A Visit to Downtown Port-au-Prince

Thursday proved to be an incredibly intense day. It started off pretty low key. Our good friend Miguelson stopped by the guest house and we headed out to run errands and see people around the city. Miguelson is currently working for the Southern Baptist Convention as an interpreter. He is able to make a little money right now with this job, which helps his family out a great deal. Miguelson told me that his father, who is a farmer in the countryside, is no longer able to sell much of his produce in Haiti because farmers cannot compete with the free food coming in from abroad. His father has a contact in the Dominican Republic so he can sell most of his stuff there.

Obviously right now there are many people who do not have jobs and therefore cannot afford to buy any food. They are completely dependent on foreign donations and whatever they can scrape up on a daily basis. On the other hand, Haitian farmers are struggling because the population that can afford to buy a little food is seeking out the free food that is being delivered by foreign aid organizations and foreign governments. This is just one of the numerous complexities when trying to understand post-earthquake Haiti. People are hungry and more aid, including food, is needed in the country. Yet a system of dependence is being created that will have to eventually be removed for the country's economy to move forward.

I had the good fortune of spending the morning with Sylvia and her family, which was great. They are doing well and seemed happy as always. We talked about her community and how people were doing. She told me stories about receiving ration cards for food and then standing in long lines to receive rice, beans, and water. Sylvia said that she has not been given a ration card in over a month, but her family is finding ways to eat. We talked about the recovery efforts, the looming rainy season, and my family's ambiguous future in Haiti. If we return we will hire you again I promised her, but I also told her that I'm not sure when that will be. She handled the news well, but I know that on some level she has to be concerned about the future income of her family. Sylvia is a part of our family now and we miss her dearly.

I spent the afternoon in downtown Port-au-Prince where the situation was the worst that I have seen in Haiti thus far. The large old buildings that once made up the downtown were reduced to roofless one story buildings, if not completely destroyed. We passed by the National Palace, which laid idle and seemingly untouched since the earthquake. The National Cathedral was missing its roof and one side of the building was completely knocked down. Downtown Port-au-Prince was in ruins, but vendors lined the streets and the chaotic environment of downtown still existed amongst the destruction. It will take months, if not years before downtown Port-au-Prince can return to a level of normalcy.

Miguelson and I journeyed into a tent city across the street from the National Palace. All of the beautiful parks once filled with fountains and monuments were nothing but an endless mass of humanity living on top of each other. Tent after tent covered the area. Many of the makeshift homes were nothing but sticks and sheets, others were created with pieces of metal and cardboard with donated tarps serving as the roof. People were cooking, doing laundry, bathing, and sleeping like they did in their old homes. We would occasionally stop to talk to people who told us stories of sick children, crumbled homes, lost relatives, and hunger. One man introduced me to a 12 year-0ld boy that lost his leg when the building he was in fell on top of him. "Ten people died inside that building and he was the only one that survived," he informed me. The boy insisted that I take his picture. He even smiled. Many complained that the Haitian government has once again done nothing to help its people and that there is food and water coming into the country, but not everybody can access it. They fear the coming rainy season that has already begun to make its presence known. Last night I awoke to a downpour and immediately thought of the families sleeping on the ground with only tarps to keep them dry. I cringe when thinking about the various diseases that could breakout and spread in a tent city like the one I visited, especially when the rains begin falling daily. I shudder to consider what it must be like to try to maintain a little living space for your family when rain and mud are everywhere. How many children will lose a piece of their childhood here?

We finished our day with a trip to a neighborhood called Fort National. The neighborhood is located on a hill towering above downtown. The scene was catastrophic as the entire neighborhood was wiped out. Houses lay in rubble and large piles of concrete lined the roads as dozens of government workers tried to clean up the mess with only hammers and wheel barrows at their disposal. The government workers were almost exclusively young men and women and they wore bright yellow t-shirts that read, "Ann Leve Kanpe" (Let's Get Up and Stand). I can only imagine the amount of life that was lost in this area and I wonder how people here can possibly get up and stand again? How do they move forward amidst such pain and loss? The Haitian people have overcome colonization, slavery, economic oppression, hurricanes and floods. They are the strongest people in the world. They will indeed rise again.

