Tables Turned A recent humanitarian trip to Haiti allowed me the chance to accept acts of mercy and hospitality from others.
The group I went with had no special project to complete, nor did we bring anything with us, other than a willingness to complete our “mission”: to listen, learn and be changed. And that’s what happened.
The changes began the day I left on the trip when accepting a $20 bill from a stranger, after the first of several flights I’d be on that day. She’d overheard my conversation with the bank about how I’d realized that I'd forgotten the PIN to my debit card just before leaving, and so I’d left home without any cash. As I hung up my cell phone, with no resolution from the bank, this stranger pressed a $20 bill into my hand, insisting that I just couldn’t be without any cash. I didn’t want to take her money. $20 seemed like too much. I wanted her to give me her address so that I could return it to her as soon as I got back home. She refused, telling me to just pay it forward. I assured her that I would, as I was on my way to Haiti for a week.
The group I went with stayed with Haitian families for several nights in the mountains where there was no electricity and little running water. These families shared everything they had with us: food, water, time, and friendship. In fact, they slept on straw mats on the floor while we were given their beds. That was the most difficult for us, but what were we going to do, refuse to accept what they had to give?
Again and again we were treated like royalty, from wonderful meals, to visits with local artisans to see and even learn their crafts, to lessons with the elders of the community about their rich history, culture, economy and politics. Songs were prepared and sung for us on several occasions. We were treated with hospitality beyond anything I’d ever experienced. We were included in their daily activities and fellowship like we’d lived amongst them for all of our lives. We were cared for and looked after as if we were their own. And yet, we’d only just met. We were strangers and family all in the very same instant.
It’s as if I was plopped down in the middle of what my associates and I hope it’s like for our neighborhood friends visiting Cherith Brook, the new Catholic Worker house we’ve recently opened in downtown Kansas City. I was at the reverse end of all the hospitality and acts of mercy we’ve been offering in our new community. Now I was the one receiving rather than giving. It felt somewhat awkward, but reassuring too.
I tried to pay that $20 forward several times over during the trip, both monetarily in the purchases I made from artists that I might not have otherwise, and also in the attention I paid to those around me, and in the extra awareness I had of my surroundings.
And now, being back on the other side of giving, I have a different appreciation of what it feels like to receive. Although uncomfortable at times, it’s very inspiring to know that God puts folks in our path to take care of us when we’re most in need. And likewise, God puts us in the path of those who most need us.
What more did I receive from Haiti? I went on this trip with such misconceptions about the country, her culture, and her people. I imagined that what I’d been told by the media and others was true, that most of the land was brown from deforestation, that most people lived in stick and mud huts, that I should be fearful of disease and for my safety, and other misinformation I dare not even repeat. Once there, the only thing I feared were the armed UN officers patrolling the streets in their tanks.
In fact, after having arrived, I was almost instantly ashamed of myself for not having gone to Haiti before to find out the truth for myself. It feels as though something powerfully evil has been at work, poisoning the world’s view of Haiti and therefore her ability to turn the tide. And for what purpose must the world persecute this tiny speck of an island? The bible verse that comes to mind is the parable of the laborers in Matthew 20:16. So the last shall be first, and the first last: for many be called, but few chosen. In the end, I envision that Haiti shall be first, and the rest of the world, especially the US, last. Haiti will be, must be, chosen.
On the contrary to my false impressions, I found Haiti to have an atmosphere of peace and calm beyond anything I’d felt before. Her people were genuinely interested in getting to know us, and in us getting to know them. We hiked up into mountains covered with lush vegetation and trees full of fruits, some I’d seen before and some I’d never heard of. We experienced waterfalls, swam in the bluest ocean waters, and saw the most beautiful palm trees. We learned of her struggles and of her triumphs. What a strong people she holds!
Haiti revealed to me the most deeply spiritual and genuinely honest people I’ve ever encountered. Things I’ve wondered about all of my life became crystal clear during my short stay on her sacred ground. I feel a profound gratitude towards Haiti and her people for accepting me, embracing me, taking me as I was, in the midst of all the negative notions that I had, and helping me to see her in a new and clear light. What a gift!
I’m committed to telling her story, the true version, to as many as will listen. I will encourage others to do as I did: go and see it, experience it, feel it for yourself. I will share the lessons that I learned, carry her in my heart, speak well of her, sending positive vibes with all that I say and do. These are my responsibilities, now that I know better. To do less or otherwise would be reprehensible. It’s as if I’m bound by a contract, one more powerful and obligatory than if it were written, to uphold the truths as I’ve seen them, to promote a different consciousness about Haiti, to do my part to turn the tide.
For more information on Haiti, please visit http://www.beyondborders.net/ or http://www.haititravels.org/.
