eyes open. i noticed.

Today was our last mobile clinic.  We have done over six clinics at this beach servicing this smaller community, but this time everything seemed different.  When you carry the knowledge that whatever you are doing is going to be your last time doing it the entire experience seems to change.  Everything seems to present itself differently even if the events play out exactly the same way as every time before.

The tree that sheltered the dental cleaning area seemed taller, greener.  The small bench joined at the base of the tree appeared more inviting like open hands welcoming people to lie upon them-safe, no fear.  Nobody pushed and shoved their way into the clinic.  Nobody greedily grabbed numbers out of my hand.  They all lined up in order waiting their turn patiently.  Fear was absent from their faces replaced by the familiarity in mine.  When I asked how they were doing in Creole each person responded politely looking me in the eye and to my surprise asked me in turn how I was doing.  The usual shouting and arguing that once filled the area was today quiet.  My name was no longer shouted identifying an unknown, but rather spoken like a friend.   I recall looking around me, the dark clouds looming overhead, the air more crisp, the sound of waves crashing on the beach more striking, and the entire shore line was buzzing of the World Cup.  Radio announcers turned to max volume carried high intense energy surging throughout the country- loud sheers startled me without fail bringing news of a “GOOAALL!!”

Children huddled close to the dental bench sitting, legs crossed, hands in their laps, mouths open, watching as I one by one cleaned their sugar caked teeth- plaque begging to be removed.  Their faces held curiosity, trust, body language grasping for the unknown, eyes searching out my smile, and laughter bursting in the air like small fire crackers bringing a sense of wonder to anyone within ear shot.  I tried to limit my patient count to 20 people, but the kids kept bringing their friends to my side seating them at my bench; I did not have the heart to say no. 

One by one my “on-looker entourage” crept forward attempting to sneak a peak into their peer’s mouth.  They wanted to see what it was I was so enthusiastically probing at and possibly perplexed as to why I had such an enthused grin on my face.  What can I say?  I love doing what I am doing.  Every ounce of plaque removed is a potential cavity warned off- at least for a few more weeks.  Nick had to keep telling them to “chita” or “sit down”.  I would giggle quietly to myself at his attempt to allow me my working space, but as I said before “last times” offer new understanding so I permitted the kids to venture next to my lap presenting a view into what cavities looked like.  I was a curious child too; no dentist or doctor ever turned down the chance to educate me about what it was they were doing.  I didn’t have a mirror for the kids to look into while I cleaned their teeth consequently observing the kid after them was the best I could offer.  Every time their eyes lit up mine did too; every time they pointed to ask a question my heart filled with excitement; every time I witnessed a child brushing his or her teeth and examining their neighbors mouth I selfishly felt an enormous amount of pride.

When the last child sat up giving me a big hug I silently placed my tools in my bag, picked up the last remaining trash, slipped off my gloves, and slowly zipped up my dental bag slipping it over my shoulders.  I was done here.  I told them in Creole “Do not forget me.  I will never forget you.”  The kids threw big hugs my way and scampered off down the coast.  I don’t think they understand I was leaving. 

Over my morning cup of coffee I have been asking God to surprise me (a close neighbor and friend said it worked for her) and show me what I need to see surrounding me.  This clinic was such an event, but God had bigger plans in store for me…this was just to get my attention.

When all our bags were packed into the skiff our good friend and volunteer translator, Janel, invited us to walk with him. 

Nick, Noah, Sky, Ben, Ryan, and I jumped at the chance to see what Janel had to show us.  We followed him up and around the clinic to the beginning of a narrow dirt path tucked between a small home and cactus bushes.  Some of the children followed us in holding our hands reaching to grab our backpacks, and stealing a feel for our hair (this is a normal thing here…they are in awe about our hair, never let an open hand go open, and fight to be close to our side).

The path carried us along through high bushes dropping us alongside a slow moving river.  Across the river you could see an elderly lady perched under a tree sowing some clothes and what could possibly be her elder daughter reading a book at her feet.  Laundry lay on every available bush attempting to dry with the humidity in vain.  On our side of the river we overlooked a large open field with grazing cows, wild hens, and loud calling goats.  Palm trees scattered the field offering limited shade for farmers and animals alike.  And beyond the green plain, a mountain range ascended into the sky clouds hovering heavy at the top.  Beautiful.  Janel continued us on smiling to himself at what I can only imagine was to the expressions on our faces.  We must have looked like we have never seen such a sight-and to the normal Haiti going traveler they wouldn’t if they never took the time to notice.

After a few minutes we came upon a bridge made of an old metal car frames bolted together interlaced with tree trunks-we crossed on at a time.  Janel pointed out plants reciting their Creole name with us in tern giving him the English translation.  He is a very smart young man eager to learn what ever anyone will teach him.  As we neared his house we crossed water ravens and irrigation systems.  Janel politely addressed everyone passing us on the road and he seemed to be quite popular.   Walking under tall trees I welcomed the forgiving shade minding my step of small farm animals scurrying about the damp soil.  Janel pushed back a low palm branch and as if I were walking from night to day the land around us changed dramatically.  No leaves lay stomped about, trash was nowhere in sight, and I was standing on gravel.  Small pebbles and rocks were arranged neatly according to color to create a path and encompass patterns around trees.  Specific areas were designated for cooking, cleaning, and clothes washing.  Pots and pans stacked carefully to one side, while clothes piled up gently across the way.  Two houses stood separated by another petite path with an older lady, white hair in braids, wearing a beautiful lace dress greeted us with a big smile and an enthusiastic wave.  She called of Janel, kissed him rough on the cheek and slapped him on the shoulder like your favorite Grandmother would do after embarrassing her with pride.   We continued only a few minutes longer to reach Janel’s Aunt’s home, his Uncle’s home, and finally with a gleaming face introduced us to his family and home. 

Several people were crowded around the tiny door opening perched up on a cement porch railing, seated on a wood plank bench, and leaning on their tip-toes over heads to marvel at the football match taking place on the television (the government has miraculously found the resources for day time power while they have suspiciously left the country only to decided that the power source will run dry after the world cup match is over just as miraculously as it came).  Dirty.

Janel pushed his way through the gathered crowed and stood tall in the doorway. “Rachel. This is my home.”  His smile couldn’t have been any bigger.  “Beautiful” I replied.  He quickly ducked behind a blue laced curtain and before I knew what was happening he was climbing hand over foot up a palm tree having changed into what I can only assume were his ‘play clothes’.  We all stood at the base of the tree cheering him on as he effortlessly reached the top.  One by one Janel plucked coconuts or “cocoye” dropping them to the ground. When he was finished, Janel, “monkey-walked” his way back down the tree laughing with ease.  I was impressed.  I don’t think any guy I have ever met could do what he just did- jungle book style. 

Before I knew what was going on, Janel disappeared from the group and reappeared back in his original shorts and shirt (okay so he just might rival me in fastest-dress-in-the-west award) carrying chairs and making a circle.  What a good host.  Still I am impressed. And still the astonishment continued.  After Nick, Ryan, Ben, Noah, Sky, and I were all comfortably seated in a circle under the tree, Janel and his two friends pulled out these huge machete knives and began to slice open the coconuts for us.  First they chopped off the very tops of the outer shell revealing only a small circular amount of the inner shell.  Then they cut a hole through it exposing the coconut milk inside.  We each were given our own coconut drinking its sweat milk from inside.  Sky told me that coconut milk was one of the best hydrating liquids as it carried the same saturation levels as our human blood.  Interesting fact for the day.  I needed the hydration too-it was hot out and I was parched.  Next the boys took our coconuts on at a time carefully chopping them in half allowing access to the young coconut meat inside.  They scooped out the meat which has the consistency of calamari (I know I couldn’t think of anything else) slightly firm, slightly chewy.  With every “wack” of the machete I gasped.  The boys looked up at me laughing and smiling.  I told them that we have had more than a few men row all the way out to our boat with half cut off toes, sliced palms, and missing fingers….who’s laughing now!!  They stopped smiling and cut with more caution now.  Haha as if the idea of chopping off a limb had never occurred to them before…strange.

Like I said, Janel was very polite, a great host, and nobody has ever brought out a machete to serve me a snack before…lol.  Nick wanted to climb the palm tree to try and impress me all the same…I told him not to hurt his ego…keep your feet on the ground…his boat mechanic skills was more than enough for me…haha. Men. Although he still thinks he can climb that tree…we’ll see about that.