Miguelson and I concluded our day with a trip to his house to visit with his family. Miguelson's mother is such a beautiful, dignified woman. She put on a good face for me even though her family is struggling and her children are sleeping outside in tents. Miguelson took me to visit a local CONASPEH pastor and to tour a little tent city where members of his family sleep. There were no clement floors to sleep on here, just bare ground. The tents were not really tents at all, but pieces of woods and plastic tarps pieced together. While Miguelson's neighborhood was not hit particularly hard by the earthquake, most people are afraid to sleep inside their homes so they hang out at home during the day and sleep outside at night. I suspect the rainy season might force some people to take the risk of sleeping inside their homes again.

Today I leave Haiti. I now sit in the airport trying to finish the blog and one last Prestige. The bartender is happy that I speak Kreyol so we talk about everything Haiti. He has a job, so he is more optimistic than most Haitians I have spoken with this week.

I love Haiti. While it can be extremely difficult and frustrating to live in this country, it is also a truly amazing place. The people have mastered the art of being. They know that there is one God and that we all are equal children in the eyes of this God. While there are certainly a lot of needs in Haiti, especially at this moment, there are also many things the people of Haiti have to offer the rest of the world. We need each other. They know this already and my hope is that many others outside of Haiti will begin to recognize it too.

Checking Things Out

The last couple of days in Haiti have provided a mixture of joys and frustrations. After romanticizing life in Haiti for the past three months since we left the country I have been given a reality check about all of the challenges that come with living here. The traffic, heat, dust, and the inability to get anything done quickly...all of these things have served as a reminder of what life is like in Haiti. However, all of these things pale in comparison to the gift of living amongst the Haitian people. Perhaps it is the three months away that is allowing me to really appreciate the people to the degree that I am on this trip? Regardless, I am falling in love all over again with the population. I feel a profound sense of gratitude and luck that Kim and I have had the opportunity to live in a place that has incredible people that are willing to share their lives, be patient with my language and cultural inadequacies, and to live together and laugh as if I am one of them. Even the U.S. government cannot take that away.

Monday and Tuesday were somewhat frustrating as I waited and waited and waited some more for access to our old vehicle. It finally arrived Tuesday night, which allows me the ability to get out and see more people and projects and to run the type of errands that need to be run after not being in the country for a while. I woke up yesterday morning with great plans of all of the things I would accomplish and all of the people I would visit. It is amazing how a few months in the States can ruin your memory and cause you to forget what is possible to accomplish in one in Port-au-Prince. I set out for Petionville in the morning to get our mail and any boxes that may have arrived. I was met by the familiar stand still traffic of Delmas Road. Things are moving especially slow in the city now as aid vehicles congest the streets and other roads are blocked off due to rubble or tent cities. Delmas Road was much as I remembered. There were several buildings that were completely destroyed and others that still stand, but appear ready to collapse at any moment. Small tent communities lined the road and the familiar faces of the street children approached my window looking for a few goudes or a piece of candy. After nearly two hours I finally arrived in Petionville to find a bucket load of mail awaiting me. I was glad I made the trip as I found a couple of care packages from a good friend in the States that contained children's clothes, shampoo, and cliff bars. All of these things went to a CONASPEH orphanage that is struggling to care for its 40 children. I suspect our friend who sent the package would be happy with how it was used. I also found a generous relief check from an American church.

I happily went down the mountain back into Port-au-Prince where I stopped by the above mentioned orphanage. The situation at the orphanage was not great. The children were dirty, scantily dressed, and there were signs of malnutrition. The pastor seemed in good spirits, but he expressed to me how dire the situation is day in and day out. I donated the few bags of children's clothes and some money, but it was merely a drop in the bucket of what was needed. I tried to lift their spirits by teasing them and speaking really bad Kreyol, but I'm not convinced it did much good. The children sang for me...a song about Jesus' unending love. They sang verses in Kreyol, French, Spanish, and English. Afterwards we said goodbye and headed to my next stop: the CONASPEH headquarters.

The scene at CONASPEH was both uplifting and saddening. I was reminded of the horror that took place on January 12th. I think part of me was expecting to see the building again. Of course the building wasn't there, but neither was the majority of the rubble that I last saw two weeks after the earthquake. The area had been mostly cleared of the rubble and a new wall had been put up around the parameter of the land. It was an encouraging sign. I spoke with Patrick and Francois Villier who seemed in good spirits and optimistic about the classical school reopening next week. There are numerous people working diligently to clean up the land so that they can put tents on it and begin classes as soon as possible. The land looks cleaner that it ever has before and when I visited today the Villiers were bringing in toilets for the students. It was a blessing to be able to see a positive sign of life progressing in a country that looks very much like it did three months ago.

