And Then There Were Seven

On January 21, 2013 we welcomed our first child in to the Be Like Brit Orphanage here in Grand Goâve, Haiti.  This date was significant in that it just so happens to be Brit’s birthday.  Believe me when I say that the timing was serendipitous.  We had considered trying to bring a child in on that day for obvious reasons, but decided that we would wait for it to happen naturally – to not confine ourselves to a boxed window of time for the sake of symbolism.  So, when it just so happened that Kervins came to us on January 21, 2013, it’s clear that fate played a hand.

Kervins on his first day of school!

As the program director, one of my duties is to search for children who might be eligible for our program here at Be Like Brit.  In a place like Haiti, when word gets out that the new orphanage on the hill is ready to bring children inside its protective walls, the response is overwhelming.  For the first week or so, women brought children in by the dozens, some with heart-wrenching stories of abandonment, desertion, unemployment, starvation, and of course, death.    Others, though, seemed eerily happy at the prospect of bringing their child to our doorstep; they may not have as dire a need as some of the other women, but rather regarded the opportunity to come to Be Like Brit as what we might recognize in the West as the equivalent of admission into a prestigious boarding school or elite club.

Overwhelmed by the response, and quite frankly a bit taken aback by how freely women would offer up their children to us, seemingly without emotion or consideration, I decided to shift my approach.  Instead of asking women to come to us, I made up my mind to reach out to the community myself.  Alongside my Haitian sidekick Rosenie, we took to the roads and mountains in our area in search of children we had heard needed to be helped.

I’m no stranger to community outreach work.  I’ve conducted research in some of the poorest areas of New Orleans with chronically homeless, mentally ill, HIV-positive, and substance dependent individuals.  I’ve witnessed what I thought were tough conditions. 

A decade ago or so I worked in international business in China, Vietnam, Malaysia, and the Philippines.  I’ve certainly seen some of the world’s worst slums; some of the most vulnerable and exploited people in factories and on assembly lines working 15 hours a day for pennies and housed en masse in tenuous dormitory housing.

Most recently I spent three months in Rwanda working with an orphanage there, and was exposed to the harsh realities of life in East Africa in a post-Genocidal society still reeling from civil war and the unraveling of the social fabric of the country.

I figured I’d be prepared for whatever I might find in the hills and mountains of Haiti.  I was wrong.

While I don’t mean to bring my readers “down” – the reality, the truth – is that the conditions in which the Haitian people live in are among the worst in the world.  Time and again, as we would round a corner and come upon the next “house” where we knew orphaned children were living, my level of tolerance would be breached, like the levees in New Orleans, and the flood of emotion and visceral reaction to what I found before me was exceeded time and again.

So, one by one, I interviewed these families.  I interviewed the children through the use of an interpreter.  I tried to get some insights into their life, though in all honesty, one doesn’t really need an interview guide and assessment tool to figure out if this particular family or group needs help.  It’s obvious in the smell that invades all five of your senses.  It’s in the sights that make your stomach turn and your eyes wince.  It’s in the tears that well up in your eyes when you bid a one room house of 10 a “Bonswa” and a “Mesi” while you climb back into your ATV and record notes on people who can’t even sign their own name in order to give away their children.

The decision on whether to bring them to Be Like Brit or not is never one taken lightly.  It’s never easy.  I never feel great about taking a child or children from the only home and family they know.  Moreover, it’s never easy on the children.  The first night with each of our new children is almost invariably a long one.  Tears, confusion, lost little eyes looking for something, anything familiar. 

But then there’s the second day, and the third day.  And watching these children transform from naked, hungry, and neglected to clothed, fed, loved, smiling, playful, happy children – even in as little amount of time as a week or two is why I am here in Haiti doing what I am doing. 

And then there’s this morning:  After an emotional week for all of us, especially the children who find themselves here, waking up early, dressing well for church, eating breakfast, laughing and smiling all along the way – this is when I feel good about my decision.

After a few takes, almost everyone is smiling for the camera!

Don’t get me wrong.  I recognize that there is an adjustment period for everyone involved.  For those who arrive new, they must get used to their new environment.  From the taken for granted things in our everyday lives like turning on a sink to brush your teeth, or sitting on a toilet and flushing it away, to flipping on a light switch when it’s dark – all of this is new and amazing to them.  For those who are already here, the status quo gets shifted, and our obligations as caregivers and providers grow exponentially in negotiating that delicate balance of making everyone feel safe, loved, worthy.

