“Brother Cyclone. That’s what some of the Haitians are now calling my fellow administrator Matthew Giesbrecht. The hurricane and he both share the same name.”
I don’t want to bore you with details that you have seen and heard before so I hardly know how to write. And… words can’t describe it. At least mine can’t. I know some people can write descriptive word pictures in just a few words but that’s not easy for me. I can sorta describe broken trees, and roofs ripped off by a violent and unrelenting wind that seems like it will never stop. I can describe rain that comes horizontally and how in a little over 24 hours it filled a 5-gallon bucket to running over and then the next 6 hours had some of the hardest rains of all. Which amounted to 18 – 20 inches of rain total? I can try to describe how we clung to Matts roof ridge in 60 mph winds and rain that resembled a snowstorm, while working for an hour stuffing rags into the whole ridge cap so that the wind doesn’t drive rain straight into the house, but it really is one of those things you just have to experience. And how do I justly describe the poor man who lives in what is best described as a tiny black hole of a dungeon with a leaky tin roof, and all his earthly belongings (his dishes, his clothes, and a couple trinkets) are in the bottom HALF of a five-gallon bucket? I don’t have words for that! What I find so discouraging to write about are the feelings of despair many of these people have after a storm like this. They survived and they have ready smiles, and you almost could think they are happy. But the smiles hide a deep sense of fatalism where they believe that they are a cursed people and a cursed nation that will never be able to rise.
When house walls are made of mud and rocks and the rain drives water straight into them for 12 hours, they just fall down. Oriani is far from the eye of the storm that passed but the wind and rain were still quite damaging to our area. Many crops were damaged even though not totally destroyed. Banana tree too. We spent a couple days walking in the little byways checking out the sentiment of the people and the damage… and there was just a lot of damage to the homes. All the homes that are damaged are old, poorly built and inhabited by the very destitute. These are the ones that, to a large degree, are unable to help themselves. The clinic had just a little money that had been donated for humanitarian relief and we used that to help do some repairs. One of our widow sisters had a house fall completely flat, hardly one stone left upon another. We had enough money to be able to offer her some materials if her family could do the labor to rebuild it for her. They started immediately. We have people constantly coming to us and asking for help but we just have to remind them we are here to help them if they have a medical problem. If they are sick… come to the clinic and we will help you! They seem to understand that quite well. We will continue to use special donated hurricane relief funds to repair and build a few more houses for some of the most helpless ones as that opens up.
Matt and I both had a little conviction to use our medical talents and meds to take a mobile clinic out to the real disaster area out west. Soon we started getting calls from the Haitian Mission Board and they too were encouraging us to consider going. They said they were having a meeting on Wednesday and would discuss it to see if they all felt that way. I told them that if they said to go, we’d go, and if they felt it wasn’t the right time, then we would stay away. They discussed it and told us to go. So Thurs afternoon we headed out. Picked up some more meds, slept in the Port au Prince area, and on Friday left for Jeremy. We didn’t really see a lot of damage till we approached the city of Les Cayes. From there on, it was very bad. It seems like a category 4-5 hurricane does very similar damage as a tornado. Now imagine a 50 mile WIDE tornado sweeping across the country! The vast amount of destruction is hard to imagine. Hardly any houses left complete. Most destroyed. We arrived in Jeremy at about dark, and were advised to sleep in there and go to Abricot Saturday morning. As we drove out to Abricot the next morning, things just steadily seemed to be worse and even worse. I remember Abricot as a heavenly place. Full of fruit trees of every kind, birds singing, lush jungle, and huge shady mango trees. The best way to describe now is like some pictures I have seen of war zones where all is flattened with just bare trunks of trees standing, almost no green left, and brown hills because all leaves and shrubbery and gardens are stripped. Trees are short stumpy skeletons standing against the sky or else lying flat on the ground. We have not seen all of our church members’ homes here yet, but they say every one is in bad shape. And they say a lot of people here are weak with hunger because they are only eating bare rations and maybe only once a day.
