“If I never step foot in Port-Au-Prince the rest of my life I will be
okay with that!” Those declarative words sprang forth from my lips one
humid day in February 2009.
We arrived in Haiti and I was not
impressed. Busing in from neighboring Dominican Republic, we literally
prayed our way over the border. While I was in line at immigration I
witnessed a young boy of about twelve being whipped. We continued on to
Port-Au-Prince to stay the night. People lined the streets and milled
about. Vendors sold wares by candlelight. Bedlam seemed to reign and
darkness seemed darker, palpable even. The air was thick with anger,
hatred, fear. It seemed like there was a heavy blanket over the country,
suffocating the life found beneath its non-comforting folds.
Yesterday I returned to Port-Au-Prince and will make it my home for the next two
months.
After emerging from the chaos of baggage claim at the
airport, I fell into the van ready to rest. Driving through the streets I
took in the scene to the best of my exhausted capabilities. I had
forgotten that there are always throngs of people everywhere and
transportation is like an extreme mix of racing and dodge ball.
The earthquake has added to that mix countless obstacles created from
mounds of 
rubble along the street; rolling hills of gray cement dotted
with the colors of life – a blue shirt, a green bottle, a yellow cap.
Complimenting the rubble formed hills is the sea of shanties – tarps,
cloth and trash molded into crude living spaces to keep out the
sweltering sun and pouring rain.
With all the destruction and
distress created from January’s catastrophe, one would expect an already
impoverished nation to be extremely dangerous with lawlessness
abounding. What I found so amazing is that the atmosphere seems lighter.
Instead of overwhelming anger, hatred and fear there is brokenness. In the place where estimates say 1/4 of the population perished in the
quake’s aftermath and there is no one left untouched by the hand of death,
there is joy. It doesn’t make sense.
People are out removing
rubble, the beginnings of rebuilding. Instead of giving up, they press
on looking expectantly toward the future. There is hope here and it will
change Haiti and those coming from around the globe to help meet their
needs.
As I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth tonight I
heard the sounds of people singing, worshiping at the nearby church. It
was a beautiful and reminded me of the 4 a.m. prayer service I was
privileged to join with last year. In that blog I wrote, “Just as night
passes away into the beautiful colors of sunrise, Haiti’s dawn is
coming, bathing this nation in light and driving out the darkness.”
Morning has come.