I loved my work in Rwanda.  I got to spend three months with 100 children.  They were an established, existing organization.  I didn’t have to hear their stories, meet their families or be witness to their squalor.  Starting from scratch, every detail on every child makes its way through me.  In that way, I feel very blessed and very fortunate.  I will know each of their names, each of their families, each of their histories.  I will know them.  Because of this, I have been able to forge the greatest of relationships with each of the children that Be Like Brit now cares for.

Being a part of this process is unlike anything I had imagined.  Even when it’s hard – and we all knew it would be hard – it is the most precious and wonderful way to spend a day, a week, and now – a month!

First there was one, and now we are seven.  Our work is important, our work is good.  And our work depends on the continued support of readers like you.  Thank you for helping realize Brit’s dream, and through that, letting me live mine.

All smiles! 

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan

We Are Family

One of my favorite things about working at Be Like Brit is the fact that no two days are ever the same.  This week, we were visited by a group of three from Monahan Brothers Inc. Roofing in Plattsburgh, NY who also happen to be family.  While by day they worked hard on installing the thick, white, elastomeric covering on the massive roof at BLB, and I worked on my tasks, by night it felt just like home; friends and family gathered ‘round the table for a good meal, lots of laughs, and sharing of new moments that none of us will soon forget.

Brian Monahan and Adam Donohue of Monahan Brothers, Inc., Plattsburgh, NY 

The arrival of Brian and Lanai Monahan (my cousins; father and daughter to each other) and one of their good friends and employees Adam donated their time and money to come to Be Like Brit to finish the roof off with an industrial strength product to keep the building and the children as dry as possible during Haiti’s heavy rains season.  In record time, the crew, along with some help from our regular crew was able to install the product on the 11,000 square feet of roof!  The “B” for Brit now glows even more brightly with a nice white finish! 

After a long day of work, we set out to tour the community to hand out donations that our group brought with them for some local families.  The response is always the same, dozens of children – if not more – run out from their homes, be they tents, tarps, tin huts – whatever, and chase after yelling “You! You!”  Excited and eager, their bright faces and smiles take just a tiny bit away from the reality of their circumstance.  For a fleeting moment you can forget about the fact that they are living in squalor, sleeping on a floor in filth, hungry, dirty, sick, and sometimes even naked.  Indeed, it is all one needs to do to get a bit of perspective on things. 

Lanai Monahan of Plattsburgh, NY hands out donated items to children in the Icondo area of Grand Goâve, Haiti

One place in particular we happened upon was especially tough.  After climbing a small hill and making our way up the worn dirt path etched into the hillside, we found a small boy on the ground, naked, writhing in pain, legs buckled up underneath him, grinding his teeth so loudly I thought he was struggling to breathe.  As we discovered this boy and realized he was alone, we left the house to get our friend Srihari, an emergency medicine doctor volunteering at Be Like Brit for 3 months to see what, if anything, we could do to help.

With our interpreter, we learned that this child is mentally retarded, deaf, and mute.  It also appears that he’s suffered from Polio at some point in his life, and we are told he has never walked in his ten years.  Ten years on this earth in utter isolation.  He is alone, outside, on the ground.  He is severely malnourished as he is not regularly fed.  We’re told this is because when the boy seizes, it is believed he is possessed, and nobody will approach him.  With nothing to do, we left, knowing that while the boy may not be dying, in all likelihood the remainder of his life on this earth will be spent in the way that we found him.

Choking back the tears and ultimately losing it altogether, I announced my desire to go back to Be Like Brit.  I had seen enough.  There has only been one other time in my life where what I saw before me moved me to tears and nausea in the same instance.   That was when I toured one of Rwanda’s Genocide Memorial Museums.  I thought of the thousands of human skulls and bones in that museum on display as a reminder of the atrocities that human beings are capable of.  Yet even in this visceral moment, I was reminded of the great capacity for love and compassion and good in the world.

So, like family does, we circled the wagons.  We joined the ladies in our kitchen here at Be Like Brit and worked together to clean up after the massive meal we are so fortunate to have.  We tried to teach some of our Haitian staff the words to some crazy American songs; we did some embarrassing dance moves and made fools of ourselves.  We escaped from what we had just witnessed. 

Brian and Lanai with our kitchen staff here at Be Like Brit!

