past month and a half, here are some facebook status highlights:

I think I just had the most awkward situation I've ever had in my life... October 12

It's raining. Which means I must take advantage and shower in it. Here's hoping no lizards find themselves flying out the pipe on my head! October 17

visited another orphanage that houses around 200 sick/abandoned children, and I'm feeling a little wrecked....Our kids at the home here are fortunate.... October 18

Out of the house 4 times in one week! That's a record! October 23

It makes me so happy at night to hear the kids shouting out the English they had learned in class that morning :-) October 25

spent the day in heaven. Also known as the beach. Pleasantly pooped :-) October 27

Honeymoon is paid for...too bad you can't have a honeymoon without a wedding.... October 28

I blame going from 200% to -100% on visiting the voodoo house... October 28

Spent 20 minutes on my walk to the orphanage convincing a guy why he doesn't really love me and shouldn't marry me. Keep in mind, these are the only 20 minutes I've ever talked to this guy... He still insisted I meet his mother tomorrow... Nov. 2

The boys got into my makeup. They were too pretty to get mad. Pink goes well on them :-) November 7

And today's:

Today I had my bum bitten by a child, I was de-skirted, and had a couple huge hogs stampede towards me on the street. I'm not sure if that makes for a good day or a bad day...

It's been an interesting month and a half. I'll slowly try to catch you up.

Some things have changed. Some haven't. I now have the swamp thing living in my bathtub, which still leaves me praying for rain to shower in. I still haven't developed a love for beans, and this time spent in Haiti has pretty much cemented the fact that I never will.

I don't go stir-crazy as much any more. And I finally feel a little productive.

On my way back to Haiti from Michigan, I had a layover in Miami. I noticed a girl waiting for the flight to Port-au-Prince that had also been on my flight from Detroit. White people on their way to Haiti are almost never going on vacation. They have some sort of humanitarian purpose, and so you feel you have the okay to step out of your American bubble and pry into the lives of others and find out why they are going. Well, maybe that's just me. But I can see it in their eyes, "There's a white girl going to Haiti. By herself. I wonder what she's doing." I just open up the conversation. It turns out this other white girl, Keyti, would be doing something similar to what I'm doing. She was also going by herself and would be there alone part of the time, so we both decided that this was the perfect opportunity to have a friend in Haiti. We exchanged information, and soon after we got to Haiti, we met up at another orphanage that is close to where I live. I have a better understanding of what people probably think about when I tell them I'm working at an orphanage. The orphanage we met at is a Missionaries of Charity orphanage, a Mother Teresa orphanage.

Finding that orphanage has added infinitely to my experience here, and I have gone back at least a couple times a week since. Now when I leave, they don't say good-bye. They say "A Bientot," see you soon.

I used to wonder if we were taking good enough care of our kids here. I mean, they ate rice and beans EVERY SINGLE DAY for lunch. Surely they deserve more than that? Visiting the sisters has made me realize how fortunate our kids are, and grateful that they are here instead of another orphanage, or on the streets. The other orphanage has anywhere from 120-200 young children. Children come and go, and most of them come because they will die otherwise. The bottom floor is reserved for the sickest. I almost didn't want to go down there. I was told that the orphanage has a worker there whose sole job is to make coffins for those children that die. They need being held too. Even if it looks like they are going to fall apart when you pick them up. The upstairs is composed of three main rooms with about 20 cribs in each, each crib holding a child, and some of them two. These children may not be about to die, but some of them still have IVs, and they are skin and bones. Literally. Arms, thighs, and bums just folds of skin hanging off the bones. I really was afraid to pick them up, afraid I would break them. But as soon as you do, they cling to you: wrap their arms around you and lay their head on your chest. And cry and hold their arms out to you when you put them down. It's feeding time when I go visit, so I help to feed the children between 10-20 months old, though I'm surprised I haven't been banned from feeding them. I'm pretty sure I have the record for messiest feedings. The women who work there are very gracious with me :-)

The first child I fed, Maniolita, is one of those skin-and-bones children. I fed her mashed potatoes that first day. After cleaning her up, I picked her up. Then, she vomited on me. A lot. And all over. She's had a place in my heart ever since. Every time I go back now, I always look for Maniolita. The sisters always point her out if I haven't found her, and let me feed her. She's 18-months old, and beautiful. She sucks on her two middle fingers non-stop. So much that they remain pink and wrinkly with skin coming off. If you're not fast enough with the spoon feeding her, she'll have her fingers in her mouth between spoonfuls. I've gotten smart and do the holding before she eats now :-)

After making rounds and make sure to spread out some Jamie lovin', I sit with my other favorite, Soinrilia. I noticed her the second time I went. When you walk in, you are bombarded by kids between the ages of about 3 and 9 who all want to be held, and all want attention. I noticed Soinrilia sitting on a bench against the wall, quietly. Just sitting, looking around, demanding nothing. I wanted this quiet, gentle-spirited girl to know that she's loved and that someone looks forward to seeing her. She doesn't say much, and I only get a little smile every now and then, but she smiles when she sees me.

It's not all lovey-dovey with the children. There are a few I fear. Those are the biters. A few little girls that I will literally move if they sit next to me because you never know when it's coming. Like today. I was feeding a child (which I was really excited about because it was my first really clean feeding!). Augustin came up behind me and was hugging my legs. All of a sudden, she's biting my butt cheek! I move, of course, and tell her no, and she sits down. I go back to feeding. Then I feel her pulling on my skirt. Kids do that. But then I feel the waist of my skirt under my butt. She de-skirted me! We gave the sisters a good laugh and Augustin was sent out of the room. You gotta watch out for those biters...

