Faces of Haiti

by Ruth Coghill

July 2010

I spread out the rolled-up map of the world and placed it on the carpet in the family room. Then I knelt down and looked for Hispaniola, and focused on the western part of the island... a tiny pink shape surrounded by blue. For most of my life that's the way I viewed Haiti, nestled with other islands in the Caribbean.

A new image birthed when AJ, our youngest son, spent some fun days doing boy things, like setting off stink bombs, with his Haitian cousin while we holidayed on Grand Manan Island. My cousin, Doug Tatton and Rosemary, his wife, adopted Jordon years before, while serving as missionaries in City de Soleil, a rough neighbourhood of Port au Prince.

Then my husband Bob started his travels to help in building projects there and his stories further piqued my interest. In February 2009, Bob and I left Fergus, Ontario with a team of 14 and flew to Port Au Prince. Finally, I could see for myself this beautiful land ravished by poverty, challenge and intrigue.

More faces replaced the coloured spot on the map.

 Since 1996, Louise and Michel Charbonneau, missionaries from Quebec, Canada coordinate a feeding program for children, hungry both physically and spiritually. Their love, concern and training of the youth of that nation, sends rivers of warm admiration flowing through me. While there, I stayed with two others in an upstairs bedroom of their mission home. Each night we turned on a fan to block out the endless noise...pigs squealing, roosters crowing, music and voices all clamouring for attention. Most nights, the hydro went off for a few hours and then came back on pre-dawn. Just down the hall from us, before the sun rose, Michel and Louise spent the first hours in prayer to seek God's wisdom before starting the day. This daily habit helped them face the many challenges of building, teaching and encouraging.

Two Haitian women arrive and begin the meal preparation in the well organized kitchen. With continual activity from early morning until evening, I noted the lack of personal privacy afforded the Charbonneau's. Outside, two more local women begin the immense task of preparing rice and beans. Their kitchen occupied space in a corner of the yard. Large black kettles to boil water and shovels to stir the rice, their day began as the rooster crowed.

A 12' high stone wall, topped with barbed wire surrounded the house, large iron gates providing the entrance from the street. A hired armed security, along with a dog, kept watch over the facility.

Several times a week, the front and side yard of their rented home changes into a meeting place for hundreds. Twice each week, after the singing and teaching, long tables are lifted high above the children's heads, the wooden benches turned in, and the table then placed perfectly between the benches facing each other. I stood by and watched the ease with which they accomplished this dining room setting, which could only be done with much experience. I tried to help but just got in the way. For many youth the meal of beans and rice on Friday and spaghetti on Sunday provides their only meal for those days. I looked into the beautiful brown eyes of so many, all anxiously awaiting to have their tummies filled.  A sea of starving faces all devoured every morsel, some even stuffing any extra into a pocket or bag.

A sea of starving faces all devoured every morsel, some even stuffing any extra into a pocket or bag.

One of our first assignments took us to the slums just outside this property. A regular visit from one of the trained youth served as a link to the families, a caring beyond the feeding program.

Bob introduced me to Gandy, our guide for the scheduled drop-in. He led us down a narrow street, then another. With arms outstretched I could touch houses on both sides of the alley. In each simple dwelling made of metal, mud and wood, lived a family. Some single parents, many with several little ones.

A little girl came running and threw her arms around Gandy and looked up into his face, eyes dancing. Giggles, smiles and laughter. A picture that portrayed the special bond between the two.

 Never rushing, but aware of the many awaiting his coming, Gandy gave words of encouragement and we moved on.

I was glad for the comfortable, supportive walking shoes on the uneven, broken path, which took a turn and dropped straight down three feet. Bob and Gandy jumped down first and then I took Bob's hand to make an ungraceful descent.  After gaining my footing I looked up to see another face...dirty and sad. This frail 8 year- old boy sat on the threshold of the family dwelling, wearing only grimy undershorts. A closer look revealed physical and mental disabilities. All limbs were twisted and each bare rib bespoke poor nutrition. He had never walked or talked, but I saw him look as Gandy approached the steps. Instantly his countenance changed, the blank stare replaced with a smile that covered his entire face.

The closer Gandy got to him, the more excited he became until he giggled, his whole body shaking. Gandy reached down and carefully but firmly held him as he carried him back down the steps. Then with both strong arms around his back, Gandy lowered him to the ground. Still holding the lad, Gandy spun around to face him, grasping each hand tightly. With gentle coaxing, he took small steps backwards, encouraging the young lad to put one foot in front of the other along with him. For several minutes, Gandy continued this tedious process.

Gandy returned him to his sitting spot and turned to the mother who stood nearby watching the whole scene. "It would help your son to do this exercise every day."

She smiled, nodded and in Creole replied, "Okay, I'll do it."

As we left the dwelling and walked out of earshot, Gandy sadly looked at us. "I tell his mom the same thing every time I come but she has never responded." He went on to tell us the neglect that special needs children endure.

Our tour continued and each place warmly welcomed us.  A prayer, a word to encourage, hugs freely given were all comfortably part of Gandy's visit.

 A prayer, a word to encourage, hugs freely given were all comfortably part of Gandy's visit.

Not only did Gandy have a deep desire to improve the plight of his people, but he determined to improve his own education.

"How is my English? I want to speak perfectly."

Bob and he helped each other with pronunciation of each other's language. Some letters are difficult in another's tongue. Gandy looked at us, accepting each suggestion eagerly. "I pwactice and pwactice in fwont of the miwow."

For over five years, Gandy St. Hilaire has served as assistant pastor, been a pillar of the church, the sponsoring program and taken charge of the dining hall. Louise and Michel, who have trained him often said, "If only we had a few more like Gandy for the work here."

 On Jan 12, 2010 Gandy went to his regular class at the Church of the Rock Bible School where he studied theology. The earthquake hit and all twenty two students were trapped under the collapsed building. Bob Thornly, along with others worked three days and nights to rescue the crushed victims.  Shouts of joy arose as four came out alive. The short-lived joy turned to sadness as the other eighteen lost their lives, including the last one pulled from the rubble... Gandy.

How you will be missed, Gandy! I only knew you for a week but you have impacted my life forever. It is difficult to comprehend that your work here is complete but we rejoice in a higher power who views all things from His perspective.

Acts 13:36 For when David had served God's purpose in his own generation, he fell asleep.