When we were all done eating Janel took us over to see the old 1741 French bunker still standing just over a low rolling hill.  Made out of brick it was a standing symbol of their independence in 1804 with two old canons perched just 10 yards from the main entrance.  Unable to go anywhere without a following crowd of Haitian children as soon as we arrived near the fort we were surrounded!  They saw my camera and began posing for the lens.  As always I clicked away and showed them the final product laughing the entire time. 

When we finished with the fort Janel took us back around to show us his home football field giving me some strange bean thingy that he picked off a plant.  I made him eat one first.  Everybody laughed.  What the heck? I took a bite…chewed it…it was really good.  (Mom you would be proud of me trying new things).

Janel, thanked us for coming along with him inviting us back tomorrow to hang out and meet his brother.  We said we would try to make it weather permitting.  On the way back, Janel again greeted every person that past.  He ran into his best friend holding hands like best friends should.  Two young girls walked along side our group and when Janel noticed a thorn branch in the middle of the road, he stopped to pick it up tossing it away so nobody would step on it.  I think that is the moment I began to tell God I hear him.  I opened my eyes to see that even among destruction, fear, sever poverty, and even less opportunities, here was a person to show me different.  Never without a smile, a friend to all that pass, kind hearted, having nothing but giving everything, volunteering his time for the service of others, he even passed his chance to get his teeth cleaned asking me if another boy could take his place instead “he needs it more than I do. Please.”  Janel walks miles to university almost every morning, took the time to teach us Creole, took in the opportunity to practice his English, and like an older brother has a steady following of children obviously looking up to him.  A leader in his community God presented me with one hell of a positive. 

Eyes open. I took notice.

The skiff ride back I watched as Janel turned to walk back to his house his entourage following bouncing up and down laughing and breaking into song. 

Ben leans over at my obvious heartfelt expression and said “this is why we are here”.

Despite the rest, today sparked the reason my drive for dentistry is different.  The reason I will continue my passion for helping people in need.  To give the care that is needed where there is need for care- not exclusive to the United States of America.  And that is help.

routine Haiti

4:45AM I let out an enormous yawn, stretch my arms, and roll over to view another eye-opening sunrise.  I sit up lazily to get the blood flowing through my body with coffee on the brain.  Nick and I serve the same watch and as our routine goes he wonders into the galley bringing to life our coffee maker.  Unfortunately, this coffee-making process takes about 30 minutes; Nick and I sit in silence breathing in the last of the cool morning breeze and reveling in our fleeting silence.  I hear the generator click into a lower gear sending a glorious high pitch sound across the bow-coffee is ready! Nick stumbles once more down into the boat prepares two cups drinks his half right then and there, refills his glass, and saunters back up to the saloon roof to resume his place at my side-silence still luffs in the sails. By this time in the morning I have managed to lay out my yoga mate, complete some Noah-Hass-Certified-push-ups, squeeze in some sit-ups, and stretch cramped muscles.  Breaking the silence either Nick and I enter with a lazy “good morning-how did you sleep?”. A wasted question at best.  I know and Nick knows just how well one another slept.  Hot, humid, windy, stale air, slight drizzle to drive the point home, and a full on heat wave when the sun rays reach your face-oh I sleep great here in Haiti.  I stare at the bottom of my empty coffee cup, push myself to my feet, absent-mindedly take Nick’s cup and mosey into the galley for refills-my round also includes oatmeal with honey and craisins.  On my way out the door I pass Nick taking in sleeping gear and I swipe my latest book of the shelf juggling coffee and breakfast bowls.  I cannot tell you how good it feels to have completed a mini work-out, drink coffee, finish a liter of water, have a solid breakfast, read a book, and still be ready to head to clinic all before 8:00AM-superstar.

Looking out over the bow of the boat every morning I smile.  I feel inspired to take this routine back home with me.  Getting up early to beat the people moving rush allowing what precious time I have to myself psychologically prepare my body and mind for the day ahead.  It feels great. 

Getting into the skiff gear on my back treats in my pockets and bug spray head to toe I am ready to clinic hours.  It is only a 10 minute, maybe less, ride to shore and I pray the little clouds that are left hanging in the sky stick around to help shade our faces.  Once on shore I jump over the splashing waves already surrounded by routine Haitian locals.  The kids have some to expect us in the morning often missing individual crew members during our boat rotations.  With big smiles and bright eyes the kids latch on to my hands and arms skipping at my side.  I greet every person I see in Creole excited when I am given the chance to offer a response.  The locals love hearing us speak their native tongue and are wonderful teachers slowly pronouncing words for us to repeat.  I love this walk to the clinic.  I will miss it very much when I am gone.

People shout your name, laugh, beg for anything that they think you might be willing to part with, and follow you to your destination-no matter how far.  Some faces are initially sad, angry, stern, and wanting, but with a simple smile and cheerful greeting those same faces transform into warm expressions of homeliness.

The walk home from the clinic is the same, but this trip back leaves my pockets empty of treats for the kids.  I know. I know. I am guilty. I pass out double bubble gum.  I blame Brian-it’s your fault.  He bought them and left to film in India leaving me the tooth loving innocent to pass out these cavity ridden chew things.  What can I say, the kids and Brian smile so nicely, I cannot resist. BUT- I always say “brush your teeth”-not sure how much good that does. 

Back at the boat I wind down in a similar fashion to waking.  I sit on the bow of the boat drinking my fourth and last liter of water watching the sun go down over Petit-Goave.  Silence is not a main player in this process as the entire community is also winding down, but I enjoy the time all the same.  I finish in the dark with a chapter or two from my book escaping to yet another reality-dirk pitt anyone?  I help with dinner (make it, eat it, and clean it up), wash my face, brush my teeth, floss, and lay out my bed outside once more.  The moon is high in the sky by now.  The stars glitter.  The wind picks up off shore keeping the beads of sweat barely at bay.  I sigh loudly. Nick says good night have snoring.  I take one last look at the moon – mom, you told me that whenever I feel like I am far from home to just look at the moon and remember we are looking at each other.  I feel instantly comforted.  I already told you how the sleeping thing goes here-not well.

Routine is my thing and this is my Haiti schedule.  For better and for the worse (mostly due to something I should not have eaten) I am making the most of my time here….i wonder what everyone else is doing?

routine routine routine- i love it

4:45AM I let out an enormous yawn, stretch my arms, and roll over to view another eye opening sunrise.  I sit up lazily to get the blood flowing through my body with coffee on the brain.  Nick and I serve the same watch and as our routine goes he wonders into the galley bringing to life our coffee maker.  Unfortunately, this coffee making process takes about 30 minutes; Nick and I sit in silence breathing in the last of the cool morning breeze and reveling in our fleeting silence.  I hear the generator click into a lower gear sending a glorious high pitch sound across the bow-coffee is ready! Nick stumbles once more down into the boat prepares two cups drinks his half right then and there, refills his glass, and saunters back up to the saloon roof to resume his place at my side-silence still luffs in the sails. By this time in the morning I have managed to lay out my yoga mate, complete some Noah-Hass-Certified-push-ups, squeeze in some sit-ups, and stretch cramped muscles.  Breaking the silence either Nick and I enter with a lazy “good morning-how did you sleep?”. A wasted question at best.  I know and Nick knows just how well one another slept.  Hot, humid, windy, stale air, slight drizzle to drive the point home, and a full on heat wave when the sun rays reach your face-oh I sleep great here in Haiti.  I stare at the bottom of my empty coffee cup, push myself to my feet, absent-mindedly take Nick’s cup and mosey into the galley for refills-my round also includes oatmeal with honey and craisins.  On my way out the door I pass Nick taking in sleeping gear and I swipe my latest book of the shelf juggling coffee and breakfast bowls.  I cannot tell you how good it feels to have completed a mini work-out, drink coffee, finish a liter of water, have a solid breakfast, read a book, and still be ready to head to clinic all before 8:00AM-superstar.

Looking out over the bow of the boat every morning I smile.  I feel inspired to take this routine back home with me.  Getting up early to beat the people moving rush allowing what precious time I have to myself psychologically prepare my body and mind for the day ahead.  It feels great.

Getting into the skiff gear on my back treats in my pockets and bug spray head to toe I am ready to clinic hours.  It is only a 10 minute, maybe less, ride to shore and I pray the little clouds that are left hanging in the sky stick around to help shade our faces.  Once on shore I jump over the splashing waves already surrounded by routine Haitian locals.  The kids have some to expect us in the morning often missing individual crew members during our boat rotations.  With big smiles and bright eyes the kids latch on to my hands and arms skipping at my side.  I greet every person I see in Creole excited when I am given the chance to offer a response.  The locals love hearing us speak their native tongue and are wonderful teachers slowly pronouncing words for us to repeat.  I love this walk to the clinic.  I will miss it very much when I am gone.