Visiting this orphanage has given fresh life to me being here. I'm positive that I benefit from it much more than the kids do. It's a 15-minute walk from my home, and it's the one place I can go by myself. It gets me out of the house when I need without having to rely on anyone else, so it gives me freedom. It's also been great for me because there are always other missionaries there from different organizations who are just visiting a week. While it's mostly the same conversation every time, it gives me an opportunity to speak with other Americans in my own language. It also gives me a sense of purpose that I'm able to be a constant visiting face for the kids. For Soinrilia. I'm not just here for a week on a mission trip. I keep going back, and I will for the remainder of my time here, because I genuinely look forward to seeing them.

I may be convinced to become Catholic just so I can adopt one of them one day...

A shower awaits me...

In 3 days, I will be able to take a shower. I have not showered in almost a month. Probably not even "almost." I haven't showered in a month. At the end of last week, I found out someone had donated money to get the water pump fixed. But until then, it only gets worse... Right after I found out that I would have running water once again soon, a horrible wretched smell was in my room. I knew I couldn't possibly smell *that* bad, so I followed it into the bathroom, where the tub drain had gotten plugged, or something went wrong, but the tub was full of nastiness and smelly water. Okay. So just plunge. As I was plunging, the light in the bathroom went out. We don't exactly have spare lightbulbs chilling around the house (and the ceiling is too high to change it anyway). So there I am standing over the tub in the dark, a headlamp on my head, plunging as nasty water splashes into my face and sweat pours into the tub. Not only can I not shower. Now I can't even bucket bathe in the tub. That was Friday. The water went down, only to come up again. I'll just tell you that baby wipes are my best friend right now, and that I feel really bad for the people on the plane when I come home, and that I'm so excited to take a shower that I can't even sleep.

When I'm not thinking about taking a shower, I'm thinking about how to smuggle a baby out of the country.

Youseline is back. After weeks in the hospital, and me having no idea what's going on, her mom (who had been staying with her at the hospital) showed up Saturday saying that Youseline was released from the hospital. She's home :-) She is still little bobble head girl, only now sporting a mohawk, which personally I adore. I stole her away for a few hours when she first got here...I was so happy to see her, and see that she was alive. She still doesn't have much control with her neck, and she is just skin and bones. Her thighs are literally bones with flappy skin around them. BUT, she's eating now! Sisi, one of the moms, has been making a drink for her made out of potatoes, carrots, milk, and vanilla (which is actually quite delicious), so hopefully she will be gaining some meat on her bones. It just doesn't seem fair that I have so much meat on my bones that isn't needed when she has none... I wish I could bring her back to Michigan with me, to keep my eye on her, to keep letting her know I love her. Hence me wanting to smuggle her out of Haiti.

The parent/child dynamic is one I just don't understand here. Not all of the children here are complete orphans. Some have parents or family that are alive, but just unable to care for them. After the earthquake, it was hard to sort through which children had living parents and which didn't. Four of the kids that I've talked about in the past are brothers and sister, and have living parents. On Sunday, their father was visiting. After the visit, they were all crying. When I asked why, they told me their father was going to be taking them. It won't be happening; they've been signed over to us. They are our children. But what is happening most likely is that the father is threatening to take them away in order to get money. I am all about keeping the family together, but it seems that often, that is not the best option at all here. It is such a conflicting feeling, and I don't at all understand what the father is thinking. There are other elements to the story that make it more complex. I am impressed that these kids are as well functioning as they are...all of them.

I'm not going to lie. A part of me is looking forward to going back for a week because life is easy there. I will be wondering a bit while in Michigan...about what is going on with Youseline, with the four siblings, and everything else. But this home has been running for over a year without me, so I know things will be fine. But it will be easier to not have to feel like I have to check in on Youseline to make sure she's breathing. It will be easier to answer a door and not being worried that it's a parent come to take kids away. It will be easier to be able to take a walk without having to look over my shoulder, making sure I won't be kidnapped. It will be easier to see everyone around me lack nothing, to be safe, clean, clothed and healthy.

But I'm also looking forward to coming back to Haiti and being mauled by 15 beautiful children.

For those of you not on facebook to view my photos, here are links to my albums:

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100316853759538.2597008.21711110&l=527f7bd79e&type=1

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100318475100358.2597584.21711110&l=dc640d583e&type=1

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100333258858588.2601415.21711110&l=a5ee25d615&type=1

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10100345067209558.2603416.21711110&l=04285d7eb7&type=1

Jet valves, Airborne, and Dora! (oh my....)

[Pictured top to bottom: Kenlie, Ballo, Sarah]
These kids don't need fancy swing sets, a pool, toy kitchen sets, barbies galore, or power wheels to have fun. All it takes is a water bottle with a jet valve. It started out because, well, as much as I love kids, I really didn't want their snotty slobbery mouths sucking on my water bottle. I've accidentally kissed their snotty noses enough to know that. It's asking for trouble. And I've only got so much Airborne with me. So, I turned it upside down over their mouths and give a little squeeze, propelling a short burst of water. I loved little Kenlie's wide eyes waiting for the water. I applauded their courage, not knowing when the powerful squirt
was going to come. Or where it was going to go (in trying to get a photo, I would lose attention to my aim and get their faces...). But that was all part of the fun too. Even little Sarah, the photo at the bottom, wanted to participate. Slowly, she's warming to me. Usually, she sticks close to Mama Sisi, but once in a while, she will come over to me, wanting me to pick her up. I think she must be sick on those days. She's a very particular little girl. She likes things a certain way. For example, Edy's feet. She likes them covered up. If she sees Edy take his shoe and sock off, she will start screaming her head off. Very particular little girl :-)