Haiti is a dichotomy.  It is a beautiful country – quite possibly the most magnificent green mountains I have ever seen, towering over the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean Sea.  The Haitian people are genuine and sincere; they are humble.  At the same time, this same natural wonder is full of the most severe poverty the Western Hemisphere knows.  Sometimes that can be found in our very own backyard, behind the secure walls of yellow and white – indeed, laying on the ground, naked, hungry, alone.

As I think about the boy I saw lying on the ground, I realize my tears were born out of frustration.  Call me a hippie, call me a liberal – call me what you will.  There is no reason for anyone in the world to live that existence.  Brit saw that.  Be Like Brit is the result.

What will you do?

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan

See a few more pics from the week below!

Roof from behind the wall

Palanca

Palanca

“To give lift; to rise”

So many wonderful things happen in the world. Each and every day, in every corner of the globe, ordinary people undertake extraordinary tasks. Sometimes we see these people featured on a popular daytime talk show, or maybe a network news outlet picks up the story. Countless others go unrecognized; invisible faces sometimes doing immeasurable work, the benefits of which we may not know or even understand.  Celebrities give millions of dollars in aid money, and invariably walk away, satisfied with their high profile efforts and unwilling to be bothered by the subjective realities people face in this world. It’s the everyday people on the ground, those without recognition that make a tangible difference in the lives of those they serve.

In my four weeks at Be Like Brit, I have received countless emails, facebook posts, letters, phone calls and tweets commending me for the amazing, courageous work I am doing here in Haiti. While the sentiment is genuine, I feel sometimes as if it is unwarranted. I do this work because it is what I want to do. On many levels, I do this work for selfish reasons: It gives me a sense of purpose, and even the recognition I lament and dismiss in this very piece of writing is something that reaffirms my place in this world. I truly believe I am doing the kind of work I want to do forever, and it is exhilarating. Having stumbled for years, dare I say decades, I am where I want to be, and I am where I am supposed to be.

A very new but very dear friend recently spent some time with me here in Haiti. We were strangers when we met, but after two weeks together, we developed a bond that is somewhat indescribable; the kind of bond that develops in doing this kind of work. Authentic, genuine regard for one another is the foundation upon which this friendship is based.

This new friend shared something with me tonight and I felt compelled to pass it along. An email from her at around 9:00 this evening propelled me into a frenzy of thought and reflection, contemplation and consideration. She sent me a palanca: a letter of encouragement, meant to “give lift”, or raise one’s spirits. I received my first palanca this evening – which I appreciate so very, very much, and secretly hope to receive more of. My response to her email got me thinking, and so I felt compelled to blog about it – and even more compelled to share with you a small part of that reply. To my new friend whom I met in Haiti and adore with every ounce of my being, I wrote:

“It's funny when people express these well-wishes, don't you think? I mean, I am sure that you get plenty of your own Palancas when you are on your trips, and I am sure you likely brush them off as unnecessary or unwarranted - we're just here doing what we do because we love the work. At least that's how I feel about it. To me, this position at Be Like Brit was a gift. I am beyond honored, humbled, and so thankful to have been chosen as the program director here. I knew the experience was going to be awesome - and meeting people like you is just what my friends and I refer to as "gravy" - it's just extra - a perk - but it's what makes the experience so meaningful.”

“I don't doubt that I'll do good things here in Haiti, though I don't presume they are any better deeds than those that countless others do. I earn a salary, after all - and those missionaries who come and do it for free, doing the work that Christ Himself would be doing if he were on earth - well, I don't know how I measure up to that. The courage and the strength are not in people like me. They are in the people we serve. The people who manage to get up each and every morning and face a world of uncertainty and anxiety. The people who labor until their bones ache and their fingers bleed, just to take enough home to maybe feed their family the only meal they will eat that day. The children who laugh and smile even after enduring such horrendous loss and tragedy - the smiles that brighten my day and make me feel as though I have some purpose on this planet - as if somehow I were part of the plan all along - complete with my flaws, my shortcomings, my past mistakes, my faults. The three year old who clings to me so tight he leaves marks on my flesh yet moments later is all smiles and filled with joy and love and affection – as if somehow he’s forgotten that just two days ago he was brought to a strange place and left with strange people. Those are the courageous people - the ones who fight every day to make it to the next. Not me - no. Not the one who can retire to his room at night, crawl into his double bed with blankets and access clean water, food, and medicine. Not the one who doesn't have to worry about falling ill and being unable to purchase the very basics which might keep him healthy and alive. Not the one who could have a helicopter land on the roof of the earthquake-proof building and be ferried off to Miami in a moment’s notice to meet whatever needs I may have. That is not courageous.”


