Haiti Makes me Sigh

Remember Franshwa?   The mother of the twins?

Her babies were severely malnourished.  She was severely malnourished.  Franshwa needed help.  Helping her was difficult.  She lived pretty far from us.  To get to her house we had to drive through a maze of a neighborhood down roads that are so incredibly awful, it's hard to explain them well enough for your mind to visualize.  I don't say that to insult your mind.  I say that to insult my ability to use words adequately.  We use a vehicle that belongs to the school and it does not have four-wheel drive.  After two trips to Franshwa's house and getting stuck both times I had to admit...I can't do this.  I also had to admit that I was legitimately fearful that the car would fall apart leaving me in the middle of the horrible road holding nothing but a steering wheel.  I decided...I can't ruin this vehicle we're being loaned...and I would not know enough Creole to get back home if the "car falling apart" scenario actually unfolded.

In order to help Franshwa's babies, Franshwa needed to eat.  In order to increase her milk supply we had to feed her so her body would make food for her babies.  We needed to keep her hydrated.  She wanted to keep her babies.  She wanted them to live.  She has no income.  I wasn't about to give her formula. In the conditions where she was living, there was no way to provide clean water or clean bottles for her babies.  Giving out formula to her would have felt like handing her kids death.  I could not do it.

The odds were against us.  I could not commit to driving to pick her up every day.  She had no way to get to me.  Her house is too far away from a main road for her to walk and take a tap-tap (Haitian public transportation).

For multiple reasons, it would not work to send food home with Franshwa and expect her to eat it.  She lived in a community of starving people.  Sending food to her, instead of having her come to us to eat did not insure, in any way, that she would get to eat the food, and in turn her milk supply would increase, ultimately benefiting the babies.  Sending food home with Franshwa would put her in a horrible, hard position as she either gave her food away in order to keep the peace in her neighborhood, or she hoarded it and was persecuted by her community.  Rarely is anything ever easy here.


So Aaron and I made the mom an offer.  For about $300 for the year we could move her and her husband to a house closer to the school where we live.  We were excited and ready to fork out the 300 bucks.  Then she could walk to our home every day.  We could feed her.  Someone from the States had already offered to pay for food for Franshwa to eat every day.  She could go to Heartline with me twice a week where she and the baby would have medical care and most importantly be educated and connected to a community of women who were learning truth every single week.   I could work with her every day while the babies grew stronger and healthier. Aaron was eager to help the husband learn a skill and hopefully find a job.  Rehabilitating families.  Helping kids stay with their parents.  Yes.  This is our passion.  We could not wait to live this out.

Moving her near us sounded like the best option.  The best way to help her babies.  I could only imagine how excited Franshwa would be upon hearing the exciting news.

Imagine our shock when our offer was refused.  No thanks.  She wanted to stay where she was living.

Difficult.  Frustrating.  Confusing.  Made me kind of mad.  Like I wanted to shake her.

At one point I explained to her that she could just live near us for a year...or until the babies were one.  By that time they would be so strong and have a better chance at living.  Then she could go back to her tent if she wanted to...that's all we were asking.  No.  She would not budge.  She smiled sweetly and said no.

Situations like this make me want to beat my head against a wall.  Part of me felt this pull to help her in spite of her stubbornness.  "If I don't help her, the babies will probably die."  What does a person do with that kind of truth?  In the end Aaron and I decided that we had done all we could do.  Even if our car could make the trip to her house, we could not throw our life into complete chaos to drive and pick her up every day.  We had to remind ourselves where God is working through us.  Me at Heartline, Aaron here on campus.  That doesn't mean that we turn a blind eye to the needs around us, but we had to be honest...she didn't live near us.  Logistically the odds were not stacked in our favor to help this mom in the way she wanted to be helped (us coming to her).  We had offered to help her.  We were not ignoring her need.  We just could not help her the way she wanted help.  That all makes perfect sense and any logical person would say, "I understand.  What else were you supposed to do? You are already involved in ministry.  You have a family to take care of.  You already have a full plate."  And yet...these are the things that rob me of a lot of sleep in this country.  The questions..."Did I do enough.  Am I being honest with myself?  Was I being selfish?" they sit with me.  There are no words that anyone could say that can quiet those difficult thoughts or take away their sting.  Not living here.  And so I ask God again....help me to live in this friction.  Help me to be honest.

The needs are vast.  They are 3-D kind of real.  Life and death real.   There are huge, life-altering consequences that come from saying "yes" or "no" every single day.   I wish I was being dramatic.  I'm not.

So how is Franshwa doing?  So many of you have asked.  Up until Christmas she was doing great.  The babies were growing.  Another mission was going above and beyond and picking her up every day and feeding her.  She went to Heartline with me every week.  But since she refused our offer to mover her closer...the connection to Franshwa was lost and I haven't seen her or the babies since we got back to Haiti.

I could find a way to make the bumpy trek to her house so I can check on her.  I could go find out if the babies are alive.  When I'm honest with myself....I know...I don't really want to know how they are.  Denial.  Remember?  We're besties.  We write each other notes with colorful gel pens, hold hands, and giggle.  Right now thinking about Franshwa, about her rejecting our offer, about those tiny babies hurts too much and it says big, complex things about Haiti and about serving here that I'm not even ready to fully face. 

sigh.

let's all sigh.