Where Do You Find Your Strength?
My neck and shoulders were stiff from holding myself so tightly on the long drive through the remote, rough terrain out to the water pump. The vast countryside, peppered with oxen and mules has a beauty uniquely its own.
A small gathering of adults down by the water-pump draw our attention as we step out of the vehicles and stretch. They had set out a small table; a white lace table cloth covered the solid blue one underneath. A half a dozen plastic chairs were awaiting our arrival. The men were well dressed and eager to discuss the pump. First though, a robust older woman opened the meeting with a song of prayer, clutching her creole Bible to her chest.
After much discussion and demonstration on how the WASH program was affecting change in the 60 families in the area this same woman requested that before we leave she be allowed to sing a song of thanks. Passionately she told her story of loss, struggle, hope and determination for her family and for her community. She had found her voice and her platform through song.
As we prepared to leave she ran to each one of us giving us the most maternal hug. “Merci, Merci!” she insisted. She presented us with mango, coconuts and bananas from their very own crop, a gift of toil and labour. Pastor Verner told them, “Thank you, you give us more than mango’s and coconuts, you give us your hearts!”
Back over mountainous dry land we arrived to witness a “home visit”. Regularly a health professional travels from home to home, over 200 homes by motorbike, truck, on foot, to review the children’s files, present and test the mother on how to properly chlorinate the water and run a home water test.
She sat on a blue plastic chair in the middle of her yard, her baby in ruffled bottoms breastfed in her arms as she quietly answered questions and relayed back the proper way to ensure her family’s water was safe. Her husband gestured from the doorway when they finished the interview. “My wife and I would like to invite you in to our home, we would ask that you would pray for us. We are a young couple with a young family.”
As we squeezed into their one room home, a mud floor swept tidy, a small table, two blue plastic chairs, a lace table cloth separating a small sleeping area, we held hands with them and prayed. Pastor Verner prayed for the couple, I prayed for the children. I put my hand on the mother’s shoulder and the baby reached out and grabbed my finger. The wife turned her head, looked up and locked eyes with me, the husband saw what was happening between us and tapped my hand in acknowledgement. There was so much love in this little Haitian hut, so much love. This baby has all the love it needs, but the opportunities are far different than those my children have, just because of where she is born. I am undone, you give us your heart.
Back over the roads ripped up by construction, dust smokes up before us, covering the once green cactus fences lining the roads with a film of white chalk. We park below the path that runs to the small cement house nestled in among a few trees on the hill. The mother set out her plastic chairs under the trees. She has 6 beautiful children, the youngest clutches a pop bottle with one hand and her mother’s hand with another. This thin woman clothed in a lightweight brown dress has a determination on her face. She shares with us how she didn’t know her baby was sick, she would cry all the time and lie listless, but a trip to the clinic taught her that her daughter was severely malnourished. Within a few weeks of a special peanut butter based nutritious supplement her child was doing well.
She beamed with pride as she described that her family had been recipients of the “Fill a Stable” project. World Vision had determined her family was in great need and had given her a goat, a pig and 2 chickens. She had been able to sell the offspring of these animals to pay for medicine and send her youngest children to school. She was excited to run us through the cactus lined path to the pig’s pen to show us 7 healthy piglets come running to her call.
As we said our “bonsoir”s and headed back to the trucks her beaming smile stuck with me. “Thank YOU” I whisper, you give us your hearts.
We stop off at a school and a little one runs over and grabs me by the hand demanding I look her in the face. I see her big brown eyes, her dimples, like craters in her little cheeks and I guess correctly that she is five. She keeps taking my hand, tugging my attention back to her and I squat and am surrounded by tinies. Her eyes speak loud and clear, “I give you my heart.”
Four strong women from four different generations today. And the question begs asking, “Where do they find their strength?” The hard answer seems just as clear, their strength comes from giving their hearts. Their vulnerability lends to their strength; oh what I have to learn from them.