I thank my friend for her kind words, her palanca. Her palanca to me, the culmination of six or seven lines, prompted me to evaluate what it is that I am doing here. Through her palanca, I am able to say that I am in love with life for the first time in a very long time – and so her words have done far more than encourage my efforts. They have justified my being.






Thank you, SJ. And thanks for reading,

Jonathan

Process and Content

New energy is always welcome here at Be Like Brit, so when Len, Cherylann and our U.S. Director Kristin flew in for a Monday-Saturday visit, those of us in-country were excited to get to work ironing out some of the last details before we began the process of bringing children into Be Like Brit.  Our 5 day marathon of meetings produced great results, set the tone of expectations, and has us all eagerly anticipating the day when we welcome our first children in to Brit’s Orphanage.

Someone once told Len, and he reminds us of this often, that the days are long in Haiti, and there is never enough time to get things done.  I had anticipated a bit of this before moving down to Haiti, as I had experienced it in Rwanda, and cultures outside the “developed world” often operate in such strikingly opposite ways, I knew “getting things done” would likely cause me to want to pull what little hair I have left out.  With all of this in mind, Team Be Like Brit sat down to undertake the task of putting all systems into place so that soon, children can call this place home.

Our packed agenda for the week-long series of meetings covered the gamut of issues:  Specifics and minute details like databases and calendars, rotations for our medical clinic, personnel schedules and job descriptions, Britsionary visits, meal plans, rules and regulations, etc., while all important, are not necessarily exciting ways to pass 10 or so hours.  While we ironed out the specifics of these requisite realms of operating a massive building that will be filled with children, I was patiently waiting for the whole reason we are all here:  Children!  Secretly, I think we all were.

Len, Cherylann, Gama, Jonathan, Susan, Kristin, and Gilbert - Round 1!

As a master’s level social worker with previous experience abroad, along with university teaching experience for the past year of my life, I am someone who tends to pay a lot of attention to process.  I very much feel the need to plan out in a methodical way the steps and stages to all of these tasks we have ahead of us at Be Like Brit.  Gannt charts and timelines are my nerdiest friends.  Until we are in a place like Haiti, we don’t realize how rigidly our Western taught minds tend to focus on the production of something tangible, on something that can be evaluated in a very formal and official way, only to later be revised and tweaked to serve a more relevant and effective purpose.  In preparing to recruit caregivers and staff, I had stayed true to this model of objective and methodical process.  I would very soon be switching gears.

If you hadn’t noticed, Len Gengel is not so much about the process, but about content.  What this means is that Len gets things done.  In light of the fact that nearly everyone told Len he would never build a 19,000 square foot building in the shape of the letter ‘B’ on a nearly inaccessible mountain in a country which lacks the very basic infrastructures that make such a gargantuan task nearly impossible, here I sit.  Surrounded by the walls of steel and mortar, looking down over a community that he and Cherylann helped to enrich and empower through opportunities of employment and their so very generous ways, I am here.  Be Like Brit is here.  Process helps, but content got it done.  Doing it got it done.  My newest task then became: How do I get things done when everything in my education, training, experience, and mind wants to plan for the how, rather than the what?

Done. Against all odds.

One of my more stressful experiences during the past week was interviewing potential caregivers for Be Like Brit.  Our program committee and the upper echelon of the Be Like Brit Organization had gone back and forth for some time on how these caregiver schedules would be arranged.  We had gone from a three and a half day on/three and a half day off schedule, to full-time live in staff, to primary staff with what translates to caregiver aide positions.  The hypothetical arrangements were endless, and as the program director, I made the decision to recruit only women who were able to commit to a full-time live in position with part-time aides coming in.  These women would be single and have no children.  If they did have children, the youngest would be 18, or maybe even 16.  My rationale behind this was simple:  Be Like Brit does not want to break up families.  By implementing these criteria, we would be able to maintain the integrity of the families that are already in tact rather than pull them apart so that mom could go to work taking care of someone else’s children.