Another thing that the kids absolutely love is skyping. They've been spoiled with random skype visits. It doesn't matter whether they know you or not, and it doesn't matter that they can't understand what you are saying, or that you can't understand them. It's hugely entertaining, for them and for you. I feel like it's my contribution to culturing them, in connecting them with the outside world. Any part that you would like to take in culturing them as well, I would be happy to facilitate. Not to mention, I'm all in for an adult conversation in English every now and then :-)

A few times in the last few weeks, boy Kenly would start doing this dance and song, and others would soon follow him. Listening carefully, it sounded like he was singing, "Sexy body, sexy body, sexy body." The other day, we were all in the tv room, and he started doing it again. I had Yolette next to me, who is extremely patient and good at figuring out what I am trying to ask her. I was about to ask her where they learned this from, and to explain to her that she probably shouldn't be singing that, when suddenly, Dora came on the tv and started doing the same dance! 'Now this can't be right?! Dora wouldn't sing about a sexy body!?' Then she started singing, "Shake your body! SHAKE your body!" I immediately laughed, and they laughed with me, understanding that I finally understood why they did that song and dance. I also felt stupid, and glad I didn't tell them that they were saying some inappropriate things. They would never trust Dora again.

I'm not gonna lie. I'm excited for a visit to the States. I haven't showered in nearly two weeks, and my toothbrush hasn't had a proper rinsing in a month. Today the mamas asked me if a mosquito had bitten me on the forehead. I felt like a kid (yet again) when I had to explain that no, they are zits. Because I had to leave my facewash in the States. I have to be understanding though. They do look like mosquito bites, and white skin is very revealing of things we wish it wouldn't reveal. And, I'll admit it, I'm excited to wear a sweater. Jeans and a sweatshirt. I have this friend that hails from an extremely warm climate, but now lives in Michigan. She takes every opportunity to criticize the cold weather and tease when she's visiting her warm mother state. I was hoping to be cool like her, and be able to post teasing comments about how it's sooooo warm while it's crazy cold in Michigan. Which, I could do. But as I discovered while living in New York and wanting fiercely to remain a citizen of Michigan, I am a Michiganian through and through, cold weather and all. I miss sweaters. And fall. This is not to say that I don't want to be here. I do. I'm just looking forward to a short jaunt back to Michigan and returning to warm Haiti, where I'm catching up on all the sunshine I didn't get in Buffalo.

Yes, Haiti, there's a new white girl in town!

That's what I felt like shouting out today, anyway.

After finally getting the okay, I ventured out for a walk, on my own. I let Sisi, one of the house moms, know so she didn't have a minor panic attack thinking I went missing. She gave me a look and I had to assure her I had gotten the okay. Her words: be smart. Very reassuring.

I'm not gonna lie. I was kind of scared. And I only use the words "kind of" to try to mellow down the fact that I actually WAS really nervous. I was nervous for several reasons. It wouldn't be hard to get lost here. There are few street signs (my street doesn't have one), the roads go whichever direction they want, and everything looks the same. Two: I get *really* irritated when people catcall at me. Three: they are *crazy* drivers and I will be surprised if I leave Haiti with no accidents under my belt. And it didn't help my nerves that just a few weeks ago, a gun was pulled on an American for her camera. In Haiti, white skin means money. Lesson learned: take nothing with me when I'm out by myself.

As I stepped out on my street and shut the gate behind me, I was smiling. I felt a little free! That smile quickly changed as I turned off my street. Over the past few years, I've worked hard to get rid of my intimidating facial expressions that say, "back off." At first I struggled. Do I be smiley American? Or Jamie with an unwelcoming face. It became quickly clear that the wise decision would be a hard face. So having no idea where I was going, I made a sure stride, staring forward, trying to come off as if this were normal for me. Three kids approached me. The first thing they said was, "money?" I had to laugh. I almost felt bad for them, wasting their time, trying to get this American girl's money. For one, I had no money on me. Two, I have no money. It's been quite the joke, the men who flirt to see if I give money when I probably have less money to my name than they do. This American girl is not worth anything monetarily.

I chatted with the boys for a little ways, and honestly, I wish they would have stayed with me the whole way. Then came all the comments. I realized that I'm probably going to develop a thick skin here. I kind of want to puke every time someone makes kissy noises at me. Bleh. No thank you. I think it's funny when they call out "blanc," "white" at me. All in all, after half an hour, I made my way back to my street. This house is home to me. As I was approaching the home, I heard the familiar shouts and laughs of our kids. I could identify Yolette by her laugh and Robert by his crazy voices. I definitely felt like I was coming home. When they unlocked the gate for me, they made jokes (or maybe they weren't joking) about being glad I was back. Four or five of the children asked me, "is okay? is okay?" Maybe they were worried that the bottoms of my legs were actually green.

As I walked some of the streets of Haiti, images I had initially seen, I continue to see. I think one of the hardest things that is all too common is the small child wandering the street with merely a shirt that is too small for him. A mere t-shirt. No pants or underwear even. It makes me want to take shorts with me on my walks to hand out when I see the need.... I do look forward to seeing familiar faces as I get out more and making acquaintances, and even friends.

I'm getting tired (at 9pm!). Thanks for sharing with me in my triumphant success at my first venture out alone. :-)

We deserve it all?

