Tremor

My body is shaking.  I hold my hands out and they show the slightest movement that remind me of those real dramatic scenes in Saving Private Ryan.  My whole body shivers.  My teeth clatter.  I'm cold.  It's the first time in about ten weeks that I am actually cold.  I'm finally home.  And this morning I'm in church.  A cold church, relatively.

I can't attribute my 'tremors' to the temperature.  It certainly was a factor, but just minutes before while we were 'passing the peace of Christ' my preacher asked if I would take a few moments and speak to the congregation about my experience.  How do you say no?  This is the church I grew up in.  The pews are (sorta) filled with the adults who have shaped my life - family, friends, neighbors, teachers, coaches, Sunday School teachers, and my pastor.  They have supported me with their prayers, with their voice, and some with their pocket books.  I am who I am today - for good or bad - because of the people I was asked to address.  I gotta let them get a look at their product.

I have no idea what I'm going to say.  I got back into the country nearly 48 hours earlier.  I arrived to my home less than 36 hours prior.  I had slept probably 8 hours split between each night and couple that with the 3-4 hours a night I was managing on my last two nights in Haiti and I could easily write a new post on insomnia.  I haven't even mentally debriefed.  I haven't reflected on my trip.  Hell, I haven't let go of Bedica yet.  But after the offering and before the children's sermon, I make my way to the podium.

My 'tremors' haven't abated.  Maybe it's an intention tremor.  They get worse when you try and perform an action.  These were definitely getting worse as I was ascending the pulpit.  I start. I ramble. I try and make a couple jokes. I offer thanks to everyone.  And I apologize for not knowing what else to say.  I apologize for my tremors.  And then I have to apologize for crying.  I'm not an emotional person.  I absolutely hate emotions.  But up there, I lost it.  It was frustrating.  Perhaps that was my reflection over my past two weeks working for Bedica.  Whatever it was I repeated my thanks and left the podium, straight out the sanctuary, and into the boys restroom by my old Sunday school rooms...


My hands were trembling.  It's my next to last day in Haiti and I got up early because I couldn't sleep.  I was excited.  Today was the day I was going to walk into the U.S. Embassy and secure Bedica's non-immigrant visa.  But right now I was trying to figure out why my hands were shaking as I was dipping my spoon in my oatmeal.  Am I having tremors?  Is there another earthquake?  Surely not.  Maybe it was just my excitement for the day.  Definitely was weird though.

Mike and I load up to head to Port-au-Prince.  We have to take him to the airport.  He's going home.  After a pair of exchanges we arrive near the tap tap station in PAP.  John is already on the phone with our driver trying to direct him to us.  It doesn't take long before we have a throng of Haitians surrounding us, waiting for us to give out whatever we must be giving out.  I get a phone call.  It's Dr. Buresh.  I pass off the child to Mike and step away from the crowd to talk.

"Are you guys okay?"  "Uh... yeah.  We're in PAP getting ready to take Mike to the airport."  "I got an email saying there was an earthquake this morning and just wanted to make sure you guys were okay."  Curious.  We knew it wasn't a huge earthquake, only a 4.6.  After reading subsequent reports it sounds like it was centered near Port-au-Prince and I had probably felt an aftershock.  Nobody was harmed.  But with the memory still fresh from the 7.0 magnitude quake of just over a year ago, people were reportedly running into the streets scared...


People were all around me.  I was in the backseat of a busted up Toyota being driven by a very knowledgeable driver with some sweet driving gloves.  The sidewalks were full.  Traffic was packed.  Bedica and her mom were sitting next to me.  I don't think they were aware that I had just failed to secure her visa.  She wasn't aware that everything that we had been working on was being put on hold.  I was.  It sucked.

But something else occupied the city.  As we headed back towards City Soleil the traffic got heavier and the foot-traffic even thicker.  Then the driver told us, "There are no buses at the bus station."  How do you know?  We're not anywhere near the bus station right now.  This is the last thing I wanted right now.  I just wanted to get home, to America.  And the first step to that was getting back to Arcahaie.

"The city is hot."  "John, that means nothing to me.  What is going on."  It was impossible to get a direct translation from him.  I think he often tries to sensor things so as not to scare me or give me a negative perception of Haiti.  Pretty annoying, but I understand why.  He finally opens up.  "They are shooting in City Soleil."  Awesome.  The same City Soleil that we were currently driving to the heart of.  The same City Soleil that the tap taps to Arcahaie usually drive through and park in.  The same City Soleil that the UN eventually gave up on trying to disarm because they were losing too many men.

It now became obvious why the traffic and people were behaving the way they were.  We were clearly going the wrong way.  An empty tap tap sped by us but then had to slam on its breaks as it came up to more traffic.  People flooded into the back of it, fighting and pushing their way on board.  Some hung on to the side of the vehicle.  They were doing anything they could to get away from the turbulence.  I was convinced.  Let's turn this car around.  I no longer feel like it is necessary to verify if the bus station is active or not.  If Haitians feel like it is important to leave in droves then it is probably the best idea for a white person.

We have the radio on some sort of public station.  People are yelling.  I have no idea what's being said.  We're speeding down the road past people running on the sidewalk.  John points out a sign of President Martelly that has been painted over his face.  The people have turned against him.  A report just came out that he might in fact be a dual citizen #GodForbid #Sarcasm.  The man shouting on the radio is one of the Senators.  John translates for me.  "I did not know that he was a dual citizen.  But, if the people want to remove him then they should remove him."  Very supportive.  Exactly what Haiti needs to heal.

We drive through the city.  Traffic thins out and the number of people on the sidewalk normalizes. The sun is setting.  The driver wants to take me by a market.  It's huge, and empty.  The large stone buildings are charred and there are charred remains of what was probably the usual wood tents that make up a majority of markets.  "Why was it burned down?"  "Someone wanted to make it look bad for President Martelly."

The city was hot, like John said.  The excitement had nothing to do with the small earthquake.  It was a reminder that this country has a long way to go before the word 'stability' can enter the conversation.  Even beyond the dual citizen scandal there is another one brewing that involves hundreds of millions of dollars in foreign aid being stolen by people in power.  Already one high-profile person was assassinated in the wake of this scandal.  We can only hope that it is the last and the truth comes to light quickly...


I'm back in the United States.  My tremors haven't recurred since church.  My mind is still pre-occupied with the Haiti that I left Friday morning.  The scandals.  The turmoil.  The patients.  It's not something that I will shake easily.  Although it seems to make me shake easily.  The time will come when I will make my return to Haiti.  I can't predict when and I can't predict what the circumstances will be.  But I know I need to take the time to properly reflect on this experience.  I'm happy to talk about my time even if it appears to make me sad.  Some stories end well, some end poorly, and some do not yet have a conclusion.  I guess that's what keeps us coming back for more.