Driving back to the guest house I drove past countless tent cities. Some of them sprawled out as far as the eye could see. Each day I have been increasingly moved by the number of tent cities. They are literally everywhere. Tomorrow I may try to enter one if possible. We'll see what the day brings. Bon nwit.

Back Home

As expected a wide range of emotions have greeted me as I returned to my beloved Haiti: joy, sadness, surprise, frustration, and gratitude to name a few. I ran into Patrick Villier at the Miami airport as we were on the same flight back to Port-au-Prince. In typical Patrick V. fashion he explained to me how difficult things were in Haiti and then he stopped to provide comical relief. He told me a story about a professor that had died at the CONASPEH building during the earthquake. I know, it's hysterical so far. Anyways, while Patrick was attending a service for the 17 staff and students who died at CONASPEH, including the professor, he looked over to see this man sitting in one of the pews behind him. Patrick burst into laughter and then explained to me, “They gave me the wrong list of victims.” His ability to laugh amidst the everyday struggles of Haiti is why Kim and I have missed him so much. As we boarded the plane we agreed to meet up on Tuesday where I can begin using our old car again and start visiting CONASPEH churches and projects.

It has been wonderful to see familiar faces and to be reminded of the community of friends that Kim and I have made in Haiti. Everyone wanted to know how Kim and “King” Solomon were doing? Many were unaware that we added Valancia to our family, so I was happy to give them that news too. Of course, they all wanted to know when we would be moving back to Haiti? While our future is very much up in the air the thought of not being able to live and work in Haiti again has me feeling a tremendous sense of loss. I cursed our government and USCIS many times in my mind as the reality of what we might have to give up struck me last night. However, if this is my “swan song” in Haiti for a while I will give thanks for the amazing experience we have had and for the incredible people we have had the privilege of living amongst. I also had the thought that Kim and I are in many ways made to live and work in Haiti. It is certainly not the easiest country to live in, but it is a place that we love and it is home for our family. I am putting out everything I can into the universe so that we can return soon.

In many ways Haiti seems very much the same as when we left two weeks after the earthquake (almost three months ago). However, there are some things that have changed. My first impression of post-earthquake Haiti came from my window seat on the airplane. I was shocked to see the amount of tents that dotted the earth below me. There were long drawn out tent cities everywhere, sprinkled with individual tents throughout the city. While the tent cities were a phenomenon that began hours after the earthquake hit I was nonetheless surprised to see the massive volume of them that have sprung up all over Port-au-Prince and the outlining areas. There have been reports that 1.3 million people are displaced from their homes in Haiti. From what I have observed from both the air and the ground it seems likely that this number is too low. Nearly everyone I have seen and talked to are living in tents or under plastic tarps. Last night I journeyed with our good friend Veniel, who is also the manager of the guest house I am staying at, to a small facility for children with HIV/AIDS where one of the guests is volunteering. They needed help putting up a large tarp that had been blown down by the wind. This tarp was protecting the three tents where roughly 30 children are sleeping. While the organization’s building seemed intact they were not risking sleeping inside for fear of another earthquake. This fear has gripped the country and the continuous aftershocks, including a small one that hit last night, are not quelling peoples’ fears. After a little planning, and some tree climbing, we were able to get the tarp back up and tie it to a couple of mango trees before heading back to the guest house for the night. This is just one example of how insufficient the tents and tarps are for the Haitian climate. Pray for a light rainy season because I am afraid that the rains could bring a whole new level of misery for the people of Haiti.

Today was one of those days that can only happen in Haiti. First of all, I slept until 9 am, taking full advantage of not having two 18-month old babies in my room. When I awoke I saw one of my favorite people Josie who is a cook at the guesthouse. She promptly scolded me for not bringing Kim and then insisted I eat an egg even though I missed breakfast by more than two hours. After breakfast I headed out to see our old house. I was curious if it had completely come down or was still standing. I arrived to find it in the same condition as when we departed. The gate was locked, so I couldn’t enter, but a neighbor had our landlord’s phone number so I made a quick call. Of course, he told me not to enter the house, but I think I might try to retrieve a few things tomorrow with Veniel. We’ll see.