Brilliant, right!?  We all agreed - this structure was ideal.  It would be in the best interest of the children who will live here at Be Like Brit in terms of consistency and fostering trust and attachment.  From a practical standpoint, it’s easier in terms of human resources, payroll, scheduling; all of those things.  It was exciting to think that we would be bringing women in to our home to live here and care for our children just as they would in their own home – as this would be their home. 

Children from the community preparing to welcome our visitors at opening weekend.

As we lined up our interviews and began to screen candidates, it became almost immediately obvious that this plan was not going to work.  The first blunder was thinking we could find women without children!  The second was the gross assumption that anyone would be willing to move in here at Be Like Brit.  Sure, the structure is amazing, sound, solid, and safe.  But it’s not home to them.  Home to these women may be something we consider condemnable squalor.  Home for these women might be a USAID tent or any of the hundreds of donated temporary shelters which litter the landscape like confetti thrown in a parade.  My presumptuous and even ethnocentric attitude that “this is a better option” turned out to be an egregious oversight.

The caregiver interview guide I had developed, while comprehensive, thorough, and impressive (if I do say so myself) was completely irrelevant in Haiti.  Questions like “why do you want to work for Be Like Brit” earned such seemingly thoughtless responses as “because I need a job.”  As I sat, unimpressed with the answers I was receiving to my journal-worthy, researched and validated questionnaire, I pushed it aside and instead began to have conversations with these women.  I realized that in a country where unemployment hovers around (at least) 40%, their responses to why they wanted to work for us were quite sufficient; they were literal; they were real.  Instead of being sensitive to their subjective realities, I held them to a standard to which they could never live up to.  Seeking a passionate response to my matter of fact question was nothing short of ignorant.

So, lessons learned.  We change gears and we revisit our efforts.  We talk to local stakeholders:  Pastors, Priests, teachers, people.  We won’t staff this orphanage or run programming at Be Like Brit if we focus on the process.  Process is, of course, important, and plays a very important role in how we assess and develop our individual life plans for each of the children we will bring in to Be Like Brit, but it’s not how we find those children or those staff.  It’s how we work behind the scenes to plan appropriately, but it’s not how we present ourselves and how we interact with real, living human beings. 

The process can be handled in those ten- hour long meetings.  The content, that is, what we do and how it affects the children at Be Like Brit is all in real human relationships; in affection and in warmth; in encouragement and in faith; around the table at meal time; in stories at bed time; in tucking children in and making them feel loved and safe and worthy.  And while these objective tools of world-renowned academia are essential in how we plan, it’s what we actually do that matters.

Tomorrow brings a new day in Haiti:  Another long day where there is never enough time to tackle everything we would like to get done.  But onward we go; we have built a building, and our task now is to make it a home.  With continued prayers, support, well-wishes, and the efforts of so many wonderful volunteers and friends, we persevere.  In that formidable and unparalleled Gengel way, we will get things done.

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan

Civil Unrest

Civil Unrest

Pop! Pop! Pop!  The sound rang out in the dark of Haiti’s night sky and jolted me as if I were a passenger in the back of a tap-tap traveling along the road to Port-au-Prince.  I turned to Gama, my co-director, and asked, “Is that gunfire?”  He nodded his head and said, “You’re not in the United States anymore.”  Fair enough, I thought, and settled in for the night on the 2^nd floor terrace to get some work done, editing our program manual over a cup of chamomile.  Tea and front row seats to a demonstration against local government officials made for an interesting Thursday night.

                After some time, the sound of shots began to blend in with the chirping of crickets, the crowing of roosters, and was later drowned out by the sounds of men yelling into a bullhorn.  Atop this mountain, it’s hard to tell which direction the sounds are coming from, though one can assume almost certainly they are associated with what’s happening down on National Route 2:  Manifestations. As my anxiety began to waver and fade, I finally turned out the light and retired for the evening. 

As most of you know, we recently celebrated the dedication and official opening of the Be Like Brit Orphanage last weekend as Gengel friends and family gathered here in Grand Goâve to celebrate the life for which this building is named. While the weekend went off without a hitch, the days following the event would be marked with demonstrations in the streets, complete with burning tires, rock and bottle throwing, and setting cars ablaze in an effort to disrupt traffic and attract the attention of the central government in Haiti.  While these demonstrations disrupt life a bit, behind the orphanage walls, we are safe and sound. Our location atop a mountain gives us great security, and our presence in the community and reputation as a force for good gives us an immunity from all the chaos that happens just below us on Route 2.  We have a prime viewing spot for all the action; we can hear it, see it, and smell it.  Yet the chaos is just far away enough to feel somewhat benign, and is largely easy to ignore.

