Sea Gypsies. Pirates. Spaghetti Milkshakes.

This past week me, three americans, including a doctor and 13 haitians packed up, drove for three hours through the crazy streets of Port-au-Prince to arrive at a small fishing dock. 

This is where I found out most of the team couldn't swim and were simply terrified to jump aboard this boat, with all our gear, and the forms for building a water tank and head to La Gonave, a remote island that used to be inhabited by pirates and sea gypsies.

But I think all their fear fell away after an hour into the boat ride we got a private viewing to one epic dolphin show, flipping around and under our boat.

Another hour and we have arrived, we jumped on our friends tractor and travelled through the rocky undeveloped streets to the chants of "Blanc, Blanc!" ..... a term which will soon be the most annoying words everrrrr but the kids are so cute I think you can forgive them.

We unload into Bernard's (one of the Haitian guys) little house which he built with his twin brother

That night we ate street food, ignoring all of the Lonely Planet's warnings, with a mix of fried plantines and fried potatoes and maybe lets try a milkshake made out of bread fruit, condensed milk, and spaghetti (tastes as gross as it sounds) all mixed up in a seriously vintage blender and several extention cords sticky-taped together as far as the eye can see.

La Gonave is a true representation of poverty laced with beauty. Most people live in their shanty little homes made out of tarps and tin and anything else they could find , the goats and chickens roam free, the ocean is beautiful, you'll just have to step over broken glass and plastic bottles and the rest of the rubbish to jump in to the sparklin carribbean waters. 

We worked hard. Harder than I have ever worked in my life probably. Our goal was to complete an 8 foot water tank, which will provide clean drinking water every day for a year for 150 people. AND to provide medical clinics with all the supplies donated, including the toothbrushes I brought from home. 

We woke up early and went to bed late. 

We had impromptu dance parties in our cement little house, with curtains for doors (that does make the bathroom situation a little awkward)

We tried to teach the Haitians to swim.

We were pretty unsuccesfull.

We bought street food every night and sat on an abandoned grave across the road to eat it.

We drank delicious passionfruit & lime juice & tried to overcome the language barrier to share stories.

We mixed cement and sifted sand in the hot Haitian sun from dawn to dusk.

We appreciated willing helpers, and  tried to communicate in a mesh of english,french and creole.

We were moved, often to tears at the desire to just have a little bit of purpose. Just to help. Just for a day.

We defied all workplace health & safety rules to scamper all over roofs to install gutters

We saw over 200 people in the medical clinic.

Some just wanted vitamins and tums.

Some wanted care for their babies.

Some women ashamedly whispered requests for cream for 'infection vaginal' .... their hollow eyes sending shivers down your spine, with the knowledge that rape was an all-too familiar reality for them.

Life in a tent city is not a safe place for a women. For a child. For anyone really. 

After doing all we could for one 16 year old girl we advised her to go the one small hospital on the island.

The next morning we were informed that she died that night.

We sat, words unspoken, hearts hurting and wishing we could have done more. 

We held babies, starved for attention, unwilling to unwrap their little arms from around your neck.

On our two hour boat ride back to Port-au-Prince we sat in silence, we might not speak each other's language but we had all witnessed the beauty and ashes together. Words fail me. 

The memory of rocking a little girl, covered from head to toe in open infected wounds to sleep, hearing her shallow breaths as she rested on my chest, her fingers clinging tightly to my shirt, and once again bring the tears to spill down my face.

That probably the first time she had been rocked to sleep.

Later an older sibling, or some random older kid ripped her from my arms and they disappeared off into the dark.

I'll never see her again.

And all I can do. Is hope that her reality will change.

And pray her story will change.

And be humbled that I was a tiny, tiny part of it. Just for a minute.

I cannot fix everything. Maybe I can barely make a dent in the hell's that do exist in this world.

 But I will hope to continue to love others as I have been loved. And sometimes that's enough, just for that tiny part. Just for that minute.

Thanks for reading