After my trip back “home” I walked over to Solomon and Valancia’s old orphanage. Along the route I saw dozens of houses and businesses still lying in rubble. From what I have seen thus far it appears that little to no rubble has been removed from the city. Veniel confirmed this observation and complained that only people with money are able to get rubble removed. Of course in Haiti this means that most of the fallen buildings are in the exact same shape that they were immediately following the earthquake. I saw one house that had been removed and cleaned up. One.

My time at the orphanage was fantastic. There is probably no place that I enjoy spending time at more than this orphanage and it felt really good to spend the day speaking Kreyol again. I was greeted at the orphanage by smiling children wanting to be held and staff who were eager for reports on Solomon and Valancia. When I told the woman who was Valanica’s primary care taker at the orphanage that Valancia had gained 9 lbs and was almost walking, she laughed out loud, threw her hands in the air and gave thanks to God. “Valancia is fat and eats like a donkey,” I explained to the workers, but they didn’t believe me. I promised to bring pictures of her tomorrow to prove to them just how far “little” Valancia has come.

I spent most of the day at the orphanage holding babies, learning patty cake games in Kreyol from little girls, and talking with staff. One highlight of the day was lunch. I was served a big plate of rice and beans by the orphanage staff. I quickly devoured it as I have missed Haitian food a great deal. The staff asked me if I wanted seconds, which I declined. One of the women then began making fun of me saying that I eat like “a little doll.” She proceeded to tease me the rest of the afternoon calling me "little doll" in Kreyol. God I have missed the Haitian’s sense of humor.

Amidst all of the laughter of the children and staff I ate lunch next to an eight year-old girl whose father died in the earthquake. Her mother decided that she could not support both her and her older brother without the help of her father so she put this young girl in the orphanage. The girl began crying after talking about the death of her father. A staff person sitting next to me then went on to point out several children who had lost a parent in the earthquake. It was a sad reminder of what 230,000 deaths really means. Amongst other things, it means children without their parents.

When we departed Port-au-Prince in late January the orphanage had 135 kids. They were able to get Humanitarian Parole Visas for 120 of these children, which left them with only 15. They currently have 65 children and have had to turn back numerous others because conditions at the orphanage don’t allow them to responsibly care for more. The children are still sleeping outside, but they now have nice tents donated from USAID. The baby tent even has a cement floor that was poured inside it. However, at 3 pm this afternoon it felt like it was 200 degrees inside that tent. All of the babies were sweating profusely and the workers were busy swatting flies and wiping sweat off themselves while trying to care for all 20 babies. I have always been amazed at how these selfless women care for so many children in such challenging conditions. The staff at the orphanage are some of the most remarkable people that I have ever met. I was thrilled to see them again and to brag about how great my children are doing. Kim and I are continuing a job with our kids that began long before we took them into our care.

So I wish you all farewell for the evening. I need to bathe in the worst way and to hit the sack early in hopes of getting up tomorrow in time for breakfast. Bon nwit.

Bronzing A Memory

I dare something brave. Blogging on a Sunday morning with no backup and two toddlers toddling.* We have enjoyed a happy and charmed morning AND a long one since the little tykes squawked reveille at 0500. They've been in a particularly good mood despite a fractured night's sleep, super quick-forming snot tusks, and raspy coughs. I've miraculously gotten through nearly 2 cups of coffee and my e-mail with only the minor distraction of keeping Solomon from using Cici's head as a drum or changing a little toxic waste out of a diaper.

I have a friend who is really good about putting in writing the moments and antics that define the days of her kids' childhood. I strive to be more like her... if only to document the evolution of these incredible little personalities I have the privilege to get to know. Last night held a memory I'd like to keep always, to pull out when the kids are older, to remember these beautiful baby-ish days, to heal after a fight or just to remember how perfect loving them feels.

I had a moment in the middle of the night where I was a better version of myself, and the experience of being a mom was saturated with happy. At 2am. Like I said, a better version of myself. And I want to remember it always, as raw and beautiful and funny and perfect as it was.