From behind the secure walls at Be Like Brit, a rooftop view of downtown Grand Goâve

It’s when that chaos or any kind of chaos comes to your own home, past your own gates and affects your own friends that it becomes real. Though the sound of gunfire in the night and the vision of burning trucks and angry citizens may make one feel uneasy, the walls that surround us help to mitigate that. At Be Like Brit, we are not just a building anymore; we are a home. Home is the place where one is supposed to feel the most at ease and the most secure. We have given ourselves the task of creating this type of environment for some 66 children in the months and years to come. Thus, when something happens that takes away from our ability to foster a sense of security and home, we feel betrayed and are shaken to the core, as if we were part of the chaos we watch unfold daily from the safety of our 2^nd floor terrace.

As our 70+ guests piled into trucks which would ferry them down the mountain and to the bus waiting for them, something was amiss here at Be Like Brit. One of our guests returned after a visit to the Hotel Montana and found that her luggage was missing from her room. As I feel a sense of responsibility to ensure that all of our guests feel as safe as they would in their own home, I immediately felt a sense of betrayal and anger. Our very sense of security and safety had been violated – behind our walls; within our very own home.

As we narrowed down the list of people who had access to the room from where the items went missing, I began to consider the implications of this type of event. Without a doubt, someone on our staff had gone into a guest room and rummaged through someone’s personal belongings. They had quite carefully chosen a handful of items to take, and hastily attempted to cover up their wrongdoings by moving the bags to a cabinet, under a sink in a bathroom.  It was clear to me then that someone on our staff had to be let go. If we are to effectively build a sense of security in a chaotic world, we certainly had to have a stern response to such an egregious violation in what should be our most reliable place of refuge.

A brief investigation was conducted, and regrettably, we had to let a group of employees go. The part that I struggle with the most is the knowledge that whomever it was that took these items did so most likely because of a desperate situation in their own life.  Just as some residents of Grand Goâve demonstrate in the streets against high food prices and ineffective post-earthquake development and reconstruction, others make ends meet by taking that which does not belong to them, selling it for a menial amount of money and perhaps buying the only meal they will eat that day with the profits.

Knowing that we at Be Like Brit had to revoke the only source of income this handful of employees had was a tough decision. In some ways it was easy:  You steal, you lose your job. In other ways, the reality of the situation torments me. These are people I have worked with side by side for two weeks now. They are people I have grown to know; they have been the people in my daily life. What angers me the most is the fact that their lot in life is so dismal they felt the need to take from us. In taking a handful of material things, they took so much more from us. Our sense of security and our sense of home left with those items.

It’s interesting, being here at Be Like Brit. Groups of people come by and knock at the gate in amazement at the marvelous architectural feat they spot on the hillside while driving down Route 2. The building’s physical presence invites passersby to stop and ask for a tour. The interest is genuine and understandable. The fact that many people think that we at Be Like Brit are somehow this privileged, wealthy, rich and prestigious organization is not surprising; indeed, our building is an impressive and amazing sight nestled amongst the USAID tents and squalid huts and shelters which litter the otherwise pristine Haiti landscape.

While we may have the benefits of an amazing structure, thanks to the generosity of so many wonderful friends and supporters, along with the gift of a brilliant architect in Paul Fallon, one simple fact remains:  We are not perfect.  What was to have been a perfect weekend was marred by an incident where one of our own betrayed us.  No amount of square footage, no security walls and not even the beautiful dedication and opening weekend we had can change the fact that we are not perfect.  We learned that the hard way last weekend when we learned of theft within our walls. 

So, from this incident, we learn.  Just as in Brit’s death, we take away something from this and go forward with even more determination to make Be Like Brit closer to perfect. As we embark on this new journey, this transition from construction of a building to the creation of a home, we will be tested in many more ways. Whether the riots on Route 2 or an employee breaching our trust, we will react, we will respond, and we will grow from that which tests us.

We will forever hold to the mission we have focused on:  To help the children of Haiti.  No demonstration in the streets, no tires burning, no rocks, no bottles, no inconvenience, and no thief among us will interfere in that mission.

