It's worse than I could have ever imagined. I'm so thankful I'm here. I can't express or explain the joy I felt in my heart when I saw my family and friends. It's one thing to hear their voices and read their messages, which I clung to so tightly in North Dakota, but to be with them and hug and hold them, is a joy and bigger relief than I've ever felt in my life.
The trees. Gone. Jeremie is brown. Dusty and muggy. Cholera has broken out and so many people are coming down with it. I was walking through a makeshift hospital full of cholera patients. The hospital has been destroyed. The nurses and doctors won't work because the government isn't paying them. Wounds. Bandages. Vomit. Diarrhea. Useless. Encouraging. Useless. Babies crying and mothers caring. Husbands sick and women hopeless. I make a cholera remedy and give it to a baby. Please Jesus. Work. Smoke and burning trash and branches. Missing houses and missing roofs. My friends. Dusty black faces and shining white teeth. Bricks and cement crumble beneath my boots. These are the things I see. How do I feel? Tough. Strong. Compassionate but in control. Compassion can be toxic if not used correctly.
I hold Dieudonne's hand, and for those that know me in Haiti, he is my Papa. I don't want to let go and I can feel he knows it. House to house making sure friends are safe.
I know it's easier for us to get our hands dirty and spend $1,500 on an experience for ourselves rather than send $1,500 to rebuild a home. I should know, I'm here. Our rebuild the world mission trips are for us. Not the people. We find the money for our flight tickets, but don't seem to have the spare change for someone's roof. Haitians are strong. The work isn't the problem. It's the complete lack of supplies. If your house blew away and you had no job, but were surrounded by friends and family ready to build, what would you want people to do for you?
Cholera. How to fix it. And fast.
...
I can't sleep. The moon is staring at me. Poppyseed is snoring. My hammock broke and I can't stand sleeping in this tent. I moved. My face is under the stars like so many beautiful people on this island. I feel really hard when my hammock broke and I hope my tailbone isn't cracked. Dad flipped haha so I had to pretend it was fine. My tank top got so sweaty today it's crusty. Can't figure out why it feels the need to sweat all the time. Get it together tank top.
I have always loved the sound of rain falling on a tin roof. It's been one of my favorite sounds all my life. Sleeping in the loft of the barn, covered in hay, listening to animals chewing their cud. However, right now I hate it. All the people without roofs. It makes me so sad to think of my sweet people without shelter. I am forced to move back inside this sticky tent. I unzip the whole door so at least I can look out. I lean up against my bag of medical supplies and write. The rain falls harder and harder. I guess it's a good thing my hammock broke early on. The dark silhouette of fallen trees against the backdrop of the moon is eery. They look like claws reaching out, waiting to rip something apart like the wind. The moon covers up with gray down blanket and the rain takes over the night. Seeing as it's almost midnight, maybe I should put my thoughts to rest as well.
-- Kate Bartow
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