Ya'll should read this. Bill's dad went to Haiti a couple weeks ago and this is his story.
EARTHQUAKE IN HAITI
By Mark Reed
As the world is now aware, on January 12, 2010, the country of Haiti was devastated by a killer earthquake the likes of which few, if any, of us have ever seen. The visions that have come out of Haiti on TV have been both shocking and heartbreaking. Death and destruction are of Biblical proportions.
I just returned from Haiti, having gone there on a disaster relief trip with my Haiti partner, Crawford Hitt, Director of Edu-Pack Ministry. Crawford and I have taken a number of trips to Haiti together, having been one of the first responders on disaster relief trips to Haiti after Hurricane Jeanne in October of 2004, which killed thousands in the city of Gonaive, and more recently to Jamaica after Hurricane Dean in August of 2007. We experienced firsthand the tragedy of death and destruction. Even so, we were not prepared for what we saw and experienced in Haiti. As horrible as what we saw on TV, it was worse.
The outpouring of compassion for Haiti is heartwarming. Millions of dollars have been raised for disaster relief, and millions of dollars still pour in to many different organizations which are equipped to offer aid in situations such as this. But the magnitude of this disaster is such that there is no way everyone is going to receive relief in a timely manner. We were able to communicate fairly quickly with some of our friends and ministry partners via texting, cell phone calls and very limited e-mail, although it was intermittent at best. In the days immediately following the earthquake, the stories shared by our friends there were both horrifying and at the same time uplifting, as tragedy went hand in hand with miracles of survival. But it soon became abundantly clear that the relief efforts by all the many well intentioned organizations, as well as the U.S. government and countries from all over the world, were not going to be able to help everyone, particularly in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake. Our friends told us that they had seen no relief distributions of any kind. The people are becoming desperate for help. In fairness to all those trying to help, how do you get water, food, shelter and medical care to millions of people? It is just not happening. That’s why we decided to go to Haiti.
I had already decided that the best thing I could do was to get money in the hands of my friends and ministry partners as quickly as possible. I had a number of friends here join with me to support these efforts by sending me donations of money. Because of the disruption of communications, the previously easiest way to get money to Haiti quickly, by wire transfer through such conduits as Western Union and MoneyGram, were unavailable. The banks were mostly destroyed, like everything else or at least closed for business for the immediate future. I had been able to wire money via Western Union to the Dominican Republic, where a few of my friends were able to pick it up just across the border in Jimani, but that was a dangerous and brutal trip. That meant that the best way to get money to folks quickly was to hand deliver it. Since the Port au Prince Airport was basically closed to all but military and relief traffic, the only way into the country was through the Dominican Republic. I was pondering how to go about that.
That’s when I got the telephone call from Crawford on Monday night, the 18th, telling me that he was going to Haiti early Saturday morning the 23rd and he wanted me to go with him “to have his back.” Enough said. I told him I was in.
I said at the outset that nothing could fully prepare you for what we were driving into. The destruction is reminiscent of the photos and films of destroyed cities in Europe during WWII. I do not exaggerate.
We flew into Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic and were picked up by our Haitian friend Paul Fortune. He has an old Ford Explorer donated to him by a now deceased ministry partner of ours, Wes Morgan, who loved Haiti dearly. Crawford and I went to Haiti with his widow, Barbie Morgan, a couple of years ago, to scatter his ashes in the terrible slum of Citi Solei at a church school we support there. The drive to Port au Prince took approximately 12 hours over some pretty brutal roads. The midnight border crossing from the DR into Haiti was an adventure, to say the least, particularly since the border was closed. Why would a border crossing be closed at night during an epic humanitarian effort to save people? Suffice it to say, we made it across.