I got on facebook today and this was on my newsfeed, posted by an acquaintance:

IN AMERICA- WE HAVE TO PRESS "1" TO SPEAK ENGLISH
IN AMERICA- THE HOMELESS GO WITHOUT EATING
IN AMERICA- THE ELDERLY GO WITHOUT NEEDED MEDICINES
IN AMERICA- THE MENTALLY ILL GO WITHOUT TREATMENT
IN AMERICA- OUR TROOPS GO WITHOUT PROPER EQUIPMENT
IN AMERICA- OUR VETS GO WITHOUT PROMISED BENEFITS
YET, WE DONATE BILLIONS TO OTHER COUNTRIES BEFORE HELPING OUR OWN! HAVE THE GUTS TO RE-POST THIS? 1% WILL, 99% WON'T HAVE THE NERVE.

Apparently I get really fired up quite easily when I see things like this. I suppose, as an American, I should get fed up that I have to press 1 for English with English is the US's primary language, darn it! I suppose I should get fed up that we give, GIVE, billions of dollars to other countries who really need it instead of making our own lives darn near perfect, damn it!

No. No. Not at all. It took everything within me not to write a nasty comment, so all I wrote is that we can't have it all and we still have so much more than other countries. Thankfully, I have a blog where I can write all the nasty comments I want :-)

I think one of the things I need to work on most is to not be critical or judgmental of people who are stuck in the American mindset. If American life is all you know, well then, I shouldn't criticize. But I can try to expand your worldview.

A couple months ago I was having a conversation with someone who was telling me that with all the aid we give other countries, they should do their part to help us. Our gas prices are horrible, and our economy is down; we need help. This is one of the times where I tried to understand where she was coming from. The singular American mindset. So I asked why. "Why? Other countries should help us so that our gas prices are lower so you can take your bigger camper instead of little one on vacation? So that you can GO on vacation?"

Now, I realize that things aren't perfect, and why shouldn't be try to better ourselves if we have the means? But what I don't think is that we deserve and are entitled to everything. I don't think that we should remain in a bubble that allows us to think that, thus allowing us to resort to complaining when we think we don't have enough.

"We have to press 1 to speak English." That anyone would complain about this is just absurd to me. If that's on your top 10 complaints about your living situation, I think you're doing alright. I wonder how many people's grandparents or great-grandparents are giving the evil eye from their grave for hearing this. For most of us, our ancestors didn't come here speaking English. Have a little heart and respect for what this country stands for, and get over yourself.

The homeless go without eating. One of the most eye-opening books I've read, _Under the Overpass_, is about two middle class young guys who give up everything and choose to live homeless across America for 3 months. I think it says a lot if you live in a country where you can *choose* to be homeless and know you'll be fine. Not ideal, of course not. But in the US, there's always a dollar someone can find. There are shelters. There are soup kitchens. They are still able to get the basic essential needs (of course, for Americans, "need" is a highly messed-up concept). If I had to be homeless anywhere, well frankly, I would choose France, but I know I would get by in the US. This doesn't happen everywhere.

The elderly go without needed medicines. Ohhhh believe me. I have my qualms about the US healthcare system. Yet another area that really pisses me off. In fact, one of the girls here at the orphanage, Elizabeth, has a bad heart. She's in desperate need of several major surgeries that just aren't available in Haiti. We tried to get her a medical visa to have the operations done in the US. It was approved by Haiti, but not by the US. They said they were tired of Haitians coming in for medical care and either not going back to Haiti or going right back to Haiti. The American woman who was trying to take care of the process bluntly asked them, "Are you telling me that you would rather let her die than get a visa just for medical purposes?" He replied frankly, "yes." That's all I will say about that.

I'll skip ahead to the qualm about donating to other countries... Really? I guess I'm just not of the opinion that we should make sure our own system is perfect before helping others. I know this isn't an intelligently written, well thought out response. It's a response because it just pisses me off. It's hard to live in a country, knowing that thousands are living without electricity for many many days in hot weather, in tents with rainy weather, and hear people complain that they were without power for 2 or 3 days. It's a simple inconvenience, that's all. I have become so grateful for power. I guess that happens when you live in a house where you never know if you'll have power or not, and one option is not more likely than the other. Hearing about America's "need" (which again, I know is real) is hard to listen to because it just doesn't compare to the need I see here. The children at the orphanage eat the exact same thing every day for their lunch, and never complain. They are happy to have food. One of our kids, Robert, came from the streets, where they have to find a place to sleep every night and beg to eat. Most streets and roads have horrendous potholes and crevices, piles of trash line the streets, children in tent cities go without clothes, my neighbors are living in a house that is a mere construction of cement walls and part roof, crumbled from the quake, with no electricity whatsoever. The hospital is filled with malnourished children (more on that later...). Children *must* pay to go to school, and when they can't, it's generation after generation growing up with little and on the streets. The animals are skin and bones. I want to feed them my leftovers, but feel bad because I know there's a hungry child down the street who needs it just as much...

I feel much better now. Less pissed off and more just sad that we aren't a very grateful nation. Although, the more I dive into helping others, the more I meet others who DO help and are grateful. They give me hope :-)

Introducing....

Since I'll be here for a year, writing about my life, it's only fitting you get to know the main people of my life right now. So meet Kimberly. On September 24th, she'll be 6. She has three brothers who also live at My Heart's Home: Junior, Kenly, and Elwood. When you ask these children when their birthday is, they can't answer you. They don't know it. So one of the things I get to change is to start celebrating birthdays! As I was looking at their birth certificates for their birthdays, I noticed that Kimberly and Kenly have the same birthday...they are twins. I had no idea. I couldn't even remember which three were her brothers until I looked at the birth certificates. One would think that coming into this home about a year ago, as four siblings, they would stick to each other, but there is no clear separation between these siblings and the rest of the children. The same goes for another brother/sister pair. I think it speaks volumes for how happy and comfortable the children are here at the home, that they are just as much family with the sibling who is not blood-related as with the one who is.

