Prior to the earthquake in 2010, Port Au Prince was home to about 3,000,000 people -- nearly one in three Haitians lived in Port Au Prince area. As a result of the earthquake, nearly everyone in Port Au Prince was left homeless. It was impossible for that many homeless people to survive in the wrecked city; disease was starting to spread; and there were not enough resources for that many people to survive... so many of them just started walking. When they stopped, they set up shelters, and that is how St. Christopher’s came about. It is a barren hillside, where people stopped because there was no where else to go.
They scraped together shacks out of what they could find and have been living there in exile from Port Au Prince since then. For seven years, they have survived on this is a sunbaked, dusty slope. There is no infrastructure -- no roads, no power, and no water source. This means people are thirsty, and dirty. It means that they can't grow gardens. They can't wash clothes, or clean cuts. The people were walking miles to a dirty river to fetch water in buckets every day. Which also means that they were spending a lot of time on that which could have been used in better ways. IYF Ministries found out about it and set up a clean-water program about a year ago. For $165 a sponsor can pay for a week of water. This covers 10,500 gallons per week and is used by 500-600 people
This is such an important thing. We were so happy to be able to fund raise to be able to pay for the water truck for both weeks that we are here!
There are about ten large 100gallon rain barrels lined up. And the villagers begin to gather. Young and old, they come, carrying 5-gallon buckets, and 1-gallon pails. The crooked grandmothers, they come. And the tiny toddlers, barely taller than the buckets they carry. They form lines clutching containers whose labels testify to their past lives: laundry soap...vegetable oil...cat litter...paint.... Anything that will hold the water that will sustain life for another week under the hot Haitian sun.
And, so they gather, bearing their old bleach bottles and grasping their gasoline cans. And they form lines. And they wait.
Today, the truck was late.
Today, the truck was late.
There was no grumbling, no outward signs of impatience, just waiting. But when the truck arrived, the mood started to change. As ten or twelve 100-gallon plastic rain barrels were quickly lined up, the village stood, still in line, watching. There was no visible change that I can point to, so it is hard to describe, but there was a... tension. The air was just a little bit charged with the palpable tension of unanswered questions: Will I get enough water for the week? Will there still be water by the time I get to the front of the line? Will there be enough water for everyone? For me? Will there be any problems?
A large fire hose was laid out. A valve turned. The hose grew plump and a man wrestled its end to the farthest plastic barrel. As the barrel filled, he grasped the hose with both arms and used his torso as leverage to flop the end to the neighboring barrel. A wave splashed out onto the front of the line. They remained impassive in manner, showing neither interest nor concern about their now soaked clothes. (I may have imagined this, but it seemed that they were deliberately impassive -- and I had a flash of both pain at their situation and admiration for their response; it is not my forte to bear wrongs patiently.) The filling of barrels continued with the fire hose being directed at each for as long as it took to fill it and then moved immediately to the next, and up and down the line. In the meanwhile, we had smaller buckets and as soon as each barrel was filled, we were to fill the buckets of the villagers by scooping water from the barrel into their containers. This is where the jostling began, as each person hastened to the front of the line, anxious to ensure that they received the water to sustain them until the truck returns again. The kids scooped water as fast as they could into the buckets. And as each bucket was filled, a new one was presented.
It is hot hard work. The kids did a good job. They helped deliver water to people for whom water means everything. And that is a big deal. But, as is so often the case in Haiti, I think today was another day where we actually received far more than we gave. I think that the biggest gift here was in the opportunity our kids had as a result of this experience. It is hard to have a day like today, without it resulting in some real growth, mentally and spiritually. I think it was great for the kids to be in a situation to reflect a little on how we live. This was a chance to reflect a little on just what access to clean water means. On the ways in which we sometimes take the simple things for granted. On what it means to have. Or...to have not. And, on how things that are "simple" for us - like serving water - are actually far more nuanced when we view them through the lens of solidarity.
So, as I said...
It was a good day today.
But, hard.
So, as I said...
It was a good day today.
But, hard.
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