My father used to always say there was nothing worse than a thief, and I think I agree with him.  Not because the material things are irreplaceable.  Not because they even really matter that much in our own lives; but because of what it does to one’s ability to trust.  He also used to say that there was no reason to ever steal from him, as if one was in need of something, all they had to do was ask for it.  I believe very much that Be Like Brit and Len and Cherylann Gengel might feel similarly.  We’ve seen what they have already done for the people of Haiti.  And they’ve only just begun.

So for now, we continue to work.  At night, a few of us gather on the 2^nd floor terrace to observe the happenings in town.  Some nights are quieter than others.  We feel safe in our home, we feel safe in our city, and we feel safe in Haiti.  And we know that the love, support, and prayers of countless friends and strangers alike are keeping us from harm.

Western courtyard from the roof, at home.

Thanks for reading   ~ Jonathan

Of Men and Motos

Today marks my 2^nd full day here in Haiti, with one major difference: Len and Bernie left. I am the sole blan here at Be Like Brit, and have been left to fill Len’s massive shoes.  With Gama as my trusty sidekick and co-director, I feel confident that I will be effective in rallying our guys for one more week before the big opening. More than anything, I feel a sense of obligation and duty to Len and Cherylann to be sure that whatever needs to happen between now and January 5, 2013 quite simply just happens. They both have worked so tirelessly for so long that for me to report anything but success would be an insult to their efforts.

I’m finding great solace in Gilbert; he’s been an ally and at my side for the past forty-eight hours. Tonight was the first night since my arrival that dinner was a non-event. Gilbert cooked some food up and he and I shared a table on the 2^nd floor terrace, gazing north towards the incredible Caribbean waters while discussing the significance of local politics in the civil unrest we hear somewhat vaguely about each day. Gilbert is a man with whom I likely would have never forged a relationship with if we were in the States. He is a devout Christian, practicing in what many back home would consider to be a somewhat “animated” Pentecostal Church. In Haiti, however, that seems to fall somewhere between forgotten and irrelevant. I’m not sure why that is. I think we get so caught up in the way things are in the States that we forget that people do not, in fact, live in these dichotomies the U.S. media presents. That almost all human life shares common joys, triumphs, goals, pleasures and satisfactions. A meal with good conversation transcends boundaries of religious affiliation, of politics, or whatever variable we may analyze from our Western framed and taught minds. Here in Haiti, the simplicity and commonality is in our humanity; it’s in our being human.

Olen and Gilbert prepare Sunday dinner in the Be Like Brit kitchen!

My first major challenges today were to keep tabs on some six painters, whom I split up into three pairs to take on various projects here at Be Like Brit.  Ever the foreman, Gama would occasionally walk past me and ask “do you have control over your men?” Good question, I thought – at times and wondered who they were and where they may have wandered off to. The language barrier is indeed going to be a challenge, and as it presents itself as such with the workers, it only underscores the importance that I develop some skills in Creole in order to work effectively with the children we will soon bring in to the Center. 

I also witnessed my first Haiti-moto accident today. We were parked on the hill going up the mountain waiting for a tank of gas to be delivered, as Franky our driver perhaps did not believe me when I managed to utter “Ou bezwen gas?” as we set off to collect the last of the mattresses hauled in from Port-au-Prince. As the two motos collided, one man was sent careening towards the ground, and clearly suffered the brunt of the force more significantly than the man who managed to keep his bike upright and largely unscathed.  Within seconds, a group of 20 to 30 Haitians emerged from their shoddy huts and crumbling domiciles to participate in the great drama that ensued.

Angela and I jumped from the BLB truck to be sure the man who was thrown to the ground was at least conscious: He appeared to be in a moderate level of pain, and the torn pant leg and fair amount of skin ripped from his knee cap indicated that indeed, he was. While his injuries did not appear to require a visit to the hospital or a doctor, the pain was obvious. Despite this, the other motorist with whom he collided and his group of supporters all began to yell at him; to accuse him of being at fault, for not watching where he was going, etc., etc.  In all of this chaos, we refueled the truck enough to get going back up the mountain, and as we drove off, I wondered what would have happened if the man had suffered a broken leg, perhaps a compound fracture. Where would he go? Who would bring him? How would he pay? Or would he go anywhere? In a place like Haiti, where the very basics are luxuries, it’s likely that he would have been left to suffer on the side of that dirt road, creeping up a mountain alongside washed out culverts and nearly impassable twists and turns. And then what? In all likelihood, he would have lost his ability to work, his ability to earn an income, and the ability to feed himself and the family he almost invariably has at home.