People shout your name, laugh, beg for anything that they think you might be willing to part with, and follow you to your destination-no matter how far.  Some faces are initially sad, angry, stern, and wanting, but with a simple smile and cheerful greeting those same faces transform into warm expressions of homeliness.

The walk home from the clinic is the same, but this trip back leaves my pockets empty of treats for the kids.  I know. I know. I am guilty. I pass out double bubble gum.  I blame Brian-it’s your fault.  He bought them and left to film in India leaving me the tooth loving innocent to pass out these cavity ridden chew things.  What can I say, the kids and Brian smile so nicely, I cannot resist. BUT- I always say “brush your teeth”-not sure how much good that does.

Back at the boat I wind down in a similar fashion to waking.  I sit on the bow of the boat drinking my fourth and last liter of water watching the sun go down over Petit-Goave.  Silence is not a main player in this process as the entire community is also winding down, but I enjoy the time all the same.  I finish in the dark with a chapter or two from my book escaping to yet another reality-dirk pitt anyone?  I help with dinner (make it, eat it, and clean it up), wash my face, brush my teeth, floss, and lay out my bed outside once more.  The moon is high in the sky by now.  The stars glitter.  The wind picks up off shore keeping the beads of sweat barely at bay.  I sigh loudly. Nick says good night have snoring.  I take one last look at the moon – mom, you told me that whenever I feel like I am far from home to just look at the moon and remember we are looking at each other.  I feel instantly comforted.  I already told you how the sleeping thing goes here-not well.

Routine is my thing and this is my Haiti schedule.  For better and for the worse (mostly due to something I should not have eaten) I am making the most of my time here….i wonder what everyone else is doing?

into the bushes…we cure

Today we did our first mobile clinic-scary.  But not after the wild and crazy squall that sent our boat dragging anchor all over an unmarked bay.  The rain came down so hard and the wind blew so fiercely that even when I stood on the tip of our bow I could not see but two feet past.  Our anchor had to come up and we were dangerously low on fuel.  Any moment our engines might cut out and we would be dead in the water only a few meters from shore and unsure of our relative position to the two other tankers neighboring us.  This was a stressful night.  Finally, the wind died down and the rain stopped allowing us the visual capability we so desperately needed to drop anchor once more.  Crossing our fingers our second attempt to drop the anchor worked.  Almost midnight the crew rock-papered-scissored the decision to stay up and wait for their watch or risk an hour or two sleep than stand watch.  With an absent crew member we were forced to cover an extra hour’s time on top of our regular assigedn duty.  With a watch from 4:30AM to 7:30AM Nick and I greedily took to our pillows leaving Sky and Noah (1:30AM to 3:30AM) to stick it out-troopers.  The day was going to start early for all of us-regular clinic was to begin at 8AM (which meant up and out by 7:30AM) and then we would regroup for our mobile clinic at one in the afternoon.  Oh sleep how I envy the word.

With bags under our eyes only adrenaline and excitement kept our crew going for this first attempted mobile clinic.  We ‘skiffed’ it up on the local beach and I jumped out with my red dental bag in hand.  Ben tossed up the other medical bags and Noah sped back to the boat to pick up Nick and Sky.  I was going to do 20 cleanings, Nick was going to be my lead assistant, Sky was going to administer 30 triage patients, and Ben was going to treat them all.  The clinical room was a dirt plot 10 feet by 20 feet.  Bushes housing us on our right, a cactus wall sheltering us on our left, and a mere two feet away waves crashed up on the shore.   A small wooden table with a delicate lace tablecloth one might use for an afternoon tea party in front kept the mob of people out of our little space.  A single tree with a 4 foot piece of wood nailed into it once served as a bench for escaping the afternoon heat now served as my dental chair.  Buckets overturned became doctor stools, and one a trashcan for obvious sanitary reasons.  My clipboard took the responsibility for keeping track of my patients’ name, age, and dental issues, fanned away mosquitoes , and acted as a spit shield for Nick-oh my.  Thankfully we had three interpreters with us each sitting with Sky, Ben, and I to keep the patient and ourselves informed.  I saw all kids today and helplessly explained to their accompanying adult the importance of the dentist, no more sugar, brushing teeth, and at the very minimum swishing with water before bedtime.  Sometimes my advice fell on deaf ears while kids were given sugar cane as a treat for sitting still. Um hello…if the children’s cavity ridden mouths were not painful enough I can only imagine what pure sugar would do them.  I grimaced at the sight reminding myself that at least the calcified plaque was temporarily gone-ew.  Moving along down the list I had to keep shaking my leg to rid off the ants, and other various only-god-knows-what-insect-that-was from biting me.  My spit bucket was a small hole in the ground and was often blocked by the curious bodies encroached in my limited space. This was AWESOME!

Haha on my third child I had to pee.  So by the time I reached number 20 I was dying my bladder hurt so bad.  I had Nick help me pack and ready to go so the minute I pulled the floss out of the last child’s mouth my gloves were torn off and I was racing out of there.  I could barely stand up I had to pee sooo bad…for some reason I thought of my Grandma Brooks…this just seemed like a situation that I would find myself in with her…no buckets to pee in though and no privacy for a mile.  Haha I can only imagine what she would have come up with for a solution-something funny and outlandishly clever I assure you.  But there was no time for laughing about that now.  Not only would laughter cause me to pee my pants, but every minute passing was also threatening the same.  I pushed past the still hyped up crowd waiting to see Ben and yelled “I have to pee like a race horse.  I am going to pee my pants!” to Sky as I flew by her.  I was comfortable yelling this in a big crowd because nobody spoke English so my words were safe…can you imagine yelling that in a waiting room back home…haha NO WAY! Haha

Nick raced to the boat, started the motor, and as soon as my feet were off the sand he revved up the engine and zoomed away.  I could barely wave to the several kids running after me. It felt rude to leave so abruptly, but when you have to go-you have to go! The ride home didn’t help either.  The water was significantly choppy and every swell sent our boat into the air landing back down with a gravitational force I thought would surely burst my bladder. When we pulled up to the boat I was off and into the bathroom in a record ten paces.  Nick was laughing so hard I think he almost peed his pants-that would have been GREAT!  Ahhhh. I felt like a million bucks.  Slowly I walked back to the boat to help Nick lift up the supplies and buckets.  I had all the time in the world now…until I had to pee again. Phew-the day ended with a great sunset and I watched from the top of the boat as the entire coast of Petit-Goave was fogged for mosquitoes.

The clinic was fun.  We are going to do another one this weekend and I was tired tired tired.  With no generator and no cool air running through our cabins the entire crew slept up on deck under mosquito nets and drenched in bug spray.  Only sleep was going to have to wait until the thunderstorm passed and the rain stopped-2:30AM.  I got fed up and passed out in my cabin drenched in sweat and wondering if I would wake up alive in the morning.  Who in their right mind would pay hundreds of dollars to sit in a sauna room for cleansing is beyond my comprehension at this very moment.  I was so uncomfortable I think I passed out from heat exhaustion waking every so often to wipe the sweat off my face with a soaked towel. EW GROSS!

I am praying for diesel fuel. diesel diesel diesel.

My 4:30AM watch came early this morning. Oh and did I mention no coffee either…oh the agony.

Port-au-Prince-walking dead

I sat in the back of the truck as our driver pulled up to a large teal metal gate.  Two men stepped out, leaned into the truck driver window, and raised their chins at nick and me.  Our driver spoke in few, but firm words and reluctantly the two men stepped back never letting their eyes leave mine.  I smiled gingerly as the truck moved through the gate unsure of what I was going to see.   I looked over at Nick who was removing his sunglasses, his face unreadable, and eyed the back side of the gate as three boys worked to manipulate a bulky lock.  The truck rolled to a stop and I hopped out following Dr. DesGrottes’ family –her mom and her two Uncles (our hosts at the clinic).