Kimberly is a sassypants, which is probably why I love her so much. But as much as she is, just like most of the other children, she's always willing to step in and help when needed. She also makes an excellent jope rumping partner. (I realize that I totally just messed up those words but I think it's funny so I'm going to leave it. Jump roping. Jump roping partner) I also just realized that at this point, I don't have too much to say. I know they aren't total orphans. They have living family, but who couldn't take care of them. I don't know many of their stories. But I know Kimberly has a world of promise within her, and she would probably either be living in a tent or fending for herself on the streets if she hadn't come here.

Stir Crazy in Haiti

This is where I live. There are walkways on each side of the house that go to a similar area in the back where the clothes are hung to dry. A high cement wall encloses the area.

In case you don't know me, I'm an extremely independent person. I've done a lot of things, and I've done a lot of things alone, and I've done a lot of things alone in a foreign country. No big deal. So honestly, I think the hardest thing about being in Haiti right now is that I can't do anything by myself. I've already discussed that. But it makes you a little stir crazy when you can't leave your front "yard." I can't explain how bizarre it feels to not be able to leave your home because it's not safe. To have barbed wire surrounding your house for security reasons. Did I mention that we have a security guard every night?

As I was taking these photos tonight, I heard people outside of our gate. And then I saw someone standing out there in the slit between the gate and the wall. They just stood there, staring at me. So I said Bonswa, and they said bonswa, and that was it. I'm dying to get out and get to know the neighbors. I feel kind of useless right now when I can't get out to meet people and do what I can to help. Although, that's not completely true. I'm not completely useless. The kids now ask for water instead of demanding it. At least I taught them that :-)

I prefer lizards to bats.

Now that I've written something meaningful, I can be random and honest.

I've been hesitating writing because I don't want anything I say come across as not liking it here. Because that's just not true.

Cold showers. You probably shiver at the thought. Who likes cold showers? I sure do, when it's way hot and sticky. There's no need for hot water. I take cold showers and I like it. Yesterday I took an excessively long 10 minute shower. I was pampering myself. By that, I mean that I used actual facewash in the shower and actual body wash instead of baby wipes during the day. I may pamper myself again tonight. And by that, I mean shave my legs. In Haiti, you have a choice. You can go shaven or unshaven. Although, I'm a white girl, so you can actually tell one way or the other. Maybe the choice is only for dark Haitians. Maybe I shouldn't be as natural of a woman as I had thought maybe I could be...

Lizards run across the walls. Not creepy, but cool. I admit that the first week I was here, while I was sleeping in bed, I tried hard not to touch the wall because I didn't want a lizard running into me while I slept. They are little things that scurry across the wall and hide behind the paintings. I quite like them. Makes me feel like I have pets, in a way. And they eat bugs. I would definitely prefer lizards to bats.

I washed my clothes in the sink by hand two days ago. This was actually a choice. There's a washer, but why waste all that water and be the lazy American they probably already think I am when I can become a domesticated woman and wash my own? I'm not gonna lie though... I was a little nervous when I got dressed this morning. Me hand-washing my own clothes probably means (most likely means) putting on half-clean clothes, which made me a little uneasy about changing my underwear. TMI, probably. Just being honest here. I may have to become the lazy American who uses a washer.

I'm the only white girl, and I like it. It's interesting being the one who looks different, and is always stared at. In case you haven't heard this from me, I secretly like attention, so being stared at doesn't bother me. The only thing that bothers me about my skin color is that 1) the bug bites and bruises show up *ghastly* and 2) I'm terrified that I'm going to terrify the sleeping Youseline. She usually is sleeping while the others are eating dinner, so I go to check on her. I never stay too long because I'm afraid that she's going to wake up and think she's seen a ghost (my very white face). Thankfully, this hasn't happened yet.

I feel like a child. Not necessarily a bad thing, in general. However, it does start to make you question yourself when certain things happen. Like when at 28, my new black daddy here gave me a dating and sex talk. Funny, yes, but embarrassing too. Edy (my black daddy) also will not let me cross the street without holding my hand. Or leave the gate to our house without being there to see who it is. It's not just Edy either. This afternoon, I had just woken up from a nap and was outside playing with the kids. Renez bent down and removed a sleepy from my eye. I tried telling her, "Je ne suis pas un enfant!" "I am not a child!" but she didn't stop. I'm pretty sure I'm older than her too... Embarrassing, and disgusting.

I live in an orphanage. I think a lot of people warned me not to come because of their misconception of an orphanage. You see, My Heart's Home is probably the best orphanage in Haiti, if not the world. To give you a better idea of what it's like, there are 17 children who live here, and only one will be adopted because of her extreme medical needs (she has a heart condition and needs multiple surgeries...). You are probably thinking, "why wouldn't they do adoptions?" I thought that too. My response now would be, "why do they have to be adopted by an American (or by any other "richer" nation) to have a good life?" I'm really proud to stand behind the vision of this orphanage. I think about half of them are total orphans with no living parents, while the others have parents who could no longer take care of them so rights were signed over. They live in a beautiful house (no joke...this house is nicer than any house I ever lived in growing up), are fed well (very well - they eat more than me!) and are provided school (with an *excellent* English teacher). They are growing up as a family, and they really love and like each other like a family. It's amazing to see children between the ages of 1 and 9 who didn't know each other a year ago, and who all come from really broken circumstances, so full of love, laughter, and fun, playing with each other. They will grow up a family, and when they get older, we will help them either get into a trade school or go to college. They could have remained orphans, been ones who lived in a tent city, working for little money, bearing children who grow up in the same matter; they could have grown up children with no future, having to find a place to sleep for the night and begging by day. But they aren't. They are exceptional children who now have exceptional futures. I'm so proud to be a part of that.