The first order upon our arrival in Abricot was to go down to the government office and sign in that we are working and providing aid for the area. I think this is always an important step to do. It’s a matter of respect, and also collaboration of us with them. If we have any problems, then they are there for us, too. Foreigners sometimes have a tendency to waltz in and do things “our” way, not giving enough consideration to the authorities who are in place.
We got here just in time to see a pair of unmarked American military looking helicopters circling the area. The men in the choppers waved to us to go down the hill into town, so we went and saw them land. They handed out some simple medical supplies that just ended up running off into some of the native’s hands, and then some water and a few jugs of cooking oil. The people were relatively cooperative. The helicopter guys were very commanding and without one word, just hand signals… got everyone in order and lined up to chain the stuff out away from the aircraft. Matt and I were unable to properly talk to them because they never shut down the noisy rotors, but we handed them our business cards and wrote notes to tell them that this community is low on food, and asking them to please send some more because the thieves on the roads are blocking food from reaching this remote town.
Two hours later a very large USA Army chopper armed with missiles (never know when you might need them) came zooming in and landed. These Army guys completely lost control. There were Haitians climbing on and under and even inside, mobbing them as they tried to get the rice and water out the door. It was chaos!!!! Then as soon as they took off, the fighting started on the ground. A rock came flying in our direction, and the crowd started fleeing as two guys with machetes started swinging, trying to attack another group. Soon clubs came out and it was crazy! I thought they were mad at the “whites” because there was not enough food to go around, but some said they were mad at another group that had hit one of them on the head. The half-naked machete-flailing picture of fury was running around trying to slice people, and when he ran towards us, we were all like cockroaches when a light turns on. I will not easily forget the sight of this tall, lean, bareback, crazed, man running towards Matt with a machete raised… and Matt doing his best imitation of a low lean race car, his sandals sending rooster tails of sand and mud towards the madman! It would have made headlines anywhere! ROFL (It was only funny afterward… I was pretty scared too!)
We covered the CSI tuberculous clinic (which lost most of the roof) with tarps, and were able to use the facilities here for a general clinic. Before we even got set up, we had patients coming. Some had fevers and some came with injuries from flying tin.
Sunday we went to church with our brethren here in Abricot and I honestly just had to weep as I felt the warmth of the service and the hearty singing. It was so beautiful and in stark contrast to outside the church building where it was so ugly and destroyed. The Mennonite church here is one of the only buildings left complete and was a real shelter in the time of storm for hundreds of people.
Monday morning we immediately had a crowd. We passed out sixty cards ASAP and the rest had to come back tomorrow, but there are so many serious cases that we had to take in at least another fifteen, or so. So many of the wounds took a good while to dress, and having some people on IV fluids, etc., made for a long day. One lady had seven sliced wounds from flying tin. Several of them were deep and infected. Another old lady had both legs cut and a long gash showing her skull even after thirteen days.
Tuesday, we held the clinic all day again. Lots of fighting to get cards in the morning. Hard to keep order. Once their fists started flying, after which they all got embarrassed and started settling down. The rest of the day went okay. We have been hearing the surf from the clinic here where we work, eat and sleep, and have not even been able to spend even five minutes at the water yet. So today right after work, we guys went swimming. Was so relaxing and calm in the clean blue ocean.
Wed morning, and before we could open the clinic doors, we had already passed out all the numbered cards that we could see for the day. At 8am we heard a noise down by the beach and when we went to check it out, we saw two Dutch Navy ships off shore with numerous inflatables getting ready to run food onto the beach. These guys had complete control, and commanded more respect than the helicopters guys last Saturday. They are also working with local authorities, which is good. They had a French Canadian spokesperson, although it seemed all these Dutch soldiers (men and women) spoke good English. Several of their nurses (with guns in holsters) came to our clinic and helped us out for a while, bandaging wounds, and doing some consultations. Very good to have their help!
