I'm gonna give it a shot

I've been feeling like starting to write about Haiti for a few days now, but haven't had both the time and access to the computer (two children and my husband all had papers due this week.) It's still a jumble but I think I'm at the point where writing will help me to sort it. It will probably bea disorganized stream of consciousness, but that's what rough drafts are for, right? Oh, and you can take this as a warning or an expectation, depending on your point of view: I find that I am unable to think about the trip without any religious connotations and so Christianity will make an appearance occasionally. Do with it what you will. I'm fortunate (blessed?) to be able to say that the readers I have that don't share my beliefs have always been respectful of them, so that I'm not concerned with getting insulting comments. But I digress-- could I be avoiding getting started after all?

I had been on a trip to El Salvador seven years ago with Habitat for Humanity, where I helped build a concrete house for a family that was living in a large shed since their house had been destroyed in two earthquakes. It was a wonderful experience, and when people asked me if I wanted to go back, I said that while I wanted to do other mission trips I would like to see somewhere different. Through his work, my husband has been on three mission trips, so we had been joking that it was "my turn" next. In the past few years, kids in my daughter's class had gone on mission trips to Haiti and Guatemala, and Liz wanted to go on one after hearing about them. This summer, we started attending a new church-- the same as the one Liz's classmate that went to Haiti attends. This church sends a team to Haiti every January with a group called Mission E4 (their rebuilding their website after their webhost crashed, so there isn't a whole lot there at the moment). With all of this as background, it only made sense that when the church started talking in September about planning meetings for the upcoming trip, that Liz and I would go on this trip together.

I didn't want to go.

It was going to be expensive: There were about $500 of "in country" costs per person (room, board, etc.) and tickets in the past had been as high as $700. Multiply that times two. Because my husband is going to school for a career change, we are paying for school on half the salary that he was earning last year. I was going to have to miss a week of work, which means planning for an entire week ahead of time for someone else who doesn't know my students and their abilities (or disabilities, for that matter). I also didn't think it would be easy to get a week off of teaching-- our vacations are built in. And Haiti is not a safe place. The US Department of State has a page warning potential travelers of the dangers. Why would I take my 13-year old daughter there? The list of things I didn't want to do goes on and on. I didn't want to have to call the doctor about what shots we would need and what medications to bring. (That reminds me-- we're taking anti-malaria drugs once a week for a few more weeks. I have to go take this week's dose before I forget.) And would I be able to find bug spray and sunscreen in the middle of winter? Despite all of this, I thought it would be a good experience for Liz-- and I certainly wasn't going to send her by herself. I came to think of going as something I was doing for her, and that made it easier to prepare to go. Isn't it ironic after all of that heel-dragging that I really want to go back?

This is obviously going to be very long isn't it? This far down the page and I haven't left the country yet, and aside from writing this I need to do laundry, go grocery shopping, and take L & J to music lessons. Let me finish up with some random impressions that I scribbled down before going to bed on the first night, and I'll come back to writing it for real later on:

Driving from the airport to our walled, barbed-wire-protected compound-- many people carrying bundles on their heads- buckets, clothing bundles, chairs.
~There is such beauty-- the mountains in the distance, the lush green trees-- next to the burning garbage on the sides of the road.
~There was a young man carrying small bags of water that he was selling. At a stop, he walked up to the bus in front of us and passed in a bag and I saw a hand come out and drop some money. The money landed in the street as traffic started moving again. The vendor held his hand up to our driver so that he could get his money; our driver didn't stop. I kept thinking about him and wondering if he was able to get his payment or if it was just lost.
~It looks like a war zone. Buildings are half-standing, some because they are falling down and some because the money ran out before it was finished. People are living in them anyway. Some buildings have the front wall missing like a doll house and people are still living there. And there is dust. Lots of dust. Between the dust and the garbage fires, I am holding my breath on the bus a lot.