A large dance hall stood before me.  Tall square concrete pillars held up a metal roof that housed three large disco balls.  Mattresses arbitrarily strewn about the floor created homes and a safe haven for a few people, among the many, who lost their homes.  At the far end of the hall stood a large concrete stage, a circle of wood folding chairs, and a group of young Haitian adults occupying half of them.  As I moved closer to the circle I noticed the twitching feet, curious eyes, and slumped bodies trying to keep the tense mood casual.  I took a chair next to Tania with the open dance floor on my left.  With silence still hanging in the circle and the sun casting its late afternoon rays over the yard, I could almost feel the beat of the music that once moved a crowd; shoes stepping in a transient rhythm, shoulders swinging to the motion of the soul, hands clapping bringing the music to life, and laughter pushing the energy through the roof.  My heart beat to a ghost tune.  Caught in my own thoughts I was brought back to the present with foreign words rushing into my ears.  I immediately turned to face Tania. “What are we doing here?”  She explained this group was a unique group of like-minded young adults wanting to bring a broken and separate Petite-Goave together.  The handful of young men and women before me were here to discuss how to bring together young children from all over the community and inspire their minds about the cultural beauty of their own community, country, and home.  Two main issues occupied the discussion: how to attract the children and how to bring two different groups (the city kids and the farm kids) collectively without a political uprising. Two groups under one umbrella; how would one avoid a political undertone?  The entire dialogue in Creole I was not able to understand most of what was being said, but I did manage to grasp the need for Petite-Goave to be one Petit-Goave.  For the community who has been literally shaken down to the ground to pick their spirits off the ground, rebuild, and recreate pride amongst the people.  When the meeting ended Nick and I went back to the truck and hopped in with the entire group….with a spare tire and a guitar.  Within minutes of leaving the grounds, I had all the boys laughing up a storm.  Nobody could understand anyone.  I had learned phrases in Creole, but had a hard time understanding anyone’s response.  The boys had also learned some phrases in English, but with the same problem they could not understand my responses.  With my broken-very broken- French skills (Dana has been helping me learn) the boys found my accent funny and pronunciations hilarious.  I managed to convince one of the boys to play a few songs on the guitar and another boy chimed in with some traditional vocals.  When we arrived back at the port and the boys had to jump off I was hassled for photos.  They wanted pictures with me, my name, and my number (everyone has a phone here and most Haitians find it amusing that being an American I do not carry one with me).  I told them I would be here for two weeks or more and they all cheered promising we would see each other again.  I gave hugs all around and settled in next to Nick as we sped off our destination: Port-au-Prince.

Let me take a few minutes to explain why I settled in “tight” next to Nick.  I say tight, but I mean crammed, squished, paralyzed, packed like a sardine, and not sure I was going to make the three hour journey sitting this way.  Nick, myself, three other clinic workers, seven boxes of canned food, a large gas tank, luggage, bags of potatoes, a bag of rice, my bag, Nick’s bag, and two bottles of water (which make a difference).  In America this would not be okay, but here I am excited to see the country the way every Haitian experiences the country-truck bed style with speeds sometimes over 50 miles an hour.

The sun fell heavy in the sky as we drove through the far edge of Petit-Goave.  With darkness collapsed around us my senses heighted to sounds and smells.  Racing along the winding streets over 60 miles an hour I managed to catch both strange and familiar sounds emanating from the passing towns.  The scent of fire burning filled my nostrils.  The three other Haitian passengers occupying our limited space covered their noses and mouths with masks; I prayed very hard at that moment that not having one of my own I would not soon regret my travel to Port-au-Prince.  Well you win some and you lose some, but Malaria (and most likely worse) is not a battle I wanted to ever have to fight.  Living in such close proximities, gathered with no means of sanitation or sewage disposal, it is a wonder anyone is healthy here.  Disease spreads like children released in a theme park recently injected with sugar.  I tried to put the thought in the back of my mind holding my breath periodically when enclosed in dust clouds-particulate matter of who knows what.

Conversation between Nick and I sparked laughter, provoking ideas, and plans for the future.  I wanted to be here again.  I want to find myself in the back of a truck overflowing with supplies and Haitians racing to somewhere-anywhere.  I want my ride to include other doctors and hopefully dentists ready for action doing good to do good wanting nothing in return.  Meeting the people where the people are.  Discovering a slice of God’s creation the way God intended a creation to be seen.  I want to race past other motor taxis, blast the horn at passing vehicles, and shout at pedestrians and bicycles grabbing their attention.  Sailing here offered a perspective on a country no one could experience unless traveling by boat.  I greet the fisherman every morning over a hot cup of coffee.  I walk to school with the kids.  I made friends with the UN port guards joking with them and sharing different foods from Shrilanka.  I know the corner store owners working outside our gate entrance.  I have come to know the teenage boys who wash their cars and motor bikes to show pride in their work giving rides to people all over town.  I have been able to be a part of a community I feel so many people would dismiss as they douse their hands in hand sanitizer.  A community teaching me about life; lessons I hope to bring back with me to America.  Lessons I hope not lost in vain to my home culture and my need to “fit in”.

In the beginning I was bummed not to have traveled this road during the day light.  I wanted to see the countryside-green land, blue sky, warm sun.  After fifteen minutes, however, I changed my mind.  The night offers sight to a different culture.  Candles light up faces offering fresh bread, fried bread fruit, plantains, and other mouthwatering aromas.  The disco halls explode the night with music from all around the world-American, German, Haitian, French, and Spanish.  Children broke out in play- relived for a cool breeze.

The truck often slowed down having to maneuver through a maze of destruction.  This brief moment sometimes cast a beam of light across our faces.  People would move in close to gather a glimpse of the white folks (Le Blanc) hitching a ride through their village.  Not yet accustomed to the fishbowl effect I instinctively would lean back then smile as I found myself subsequently crouching forward to catch a glance of my own.  Shouting a cheerful “good evening” in Creole I was often rewarded with hearty smiles and giggles with waves and sometimes a short chase after the truck.  Yeah that’s right.  Nobody can resist this smile and good nature. Haha.

The ride continued as the smell of burning plastic filled my lungs with every town closing our distance to Port-au-Prince.  Just when I thought my leg was going to fall off from lack of blood circulation I turned to my left and immediately forgot all about my troubles.  No less than three feet from the exposed truck-bed stood hundreds of Haitians standing, sitting, aimlessly wondering, singing, shouting, and crying over candlelight that shed an eerie shadow sending chills down my spine. I sat in silence as the picture only got worse.  Taking a slight de-tour the driver took us through down town past the capital and park.  The building was sunken in as if only made from play-dough having the unfortunate demise of an angry five year old.  The park housing beautiful statues, land marks, and fountains had become a jumble of shanty towns where one tent wall separated three” homes” sheltering more than twelve people.  Over 15, 000 people (a number without meaning until my eyes witnessed it for themselves) now occupied a park that once emanated laughter, restful lunch breaks, and soulful music.  Still not a word spoken from any member in the car my mind raced, my heart ached, and I pushed back tears welling up inside.  With so many people up and about this truly is the place where nobody sleeps.  “The walking dead” is a common phrase passed around to describe the people in Port-au-Prince.

It was pushing past 9:00pm when we arrived in down town and everyone was getting a bit restless.  The driver swerved, honked, and four wheeled it around earthquake remnants.  Pulling up next to a lit up gas station the first Haitian guy leaped from the truck bidding us a fare well.  As soon as his hand left the truck I lost sight of him in a sea of people and shouting voices.  I hope he stays safe, was my last thought for this man.  Ten seconds later the truck bolted forward blending in with the chaos once more.  My mind lost all sense of direction as we seemed to wind back and forth around in circles through the same streets.  The only way I knew we were making progress was the continued increase in elevation as the streets once level grew steep and slippery.

Lightning hurdled through the night sky in scattered patterns, accompanied by an abrupt drop in temperature within less than 5 minutes.  I caught myself shivering at the sudden change as the breeze whipped my shirt, dampened by my sweat from the oppressive humidity.  A slight drizzle swept over us from clouds that threatened a down pour.  The truck screeched to a halt at a stop light just long enough to let the last of our fellow back passengers jump off and scramble for his bag.  Lurching forward once more, we continued to dodge the streets with only Nick and I left.  The sky opened up and the rain came down.  I managed to squeeze my butt into the back truck cab (they stopped briefly to let me in the car) grateful for a short stretch of the legs and shelter.  Nick graciously stayed in the back even though I offered to keep him company.  He ushered me into the car with a smile and a wink.  Oh sometimes it is good to be a girl.

