Stories From The HAMA Project

On November 11, Chicagoan Suzi Gurry led a team of nine women to Lamardelle, Haiti, to spend five days at the Enfant Jesus Orphanage and the Haitian Amputee Mother's Camp. Part of the Enfant Jesus Foundation, which is run by Mammie, Lucien and Gina Duncan, there is also a school that serves the orphans and local village children, and a soon-to-be-completed free medical clinic. Here is "Team Suzi's" experience:

Finally! After months of planning and talking about our trip, we arrived in Port-Au-Prince. Filled with anticipation and excitement, we took everything in. As sweat dripped down our faces in the Haitian heat, all nine of us, our 18(!) suitcases stuffed with supplies, a driver, and another passenger managed to squeeze into one van to begin the trip to Lamardelle -- a 15-mile ride from the airport that can take up to two hours.

As we drove through the city and then through villages, our focus turned to the mother's camp and the orphanage. We were anxious to begin our work and truly hoped we would be able to provide some relief to the dedicated yet understandably exhausted caregivers who feed, change, bathe, play with, comfort, and love 60 orphans, some as young as two months old.

Shortly after we arrived, we unpacked the supplies for the women and children: clothes, shoes, medicine, bandaids, aspirin, antibiotic ointment, soccer balls, tennis balls, coloring books, crayons, books, nail polish, lotion, shampoo, candy. We were ready!

But, as it turned out, we weren't ready at all. What we hadn't prepared for --couldn't have prepared for -- was how quickly and completely we were accepted into a community. With the Duncan family setting the tone, the Enfant Jesus Orphanage, the Haitian Amputee Mother's Camp, and the school make up an amazing and inspirational community, with bonds that protect and care for its members. This almost-immediate acceptance and sense of belonging swept over us, and we surprised even ourselves with how natural it felt to embrace it.

The resident rooster made sure we never missed our 6:30 a.m. breakfast. Over delicious oatmeal and coffee, we figured out who was going where and doing what. Some of us went to the mother's camp to lead physical and massage therapy sessions, others to the orphanage to hold a baby, color with a toddler, or share favorite music with a teenager. After lunch, as we once again went our separate ways, we told each other specific details about the people we had been with that morning: "Franz likes to be rocked and bounced to sleep." "Marian's hamstring needs to be massaged because it's so overworked." "Patrice needs two more ibuprofen at 2:00." We sent each other off with care instructions: "Please don't forget!"

It was lights out between 8:30 and 9:30 p.m. every night. Literally. As the generator shut down, we walked back to our rooms in the dark, thinking about the next morning -- who we needed to check in on and how we could help. We were all humbled and energized anew, each day.

On our last night, we walked with Mammie Duncan in the pitch dark to the mother's camp, flashlights in hand, to show the women a video slideshow of themselves, made by a gifted photojournalist in our group during our first day there. The sounds of the women's laughter, their shouts of joy and an exclamation of, "I am beautiful!" as they watched it will forever be ingrained in our memories of the trip.

If the words "awesome," "gratitude," "grace," "dignity," "inspiring," and "humbling" deserve to be overused, it is in this circumstance. We are truly honored to have been a small part of the lives of all of the incredible people at the Enfant Jesus Foundation, and to a person, we would do it again.

By Suzi Gurry

Haiti - My Story

On January 12, 2010 a catastrophic earthquake occurred that left Haiti devastated. Over one third of the population was affected; leaving one million people homeless and hundreds of thousands injured and deceased.

Five weeks later I traveled to Haiti as head of logistics for The Center of Global Health. I went with one purpose in mind - to help. I felt as if I needed to be there, even if my contribution was minuscule on the grand scheme of things. I spent time in hospitals, carrying patients with crushed limbs to the O.R. to get amputated, which had been wounded from fallen concrete. I visited refugee camps and orphanages with medical supplies and witnessed not only the effects of nature's wrath, but the atrocities that came with a country bounded and victimized by true poverty. Things are the same as they've always been; 80% of Haitians earn $2 per day, 50% are illiterate, 4% are infected with HIV and other numerous infectious diseases such as Malaria, Polio, Hepatitis and Salmonella.

My experience was to say the least humbling; I was in the Caribbean, but this wasn't fun in the sun. Only a two-hour flight from Miami - Haiti is a country that has a long history of slavery, revolution and occupation. Haitians are a people that have been tormented by corruption and dictatorship, and though, through it all, the last decade saw a glimmer of hope that the country was heading in the right direction. Then, without warning, came nature's destruction.

Through all this pain and suffering, there is a breathtaking sense of resiliency and optimism within the Haitian people. They are beautiful, kind and amazingly hospitable. I felt very welcomed and I met some amazing people, one such person in particular is Gina Duncan.

