Windowed Reflections

My heart was pounding as I sat in the back of a pickup staring anxiously out the window. Just breath and remember what you have been told. “These are just people. You dont have anything to offer except a prayer. Smile, be friendly and remember that these are just people.” Words of advice that were meant to sooth and calm my fears, but I wasnt afraid. I was bursting with excitement. As we bounced along the windy, pothole stricken roads, I kept catching glimpses of my reflection. My hair was pulled back in a greasy ponytail, stray hairs did a nice job of making me look like a mad scientist, and the bags under my eyes were clearly visible. I looked down and realized that the scrubs I was wearing did a nice job of disguising both the dirt and my inability to do anything medical. “Doctor, Doctor,” I had been called all day, when really a simple butterfly bandaid eluded me. I smiled into my reflection in the truck window and thought to myself, only in Haiti would I be proud to look this horrible.
Finally the truck started to slow down as the pedestrian traffic increased. We must be getting close. Weaving in and out, we passed vendors, tap taps, carts and played chicken with other anxious vehicles. Then there it was, tent city.
I had seen the tent cities before, marveling at the amount of people that could be cramped into one small space. Tarps and sheets were strung together the length of entire city blocks, while cardboard and scrap metal were strategically placed to block out wind, noise and create some sort of privacy. As we piled out of the truck the smell stung my nose. A mixture of urine, people and saturday supper lingered in the hot heavy air. Two outhouses stood at the corner looking silly while people continued to line up outside of them. There was just no way that they would stay empty for even an hour. In the battle of people versus outhouses, the outhouses were tragically outnumbered. As we started towards the tent city I could barely peel my eyes from the road, making sure to lift my feet and carefully avoid any pooling of “water”. There had been no rain for weeks so it was safe to say that these were not your typical puddles.
Our mission was clear, we were not there to gawk or explore, we were there to simply invite people to watch a Christian film in Creole, a modern day story of the prodigal son. A sheet had already been hung on a huge billboard and the projector had been set up. All we had to do was send out the invitation. I was paired with another volunteer and he and I set out to complete this task.
With our limited Creole we managed to smile and say good evening to people as we passed. In the short amount of time since the earthquake this tent city had already established a variety of vendors. Walking past a popcorn machine and even a makeshift barber shop I knew the locals could tell I was impressed. More than once we were offered what little food they had, or invited to sit and talk. We were even given a dance performance from a couple teenage boys that were adamant that they deserved to be the next Michael Jackson.
We stopped to pray for an older man that was hopeful our prayer would quickly heal his broken arm. Holding hands, we bowed our heads in the middle of the path and asked for healing and strength. As amen was said I opened my eyes to greet a smile that stretched from ear to ear. The gentleman continued to thank us as we shook hands and wished him well.
Dodging string, rope and twine that precariously held the makeshift homes together, we fumbled our way through. We invited anyone who so much as looked in our direction. Kids, parents, grandparents, it didnt matter, we invited them all. Cinema? They questioned. They must have thought we were crazy, where did these white kids think a cinema was?
I was humbled as I saw the few possessions that filled these temporary homes. How were these people surviving? The odd blanket, a couple of pillows and some dirty laundry were all that laid on empty ground. There was no distinction between homes other than a torn sheet divider. Eight to ten people would crowd under each tarp, sharing what little space they had.
As we walked around we began to notice people leaving and heading for the centre of the tent city. Deciding to follow we found ourselves in the middle of the most moving and intense worship service we had ever witnessed. Every age group stood, eyes closed and hands reaching towards the heavens singing praises to God. They sang with such passion and thankfulness that you would never know that they were battling such a poor and seemingly hopeless situation. Singing filled the air as the energy began to build. Looking around I couldnt find a single person who wasnt dancing... dancing for joy, dancing for the Lord. Not knowing the words, we struggled to keep up, receiving encouraging smiles from the believers who surrounded us. For that brief moment in time there was no separation among us, we were all Gods children and we all had reasons to thank him.
After the celebration the film started. People filled the streets to watch, with no room to sit, they stood taking in the film. The response was overwhelming. At the end of the night when I climbed back into the truck I looked again at my reflection in the window. Although my hair was still greasy and there were still bags under my eyes something about me was different. A smile swept across my face, I was beaming. I looked around the vehicle to see that same light in the faces of my fellow volunteers. We had just witnessed Gods grace and love first hand. We smiled at each other confirming in our hearts what we already knew, that there is hope for Haiti. That there is hope for all of us.