It’s amazing to me the palpable shift in atmosphere when driving across the border from the Dominican Republic into Haiti.
The air is thick. Dust and ash burn my nose, coat my tongue and blur my contacts.
The smell of food and feces intermingle to the point that at times it’s hard to tell the difference.
And as a half-naked, onyx-eyed, beautiful child kisses my arm as I walk, I can’t help but feel like it’s too much to take in .. sensory overload.
To the people here we are simply “blanc”.
Today, I watched a shoe-less little boy fly a kite made from a garbage bag and a piece of string.
I saw a little girl dip a tooth brush into the filthy mud and begin to brush her teeth with it.
I talked with a family of eight living in a home smaller than my bedroom in America.
I haven’t been brave enough to venture out with my camera yet, and honestly I don’t know that I will very often. Photographing such poverty feels inappropriate somehow.
The transition between month one and month two has been hard. My heart still mourns the DR.
I miss Javier.
I miss Mayi, Meco and our friends at Compassion.
But Im moving forward – praying for God to give me His heart for this country. To see the people with His eyes.
This is where I’ve been called to love.
Because even through the dust and ash .. there’s just somethin’ in the air of Haiti.