From something so common, so simple: A moto accident; even a minor one.  In Haiti, that is life-changing. One may survive the accident itself, only to suffer fatal consequences in the aftermath.

I suspect this will be just one of thousands of these incidences I will bear witness to. I’m sure I will evaluate life and the meaning of such time and again. I imagine my contemplations will be no less profound than those who have pondered over these same happenings before me, nor will future minds do so more eloquently or with any sort of notable variation in conclusion.

But that’s the point, right? If we stop wondering, we stop caring. When we stop caring, we have turned our backs on people who truly have nothing and undoubtedly rely on whatever token of hope we are able to offer them.  When we stop thinking about these things, we stop being like Brit.  Simple, everyday reminders keep us on track.  Today, my reminder was the man thrown from his moto, and the uncertainty of what might happen to him as a result.

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan

Winter Storms and Guardian Angels

I had one day left in NY before making the trip south to my final destination of Haiti.  Something didn’t sit right with me, however.  The winter storm warning called for 20” of accumulation, and I knew that if I didn’t get out of the northeast early, I may be delayed by weeks.  Knowing full well that Len and Bernie had been working tirelessly to finish Brit’s Orphanage and wanted to get home for a much needed break before the big opening, I made my first call as Director:  I moved my travel date up.

As I flew first from Burlington to Newark, then from Newark to Fort Lauderdale, I stared out the window and couldn’t help but think about Brit.  For some reason, I even felt like I was talking to her in my mind.  I had done that from time to time throughout the process of applying to and interviewing for this position.  I remember sitting on my porch late one night in September, looking out at the sky over Lake Champlain the night before flying to Boston to meet Len, Cherylann and Chrissy.  I looked up and said, “Hey Brit, throw me a bone tomorrow, would ya?”  It would not be the last time I turned to Brit for a little help from above.

This time, from the window of my twice delayed airplane, I thought, “You better get me to Port-au-Prince today, Brit.  This needs to happen.  Your Dad and brother need to go home.  We have things to do.  Guide me, Brit.  This is for you.  This is for your family.”

So, quite a few hours delayed, complete with missing luggage and all, here I sit in Fort Lauderdale, awaiting my 1:05pm flight into PaP.  I hope more than anything that United Airlines finds my bags before then and gets them on the American Airlines flight I’ve booked in.  I suppose it’s no matter, actually; they either will or won’t make that flight.  If they don’t, we’ll invoke the usual “it’s Haiti” excuse, and go for a plan C, or D, or whatever it takes.  That seems to be a hallmark of this remarkable project: Whatever it takes.

I’m excited.  Oddly, I am not scared at all.  It’s not that I’m overly confident:  That’s not something I’ve ever been guilty of.  It’s just that right now, all of this seems so right.  The timing feels right in my own life.  The place feels right.  The Gengels feel right; it’s like I’ve always known them.  It’s a peculiar feeling when absolute strangers come into one’s life and it feels like they’ve been there all along.  It all feels like pieces of a puzzle have come together and the fit is so perfect that it obviates the need for panic or anxiety or fear.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a realist.  I know that there are many things in store for me that will likely scare the hell out of me, make me sad, make me angry, make me hate the decision to ever leave my comfy, cushy job at SUNY Plattsburgh and move to a developing third world country with security risks and health epidemics and a decimated infrastructure.  I know all of this.  And still, I’m not afraid.  I want to go.  I can’t wait to go.  I can’t wait to see the hundreds of little brown-eyed faces that will become part of my life, a meaningful part of my life.  I can’t wait to feel again what I felt in Rwanda; to feel what Brit felt in Haiti.  I can’t wait for Brit and Be Like Brit to bring out all of our best selves, the way it has done for so many already.

So, I hope Brit doesn’t mind, but she’s my newest guardian angel.  I will continue to look up to the sky, this time from the roof of the building built in her memory.  Lake Champlain has been replaced by the Caribbean Sea; the familiar fields of home have been replaced by the mountains and hills of Haiti.  I believe very much that Brit helped me to get here, and I believe very much she will continue to help us all do the work she so desperately wanted to do herself.

Thanks for reading.

Jonathan