Gina runs the Foundation Enfant Jesus about an hour and a half outside of Port-au-Prince, in the small village of Lamardelle. She is also co-director of the Village of Vision for Haiti. Gina and her staff provide affection, attention, food and shelter. Within a year an orphan is usually adopted by families in the US and Europe. But Gina not only does wonders at her orphanage, but the founder of the Fondation Enfant Jesus, Lucienne Duncan, has also built a church and a school for the impoverished villagers of Lamardelle.

I was now in Lamardelle. One day I had some time for myself so I took a walk off the potholed filled dirt road. Completely surrounded by farmland, I walked through bean and onion fields and came across a desolate cemetery. Moving along I found another path that widened some...and low and behold, I came across a soccer field. Why is this so amazing?! Have you seen the movie, Field of Dreams? Now picture that and now understand this, soccer is my passion. Not as in “I love pizza”, but passion! I'm from Sweden, where as far as I'm concerned only soccer (and hockey) matter:) I grew up playing in the AIK youth program as a kid, played in high school, throughout college and still today. For me soccer is enlightenment.

But here is the twist. This so-called soccer field had no grass what so ever. It was dusty, muddy, filled with rocks and dirt. A cow was tied to one of the goal posts, there was manure all over the "field", kids playing were playing barefoot, some of them totally naked, using an old deflated basketball as a soccer ball. So I did what anybody would have done? I took off my shoes and played with them.

I then realized my purpose; I was going to fix this field. I was somehow going to convert it into a real soccer pitch with healthy grass, goals posts with nets, a storage room filled with equipment; soccer cleats, uniforms and a locker room with showers. Why not? Imagine what that would mean to the community of Lamardelle?

I told Gina about my idea, which coincidently were in line with her next plans. You see, Gina's mission is to provide a future for the children of Haiti, one village at a time, through education, by involving sports and health. Currently, she also has plans of a brand new clinic. With the soccer field, we will provide the school’s students a place for P.E. class, an after school soccer program and a summer soccer camp. Gina Duncan and I have begun the process of realizing this dream.

Our purpose to this project is to bring the community together, where children can exercise their minds and souls. There are villages just like Lamardelle all over Haiti. What we want to do is develop a flagship, to provide the means for a better and healthier life. Beginning with the children, Gina Duncan is providing schooling, the clinic will provide health and the soccer field will provide enjoyment and camaraderie to a village that one day will look towards it's youth for knowledge, education and expertise to stabilize their community. We want to build a better life with new infrastructure from within, from the bottom up, that which Haitian’s so wildly deserve.

By Joachim Klatzkow

Haiti - Pearl of the Caribbean

Memoirs and Observations: 1

I left Port-au-Prince, a city bombarded by nature. Passing through various suburbs and towns, such as Croix-des-Bouquets; the birthplace of Wyclef John, I turned off the main road onto a dirt road that was full of potholes and gravel, similar to that in a jungle. Except this is farmland, goats and chickens randomly crossing my way and shacks made out of clay or sheet metal are scattered along the roadside. The horrid conditions of this gravel path and the decreased level of poverty are apparent.

Alongside the road runs a manmade canal of sorts; it is about four feet deep and no more than three feet wide, narrowing itself towards the bottom like a upside down triangle. The canal is made out of stone and cement; the steady current of water running through is no more than a foot maybe two feet deep. The water is either supplied from a well, in which it is of a murky color, or from a river, in which it is fresh and clear. This is where the villagers wash their cloths and bathe, for all to see. It is known not to stare at the naked body and by so, the embarrassment of being nude in public is erased.

Over an hours drive outside of devastation I arrived at a small village named Lamardelle. The village consists of shacks on one side of the road and the FONDATION ENFANT JESUS, on the other, owned by an 81-year-old woman named Mommy Duncan. Everybody calls her Mommy; I was never told her real name and didn’t bother to find out, “Mommy” suited Mommy just fine. She was completely coherent, thin but not fragile, standing tall with amazing posture for anyone’s age. Mommy had silver hair with enough wrinkles to portray wisdom and was lighter skinned, mulatto to be more specific - the upper middle class of Haiti most of the time are.

Three walled areas separate the orphan compound, the orphanage itself; where the children live, eat and play, Mommy’s house; a modest one story home, and the village school; which Mommy charges the parents one dollar a month per student, just to satisfy the villagers it is of good education. The school has over 462 students from the surrounding villages and runs from first through eight grades.

Off the side of the road is also the local Chapel built by Mommy. Five simple concrete steps lead into the fifteen-foot wide entrance. The Chapel is made out of white cinder blocks and sheet panels for a roof. Surprisingly, the rectangular windows behind the practically none existent alter are of red and yellow stained glass. The morning sun, shines it’s rays through the stained windows, giving light to the prayers.

