every day is someone’s birthday

It’s just over a year since I arrived at the Hòpital de la Convention Baptiste d’Haiti (HCBH) and what a year it has been.  Time has passed both quickly and slowly at different points on my journey; the last 3 months in particular have been quite draining.  Maybe I bit off a little more than I could chew, after all it was my first first time living overseas as a volunteer, and I certainly haven’t lived in a communal setting for a very long time indeed.  

I didn’t achieve all of the goals and challenges I set for myself, but I did achieve the most important – and my motivation for coming – to confirm that there were many people worse off than I; thereby giving myself perspective.   Losing my beautiful, loving, thoughtful and selfless wife, life-partner, best friend, soul mate, the “yin” to my “yang” and of course loving mother, does not compare. On losing his wife, CS Lewis, talked about losing the starboard engine to his port, well I can certainly say that the ship that is our family is missing a fundamental and integral part now. 

But there are people living in very difficult circumstances, barely existing in fact.  The staff at the hospital are the lucky ones – they have jobs.  But even they struggle hugely.  The low paid workers earn less than £100 a month.  They often don’t eat, to ensure their children do.  Many have 2 jobs, some even three.    The average wage in Haiti supports eight other people. 

Most people, even the lucky ones with jobs. don’t have electricity – there are companies that want to provide a network, but that’s tied up in government corruption and greed.  The really lucky ones have solar and batteries, but that is cripplingly expensive to buy here, and poor quality, even if you have the means.  Rechargeable light bulbs are popular, especially if you have a job.; you can charge them ‘at work’.  There would be just one per family though. 

The mobile phone networks have found a way through the government, but they see just how much money is to be made.  Almost everyone’s phone has a cracked screen, many barely usable.  But there is not the disposable income to replace them.  I know a very senior person who until recently had to alternate his phone in ‘portrait’ and ‘landscape’ modes, the former to read a message and the latter to get the keyboard to display, as the left-hand half of his screen was just black.

There is no running water, most people use wells, often only a few feet deep.  So, given their toilet is simply ‘outside’ it is no surprise that hygiene and associated disease is another big problem here.  There is a state hospital in our area, but it is not well used, or funded.  Regularly, staff don’t get paid, so those with skills and ambition find employment elsewhere, both of which impact on quality of care, which is why it is not well used.

I know many families that have lost children, husbands, brothers, sisters, cousins.  Malnutrition, lack of education, access to basic sanitation and healthcare, the prevalence of voodoo and alternative healing account for a lot of these early deaths and explains the average age here; just 23.

There is plenty of state activity, many of the departments you would expect of a developed nation, yet they are ineffective and ridden with bureaucracy, though often that can be unlocked with an incentive (preferably in hard currency).  I bought (state) insurance for one of our vehicles, it took me almost 6 months to obtain a receipt, by which time inflation had devalued the cost by 25%; I could barely bring myself to claim the money back from the hospital.

People here, the vast majority, simply strive to survive, despite the state, not with its help.  Yet they are so resourceful, and so robust.   So yes, my world has collapsed, but this year has given me the context I sought, and some real purpose, beyond our beautiful children.  It is the most rewarding ‘work’ I have ever done.  Incredibly challenging at times, but hugely fulfilling.  I am nowhere near ‘accepting’ my circumstances, or in any way ‘over’ it, but it has been hugely helpful being here. 

There are very many fond memories (and a few dark ones too) that I bring home with me, but my Haiti ear-worm is the first cry of a new born baby.  The Maternity Department is in the middle of the hospital, so whatever you do, you walk past it several times a day.  That’s the sound.  The sight that will never leave me is the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit, which despite the sadness of those little babies being there, knowing the staff were fighting for them, no matter how difficult the circumstances always gave me a warm glow inside, and maybe a lump in my throat.  In busy times they were two to a cot, in really busy times the less poorly would be in a box on the nurse station table.