From all that I had heard I expected a city in ruins. Almost
three years after the disastrous quake which served as a spear in the side of
the poorest country in the western hemisphere, I expected mostly rubble and
vast fields of tents. And there were certainly some of both, but as I sped
through the city perched on the back of a flatbed truck, I was struck by how
similar Port-au-Prince looked to many other developing cities I have seen over
the years. The roads bore the same chaotic winding nature, garbage filled most
ditches, and the districts each blossomed with vibrant colors and activity.
Vendors were set up every ten feet trying to entice the numerous delivery men
and patrons that ambled between businesses. Tap tap drivers called out
destinations as they tried to fill the covered benches lining their truck beds.
It is a city full of life, but with the memory of death in vacant lots where
houses once stood.
We were a medical team of seventeen working with a Haitian
NGO called Mountain Top Ministries (MTM) that has been serving the small
village of Gamrothe just outside Port-au-Prince for a decade or more. The
village is quite literally carved into the mountain side, accessed by a single
road which climbs the seven hundred feet to the school in less than half a
mile. Each day we wandered down the opposite ridge where our lodging was and
began the short but arduous climb to the clinic which sits just below the
courtyard for the school buildings. A tall steeple brought from an abandon
church somewhere in the breadbasket of the United States stands over the
courtyard, a symbol to this community of gratitude and worship. Normally, the
branding of the cross bothers me. We slap it on buildings, cars, even our own
skin, hoping that a symbol will say all that we ourselves are too afraid to
share with others. But here it tells a story, one that everybody in the village
knows.
It is the story of a man who went hiking one day up this
very hillside. As he climbed through the village he was struck by the poverty
of the people and the hardship of their circumstance. The village had no
drinking water, no electricity, and only ramshackle homes. Overseeing the
village were several Voodoo priests who had places of worship set up across the
hillside. Central to their rituals was a spring that welled up a little ways
above the village, a spring whose waters were sacred and therefore withheld
from all but the priests. This man saw that this was not God’s plan, so he went
and bought many hundreds of feet of pipe, tapped the spring, and let it flow
down into the village for the people’s use. With the water he brought the
Gospel and it wasn’t long before the priests were forced from the village. The man
founded a church that has expanded into the school and clinic that is there
now. His name is Willem, and as the story suggests, he is a force to be
reckoned with.
I first heard of him in an email prior to our trip. The
email warned that he had some very specific guidelines about how the clinic
would be run that he expected to be followed during our visit. I was suspect of
this, but had no desire to upset the six year relationship the group I was part
of had with MTM. Once I met Willem in person my suspicions grew. I am used to
gentle and humble pastors, men and women who put you at ease with their
peaceful nature. He is none of these things. Willem is proud, strong, quick to
correct, and passionate with a voice that commands attention. He is an advocate
for his people and a bulwark against the onslaught of good intentions from the
developed world. I was frustrated by him at first, annoyed at being given such a rigid framework in which to do my job. Why, I wondered, if we had the
shoes to give the barefoot child, did he want us to withhold them. Why not give
out every spare piece of clothing, every tooth brush, and every toy? These
people were clearly in need, so let me help them.
I didn’t understand until one evening after dinner when he
sat at the piano next to me as I played the guitar. Our talk of music drifted
into him sharing his story, and the story of his people. He shared of Haiti’s
pride in being the first free black nation in the modern world and how they had
flourished for many years following their independence. It was a nation made of
former slaves finally free of their European masters, but legalized slavery is
not the only way to keep a nation in chains. France, not long after granting
Haiti its independence in 1804, demanded reparations for the economic losses it
suffered as a result of the war. The sum took Haiti more than 120 years to repay
totaling $22 billion in today’s dollars. Economic policies and political
upheaval created by the United States and Europe continued to cripple Haiti’s
development driving the once proud and productive nation, rich in natural
resources, into dependence on foreign aid. For years before the earthquake the
good intentions of the west undercut the Haitian economy. Food aid and cheap
rice have all but driven many Haitian farmers out of business. The story is
just as well told in the clothing you see. It looks as if half the country is
dressed in American handy-downs, with kids running around in Pink Floyd shirts,
not because it’s fashionably retro, but because it was free. And local garment
makers can’t compete against free. We think we are helping, Willem explained to
me, but we are driving Haiti’s economy into the ground. So why does he not want
me to give shoes to that boy who could clearly use them? Because free handouts
have enslaved his nation for a second time, and he is trying to teach these
children not to depend on the west, but to depend on God. Where there are
needs, they are met, but always in a way that empowers the people of Gamrothe
and not subjugates them.