Completely exhausted worn out from the stimulating drive Nick and I stumbled into the house collapsing on the nearest chair.  The generator giving life to the house just ran out of gas minutes before we arrived.  I didn’t care.  I live on a boat.  I love to camp.  I just wanted some water, a toilet, and a bed.  How my life has become envious of such simple things.  In the dark with just a few small candles shadows gave a grim picture of what I am sure is a beautiful living space.  A man sat on the far side couch just inside a corner shadow.  He wore a white pressed dress shirt, black pressed pants, slippers, reading glasses held lightly in his right hand and a glass of grapefruit juice in his left.  The only sign of consciousness was the periodic lifting of the glass to his lips and the sound of swirling ice.  He seemed to be watching me very carefully listening to my words and memorizing my movements.  I felt uneasy at first being a guest in his home- the port director of Port-au-Prince.  Doing my best I instigated a conversation with him getting few words in return.  Saved by the call for dinner I gladly sat in the kitchen to escape his watchful eyes.  Nick and I were shown the bathroom, shower, and our sleeping arrangements.  I undressed and redressed in PJ’s so quickly even my mom’s “Rachel is the fastest dress in the west” would have been too slow.  I greedily poured an entire bottle of water into my mouth, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and even managed to get some floss in too.  Nick tried to use the sink water for his teeth and was hand swatted by the house keeper. “NO. No you use bottle water.  Very sick for you.  Bad water for you.  Vomit.”  Haha I couldn’t help but smile and stick my tongue out at Nick for the reprimand he was just given.  Rule one in any foreign country: DON’T DRINK THE WATER! We laughed about it for a minute which seemed to literally drain any energy we had left to give and before I knew what was happening my body was horizontal and I was drifting fast asleep to the thunder storm dancing on the metal roof.

About half way through the night I was abruptly woken up with the smell of 100% DEET.  Nick was drenching his body in the liquid and as if in a sleep walking state came over and covered me head to toe as well.  I am not sure if at the time I thought I was dreaming because I didn’t even move but, rather I laid there and just watched.

The mornings come quick here and with the sun a heat not many people can sleep past.  The rays poured into our room over our bodies and woke us with a groan.  I rolled over and grabbed my watch-5:30am.  Time to rise and shine.  I jumped into the shower, grabbed another bottle of water and dressed for the day.  I wore a blue skirt and a white tank (mom blue is a good color for me…c’mon).  I packed my overnight bag and met Nick in the living room.  Interested to see what the night hid Nick and I asked if it was okay to go on a walk before breakfast.  Hugh appeared in the room and offered to walk with us sharing with us his community.  We walked the two blocks learning a lot about Haiti, the community, traditions, values, and new problems with empty solutions.  Hugh, as I learned, has earned a prestigious degree from a University in London as well as a more recent degree at Harvard.  He said ‘that because he was accepted to Harvard he guessed he must go’.  Haha very cool.  The morning was nice; and it was nice to talk to Hugh and listen to his stories.

The neighborhood houses were all made from cement; the roofs included.  The houses looked as if they were still under construction waiting for a nice paint job and a miracle landscaper.  However, neither was going to happen; these houses were complete.  The center road had huge flower bushes and lots unoccupied by a house grew corn and other vegetables.  I very much enjoyed the walk and took stalk in the vast differences between those who have and those who have not-night and day.  Getting back just in time for breakfast, Nick and I enjoyed two different soups. One was made from a local squash with veggies; it was thick orange and great with Haitian bread.  The other was equally fantastic and my personal favorite; green from the spinach, egg plant, potatoes, carrots, and Haitian bread for dipping!  I ate two helpings and washed it all down with watermelon juice.  I was becoming quite enthralled with local recipes wondering if I could discover the ingredients once back in California.  Once breakfast was over I helped do the dishes (Mom you taught me great manners) and hoped back into the truck for a ride back to Petite Goave.  This time Nick and I managed to get seats inside the car and we were going to see the city uncovered by harsh sunlight.

Driving back through the neighborhood gate we left the privileged and entered the world of the destitute.  As before, it was like night and day.  The streets were crowded with venders, customers, children in school uniforms, wondering boys, helpless mothers, husbands looking for jobs, beggars, and some people looking to the sky as if for a miracle or the angel of death.  Trash blanketed the streets, trees, walls, and blocked several driveways.  No corner was untouched, no building left unsoiled, no solution blew down any alley.  And yet even through all the destruction, the obvious strain, the pollution, the sanitation issues, the overpopulated grounds, and the awful stench, a  glimmer of hope like a faint breeze lingered low in the air. People waved when they saw us, smiled big for the camera, laughed when I yelled bonjour, picked up trash, swept up rubble, helped ladies across the street, waited in line for the bathroom, and played games were ever a space provided-a community wanting to improve.

A ridiculous amount of non-profit groups have entered Haiti since the earthquake.  An enormous amount of money has poured into the hands of these groups. A not so shockingly vast amount of this money has been “misdirected”, “spent”, “allocated”, and “distributed” throughout Haiti by means of these groups.  And yet despite the corruption, the obvious scandals, the take-a-picture-and-leave attitude, Haiti has certainly put themselves back on their feet even marching with improvement.   Nick, while driving through town, said “to live in Haiti you have to be a fighter, strong, a go-getter.  There is no pathetic, indolent, or vulnerable person here-children, women, and even the elderly.  For to be these things, one would not survive”.  I looked out at Port-au-Prince and smiled just then.  I noticed buses speeding along the highway at 60 miles an hour with men hanging on the back literally with one arm.  America’s James Bond and best stunt man rivals nothing to this everyday occurrence. Women carry bucket loads of supplies on their heads as if gracefully walking down main street Hollywood.  Our strongest women wouldn’t survive if she knew her massage appointment might be cancelled.  Little boys raced up hills with wheel barrels full of sugar cane and lumber while our school boys race up hills carrying the latest ipod or video game.  When ever asked to help with chores I have yet to see one child argue or demand a reward in return of their good graces.  With an obvious lack of anything especially food, every time I meet someone new I am always offered a fleshly cut mango, a fried plantain, or some fresh bread fruit.  People in Haiti help their next door neighbor because not helping might mean death.  Haiti people volunteer their services, time, and belongings because they would rather be volunteering than just sitting around their home doing nothing.  I smiled even bigger as I watched gracious acts being preformed all around me.

I feel as though a person could come here and only see the worst.  One could take the time to see all the dirt, trash, hold their nose at the smell, relish in negative act upon negative act, but I chose to see other things.  Evil exists everywhere, but I think it takes a certain individual to really look closely at the positive things occurring around them all the time.  What a different experience I have had in comparison to some.  Taking note of the beautiful vegetation, landscape, and culture surrounding me I leave Port-au-Prince with a breaking heart but a positive attitude (and hundreds of bug bites-itchy).  The stars glitter here, the sunsets burst with color here, the sunrises explode over the mountains here- Haiti is not lost.

The drive home was equally sad and equally breathtaking.  I never stopped taking pictures for the three hours it took to get home.  My battery died right as I stepped onto my home dock-phew.  As I waited for my ride back to my boat I let tears roll down my face.  I couldn’t help it.  The last 48 hours took me through an emotional rollercoaster and I felt helpless to change any of it.  All I could do was to remind myself to leave this place as a member of their community-better than when I arrived.  Removing plaque may not be life changing, but delivering health education and handing out the tools necessary to do so is all I can do.  The rest is up to them.  As if God was watching me personally, a local fisherman jumped out of his boat grabbed my hand and said in his best attempted English “thank-you”.  He pointed to his teeth and demonstrated a brushing motion.  I recognized him from the dentist office I volunteered at my first day in Haiti.  He was in so much pain then.  We pulled his tooth and I gave him a toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss stressing the importance of these items.  He looked happy now smiling big and I laughed.  Mom-you always said we may never know the consequences of our actions, but sometimes God lets us see our influence on the world.  This was no coincidence.  God was letting me see that a smile goes a long long way.

I went to bed that night under the stars, listening to a group singing, tapping my toes to the rhythm of the drums, and thinking of all the wonderful people who have influenced my life.  If you are reading this chances are you have influenced my life in a positive way.  I know it may not be much, but thank-you.

Mom, Dad, Dana, and Jennifer-

I love you and have carried with me lessons, values, and personal characteristics you have instilled in me.  Often I stop what I am doing here and think “gosh this is something they would do.”  Haha. And I am never steered wrong. Xoxox You are with me every day!

Haiti-day one

It was dark when we arrived. The air was stale, sticky; heavy on our faces, and no one spoke a word.  Relieved of my duty to the helm, I took in a deep breath staggered down to the aft cabins and before my head could hit the pillow I was dreaming.  I woke to beads of sweat dripping down my face as my only fan was turned off.  Sitting up on the bridge deck my eyes and ears were in for a treat.  Rising out of the east, fresh above the mountains, the sun broke free over the water.  Canoes (later to find they were made out of hollow palm trunks) gathered in groups all around the boat.  Voices, all in a jumble, soon flowed together in a traditional melody.  Several curious fishermen braved a closer look at the new red boat taking anchor in their bay.  They sang louder as they noticed my clicking camera and I took a few steps back as I noticed their fast enclosing distance.  The slight breeze coming off shore smelled of fire, houses could be seen scattering the crumbling shore line, and as soon as it was sure to be the start of an exciting day, I became aware and certain of two things: sleep deprivation and traffic-they will never be avoided no matter  where in the world one travels.  Horns honked, music blared, and even though I had been without coffee for several days (I won’t lie-like four; which is big for me you know) one could not drown me in an adequate amount of coffee quickly enough.  I was in Haiti.

