Kembel’s Letter

  

November 31 – December 10

            This will be my last post from Haiti in 2014.  The weather has been mild, almost cool in the morning.  As I write this, someone is throwing rocks into a nearby mango tree to knock loose a fruit.  Things have slowed down here at Christianville.  No more teams are arriving for the month and the American staff is returning home one by one.  The generator still blares.  Sound Check is still exalting.  I am told that December is a particularly dangerous month, as there are more robberies and manifestations (the latter being a synonym for riots).  I am flying back to the US in four days.

            This past week has been a bit reflective for me.  Mainly I have been asking myself if I have left any lasting positive impression here.  A lot of blans/Americans come in with a flurry of activity and the best intentions, but leave with meager results.  This blame is as much the foreigners’ as it is the locals’.  Despite the Haitians’ propensity for conversation, there is a serious lack of communication skills. 

An example.  The last Christian mission that came here brought about fifteen people eager to make a difference.  They were told that one of the Christianville schools was in need of a paint job.  The Americans bought what must have been hundreds of dollar of paint to coat the outside of the building with white, so as to reflect sunlight and have a cooler building.  I traveled with the team up to the mountain school, happy as usual for an excuse to escape Christianville.  Upon arrival, the Americans popped open the tubs of paint and went to work.  It became immediately evident that there was a serious lack of coordination and experience.  The blans opened the tubs only to realize that the paint needed to be homogenized.  Instead of shaking the sealed containers, they found nearby sticks and began a frenzy of stirring, slopping paint over the concrete.  No one had thought to bring any protection for the floor.  They also hadn’t brought enough paintbrushes, so while most worked, some Americans sat around or prayed over the building.  One of the Haitian pastors approached me, remarking that if a job can’t be done right, then it shouldn’t be done at all.  The façade of the school had already been painted sheer white, but the paint the Americans were using was a cream color.  He commented on the mismatch of colors and the poor quality of the paint, which was watery and running down the walls.  I agreed, starting to get upset that the Americans were doing such shoddy work.  It would have been better if they had hired a Haitian – that way it would have been done correctly and given someone a paying job.  The pastor next to me shook his head sadly as he looked at the paint streaked across the floor.  Ashamed, I waited until the Americans had finished up, then went behind them with a rag and wiped the paint off the floor and where it was running on the walls. 

Not is all as it seems, though.  As it turns out, the pastor who spoke to me was the one who suggested that the Americans do the job.  He was also the one who had gone out, tested, and bought that particular paint (with the Americans’ money, of course).  In the end, no one is to blame for the meager results.  The Haitians received a needed improvement and the Americans left with a feeling of accomplishment.  I can’t tell if this example is better or worse than the other team that was here at the same time.  Those five Americans came to the schools with expensive equipment to take pictures of the students and their families.  Their argument was that by giving the Haitians pictures of themselves, they were instilling self-worth and empowering the locals.  In an era where every Haitian has a phone with a camera on it, I’m not sure how much worth the Americans were actually instilling.  As for the Haitians, well, who is going to turn down a free professional photograph?

So, dear reader, you might see why I am questioning the impact I have left here.  I have not revolutionized the fish farm.  Josue and I have played with some different methods and formed an idea of how to supplement the fish feed a bit.  Again, meager results. 

There is at least one thing, however, which makes me feel that I made a tangible difference.

When I first arrived in Haiti, I attended the grand opening of a school that one of the teams had built.  During the ribbon cutting, Jon, an American, showed me the work that they had done.  Concrete here, plumbing there.  He introduced me to Kembel, a young man who had dutifully showed up to volunteer.  Jon expressed how hard of a worker Kembel was and the talent with which he had been welding.  For the rest of the morning, Kembel followed me around asking questions about myself.  I gave him my phone number and wished him the best of luck.  The next day, he walked for hours to get to Christianville and sought me out.  With no language in common, he managed to express to me that he was no longer going to school and wanted some help.  I brought the issue to Jon, who was surprised that Kembel hadn't confided in him.  Jon promised to gain support from his home church, asking if I could be an intermediary on the ground to help Kembel go to school again. 

Kembel’s father had left him a year before, taking with him Kembel’s financing for school.  Kembel had already missed a year of school, and at 18 years old was having his window for highschool graduation close.  I did some research to find which school was closest, cheapest, and still willing to accept Kembel.  Jon sent down a few hundred dollars and the cash was shunted to me.  I was amazed at their faith in me.  I could have easily kept the money and never seen them again.  In fact, Jon never tried to contact me again, despite having my email. 

            Over the next months, I slowly meted out the money to Kembel.  I would give him just enough for a taptap (taxi) and his required textbooks, not giving him any more until he proved his purchase.  I was aware that I might create a dependency with this method, but I wanted to make sure he spent the money right. 

Eventually, I gave him all of the remaining cash to pay for his tuition.  He came back a few times to show me his grades and his study material as he began to have more and more work.  He is a year behind, after all.  I was satisfied that I’d helped a kid take a step towards a successful future.  This last week, he returned with letters for Jon and I that he had written in English.  Despite my doubts regarding the fish farm, this gesture showed me that I really have done something to improve lives.  I realize that this is blowing air up my own skirt, but I’d like to share that letter with you.  In a line of work that is full of frustration, it is nice to have a solid win.

Note that in Creole, the plural ‘you’ is the same as ‘us.’

“Thank you Alec

God is good

Hello! How are you man

I say you thank you

For all that you do for me

I don’t forget you and your family

I will pray for you and your family

I would like to take the contact with you

God alwaysing give you strength to work

I would like to see you a next time

For me you are my mother

I am happy you give the help with me

Jon and Alec God will bless you for all the time and your child

I say you thank you, thank you.

I say us thank you for the work you come to do in my zone

I would like God to give us the strength for next years

For we come in group-self way

I love us forever”

-Kembel