We waved goodbye to Patrick yesterday as he drove back to Kansas City in order to catch an early flight out to Haiti this morning. As much as I wanted to be the brave, solid-as-a-rock wife, I couldn't help the tears. Partly it was watching my toddler-tag-team-parter drive off into the sunset leaving me suddenly out numbered in the parent-to-toddler ratio; mostly it was because he was going to Haiti without me. Without us. The reality of what has changed for us hit, and I didn't like it one bit.

The kids were clingier last night than normal... I attributed it to feeling anxious over separation. Or maybe they were tuning in to my own anxiety. Especially Solomon who is a full-on Daddy's boy and often wakes in the night crying for "Dad-dad" until his Super Papa finds him and snuggles him. No one else will do. So I anticipated a difficult night. Solomon has never been a very sound sleeper and consistently gets up several times a night no matter what "healthy sleep" strategy we try. So at midnight when my little boy sat up in the darkness and called out for his dad in his heart-broken, raspy voice, tears running rivers down the rounds of his cheeks, I could only sympathize. Instead of getting my feelings hurt that it wasn't me he wanted, I gave him a little space. Cici was up shortly with all the racket, so we three beings padded through my parents dark house. Solomon instantly quieted in the search, his pudgy hand in mine leading the way. One room after another I lit, noted it was empty, and darkened the lights again. After searching the whole house for the Elusive Daddy Wonderful, Solomon seemed to understand that I wasn't keeping him from his favorite snuggler, and a truce was waged.

Back in bed, my children snuggled on either side of me, and I settled into one of the dreamier moments of motherhood---the time when you stop moving, stop problem-solving, stop worrying, stop the"nos!" and the "watch out's!" and just simply soak in the little lives that you are lucky enough to hold.

Neither sleepy despite a world that snored and dreamed around us, Solomon and Valancia commenced in happy baby chatter. I imagined they were telling me about the dreams they just had, telling each other secrets they knew mommy couldn't decipher or that they were waxing on how much they really loved the smell of my deodorant given the proximity to my pits. Rather than their usually tease-and-screech interactions, Valancia giggled as Solomon poked her cheek; Solomon held back when Valancia reached for his hand across my chest. Suddenly the farm dogs started barking at coyotes howling in the distance, and Solomon soon was barking along with them in his raspy "ooh-ooh" imitation of a woof. A few seconds later Cici threw in a moo. 'Cause a guard cow is just what you need on a night like that. Off you go coyotes!

They soon quieted down, but certainly didn't settle into sleep. Solomon put his head on my shoulder and played with strands of my hair, then grabbed my nose in his fist and gave my head a shake. Cici entertained herself thoroughly by rocking her head back and forth recreating the suction sound made by her chubby cheek pulling away from the skin on my chest. She laughed endlessly at her new trick. Me too. Good thing I'm not one of those bony hard body ladies--oh the free entertainment we would have been deprived.

Cici finally threw in the towel at 1am after her delicate hands stopped exploring my face, fingers attempting to go spelunking in my mouth. Her body relaxed and breathing fell into that beautiful deep rhythm of sleep. Solomon, on the other hand, had another hour in him. That was ok. Rather than sighing out of exhaustion, throwing up my hands in "what-are-we-going-to-do-with-this-sleepless-child!" exasperation that often defines our reaction to our middle-of-the-night, not-soon-to-be-snoozing rendezvous, this better version of my self simply enjoyed my cuddly, funny, sweet-tempered night-owl of a boy knowing such moments with him are fast fleeting as he grows and changes every day.

I rained kisses down on his round face, landing them on his forehead, cheeks (oh the cheeks), eyelids, tip of the nose, corner of the mouth, fold of the neck. He laughed an open-mouth laughed. When I stopped, he'd lean his head in for more. Eventually the kisses made him sleepy, and somewhere between laughing and smooching, we both fell asleep.

Despite colds, and coughs and runny noses today for the three of us, it will be a good day. Today is a lazy Sunday and I don't yet have a job that will demands large portions of daylight away from my kids, I'm not yet immersed in the over-scheduled race that sometimes feels like life in America. I'm just a mom with two incredible children on a farm with hours ahead of us to just be. And the gift of that does not elude me today.

Today, I soak it in.

*It is no longer Sunday morning as I post this. But of course.