Thursday was another busy day. The locals were so determined to get first in line to be seen in the clinic that they started assembling at 3 am outside our window. Made the awfulest noise with their arguing and angry talk as they jostled each other for place in line. Later I heard that they had forced open the door of the man next to us who was in charge of handing out the cards, and whacked him over the head because he didn’t want to get up so early. The severity of wounds and sicknesses we are seeing is starting to diminish and it feels like we are getting caught up with the most urgent needs.
Friday….we wrapped things up by noon so that we could hire a small motor boat to take us about two hours down the coast to the city of Dame Marie. Having had experience before of running out of gas out at sea… I made SURE the captain was confident that the 6 gallons ware enough. I asked him several times before we left if he was POSITIVE. and finally he told me, “Hey, this is my profession, of course I know what I am doing!” OK OK, good enough. We headed out past some of the most amazing cliffs and jagged rocks imaginable. I was thinking… wow, if a boat was in distress along these shores… there would be no possible way to beach or even hang onto these razor sharp, overhanging cliffs. A boat would be crushed almost immediately! Well, we made it to Dame Marie in about two hours under beautiful conditions. There we found a town that was extremely hammered by the hurricane. The land route was just recently opened up and help was just barely starting to arrive, but the storm had stripped and flattened so much of the city it was unbelievable. We saw several HUGE six foot in diameter trees snapped off, roofs off, houses flattened to rubble, and roads which disappeared into the sea. We visited with the residents and, while they were depressed, they were hopeful because roads had been opened and help was arriving. The fishermen in this area harvest conch from the ocean, and the beaches were lined and piled with thousands upon thousands of huge, beautiful conch shells. Sun was lowering and it was time to head back on our two-hour boat ride to get home by dark. Well… we ran out of gas an hour from our Abricot home. The captain kept peering into the tank, saying, “Oh no, it’s not out of gas!” But it kept on sputtering and dying. Every time it stalled, he would readjust the angle of the gas can again and it would start up. Every time saying, “We’ll arrive!” Darkness set in like a wet warm blanket over our heads just as we arrived beside the aforementioned cliffs of death. Finally, the oars came out and the twenty foot boat filled with eleven people was sloooowly rowed towards a town several miles down and around the curvy coastline. We had our nurse Chrystelle and her friend Charlotte with us and neither knew how to swim and life jackets of course… were only for the sissies in America. So honestly, I was doing a fair bit of praying. I was also checking and shaking the gas tank and I heard and felt no liquid within. While the captain was too proud to admit we were simply out of fuel, I prayed and asked God to put enough in the tank to start it once again and that we could arrive safely. Soon after it started again and even though it sputtered, it never quite died and it took us all the way in to Abricot! I couldn’t believe it. Thank you, God. We were greeted in the darkness by a couple hundred young men each with a headlamp on the head and a seine in hand. They were seineing for baby eels at the mouth of the river. It was an amazing sight. And I am so glad that communities like this have this huge resource of the ocean where they can fish and make money like this. They will be able to get back on their feet in time.
Saturday morning we headed out on the long drive back to Oriani. I think it took from 6am till 10 pm to get back into our beloved mountains and home.
It was a sobering time, and the damage out there is beyond belief and comprehension, but the people are a tough and resilient people who will bounce back in time. Our church CSI program has started a fantastic house repair project which will be a blessing to many yet. Our church family in Abricot is doing okay. None were killed or even injured, and while they almost all suffered the loss of their houses or parts thereof, they praise God for protecting them.
Continue to remember the Haitian people in your thoughts and prayers. They need it. They feel like they are a people who don’t have any “chance”. If the system doesn’t hurt them, the drought does, and if the drought doesn’t hurt them too much this year… then the hurricanes take what’s left. It is hard to understand why God has allowed some lands and people to advance so much when other hardworking people suffer so much.
God Bless you all,
Keith Toews
Director of Confidence Health Center