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Vision for Haiti

1/27/2016

James Bruzzi

While standing outside in the courtyard of the Hopital St. Croix in Leogane, Haiti, I was approached by a pastor from a local church. After exchanging some friendly banter, his eyes turned sharp and serious as he asked me, "What is your vision for Haiti?" At the time his question left me nearly speechless in its depth and has required a great deal of reflection to formulate an adequate response.

What is my vision for Haiti? My vision is for Haiti to regain its faded reputation as the Pearl of the Antilles. My vision for Haiti is for it to take its rightful place as a respected and envied nation, a place with a vibrant economy and great wealth.

My vision for Haiti is the reforestation of its once emerald mountains, the rebirth of its rich agricultural industry and the restoration of its clear blue skies. My vision for Haiti is a functional and stable government, independent from the meddling of other nations. My vision for Haiti is that no one goes without food, clean water and access to healthcare and education.

My vision for Haiti is that it be known for its beauty and richness rather than its misfortunes and poverty. My vision for Haiti is that the world comes to enjoy its turquoise seas, its stunning vistas and its vibrant culture. My vision for Haiti is a bright and secure future for its children. My vision for Haiti is that it forever maintains the pride and dignity that it bears so well.

What is your vision for Haiti?

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Monday Night

1/21/2016

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James Bruzzi

On Monday night in Haiti, sitting in the common room of the Hopital St. Croix guesthouse, a woman's heartbroken scream echoes from the pediatric ward downstairs. Kelle and I glance at each other with a concerned look.

Moments later, the doorbell of the guesthouse rings. Looking through the peephole in the door I see one of the hospital doctors. I open the door for this doctor, a middle aged gentleman who walks with the assistance of a forearm crutch. I look into his sad eyes as he tells me that a baby in the hospital has just died.

Sensing his pain, Kelle and I follow him into the kitchen; and we each open a Prestige beer and gather around him. He tells us that the baby died of meningitis; and that as is a common cultural practice in Haiti, the mother attempted to treat the baby with folk medicine and religion before bringing the baby to the hospital. Despite the heroic efforts of the hospital staff, it was too late to save the baby.

As the mother's tortured screams continue outside, he introduces himself as Doctor Alex. He tells us of his efforts to educate the public of the importance of going to the hospital for treatment as soon as possible through the hospital radio station. He tells us of the challenges of being a doctor in Haiti and the importance of treating patients with a human perspective rather than a purely scientific one. He feels the pain of the patients, and that is evident by the sorrow he carries with him.

He tells us of the funding issues for the hospital and that there is very little provided by the government, with healthcare making up only five to seven percent of the national budget in a country where the average person lives off less than two dollars per day. While the hospital would like to offer free services, it must charge minimal fees in order to continue operating. Doctor Alex often pays for patients' medications out of his own meager salary when they cannot afford it.

He tells us that while he barely scrapes by, that he is happy to help anyone he can. He tells us that money is not important and that what brings true peace and happiness is helping others in any way possible. He repeats to us that what you give and what you share comes back to you in your heart. He tells us of the many times that his good deeds have returned to him, from avoiding fatal car accidents to leaving a building moments before the earthquake collapsed it on top of where he had been sitting minutes earlier.

Wiping tears from our eyes, we look at this beautiful, selfless man as his wise words resonate in our hearts and souls. His truth is a profound blessing. We bid Doctor Alex good night with the hopes that his good works continue to come back to him and that his palpable peace and love remain strong.

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Woody's Chair Revisited

1/20/2016

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James Bruzzi

In the front courtyard of the Hopital St. Croix in Leogane, Haiti, there is a small patch of grass with three coconut palms towering over it. On the grass sits a chair.

During my first visit to Leogane in July of 2014, I became quite fond of this chair and its occupant, Woody. I came to see this chair as an example of Leogane itself -- rickety yet functional, somewhat grotesque yet absolutely beautiful in its spareness.

Returning to Leogane in January, 2016, I arrived at the Hopital St. Croix on foot. As I approached, I caught a glimpse of the chair through the fence, and there was Woody sitting in it! I exchanged hugs and excited words in English and Creole with my dear Haitian friend.

Settling in and surveying the courtyard, I noticed that the chair had undergone a transformation. Most of the turquoise painted wood had been replaced with new pieces making the chair more secure, more sturdy, and with the addition of new cushions, more comfortable.

After spending a few days in Leogane, it was clear that the city had made great progress in the time since I had been there last. New paint, new buildings and a wonderful sense of normalcy graced the streets. I realized that the chair remained a symbol of the place -- a city more sturdy, more secure and more comfortable than it had been.

The city, like the chair, remains far from perfect but progress has been made as Haiti moves at its own pace toward a brighter future. I very much look forward to my next visit to see what new pieces have been added to the chair and to Leogane.

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Vision for Haiti

Monday Night

Woody's Chair Revisited

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