Wrestling

In an effort to offer reassurance, people have often encouraged us to hang in there, that everything happens for a reason because everything is a part of God's plan. It is spoken by the faithful, a mantra many use to make sense out of life's painful and senseless situations. But I don't buy it. For me it doesn't make sense. Its not a theology I can comfortably live with.

Is it really God that is keeping us in the States rather than US bureaucracy? Am I to believe the earthquake was orchestrated as a part of Gods Plan? Are 300,000 dead a part of some grand scheme? God planned to rob this womanof her children? Or twist Susan Surandon's ankle to make important national news? How about Cancer? Drug addiction? Stray bullets that kill innocent bystanders? Genocide? Suicide bombers? Starvation? Death by diarrhea?

Rather than masterminding plans like a puppet master, doesn't God instead give us the courage to keep going? To consider new choices in the face of ever-changing circumstance? To adapt. To survive. To heal. To make the best out of things. To reflect. To learn. To keep working. To love. I like to think that rather than planning the maiming injuries so many people sustained, God instead is active in the strength to get up and dance despite pain. Isn't it the spirit of something bigger that allows children to re-learn walking even when the prospect of their life holds not a lot of hope. Do we--as people in touch with the resourceful spirit of life we are equipped with--make the best of our situation so that one day we can look back with hindsight and feel ok with the lessons learned and path blazed? I like to think that when we are faithful, we stop whining and get creative. We choose to move forward.

The truth is, no one can really exercise much control over their life even though we fool ourselves into thinking we can. Not because God steers our puppet strings but because life is fluid. We can only control how we react to life, let spirit enter the choices we make and then prepare ourselves for whatever comes next. The earthquake and the events that followed is a big fat lesson in this life truth. Some days I react to our own situation like a mature, educated, loving, sensitve and wise woman. Others I stomp and kick and cry with the emotional maturity of an infant. On those days Cici pat-pats my shoulder and Solomon does a funny dance move to snap me out of my funk. We are lucky. Lucky to be alive, lucky to be together, lucky to have such incredible children, lucky to be afforded this luxurious limbo time. The people of Haiti are having to react in a very different atmosphere, with very different resources. And just when I've hit the peak of a pitty party dance, I remember just how cushy our lives are.

I'm no expert. Like everyone else, I'm trying to make sense of it all. Makes sense of why our children thrive while others are left starving. Make sense of the fact that our family is living in a home surrounded by vibrant fertile fields, eating 3 meals a day and sleeping without fear while a family of 12 in Haiti huddles together under a leaky tarp on crowded soccer field while rain turns their floor to mud and threatens to wash away what is left of their meager belongings. Make sense of why Patrick and I were blessed with two beautiful children placed quickly in our lives while others struggle to conceive or to weather out painfully long adoption processes. Making sense of tragedy. Of disparities. Of changes in plan. Of life.

I have Haiti to thank for perspective. I watch people of incredible faith keep living, keep smiling, keep dancing, keep dreaming, keep planning, keep building because they chose to do so in spite of how much they hurt, how little they have, how hungry they are or how much work lies ahead. The people I have met rely on their resilient spirit to rise above unjust and ugly situations. And as we consider not living in Haiti for a while, I mourn the loss of living face-to-face with such inspirational people.

The unknown of our future is scary. The unknown of Haiti's future is frightening. I've never been good at facing the unknown. But it is honest. None of us really know what our tomorrows hold, we just like to pretend we do. In the unknown, the confusion, the frustration, I search for God... not to ask Him for directions, but for strength. For patience. For my humor. For inspiration. We learn to emprace the now, to rely on that inner steel, inner strength that I believe flows from something bigger than ourselves. I pray that the choices we are to make act as part of a solution rather than part of the problem. And as far as plans, big or small, I try to let them go.

Somedays are better than others.

In case you are reading...

You, with an insight into immigration and citizenship issues... You, who knows someone who knows something about our situation, I'm sending out a plea. A plea for information. A plea for our family and a few families like ours.

The adoptions are processing along nicely. We hope all will be official by late May. Beautiful. The issue, however is with the children's citizenship. We have talked to representatives in Homeland Security, USCIS (United States Citizen and Immigration Service), our adoption lawyer, and have had conference calls with multidisciplinary lawyers INCLUDING an immigration lawyer who is trying to find out as much information as he can for us. Today Patrick presented to the Kansas City USCIS office to talk to someone directly. He was told the children cannot travel out of the country right now and that the government has nothing in place to allow Haitian children that came to the U.S. after the earthquake to leave the country. It is unknown when such a travel document will be created. Boom. The sound of our hearts sinking.