Update from Jamie from Haiti...

*I wrote this post for the blog for Heart Cry International, the organization I'm working for here, and accidentally posted it on this blog. I suppose it's good enough for you to read here too :-) On the left is Pastor Carla Ives, founder of My Heart's Home and an exceptional woman.

Day 4 fully on my own. I'm alive. The babies are alive. The house is still here. And we are all doing exceedingly well.

I admit that when the babies were dropped off two hours before Pastor Carla left, I did panic a bit. I wasn't yet a mother. Now I'm mami to 17, and I wouldn't have it any other way. My transition here otherwise has been extremely smooth and feels natural. I'm as confident as ever that this is where I'm supposed to be, especially as I'm greeted by 15 sloppy kisses every morning and 15 sloppy kisses every night.

I attempted to wash my clothes by hand yesterday, which means I'll probably be wearing still-dirty clothes. I take cold showers. I eat the same lunch every day. I can't use the faucet to brush my teeth. I can't even leave my house by myself. But I love my life. Every little thing that is different to what I'm used to, that I "don't have" here, I find reason to be grateful for what is. I have clothes to wash, and more than one outfit. I have water to shower with, and I have privacy to do so. I have food to eat, and plenty of it. I have a toothbrush and paste to brush my teeth, and I have TEETH to brush too! I'm very grateful for that :-)

Our new twin girls are going to do very well here. They are Youselie and Youseline. Youseline is the one whom is quite malnourished. She was taken to the hospital a couple days ago and is now on medication, though I'm not sure what exactly. The mammas are doing physical therapy with her here to strengthen her arms, legs, and neck. This evening while outside playing with the kids I saw Renez, one of the mommas, holding one. I thought it was Youselie because the baby was holding her head up on her own. But it was Youseline! It was only for maybe 5-10 seconds, but it was more than I had seen since she's arrived. The mommas are taking excellent care of our little girls, and I think they fit perfectly here! It's been a blessing to spend time with Youselie and Youseline throughout the day, praying for them.

Presenting: Youselie

And Youseline.
Keep praying for our precious girls!!!

~Jamie

Parting is such sweet sorrow...

I’m not so sure how this blog is going to go. Usually people like reading my random funny stories, and while I’ll still have them here, there are hard things too. Like today.

Most of my training for this is hands on training. But I definitely wasn’t trained or prepared for today. This morning the team who was here from Maryland left, as well as a couple people from Michigan. There were tears everywhere. I thought I would have no problem holding it together because I’m not the one leaving, but seeing the children sobbing and clinging onto people in genuine sadness just broke my hard. I couldn’t help myself. I think I cried harder than them. As the people left, the three others from Michigan and I took them upstairs to watch a movie, let them grieve, and love on them. For a while I had Joclyn on my lap. He held on to me, sobbing. I was grateful to have the other three team members with me as well as the two house moms to help comfort the children. But I have no idea what I’m going to do when they leave, and it’s just me. So calling all skype dates on Monday after the rest of the Michigan team leaves, please!

This year is definitely going to be an adventure, but this isn’t just another adventure. This is the first time that I’ve done something that is totally not for me. Yes, I’ll completely have an amazing time and my life will never be the same, but I’m not doing this for me.

One of the things I’ve been doing the last few days is helping (note: *helping, as in: trying the best I can) to translate as a dentist who volunteered to come worked on staff and children at the home as well as those coming in from the tent community. The thing is, we don’t learn dental terms in French class, and I was afraid to go to the dentist in France, so I really didn’t come with any knowledge of that. But between cavity, extraction, and numb, I’m learning quickly! A 9-year-old girl came in who needed 4 baby teeth extracted, and we found that she also had a fever. The poor girl… she was terrified with the shots and the pulling and even the cleaning. She was so brave though…she kept bracing for the next pain to come. She had probably never been to the dentist and had no idea what was going on or what was going next. She did much better than I would have done. It’s one of the many lives we made a little better today.

One of the great things I keep telling people is that after all these years of studying so hard to learn French, it is so good to finally feel like I’m using my ability for something good. My language capabilities are not perfect, but it absolutely helps, and I’m picking up Creole quicker than I had expected. I love that I helped one of the teenage girls from Maryland here, Morgan, learn how to wash clothes with Michele, our laundress. I love being able to teach other teach members how to communicate with the children. And I love trying my hardest to try to make friends with the staff and encourage them. They are incredibly hard workers… I could not do what they are doing.

Today we took in another little boy. David. He's 2. His mother dropped him off and is signing papers to hand him over to us completely. He started out the day clingy and crying, as any child would be when a mother just gives him away. But he was also looking around at everything. He hadn't lived in a house. His mother had begged. This is a whole new life for David. A whole new opportunity. If we hadn't have been here, David would have been dropped off on another doorstep, which could mean a lot of different things, most of them really horrible. So *this* is why I'm here...

Don't judge Haiti by my legs...

I'm posting this a couple days after I wrote this, and am *extremely* excited to have electricity and internet to do so!

