What an awful feeling, to be helpless in the face of tragedy. Two years ago the residents of Terrier Rouge were completely helpless in the wake of the earthquake. They sat waiting for news, unable to find loved ones or travel to Port au Prince, completely helpless. There are days when the nurses at the clinic are beyond helpless in the face of diseases they can't cure or medicine that they can't provide. Helpless.
Countless times over the past two weeks, Haitians have come to me and said in broken English, "I'm hungry.". Once, a woman probably only 55 years old but she looked at least 80, lifted her shirt above her naked breasts to show me a stomach that was bloated and no doubt full of worms. She was hungry in a way that you and I don't understand hunger. It gnawed at her stomach. It weighed heavily on her mind. It emotionally drained her to know that her cupboards and pockets were bare. And as I looked down at my shoes scuffing their way through the dirt I saw little feet come up beside me, barefoot toes, hard and calloused from not wearing shoes in the hot Haitian heat. They too lifted their shirts and told me "I'm hungry". They were hungry and I, with my full stomach from a breakfast of fresh fruit and pancakes with honey, wasn't sure just what to do next. Helpless.
The other night we had mystery meat. Elmer knew what it was because there was hair on the rind, so it must have been pork. We've eaten a lot of chicken legs and vegetable soups - pumpkin being the best. At every meal without fail we have had rice and beans and some freshly baked bread. Yet, on just the other side of the fence, there are those that know hunger like you and I never will. A hunger that eats away at your bones and spirit and breaks you down to your very soul. A hunger that makes you unashamed to lift your shirt to show your nakedness or your spirit to expose your helplessness. And to know that it isn't just you, but those that you love that hunger alongside you. No, I don't know that feeling of helplessness and God willing, I pray I never do.
So I scavenged in my backpack, past the Trident gum and hard candies to find a Power bar and the leftovers of a peanut butter cracker. In my cupped hands I offered them to her, as if they were gold itself she took them sand said "thank you" and I walked away.
I didn't tell anyone, save Pere Bruno, it was almost a sacred act. Oh, not me, but her. To have been that helpless in the face of hunger, to be that naked and exposed and to ask for help in such a way. That's not the begging of the children crying "blanc" or the constant requests of "give me one dollar" from the teenage boys. It was deep and human and real.
Later that day I walked that way again. Amazingly enough I had to convince myself to do it. I didn't want to look in her hollow eyes or see that look of defeat in her spirit. But all I saw was an empty Power Bar wrapper amidst the trash in the dirt. Soon I also would see the footprints of Pere Bruno making his way over to do what he does, deliver food and hope and love.
It's been quite a few days and I haven't been back that way since. I'll go before I leave, but today's not the day. Today in my small little world I worry about silly things like if Isabelle stopped crying or if Jacob finished his homework. And yes... I still worry about the night we are again served mystery meat and I need to pull out a Power Bar, but as Scarlet would say... "I can't think about that today, I'll worry about that tomorrow." Until then I will be thankful for the blessings before me, a plate full of food, a bottle of fresh water, a collection of great friends and an absolutely amazing God. Through Him, all things are possible.
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