Awakening...

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Back home, I never sleep. I cannot remember the last time I slept more than 6 hours straight. We slept 10 hours, waking up intermittently to hear the roosters cackling at each other, laughing as they purposely woke us up. I didn't mind. It was a welcome change to the usual noise in my head.

Breakfast was a wonderful mix of spicy omelette, mini sausages, fresh avocados the size of a softball, plantains, grapefruit, homemade peanut butter, rolls and bread. We were eating well, better than most of the village. There was some guilt permeating my consciousness, but to not enjoy would be disrespectful. I headed to the flat roof to perform my sun salutations and a short workout before breakfast. I told the others to enjoy.

The plan was to head out at about 1230. We had plenty of time to relax. The rest of the day was spent reading, writing, and chatting. Ed and I went over the lesson plan I had prepared. It was basic. We didn't really know what to expect, but the excitement was there. After a quick snack session, we left for the half hour walk to the school. There was a group of us walking in our green HavServe shirts. I suppose it was a great reminder to the villagers about what Ms. Brice was trying to do for them. Change is always difficult. For programs to take, they would have to buy in. A fundamental change in consciousness needs to occur. That's a common thread and not isolated to Haitians. It seemed as though they were very interested in what we were trying to do with the training. My fear was that we wouldn't do right by them, that our program wouldn't affect change or curiosity. Fear is good. Living on it's edges always lead to growth.

We had about twenty students, some showing up after the training started. I felt confident, secure in the knowledge that I had my friend and paramedic mentor, someone with fifteen years of experience with me. I was glad I told him he was coming. No, I never asked him. I simply told him. He never flinched. If you can even find one friend like that in your life, consider yourself more than lucky. The lessons flowed smoothly and quickly. There were many questions. There was a common thread to the queries: head injuries, severe trauma, and death from infection through a minor cut. I didn't have the heart to tell them that CPR was futile. With about a two hour time from packaging to arrival at a hospital, such skills would be wholly unnecessary. But we obliged. We also discussed the possibility of a better system; the purchase of an atv and a handmade cart with wheels to transport the patient to the top of the hill. Normally an hour trek, it would take much longer for four people to carry a body in need of immediate medical attention. But, that's what they had been doing. I realized what my next fundraising effort would be.

Everyone was so eager to learn. It was exhilarating. Half way through, I ditched the lesson plan and we answered and demonstrated as best as we could. These community leaders and students knew that the system in place was deficient and wanted to affect change. They were motivating me to be better, stronger, more resilient, and frankly, less more appreciative of what I already had and took for granted.

Though eager to learn Ms Brice thought it best to cut the lesson short. She didn't want to inundate them with too much info at once. She wanted them to go home and process. So, in Creole, she ended the lesson. We received many French "thank yous." In my best French, I replied "pa dekwa" (you're welcome). They erupted with laughter and clapping. Studying Creole on the plane did come in handy and brought a smile to my face.

I felt so proud to be a part of such a program. But I kept it in perspective. No, we weren't affecting policies on a large scale. That's really what I wanted to do. But again, change on a massive scale takes time and tremendous patience. But at the very least, we were helping to empower individually. It was a more human connection between people of different background and cultures. But ultimately, we are all cut from the same cloth. I enjoyed hearing locals talk to each other, seeing their smiles and hearing their laughter. I enjoyed the inquisitive looks I received from them, especially the children. We aren't different at all. In fact, we are the same. The only difference is the situation we were born into and the opportunities afforded to us. I've said this before. Through no skill of my own was I born and raised in the US. Through the dedication, heart wrenching hard work, sleepless nights, tears, and choices made by my father, was I able to come here to live out my goals. To do any less would be a disservice to him, a HUGE middle finger. I've done a lot of stupid things in the past, made some poor choices that I regret. Of course, that will be the case in the future. But I know that those decisions still lead me to this point and is necessary for growth as a human being. Frankly, that's in the past and out of my control. I choose to appreciate this moment and look forward to a future that will change lives for the better. That is my mission.

A late lunch was prepared for us as we arrived home. It consisted of red beans and rice, a delicious vegetable concoction, and something that reminded me of a chitling/spare rib mixture. It was amazeballs. After our meal, Ms Brice and I began talking. She lauded our efforts today. I told her I felt great and was looking forward to tomorrow. I asked about Stanley, one of the local boys who was helping us. He looked to be about 12 years old. He was an orphan. His mother died at child birth. His father died after a traumatic injury that sliced him in half. He was kidnapped by a woman in Port au Prince and used as a slave. He was regularly beaten bloody. Through time, he was able to save pennies to escape. He listened to the woman's conversations and found a man that drove to the nearest city close to home. After a bloody beating, he grabbed the pennies, found the man going on his normal route, and asked him for a ride, thrusting the money forward. The other passengers, taking pity, told him to get in. They would pay his fare. Stanley walked into town from the closest city and the villagers of Lebrun took him in with open arms. His former "owner" drove to the village to collect him. The villagers banded together. Over their dead body.

I wanted to adopt him right then and there. Logistics were going through my head. Before I could get too deep in thought, Ms Brice mentioned that one of the volunteers had the exact same idea. She secured his passport, did all the paperwork, worked out logistics, a process that took months. When all was said and done, the Embassy denied her request. Stanley's response? "Oh well, God just wants me to stay in Lebrun."

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