Ben and Wanston collected our passports, vessel documents, and log book, jumped into our skiff and were bee lining straight for the customs border and UN office.  We wanted to clear in our shipment and ourselves as fast as immigration would allow. No later did one hour pass before both boys were back and brought news of a no-go-for-land.  The big boys in charge wanted money in their pockets and when we didn’t oblige of course a messenger had to travel all the way to port-au-prince to get the all-clear-for-the docs-that-float.  Well to be frank, this minor, teensy-weensy set back stopped no one.

First day on land-no stamp.  Yes.  I flashed my big bright smile, batted my big blue eyes, took a bunch of pictures with the guards and UN officers and badda bang badda boom- we were in.  I stepped past the rolls of barb wire, through a lower hatch in a large gate, and stepped over more rolls of barb wire onto Haitian soil.  Ooooo Aaaaaa. Strangely not nervous at all, I walked right up to a group of boys lingering on a corner wall and took their picture.  They gathered and posed beautifully.  I learned then that whenever taking a picture of any one here I was going to have to, in turn, pass the camera around to show how it came out…always met with a thumbs up and warm smiles.  Ben, Wansten, and I waited outside the gate for about 20 minutes before our driver fish-tailed it around another alley corner.  All three of us had by now sweated our entire body weight in water and were three quarters of a gallon in on our carried water supply.  Without hesitation, I swung my legs over the back of the truck, sat my butt on the floor, and held my camera out ready for action.

Riding through town my eyes darted from one object to another physically and mentally snapping photos eager to drink in my new surroundings.  From the street, I met a community apprehensive to wave, hesitant to smile, and turned up hats.  Perplexed brows pushed peoples’ feet forward, but both on their end and mine, caution kept distance between us.  Winding through crowded streets I noticed houses still standing, but people unwilling to venture back inside fearful of another disaster;  living in tents and under tarps not but two feet from familiar porches.  Little fruit stands and goodie stands were crammed in any space made available and trash pilled high in gutters and sewage drains.  With only about 5 miles to the medical clinic, I sat back and enjoyed the beautifully decorated houses with bright colors and paintings.

Buses drove by with graffiti words and portraits of Jesus.  Motor bikes whizzed by with honking horns carrying up to five people hanging on for life-taxis.  Pulling into the medical clinic gates, we were met by two visiting Canadian doctors (Nadia and Mark) and one surgeon from North Virginia (John).  The grounds consisted of three large tents in the front for triage, a cement building in the center for surgery, a pharmacy, and administrative purposes, tents filled the back grounds of families, orphans, and others who had no other place to go after the quake, and two other arena tents off to one side for a temporary school for the primary and high school children.  I was greeted warmly by the kids.  They followed me everywhere I went and asked a lot of questions in French (Dana I wish you were here to translate).  The adults stood there distance and watched my every move out of the corner of their eyes. Seeing the children laughing, running, and jumping all over me, the ice was soon broken and adults ventured my way curious to see me up close.  After a tour of the facility I sat with the Canadians and Ben to observe the medical analysis process.  Our first patient had a large benign cyst on his superior distal shoulder (thats for you Jennifer).  All three doctors looked at me and I found myself escorting this gentleman to see John for surgical removal.  John’s operating room was in the back hallway of the cement building. No lights. Only a window with a bed sheet keeping out mosquitoes and other bugs was our light source.  A folding table with paper draped over for sterile purposes, head lamps for additional light, and a translator who could barely understand English for assistance.  Nick began to prep the patient as I helped ready the instrument table and sharps.  The patient was on the table face down and it was only then did I notice the feet-no shoes.  The Haitians take off their shoes when getting on the table or into a dental chair out of respect for the work place and the professional…interesting.  Anyways, one scalpel cut across the lump and Nick was down for the count.  John looked at him motioning to a chair in the far corner and then quickly looked up at me.  I was on my tippy toes leaning over the body, gloves on; smiling eagerly-John didn’t even ask if I was okay.  Without skipping a beat he directed me on every step instantly taking me under his wing…yeah baby blood, guts, puss, and plaque…I love it all.  About half way through the procedure a cell phone rings.  Our patient leans up, grabs his phone from his pant pocket, and answers it.  The room broke out into laughter.  I guess we don’t want to interfere with his busy schedule. Time is money you know. Haha never in the USA could you imagine answering your phone during a procedure like this. Haha-oh brother.  The morning continued to be the busiest morning John had encountered since arriving in Haiti-he has been here two weeks.  I saw most of it all and stepped out for male problems. During lunch john mentioned that his neighbor at the hotel is an oral surgeon from Rome practicing just on the other side of town.  If possible I should take the time to go and see him.  I finished lunch packed my bag and told Ben I was hell bent on getting my butt to that clinic.  Mom. Dad. I got to the clinic safely. San Francisco flashbacks.  I jumped in a car with a driver named Tony and about 20 minutes later rolled up to the clinic gates!! Let us recap: illegal immigrant, already up to my elbows in surgeries, finding my way to an unknown place in a foreign country- THIS IS SO COOL!  Domenico DDS met me with a firm hand shake and pulled me into the tent to meet Charley DDS the Haitian dentist in charge.  We talked for a while and I was soon invited to go with them in the morning on a mobile clinic trek up into the hills of Haiti.  YES YES YES.

Day two.  Illegal again. So worth the day waiting for me.  I just waved at the guards and walked on through.  I met up with Domenico and Charley bringing Larson along as a body guard…safety first…haha.  We jumped into a car and headed up to the hills.  My heart raced in excitement.  So many feelings: such wonderful people, high in spirit, trying to put their feet back under them, hard working, polite, respectful, and curious.  Did I mention how well dressed they are…there is no way (and my mom knows) I could keep clothes that clean; especially my whites. How do they do it?? I think I am going to like Haiti. By the end of the day, I had visited an elementary school, examined all their mouths, cleaned over fifteen children’s teeth, assisted on the most rudimentary blunt root canal I have ever witnessed, and found my calling.  I couldn’t believe the people walking in, touching my heart, and leaving me so quickly.  It was hard to say good-bye to the clinic that day, but I would return soon enough.

On the third day we cleared.  I was legal…kinda. And this is the day we all have been working over a year to accomplish-the boat was going to deliver all the medical supplies to re-stock the clinic, all the lumber necessary to build a school and orphanage, and clean water systems for over thirty families and their neighbors.  Eleven months to build and load while only 9 hours to off load all the supplies from the boat.  With the help of several locals, together we managed to work through the heat and do a great thing.  From my hands directly to theirs I helped deliver sustainable solutions to a problem far beyond an earthquake.  Evidence that throwing money at a problem will not fix it and throwing money to the Red Cross only enhances the lives of directors’ wives and not the nation it pledges to help. I sneeze in the general direction of the Red Cross (veggie tales anyone?).

On the fourth day we rested. We sailed to a near my beach with some new friends and a local boy who worked his butt off for us the days past.  The beach was breath taking. Then I jumped in the water and just about drowned in trash.  EW. The clear water from above was engrossed in plastic bags, bottles, and the reefs below were homes to cans not fish.  I was not impressed.  So as the day slowly ended so did our luck.  The dark ominous clouds rapidly approaching our vessel soon broke out in a severe heat lighting storm.  Like a kid flicking a light switch, on and off went the clouds, while bolts of electricity crashed into the water below. As we hurried to get the anchor up and motor back to the bay, we were met with high seas and instantaneous 43 mile an hour winds.  Did you secure the wood on deck? How about the cushions? Crash, smash and into the water they all went. Whoops!  Our Captain is a hero. We made it back alive! Seriously-I saw white squall.  I wonder what I will do tomorrow??? haha

So far I have had an amazing time here in Haiti. I have made so many new friends both local and from other far away countries.  I have new people to visit with invitations to places all over the world and a room whenever I wish.  My time here is just beginning but I wanted to write and give an update with my travels.  Internet is far and few between and cell phone minutes are 8 dollars a pop. I may not write often and never call, but I am going to come back with many more stories to tell.  God has shown me that when the time is right he lets me have exactly what I need. Never being out of the country before this I regret, but then again I wouldn’t have changed a thing after what I have experienced here so far.