When we arrived at the school of Pastor Jean Baptiste in the Delmas area of Port au Prince, it was the middle of the night. We were taken into a large tarp/tent on a hillside behind the damaged school (no one sleeps inside buildings for fear of further earthquakes) where they had prepared a place for us to sleep with 30-40 Haitians who were living there. Neither Crawford nor I could really sleep. At around 4:15 AM I heard a baby cry somewhere in the darkness of the tent. A woman, presumably the mother, started to sing a soft lullaby to soothe the baby. Then another voice joined in, and before you knew it, all the people in the tent were singing. It is one of the more memorable events of my life. Crawford shared with me later that they were singing a spiritual song (in French Creole) praising God. They were singing over and over combinations of (forgive my French) “beni swal eternal” – God is always good! – and “Merci Jesuse” – Thank you Jesus. I was mesmerized by it all, but I did finally have enough sense to pull out my camera, and in the darkness switch over to video mode, and was able to record a portion of it. The screen is dark, but the sound is heavenly. What a way to start our first full day in Haiti. It was Sunday morning.
Later that morning we started our trek out into the “war zone” that was Port au Prince. The destruction was mind boggling. There were big piles of rubble everywhere, only recognizable as a fallen building by remnants of a roof or a lone window frame still standing. Pancaked structures were everywhere. The small two-story church/school of Pastor Clerzius, one of our ministry partners, had collapsed flat on the ground. The entire building did not extend above my knees. There was just a flat roof basically at ground level. Thankfully no one was inside when the quake struck; otherwise they would not have survived.
Over and over again we were told stories of the miracles that saved people’s lives. From walking out the door as the building collapsed behind them, or the building that fell around someone as they ran out, miraculously dodging falling rubble. Our friend Gel, one of the young men we support, took me to his home in downtown Port au Prince. There is nothing but a big pile of rubble, of what used to be a multi-story apartment building. We climbed up on the rubble so he could show me where he had lived. I asked him how he survived this. He said he was asleep in his room, and a voice woke him telling him to go outside. As he walked out of the building, the quake hit and the building collapsed behind him. He is convinced that it was God who told him to wake up. If not he would be dead. He gives all the credit to God. The stories are endless. Everyone we talked to gave all the credit to God for their survival, saying over and over again how good God had been to them. Here these people are, with nothing but their life, everything else gone, just the clothes on their back for the most part, but they are still thankful and their faith is stronger than it has ever been. It is humbling, I can tell you.
We visited our ministry partners and delivered the funds brought for them. They were all thankful beyond words. One particular story is definitely worth sharing, that of Pastor Clerzius, whose collapsed school and church I mentioned above. Crawford and I visited him at his home and delivered the funds we had brought for him. The amount is not important, except to say that we, here in the States, would probably not be impressed by the amount. I don’t believe Pastor Clerzius had ever held so much money in his hands before. With tears in his eyes, he held the money up and announced, “I am going to be able to do so much good with this money here in my community.” I guarantee you that he never for a minute thought of using the money for his own purposes or for his family’s benefit. He was going to share it with his neighbors and members of his church and school. We cried and hugged each other. Each stop was pretty much the same. The unselfishness can make you ashamed.
We drove to downtown Port au Prince to the National Palace, Haiti’s “White House.” It breaks your heart to see this once beautiful building, the most impressive in Haiti, now damaged perhaps beyond repair. I had attended a President’s prayer vigil there six years ago. Where we once gathered inside is now a collapsed ruin. There has sprung up a refugee camp tent city in the park and open plaza across from the palace. Thousands of people are living there in a variety of shelters, mostly tarps or sheets strung between trees, all subject to being blown away in a strong wind. As I walked through the people there, they were going about their lives as best they could. Mothers were bathing children out of a plastic pail, an entrepreneur had set up a barber chair and was doing a thriving business and small charcoal cooking fires were going at most tents. Children were doing what children always do, even in tragedy – they were running around playing. Old men and women were lying on blankets, sheets or mats on the ground in the shade of their “tent.” Someone, probably one of the relief organizations, had set up a big water bladder in the center of the plaza next to a statue of one of Haiti’s past heroes. A hose fed a spigot and people were lined up to get water. I don’t think I would drink it, but at least it was there. One thing glaringly stood out to me – with all these thousands of people, there was only one, yes one, porta john in the area on a street corner across from the palace. My word – only one. You know what that means. Sanitation is going to be an ongoing problem, with the likelihood of disease springing up. Reports of measles and severe diarrhea were already being reported. I’m glad I had my typhoid pills, tetanus shot, Hepatitis shot and malaria pills.