Here is the information as we understand it. Normally with international adoptions, when children arrive to the US, they come in on a residency visa. When adoptions are finalized, citizenship is automatically granted. However, our children came in on I-94 Humanitarian Parole Visas--- a visa that has only been used one other time in US history and not in an orphan situation. Apparently here in lies the problem. For some reason, normal citizenship conversion is not possible under this type of visa. Nothing--according to the USCIS representative--has been put into place thus far to help with this process at present time. The USCIS officer told us frankly that the kids citizenship would likely take 2-3 years to process after which they could apply for passports. She said there was NO OTHER travel document that they qualify for. She was not willing to have any sort of extended conversation with Patrick. We are hoping she is not the final official word on our situation, but she is the first qualified face we've talked to who should have access to such information.

We keep praying for some loophole to be revealed. We have e-mails out to a contact in Washington and are waiting for any information an immigration lawyer might be able to find. We are in communication with other families in the same situation as we are-- previously living and working in Haiti, now in the US waiting for their children's adoptions to be finalized. If it were only that simple. We had no idea that our children wouldn't automatically become US citizens coinciding with the finalization with their adoption. It makes no logical sense in our minds that they wouldn't.

Patrick and I are reeling with this new information. We are struggling with feeling like our hopes and "plans" are spinning out of our control all over again. We both feel so passionately about our work in Haiti with CONASPEH, work that after only a year and a half started to feel like it was moving forward. We had gotten past the "awkward new kid" phase and were starting to see visions take shape, friendships formed, language developing, plans stretching forward. We both felt a part of a community that we weren't yet ready to say goodbye to. We had hoped that our children would grow up the first 4 influential years of their life in the country of their birth, learning Creole, and flourishing under the loving, positive, protective daycare of our dear friend Sylvia. We fight the idea that our experience and work in Port-au-Prince has to be truncated given the disaster and the situation our family now finds itself in. As hard as it is for some people to understand, more than anything we want to return. We want to return for our children, we want to return to stand in this critical time with our partners, we want to return with new energy to the jobs we have there and tackle projects with the new sense of urgency and purpose the current state of affairs in Haiti inspires.

I cannot explain the yearning in our hearts that has pulled our thoughts to Haiti every second we've been back in the States. To consider NOT returning soon is one of the most difficult things we've had to face in the last 4 months. There were days Patrick and I were convinced we were in this crazy lifestyle for the longterm, for life. We both pray that dream is only being put on hold. I think both of us hope that we can still continue to dedicate our lives to international living, learning and service with or without a forced hiatus.

We have a few more contacts we are pursuing. We are praying for some window to open.

So if you are reading this and have information that might help us muddle through the bureaucracy, we would be ever grateful. Help us make sense of the fact that soon our children will officially be OURS but not our country's. If not, we ask for prayers for our discernment in the waiting.

In the news

This article infuriated me. I only hope that the accusations aren't as true as they seem superficially. I'm biased on the debate of who is more effective in relief efforts: small NGO's or large relief organizations. This article fires up such argument. We all need to hold people and organizations accountable so that we--as donors, as voters, as citizens--are represented well.

Red Cross under fire! Where’s the money for Haiti?
Red Cross under fire! Where’s the money for Haiti?

April Showers...

Here we are. Still in Kansas. Still sort of living as if any day now we might grab our bags and hop a flight back to the land of our children's birth, the place where we both left projects and jobs, back to the friends we worry about constantly, back to the daily challenges and inspirations that come from living in such a remarkable place. Yet the bags packed with housewares are gathering a bit of dust in the corner. I was forced to unpack the suitcase full of children's summer clothes "for Haiti" when warm weather arrived before our departure date.

With spring in full swing, we've relocated to my parent's house on the farm in Kansas. Here the "twins" get to check for new baby calves every afternoon with their Pop-Pop, the grill is usually flaring up in the evenings as we gather to play and chat on the deck, and the prairies and gravel roads stretch for miles inviting long walks. Thank goodness for an all-terraine stroller. Now the kids can ride the dirt roads that I love, they can watch wild turkeys run across the path in front of them and see deer peering out from a grove of trees. Even as a full-time mom of two toddlers, I feel more reflective and centered here.