Thank-you for all your continuing prayers…they are being answered and I feel their presence every day. From the bottom of my heart-thank you.

All your support, love, thoughts, and encouragement mean the world to me.

MOM DAD DANA and JENNIFER- I LOVE YOU. (I promise to get my passport stamped…before I leave)

Haiti- LAND HO!

Two days of nothing but open water and nobody could be more at home than me!  I was grateful for the time in the sun, reading, playing music, and finally not feeling guilty for the time off.  We took turns relaxing in the hammock over the side of the boat and continued to fish for anything willing to bite.  The sun beat down on our bodies relentlessly and when the inverter power was on it meant no AC in our cabins – hot does not even describe the feeling.  At night people slowly emerged from their rooms to lay out on the floor in the salon, take up a bench in the back deck, or venture in the hammock off the port railing; anything to capture a slight breeze or a whisper of fresh air.

After the second day of full sail, the water begged us to jump in.  I could peer my head over the railings of the boat and see all the way to the bottom of the ocean floor…not too deep reaching about 45-50 feet in depth, I had never been able to sea the ocean floor like this before.  It was breath taking and I wondered if I would ever wake to take for granted the beauty around me-doubtful.  “Slow the engines. Bring us to an idle!” Ben called to Riggs manning the helm. In less then 5 minutes the entire crew was up on deck, in swim trunks and bikinis, sun screened to the ‘T’, and ready to jump ship!  “LOOK OUT BELOW! CANNON-BALL!” Splash! Riggs took a dive off the bridge roof inviting us all to join him.  Sky and looked to Ben to be out shark look out…hey you never know.  Taking out turns running and jumping, sky and I summoned the guts to jump off the bridge roof bringing butterflies to my stomach.  It didn’t take long before I realized I was swimming in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean able to see all the way under my feet and beyond!  I grabbed a mask and went exploring.  The water was warm and soothed my sun burnt body!  Oh this was the life.  After everyone got enough salt in their skin we started up the engines once more and continued towards Haiti; but not before passing through the Bahamas Cays.

LAND HO! I am not sure why, but we always manage to arrive at new destinations late at night…I guess it’s our thing. So, late at night, we motored up to a small island in the Grand Bahamas Bank.  With Nick, Nick, and Ben, I jumped into the skiff to go exploring.  There was no way I was going to miss out on being the first one to step onto a beach on an island in the middle of the ocean….even if I could barely see what it was I was stepping on.  Adventure awaits and if anything is going to happen- it is going to happen out their….ooo aaaa. The sand was white, the water was so clear the only sign I was even in water was the fact that my feet collected sand as if seemingly wet.  Awesome.

In the morning I was not disappointed with what I saw.  Picture perfect, right off a travel agent’s wall….long sandy beach with water several shades of turquoise.  We spent a few days moored off the island to not only rest out bodies and prepare for the last leg to Haiti, but to also clam shelter from some bad weather. I was not going to complain.  I helped trail for fish, explore the island habitats, and on the last night built a bon fire watching the sunset.

In the morning, however, right before we went to raise the anchor nick managed to snag a shark from the bait we had slung over the side of the boat.  Like a scene from Jaws, the shark jumped out of the water shacking its head, and ripped off the fish taking half the rope with it!  Yikes.  Everyone was shouting and pointing as two reels went spinning catching two more sharks.  The water being as clear as it was, we all could watch the action right from the boat. One shark came up slowly stalking the bait then bolted in snagging itself on the hook.  Nick burned his thumb trying to get a handle on the line as the shark swam off into the distance.  Over 15 minutes had gone by with Nick wrestling with the fishing pole trying not to loose the shark.  We didn’t want to kill the shark, but rather catch it to release the hook in its mouth.  Within minutes more sharks seemed to have appeared out of nowhere surrounding the boat.  Sky and I looked at each other in disbelief.  We had just spent two days swimming and splashing in these very same waters…should I be lucky to still have my arms??

The Nick managed to reel the shark in roping its tail and lifting it unto the side deck…I pet the shark for funnzies before they released it back into the water.  One hell of a creature sharks are. Beautiful in design and something to marvel at in the food chain!

Having to continue our way to Haiti we all sat and watched as once again land disappeared out of sight.  The ocean was also not going to be giving us any breaks getting to Haiti. Mother-nature was surely going to show us who was boss.  With waves reaching up to ten feet our vessel took on wave after wave after wave slowing us down and making impossible for anyone to get some shuteye.  Like a family waiting for a tornado to pass overhead, we all gathered in the salon waiting to vomit.  Sky wanted a gun to shoot her out of her misery, and I mentally punched nick in the stomach envious of his ability to snore through this all.

Without fail, the sun was going down and we were approaching Petite Goave.  Our Captain needed a haircut so Lynn graciously snipped away as Riggs provided some shade! Nick was lucky (but he clams it was his skill and prowess) and caught a huge thirty pound King fish for our first meal in Haiti. I love fresh fish!  Mother nature rewarded us for getting through the tough seas with a moonrise off our Port Quarter and a magnificent sunset off or starboard beam.  It was beautiful and I was exhausted.  Nightfall came and it was going to be late (I told you so) when we finally dropped the anchor, so I took the sleep when I could.

I was too tired to even have any emotional response to arriving in this new country. I staggered down to the aft quarters and before my head could hit the pillow I was dreaming.

Moving Forward

Exhilarated and intimidated you boat pushed off the dock in Palm Beach Florida. Our new destination: Miami.  With our new captain only able to bring us to the harbor entrance, this crew was going to have to complete the next 24 hours alone.  We all gave hugs to Ryan wishing him well in medical school and prayed we would see Captain Riggs three days from now in Miami.  As our vessel forged ahead into open water the crew got a first hand taste of what 2-4 foot seas was like – a lot more up and down than one would have imagined.  Sky and I took a horizontal position on opposite benches in the salon, while the boys laughed, ate food, and thankfully took the wheel.

Later that afternoon sky and I were able to take on navigation duties, but the thought of having to go below deck made us both green.  As things around the boat periodically toppled over, one of us would soon be behind duct taping those things back in place…the meaning of “secured” was not entirely thought out for the galley!  By nightfall all the crew had their feet under them and stomachs in check; the Miami skyline bringing smiles to all our faces.

When we neared the dock, all mind-sets switched over for action- we had to dock. And not just pull up, bump the side, and tie her off kind of dock, but rather, pull into a space against a tough current along side another multi million-dollar vessel kind of dock…this was going to be interesting.  Twenty minutes later, Ben had the Southern Wind inched up and lines secured like a pro- we all gave a pat on the back for a job well done.

The next few days were spent doing minor repairs and changes, exploring Miami Port, and meeting new friends.  Interestingly enough, only a few boats down the very same dock was a tall ship called Liberty.  This boat is unique not only for its specific boat category, but also for the good deed preformed by their crew for some friends of ours (a non-profit we met in Palm Beach) just arriving back from their own Haiti mission.

The port of Miami would not allow Tranquility to dock for free, even just for a few hours, to load supplies for their Haiti mission. Tying up Tranquility, the Liberty tall ship jumped in to lend a gracious hand to use their boat as an in between.  The crew of the Liberty helped pass along a large shipment of supplies and other donations across their ship, with the assistance of the boom, to the Tranquility.    We met with Phil, his wife, and two kids over dinner and exchanged Haiti adventure stories.  They shared with us eye opening pictures and video of their work in Haiti, and we took down any helpful advice for a safer, smoother trip for us.  Their family is wonderful and each one of them caring around big hearts.  They helped to cast off our lines as we sailed to another dock. I waved with a big smile hoping to see them again someday-hopefully soon.

Traveling deeper into the port of Miami, Ben had to dock our vessel again, but this time in a narrow channel outside an expensive hotel right between two mega yachts.  With a crowd developing and the dock master running out to lend a hand Ben guided our boat like a champion.  After all lines were tightly secured I wondered how were going to pull out of this spot; thank goodness that will be the job of Captain Riggs!

In the Miami financial district, I was able to acquire some much needed boat shoes, squeezed in a few runs around the park, and spent time rearranging my cabin.  It was nice not to have to be up every night for watch and the crew replenished a quantity of essential sleep hours.