It should have been natural to enter any church but feeling uncertain and foreign to the local customs, I was cautious not to offend anyone. After several days of walking by the Chapel, I finally gathered enough courage to enter during service. I quietly sat in the back row on a weak wooden bench - it didn’t take long for the locals to notice me. Some of them turned their heads and in some feeble sign language mannerism, I asked if it were ok for me to stay. I believe the answer was yes. Within a few minutes, three children left their parents from the rows ahead and sat next to me

- two boys, maybe eight years of age and a girl of about twelve. They were excited; with cautious smiles they started speaking Creole. Knowing how to say I don’t understand Creole in Creole, they switched to French…which didn’t help much, but we managed. The two boys were named Winchell and Daniel, the girl, Pascale. The rhythmic prayers lingered for a tad bit and then turned into song and dance. The energy of the Chapel was electric, everyone rose out of their seats and started dancing around the rows while the singing became louder. Everyone was clapping in sync and unified, stomping their feet, hands raised towards the sky. The acoustics were angelic, the expressionism vibrant and true.

The irony in all of this, is my disbelief in God. Like the boogieman, I find it comical, and yet my agnostic beliefs were in disarray, in turbulence; for the spiritual guidance that humans desire, need and live for was clearly so potent. Life here is the same as it always was and yet without the Chapel in Lamardelle there is no faith, without God there is no hope, without dreams there is no life.

Memoirs and Observations: 2

I’ve arrived in Jimani, a Dominican border town, whose only difference to the poverty on the other side is that the main street is paved. Some shacks have glass windows and the language is now Spanish. Jimani sits besides Lake Azuei (Etang Saumatre); it flooded half the town in 2004, which they are still trying to recover from. Situated in the valley of the Cul-de-Sac Depression, surrounded by rolling mountain ranges on both sides.

A mile away is the Good Samaritan, a two-story square shaped hospital made out of white concrete. Though fully intact, it was buildings such as this, which crumbled mercilessly to the mighty earthquake. Outside the surrounding building, are the earthquake’s victims - the residents of Port-au-Prince. Hundreds of people, once living their day-to-day routines, now lying on cods in large circus like tents, row after row, crying, healing, beside the next stranger.

On the first floor are the operating rooms, an x-ray room, a pharmaceutical room, a medical supply room and a few examining rooms. The smell is that of a hospital, disinfectant and band-aids - familiar. The second floor has a large kitchen and mess hall, five large rooms filled with cods and bunk beds for the staff and the sixth room is the control room, used to communicate with the world. Outside, there is a long veranda extending the width of the building, with four large fans hanging from the ceiling. For whatever reason and without any knowledge of how they got there, are several old wooden rocking chairs reminding me of a plantation.

It is my last day here, two hours before my bus departs to Santo Domingo I decide to sit on one of those rocking chairs. The view from the veranda is spectacular. Overlooking the gorgeous lake, deep and blue, surrounded by Cacti. From afar it looks like an ocean.

Relaxed and content, my mind slips away, admiring the scenic view nature so blissfully offers. I imagine a cold glass of delicious sweet ice-t, the lemon bouncing off the cubes of ice as the blazing sun slowly melts the condensation into my palm…all of a sudden I am pulled out of my daydream. From what I had grown immune to, is now the distant screaming of a young girl getting a skin graft in the O.R. The sounds are as potent as the medical student that has rushed onto the veranda urgently telling me I am needed.

Once the chaos settles, I take a five-minute walk up the gravel road to the local store with two of my colleagues, a Baptist pediatrician from the South Side of Chicago and a Mormon general contractor from Utah. With the Jewish logistics guy from Sweden, you’d think there was a great joke around the corner.

Moving right along, we arrive at the store. Two rusty metallic signs are nailed to the outside wall. One advertising the Dominican national beer, Presidente…the other I ignored. The store is a one-room shack consisting of a counter top with all its goods behind it, such as a bar. It’s dusty and dirty, as everything else. You can buy anything from caned goods, cold beer, to raw chicken; which was being butchered on an old wooden cutting board that doesn’t even remotely meet our health codes.

We buy three beers and stand outside. It wasn’t ice-t but it didn’t matter, it hit the spot. Soon now, I would be leaving, who knows when to return. I hope in some minuscule way, that I contributed to making someone’s life better…almost giddy from the sudden rush of alcohol, I looked around. Examining…nurturing my surrounds…a man passes by on a scooter, a goat walks up to me as to beg like a dog would. Then standing right next to me looking up, is a young girl with shoulder length dreadlocks with the most clear, bright glassy eyes I have ever seen. She lays out her hand and smiles; I return her smile. I reach in my pocket for the change from my beer and place it in her palm.

By Joachim Klatzkow