Walking down the road that leads to the valley floor, before
the climb to the clinic, a group of young men selling fried bread call out “Hey
blanc!”, and I am suddenly reminded of my whiteness. This is a common phrase to
get white people’s attention here, but after my talk with Willem I am even more
acutely aware of what it means. I am used to being the source of attention as
I’ve traveled in Central and South America. My skin tone suggests I have money
to spend or simply makes me a curiosity. Either way being white tends to garner
smiles and interest, but for the first time in Haiti I find that I am greeted
just as often with indifference or even suspicion. White men have been
“helping” Haiti for decades to no effect, so what does one more matter. I cross
the dry river bed and begin my climb up the steep rutted road cognizant of my
privilege, fixated on what brought me here to begin with. What were my
intentions and what might their consequences be that I never anticipated. As I
crest the hill I see a long line of mothers, children, and the elderly waiting
patiently outside the clinic. I am suddenly thankful that I have Willem to
oversee our work here, grateful that he can guide us in navigating the tough road
of what it means to “help” his people. Where many other NGOs have harvested
only bitterness and frustration from their work, God has used him to create a
trusted and respected haven of health and education for his people. It is
comforting to know that here I am just God’s tool to love and be loved by God’s
children. On this day in the clinic I take a mother’s three-week old child
into my arms to weigh him and my heart melts. I hope that this child will someday
see a different nation, a nation that no longer needs medical teams from the
west, but is staffed by Haitian doctors and nurses. I understand then, more
clearly than ever why I am here. I am just a stand in, a humble milepost to
God’s continuing work here and for this my heart is filled with thankfulness.
As I watch the water bubbling up from one of the fountains
in Gramothe I am reminded that God sent his son to set us free. In our
independence we chose death, never understanding that the more we struggle for
our own way, the more we bind ourselves in chains to a world beyond our control.
But just as God used a man to free this village from the grip of self-serving
priests, so he used Jesus to free us from our selfish ways. The trick is to
remember where the spring comes from. We are made to be dependent; at the mercy
of a vast and dangerous world, we were made with needs that God might fill
them. Freedom is found not in rebellion against his hand, but in accepting his
mercy and releasing control of our lives to him.
My prayer then, as I remember Haiti, is that it be set free
from all the helping that has enslaved it and that it would find its freedom in
dependence on God’s daily provision.
Addendum:
I was sharing these thoughts with a group of friends today
along with some statistics surrounding the billions of dollars donated to Haiti
for relief efforts after the earthquake, and it occurred to me that I should
repeat some of those here as well.
Of the $2.4 billion that has been spent so far in Haiti only
1% has been given to the Haitian government and only 0.25% has been given to
Haitian NGOs like MTM which know the needs of their people better than anyone.
The vast majority of the funds were spent by large Western NGOs or by the
United States who used a third of its aid money to pay itself for sending US
troops following the quake. Another equally large chunk of aid money donated at
the beginning of the relief effort has never been spent and just sits in the
coffers of these NGOs. While I am not saying that in the immediate wake of the
disaster organizations like the Red Cross did not do great work in providing
food and shelter to the Haitian people, I do believe that as we move into
recovery there are better places to spend our charitable dollars. My friends
asked how then we should help Haiti. The truth is that I don’t fully know, but
to me that means that I should direct my money to people who do know, and I
think your best shot is Haitian NGOs. I believe in the work MTM is doing and
would gladly support their ministry. Other organizations are equally as worthy,
but it does take some investigation and talking with people who’ve been to find
out which ones. The other suggestion I have is investing in microloans.
Developing countries are full of entrepreneurs and their economies aren’t
saturated with big chains like ours are. Invest your money to help them start a
small business through a reputable micro lending program (like kiva.org) and
find satisfaction in knowing you are empowering somebody.
For more on how aid money has been spent in Haiti:
Mountain Top Ministries Website:
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