Our children are growing. They now can tell you what a dog says and how a cat meows. Cici's first word is "up" and she uses it often to get herself lifted to a birds eye view of her surroundings. Solomon likes to say "out" thanks to his deep love of cows and mooing at them any chance he gets. I look at my beautiful, funny children with their unique and incredible personalities and try to be a better person. I try to find patience with the dance with bureaucratic landmines, the hiatus from work, the unknowing.

Our return to Haiti still is a big, fat, annoying question mark. Adoptions seem to be coming along nicely, but we are encountering new hurdles that seem bigger than the last. We are cursed with a "unique" situation. Not a lot of families are trying to take their Haitian children BACK to Haiti right now. With children safely in the States, lawmakers aren't putting crazy people like us high on their priority lists. We are finding that we are treading in a situation not well versed. Not a lot of laws pertaining to humanitarian parole and travel exist and that leaves a lot of experts scratching their heads when we share our story. Thus we keep asking, we keep pursuing new avenues trusting that something will come up, information will be made clear and definitive, one way or the other.

Global Ministries has responded to our situation once again with compassion and flexibility. We have now been placed on official home-stay status (advanced up from healing-stay). So we are "back to work" in a redesigned way. Our jobs are to visit with churches and organizations about Haiti, educating and advocating for CONASPEH, their struggle and their work. We are setting up an itineration schedule over the next few months to visit partner churches and organizations that have been supporters of Haiti and CONASPEH. It feels good to at least have something to do in this limbo time. Our home-stay has been granted through July. We both hope that a miracle happens and we'll be on our way back to Haiti by then. If not, more creative life plans will have to be made.

Patrick heads to Haiti on Sunday for a week to visit CONASPEH and the Villiers as well as our many friends there. He goes to reconnect, revisit, and see with his own eyes the state of affairs in the town we've grown to love. With updated information and impressions, he hopes to have more to share with concerned people State-side. I'm fighting the green beast of jealousy that he goes without me, but such is our reality now. I'll stay back to moo at the cows.

If internet access can be found, Patrick hopes to blog and add pics during his time in Haiti to keep us all informed of his raw impressions. So stay tuned...

Pennies for Haiti

I was informed by a family friend that the local elementary schools had done a fund raising effort earlier this year: "Pennies for Haiti." He invited our family to come to the school to accept the check on behalf of Global Ministries and our Haitian partners.

Pennies. Cute, I thought.

Imagine my surprise when, in a tiny Kansas town of less than 1000 residents, in schools struggling to keep enough kids in the desks to keep teachers employed, children from kindergarten to 6th grade collected heaps and mountains of pennies to arrive at the remarkable grand total of over $1,300.

That's a lot of pennies.

This week Patrick, Solomon, Valancia and I have visited several schools in the area: Thayer County Schools in Hebron, Nebraska and Belleville Elementary Schools in Belleville, Kansas. In remote rural American towns, children have held popcorn drives, bake sales and penny collections to help "kids like them" who struggle with problems like they've never seen in a far away island country. Hats off to such globally minded children. Hats off to the schools who nurture the curiosity and philanthropy of their students.

On our school tours, Patrick and I presented a little information about Haiti, our children acted as entertaining ambassadors for their country, and we fielded enthusiastic and curious questions. Some questions surprised us, especially coming from the smallest of students.

Was it scary to be in the earthquake? What did it feel like?

Did a lot of people die?

Are they still looking for people?

Did a lot of children loose their mommies?

What do people do for fun there?

Where do people live if all the houses fell down?

Will the government fix things? Will things get better?

Where do kids go to school?

(my personal favorite) How do you say "Beverly" in Creole?

We dared to be honest to even the smallest of inquirers. Many of the questions have answers yet to be seen. We were proud of the questions, pleased with the concern. We are honored that the children of our communities are looking outside of themselves with compassion and curiosity into the lives and struggles of others. Not only LOOKING, but springing into action. Such children give me hope for the world.

Happy Easter

Praying for new birth, new beginnings, new opportunity that springs up from death, destruction, hunger and hopelessness.