Captain Riggs showed up Wednesday night and we welcomed Lynn (a sailing journalist) to our crew.  Everyone snuggled into bed at a reasonable hour because by 10am the next morning this boat was headed for Haiti.  I made the last rounds of phone calls home to say my “good-bys” and “I love yous” to the parental units and sisters.  Oddly enough I was settled into the idea of not having a cell phone (me? Really? No phone? Ha-ha) Okay so I am bad with a cell phone across the glob or across the street, but not being able to be reached at any time, any where, always brought a sense of relief and lifted feelings of stress.

9:50am Thursday morning.  Our radio crackled words that the boat needing our spot was here-two hours early! Our engines roared to life, Ben ran down from a taxi with our filled propane tanks, Noah untied our lines, the dock master practically pushed us off, and Riggs flipped a U-turn in a channel giving us no inch to spare.  As we passed the waiting boat our crew waved and their crew starred at us with open mouths-I guess we did not look like the 76-foot vessel they were imagining (hehe).

Miami’s coastline slowly shrank in the background and with every splash of a wave my heart fell into a similar rhythm-peaceful.  I am no fisherman, but I do like lure called the “The Bubbler” and Nick helped me trail the line off the stern.  “Click, click, click, click”…the reel went spinning!  I grabbed the fishing rod and began to crank it in!  OOO this was exciting….everyone watched and cheered as I pulled up a TUNA! It wasn’t a huge tuna, but it was a tuna no less. “Noah if you get that BBQ put together I will splay and grill this sucker up for dinner!” Noah and Nick worked like crazy to get the grill pieced together and Ben prepared the fish. Yummy. The eating of the 30-minute fresh fish frenzy had begun! I called my mom…I was so proud (haha).

Looking ahead I saw nothing but ocean blue.  My mind raced creatively predicting events to come.  Nothing I had pictured in my head would even compare to the events about to unfold in my future, but it was fun to imagine nonetheless.  Sails raised, I sat back , put my feet up, and took my first shift at the helm.



second day out…

28°56’.35 N

080°32’.12 W

open water at sunset

Power off, flashlight in hand, waves lapping up the port side of the vessel, I let out the biggest yawn known to man-no power equals no coffee-pure torture.  My 5am shift was going to be a long one, but thankfully Nick #2 was there to fish-hook me every time I let out any sign of exhaustion-men.  With a full moon high in the sky, I could see the lights of St. Augustine glittering off my port windows and endless water off my starboard.  As the sun rose and the sky lit anew, Nick and I wasted no time gathering our supplies.  Nick #2 woke up the next watchman as I threw on my all-weather jacket and sandals.  With cast off help of Nick #1, Nick #2 and I flung our bodies straight over the

lowering the anchor...the first time

railings and into the skiff below sky-rocketing to shore…towels in hand I couldn’t get out of the boat soon enough-hot showers baby!  I know, only two days out and I already missed the sound of a flushing toilette and hot water beating against my back. As we neared the dock, I extended my arm so far out I had the bow line tied and secured before nick could even get the stern in position. The next thing I knew I was holding myself up in the shower trying to wave off the imaginary tossing and turning of the sea below my feet…oh the things I have yet to look forward to!

The rest of the day I spent in my bunk….sleeping. With my port windows blocked, my cabin has become a time vortex.  I could wake at any point in the day and never know the real time…dangerous?? I think NOT!  It was only when the sound of the port engine being lit off that I woke with a startle.  Hoping out of bed to investigate upper deck activities, my stomach felt a bit uneasy.  I poked my head up through the aft stairway and was met with eerie silence. Moving slowly through the open salon room towards the bridge, I took note of the drastic change in weather.  The sky was grey with darker clouds looming in fast.  The wind speed was up over 20 knots and white caps had blanketed the water as far as my eyes could see.  The boat was rocking significantly more and the bridge radio was repeating words of thunder storm and water spout warnings. Standing in the bridge the faces of my fellow crew members were bleak and unreadable.  Looking at Ben my facial expression read of confusion only to be answered with the one thing no maritime wants to ever hear: “Man overboard. Nick went down with the skiff”.  The coast guard and the tow-boat service were communicating with Ben on our radio-no time for questions.  Keeping a steady eye on the water I noticed land off our starboard side…LAND? What? What was going on here?  Sky emerged in the bridge shortly after and we both stood watching nick #2 and Bryan on our bow. Ben looked at us, the radio crackled with news that our crew member Nick #1 was safe, and that our skiff had been salvaged as well.  With sighs of relief, tension shifted to our other problem-we were drifting and fast.  Bryan, Nick #2, and I grabbed our jackets and stood outside.  We had to keep track of our anchor chain, watch for changing depths, and keep bearings on surrounding objects.

navigating at the helm

Standing in the bridge, Ben at the wheel, I stood at the ready repeating his orders over our loud speaker. Sky, Bryan, and Nick #2 stood up at the bow each working hard at their own task.  Sky diligently worked to make sure Ben understood where the anchor chain was at all times. Nick #2 stood holding the radio communicating with Ben a plan of action, while directing Bryan who was working hard at controlling the hydraulic power to our anchor windless.  I couldn’t believe what was happening here.  The weather took a turn for the worse and faster than I could blink my eyes. Our boat was bouncing around the open channel like a bobble toy in a wave pool.  The anchor kept dragging freely about the bottom of the sea floor as we tried helplessly to avoid other boats, markers and land.  Everyone reconvening in the bridge  for a new plan of action-and a call to our captain who was waiting anxiously on the dock-we decided to raise anchor. Everyone went back into position with Sky and I trading places.  Again and again we tried to pull the anchor up with the chain getting caught in the bow roller.  At one point the anchor chain was locked, there was a boat off our starboard bow and immediately off our port was a channel marker. With the current pushing us one way and the wind thrashing us around the other way we scraped up against the piling with my hand barely escaping as I leaned over with a fender.  With numerous attempts we finally managed to successfully raise the anchor and reposition ourselves safely once more.  Twice we lowered and raised our anchor before it finally hooked into the bottom of the sea dragging us no more.  With flawless timing our captain was able to re-board.  Literally, as if right out of a movie, the wind died down, the sea stopped churning, the anchor bit, just as our captain threw a line over from a borrowed dingy below.  Real nice.  We all voted-we were going to chain his ankle to the wheel house…never again will bad weather run up on us like that with him on shore!

into the sun

We survived! We acted accordingly, communicated, got the job done, and successfully managed a scary situation with no dramatic freak-outs.  Calm tempers, clear voices, and positive words, our crew handled two tough problems as a team. I was proud, we all were proud, and I knew then that my life was in good hands if ever a bad circumstance hit us again.

Breathing easy, I watched as the sun went down over the west horizon.  With the words “what the sea wants the sea gets” running through my mind I didn’t smile.  I know full well that when things go bad on the ocean it happens fast and with no room to spare.  We survived this time, but I can’t help the chill running down my arms as I felt the sea shaking its finger at me-at us.  The sea is telling us” this time I let you free, next time you might be fighting to win”.

I turn to go inside, tomorrow is a new day, but this sailor knows: never turn your back to the ocean…

it comes and it goes…

as we drive back home, the sun setting beyond the trees, my mind drifts. the radio plays the latest top ten hits for the month..teenagers everywhere are singing at the top of their lungs, moms in minivans are shaking their heads, and dads are hoping that their daughters grow up to be less naive. i gaze out the window of the car wondering what i will miss….what song will hit record highs, what movie will break box office potentials everywhere, but this trip is not about what will be missed but rather what i will capture-from the world.  ten months on the boat has redefined my perspective of life, my values, my beliefs, the way i look at myself.  for the better- i know who i am.  tough decisions had to be made…still need to be made.  i have to watch my sisters grow from afar, participate in my friends’ good fortune through facebook, experience love through written letters and pictures past.  venturing forward i have everything to gain. the sea will teach me things no piece of land will be able to do, the boat will mold me in a way no house can move, and cultures new will

beautiful...no words

open my eyes in ways the united states is unable to comprehend.  adventure, risk, chance, growth, passion. this path is mine to forge, nobody to question, one i will not be traveling alone. what i imagine, what is reflected and what is reality will fold together when the time is right. when the time is right i’ll know. when i know, great things will be produced. there is no better feeling in this world than that of serving a purpose. a purpose not advantageous of only you. a purpose improving the lives of those around you in which ever way needed.  help for others is help for all. i look at the sun rise, quickly, i lose my self in the sunset, slowly.  up over the ocean, down into the ocean.  the wind pulls me where i need to go.  thoughts now, memories later, i stand where i am.  out of my element i find myself. unexpected i find others. knowingly i discover anger does not become me doubting only troubles me. good friends, new found family, and even better listeners bring happiness to my life…this is where i am at my best. this is where i excel. i smile at the end of the day. tomorrow will be better.