My fourth day in Haiti. I’m starting to feel bad that I haven’t let anyone know that I made it safely because we haven’t had internet. In fact, today is the first day we’ve consistently had electricity.

You might be confused. “Wait! Wasn’t I just reading about Arizona?” From Tucson to the Tropics, I like to do things differently. I almost feel bad that I haven’t written anymore about the walk. However, my thoughts on the walk aren’t finished. In fact, I found myself thinking about my experience in Arizona a lot yesterday, and think that the walk has totally prepared me for my experience in Haiti.

For one: the heat. Haiti is hot. And when there is no electricity, being hot is a problem. 18 of us spent last night absolutely miserable in the heat with no fans, a loud street party blaring along with the cacophony of dogs and roosters. And as I finished that sentence, the power goes out again. It was so hot last night that one of the girls here with me got really sick, all because of the heat. She felt much better after I wet and wrapped ice in a handkerchief and put it on her neck. Thank you desert heat for teaching me that.

Two: You have to learn to live simply. Half of my cleaning routine involves a baby wipe shower (which isn’t a shower at all, of course), which I so expertly learned how to do in the desert (thank you Christi Brookes: your teaching never ends….). The other half involves possibly a cold shower (which is, for the first time, absolutely welcomed). Possibly because if there is no electricity, there is no running water. This means living simply, by taking bucket baths. All my clothes will be hand washed (by me). Which won’t be a lot actually, because of the luggage fiasco that happened at the airport. Learning how to live simply also means learning how to live with little.

Three: I learned in the desert how to cope with an ugly body. By ugly, I mostly mean dirty. One cannot feel pretty when covered in sweat 24 hours of the day. But I also mean ugly as in just ugly. My legs look like those of a 10-year-old boy, though since I’m reading a book about the Holocaust right now, my first thought was that they looked like they had come out of a concentration camp. The mosquitoes here are quite stealthy (much like me…which may be part of the reason I already feel at home). The first two days I ignored bug spray because I didn’t really see and I didn’t feel them at all. The result was a myriad of big pink spots all over my legs and arms. Coupled with some of the most horrendous bruises I’ve ever had, my legs are not looking pretty. Definitely not ones that would attract the Irish man I had planned on meeting while here. That plan will have to be put on the backburner. At least until I can figure out how to make my legs look normal again.

In the desert, though, I met some of the most wonderful and giving people I’ve ever met in my life. And even though it’s hot, and there’s no electricity, and I sometimes feel jailed in as not only are the doors to the house padlocked with a key I do not have, but the house is surrounded by high walls topped with barbed wire, with a gate that is also locked, and a security man who doesn’t want me outside, I’m beginning to see that this is a place I can call home. Not only will I call it home, but I will like calling it home. If you saw the faces I get to see, you would feel the same way. I saw photos of them before I came and immediately fell in love. Now that I am getting to know them, I’m absolutely in trouble. I think it may make my mom happy that I’ve gone from 0 kids to 15 (who call me mami, which sounds like 15 kids calling me mommy). Right now, there are 17 other Americans with me. In a week and a half, they will all be gone, and it will be me alone in a strange land. And there will be hard days. Really hard days. But these kids will make it all worth it, and make it okay. It’s hard to be lonely and sad when you have some of the most beautiful faces smiling at you and laughing with you.

Tonight there was a huge storm. Well. Not huge for Haiti. Rain and lightning and thunder. And I loved it. I showered outside with the rain falling from a pipe. I wore my dirtiest clothes and scrubbed them with soap to wash them. I knew then that this would fit me well.

Walking the Migrant Trail...

Two weeks ago from the time I write this, I walked into Kennedy Park in Tucson, Arizona after a week-long (and I do mean long) trek through the Sonoran desert from Sásabe, Mexico. We were greeted by a crowd of cheers, smiles, and claps; it was a bit overwhelming as they welcomed us and as I looked at their faces and realized they were a part of the faces for whom I was walking; though such a trek wasn't yet personal to me, it was for these people.

Ernest Hemingway said to never write about a place until you're away from it, because that gives you perspective. I suppose I could use that as an excuse as to why I've waited so long to share my experience. But really, I have been hesitating to write because there is so much to write about and I know I won't do the experience justice. A part of me wants to just throw the writings of my fellow walkers your way, and perhaps I will do that too. But I also know that I have a responsibility to share my own personal experience facing the border issues, and my perspective will be different from any other walkers' experience. And I hesitate because as much as I can talk about the issue itself, the walk was also a profoundly personal experience. I can only hope that such a mixture of tragedy, comedy, and drama will flow well and not create a completely broken story.

It was only when beginning the walk that I understood how it worked. 75 miles? Do you walk all day? Do you carry your things? How do you get water? Where do you sleep? Where do you do your BUSINESS? I will lay out the logistics of the walk for you so that as I talk about the experience, you aren't distracted by how such an event could possibly function.

Organized by the Coalición de Derechos Humanos and sponsored by a diverse array of organizations and churches, just short of 70 of us began walking from Sásabe (5 miles from the border on the Mexican side) on Monday, May 31st and continued walking as we crossed the border, the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge, long stretches of hot pavement, and a border checkpoint, arriving in Tucson 75 miles and 6 days later. Our days starting by rising at 5am to a wonderful latin mix of music (which still plays in my head and causes my shoulders to move to the music even now as i write this). We would line up and start walking by 6, and when I say line up, I am speaking literally. For safety reasons, we would line up 2 by 2 while walking through the refuge and single file when on the road. Walking between 10-16 miles each day, there would be stops every couple of miles to get water, food, and rest. All our bags were packed and driven from campsite to campsite for us, and vehicles met us at each stop providing as much water as needed. The vehicles were also on call so that if anyone needed to stop walking for any reason, they could ride the next leg of the walk or however long needed. Only a handful of people actually walked the whole distance. We would usually get to our destination for the day by noon where a group would bring lunch for us. Most of us would pass the afternoon laying under set-up tarps for shade until another group brought us dinner. By 8 we would be winding down for bed on the ground under the stars or in a tent, exhausted, to begin again early the next morning.