As we drove around Port au Prince, you saw over and over again hand lettered signs on cardboard, sheets, boards or whatever was available, relaying similar messages of: “Help!” “We need food and water.” “S.O.S.” “Don’t forget us.” and other similar messages. The people are pleading for help. Whenever people saw our white faces, they would call to us to help them and give them water or food. It is a helpless feeling not to be able to give them what they ask for.
A particularly sad part of our trip was the visit we took up to the Montana Hotel, formerly the nicest hotel in Haiti, which totally collapsed trapping or killing numerous people, many of them Americans. Most everyone has heard the story of Courtney Hayes, the young American college student from Florida who was with fellow students serving the people of Haiti, and who is missing. Her parents are friends of the Pastor of Crawford’s father’s church. When they found out we were going to Haiti, they asked if Crawford could take current photos of their daughter to deliver to the Montana for identification purposes. We drove up to the closed gated entrance of the Montana, which is now guarded by American soldiers from the 82nd Airborne. We told them why we were there and the soldier in charge radioed in for someone to come talk to us. A young woman representative of the U.S. State Department, the Family Liaison for missing persons, came out to talk to us. We gave her the new photos. She said Courtney had not been found yet. The hope is that she will turn up alive in some hospital or some other shelter. I cannot even imagine how her parents are dealing with this. As we drove away, I remembered the last time I had been at the Montana with my son, Bill, sitting on the veranda next to the pool looking out over the spectacular view of Port au Prince and the sea beyond. It is all gone.
We brought medical supplies, including antibiotics, Ibuprofen, splints, and bandages including insulin and syringes for Pastor Jean Baptiste’s eight year old daughter, Beaudelyne. He had been unable to find insulin in Haiti. He told us she would have died in a short time if we had not brought the insulin to her. As Crawford said, that alone was worth the trip. We also brought tarps for shelter, but many more are needed, and real tents would be even better. Shelter is going to be a major problem, especially when the rains come. It has not rained since the quake, but once it starts, it will be brutal. The misery index is going to be off the charts. Of course the money we brought to everyone was critical for their ongoing survival. Hopefully Western Union and MoneyGram will get outlets open very soon. We did see an outlet or two that appeared to be open with very long lines snaking down the street.
There is so much more I could share, but this would become a novel. It has taken me several days back home to get my head around everything to be able to sit down and start this story. I have no doubt there will be many things I remember as time goes by. I definitely do not want to forget anything, not a single thing, even the worst of it.
As I told Michelle, my wife, upon my return, “I will never, for the rest of my life, ever take anything for granted.” We are so blessed here in America. I know there is hurt and pain here. I know there are desperate people here who are looking for a job, don’t know where their next meal is coming from, or are trying to figure out how to take care of a loved one’s medical needs. I do not lessen that at all. What is going on in Haiti is so far beyond what we know here, that unless you experience it, you can’t fully understand it. I do not mean to say that I totally understand it. My short time there only served to grieve my heart in some ways, but in others it gave me great hope for the future of Haiti. The people there are true survivors and the faith in God of my friends there has shown me where I can make changes in my life.
I hope my words will help you, the reader, have a better understanding of the tragedy that is Haiti. Maybe it will help you, in some way, decide to help. I hope so. We can not save them all, but we can save them one at a time.
(I'm going to try to put together a tax deductable fundraiser for that little 8 year old girl that has type 1 diabetes. The supplies she received will only last her so long. I'll get back with more information soon)
haha. He was helping with the Air Force special forces. So proud