That's the easy part to write.

Walking the migrant trail is about more than seeing if you can make it 75 miles through the desert. And it's not about sharing in the experience of a migrant who crosses.

We had it easy.

Our vision statement best describes why we walk:

The precarious reality of our borderlands calls us to walk. We are a spiritually diverse, multi-cultural group who walk together on a journey of peace to remember people, friends, and family who have died, others who have crossed, and people who continue to come. We bear witness tot he tragedy of death and of the inhumanity in our midst. Lastly, we walk as a community, in defiance of the borders that attempt to divide us committed to working together for the human dignity of all peoples.

To be completely honest, the reasons I decided to walk had little to do with the migrants, but ultimately, they will become a primary reason for doing it again. Coming from across the country and knowing little of the issues, migrants and the border brought to mind such ideas and phrases as evil drug cartels, "they're stealing our jobs!" (which, honestly, would you apply for the jobs that they are taking? I didn't think so.), and "ILLEGAL!" Do you think about the 17-year-old girl so desperate for a different life that she makes a dangerous trek while very pregnant? Of the young man whose only choice to provide for his family is to go where the resources are, legal or not? Of the boy whose remains found in the desert placed him at not even a year of age? I didn't. Do you think of the near 100 who have already died this year? I do.

Truth be told, I still know little of the facts behind the border fence. But I do know that migrants are still crossing who feel that life's circumstances have forced them to attempt the journey for a better life, and many don't make it. Even having made the walk myself, I can in no way even imagine that I know or have experienced the plight of a migrant. I think perhaps the only thing in common is the mere fact of walking. We had abundant supply of food and water; they have what they can carry, such as water bottles painted black so the sun doesn't reflect off of them, revealing their presence to the border patrol. I think one of the biggest differences that struck me is that while walking, we had nothing to fear. They have everything to fear: fear of sickness, being left behind, of what's to come, of those you are traveling with. I'm pretty sure our biggest fear (or perhaps just mine) was who would see my bare bottom as I did my business in the sparse desert land.

One of the ways in which we were able to really connect as much as possible with the migrants was by carrying a cross, symbolizing the life of someone who had attempted to cross, but did not make it. One cross bore the name of a 4-year-old girl. I carried the cross of Rusbel Cano Lopez. 28 years old: my age, and originally labeled as doe #92 when his remains were found 30 June 2005. Fortunately, his remains were eventually able to be identified. In 2005, I was doing something that would, in a sense, better my life as well. I spent an extravagant semester living my dream in France, with various safety nets should I fail. Not to mention, *excellent* health care (being in France...but I won't go there). In 2005, it is very likely that Rusbel was making the arduous journey across the Sonoran desert, fighting for his life at one point, eventually losing it. While I undeservedly lived and found a great new life, Rusbel undeservedly lost his. He was a human, after all. If nothing else, a human being. So I carried his cross, and finished the journey that he didn't get to.

Here's the thing. If I had been a migrant, I probably would not have made it either. It's hard to say who of us would have been able to find the strength to finish, but many of us walking would not have made it. Many of the migrants travel in groups. In fact, as we left Sásabe, a group of boys cheered us on. I thought they were just showing support of what we were doing. A few days later I heard someone ask, "Do you know what they were doing?" and it clicked. Those were the faces of the migrants. Young boys, probably in the preteen range, all wearing dark clothes with a backpack slung over the shoulder. They weren't walking for an experience, adventure, or to raise awareness. They were walking for their lives. If something happens to one of them that doesn't allow for them to keep up with the group, they are left behind, which often results in death. For a migrant, something as simple as a blister could be one's death. If our feet were too blistered to walk for a bit, we could ride. If we had any slight symptoms of dehydration, we were made to ride and rest. We would have been left behind.

Thursday morning, we began walking at 4am to avoid doing as much of our 16 miles in the heat of the day as possible. This is when I thought of Rusbel most. From migrants' stories that I have read, many travel at night to avoid easy detection by border patrol. With our flashlights, we carefully made our way through pure dark. Again, with flashlights, and on a trail. I can't imagine the difficulty of crossing the desert in the dark, with its various prickly plants and wildlife... But I will tell you, it was a beautiful sunrise and view of Baboquivari, a mountain which served as a marker for us nearly the whole of the walk. And with sunrise and Baboquivari I will leave you for now: the walk has left marks so deep and varied that I can only process so much at one time...

Why the liminal life?

I suppose my first post should be an answer to your presumed question, "What the hell is the liminal life?"

Liminality is a word I learned during my graduate school classes, thus one I most associate with theory snobs. Though I resist anything theory these days, there really isn't a better word that describes my life. Coming from the latin word for "a threshold," liminality signifies an in-between place, a passage of time. It is also often associated with rites of passage and identity: a place in which former aspects of identity are dissolved and one moves toward new perspectives. It is a border place, where things are unclear, confusing, and in transition. Liminal space...my life...I don't really think there is a difference between the two.

Thus, the liminal life.

Please come again, when I will begin to share to the best of my ability my experience on the migrant trail, a 75-mile trek through the desert by foot. No joke.