I first met Evenson and his family in March when a team from One Small House stayed here at the guesthouse. Their primary purpose for the trip was to help build a house for Evenson's family. I made a couple visits to the building site and spent some time getting to know the family. Evenson and his wife Marisolin had five children at the time with a sixth child on the way!

Like many families in Haiti, especially those with several children, it has been a constant struggle for them to make ends meet. Three of the children grew up in an orphanage because the family simply didn't have the means to care for them. Their parents also lived there at times in order to have a roof over their own heads. Sadly, as is the case with many childcare institutions in Haiti, abuse was the norm and both the children and parents were verbally demeaned and oppressed. The children's medical and nutritional needs were not met and by the time another organization learned of them, they were in rough shape. That organization, Little Footprints, Big Steps, was able to help the parents rescue their children and escape those terrible living conditions.

Fast forward to March and the family decided to move to Leogane, a couple hours away from where they previously were living, and start fresh. With the help of guys and gals from One Small House, and Evenson's own hard work, they now have a solid home to call their own! Meanwhile, Little Footprints, Big Steps is still sponsoring some of the children in their program. 

I was overwhelmed by the kindness of Marisolin and her family. They were always so quick to greet me with huge smiles and open arms. After my first visit, Marisolin sent me home with a big bag of fresh cherries they had picked from their tree. I don't always feel comfortable taking anything from families who need every vitamin and calorie they can get, but I could tell from the twinkle in her eye that she wanted so much for me to receive and enjoy this gift. What a sacrificial gift! And yet, she didn't even see it that way. She was simply blessed and honored to have something to share with her guest. Oh, we Americans have so much to learn about hospitality and generosity from these sweet Haitian families!

I've heard from Evenson and Marisolin many times since March. Each time I hear of yet another difficulty they are facing. "There's no food." "We all have 'the fever'." (Chikungunya hit them hard like everyone else.) "I need a medical exam for my stomach problems." "My wife doesn't have money to deliver her baby at the hospital." Each time I would listen and commit to praying for them, which I did every time I hung up the phone. "Lord, please take care of this family. Provide for them. Bless them. Keep them safe in your mighty hand." And with a deep breath out, I would think to myself, "What can I do to help them? I'm stretched thin as it is. I don't have sustainable programs up and running to provide transformational development opportunities for this family. God, You have to help them. Because I simply cannot." And I would reflect on the challenge of dependency and how I've seen it play out in Haiti. And I know in my heart that I can't simply give them things or money every time they ask. How would that help them?

These thoughts and questions continued to flood my mind when I received the call on May 17th that Marisolin was going into labor. I was a few hours away visiting friends so I apologized that I couldn't be there and apologized again that I couldn't help with a hospital bill. Marisolin had her sixth child, Florestal Prophête, on her front porch, continuing the record of all six of her children being born at home. The testimony of Haitian women never ceases to amaze me! While I obviously celebrate with them in the healthy birth of a precious new life, my heart is also heavy as I think of the added struggle it will be to now keep eight bellies filled. Back in March I had gone with their second youngest child, Bella, to the nutrition clinic and had my fears confirmed that she met criteria to be entered into the program. She'd need to go for her appointments every two weeks for follow-up and to receive the therapeutic food. One hardship was pregnant Marisolin getting her to the clinic each time, but the bigger problem was that Bella is possibly allergic to the peanut butter product. Sadly she couldn't continue the program and is still malnourished.

Many more phone calls later I decided to visit the family again last month. This time two of my Haitian co-workers went with me. I wanted other Haitians involved for a couple reasons. One, I wanted Haitians to be able to encourage Haitians. And two, by this time I've suspected that, although the majority of Haitians are living in impoverished situations, Evenson's family seems to be at one of the lowest levels of that material poverty. I felt this situation needed more intervention, but I wanted confirmation from people who knew better than I. I have learned so much over the years from my Haitian friends. I wanted these two to meet the family and give me their evaluation. After leaving their home, we all agreed that the family is in an emergency situation nutritionally. They simply do not have enough food and they currently do not have enough resources to purchase it. We discussed ideas for helping them in the future, but the consensus was, it's necessary right now to help put food in the bellies of this family. I contacted my friends at One Small House and they agreed to help out. I sent one of my Haitian friends to the market to buy the food and the other delivered it. We plan to do this every month for the next several months to give them a nutritional boost until we can figure out a more sustainable solution for them. I like having them be the main contact with the family because I want to keep myself out of the visible equation as much as possible. But today I decided to visit them myself...

The last time we picked up mealpacks for the children's home, we were given tons extra. What a blessing! Knowing there are families like Evenson's who could greatly benefit from them, I kept some here at the house. Today I went to drop off a couple of the boxes. I also had some books, toys, and a soccer ball that a group had left behind. One of the Duke students joined me and we headed over to their house. As usual, they were happy to see me. (So was the goat that was crying hysterically because his rope was tangled all around his legs. I helped him, then greeted the family!) We visited for a while and Marisolin told me about her desire to start a business. Apparently in the past she has sold toiletry items at the market. She'd like to do that to make some money for her family. "We can't stay in this situation forever. Always needing the help of someone else. I want to do something to be able to help support my family." Her husband has not been feeling well and is unable to work much right now—not that there are many options in a country with an 80% unemployment rate. I've brainstormed with friends about trying to find him some work. But maybe the idea for now is to help Marisolin be the breadwinner. She said Evenson can stay home with the kids, and knowing she needs to be present for them too added, "I'll get up really early in the morning, and I'll get home by midday." She seemed motivated and excited about the idea, though her excitement was met with discouragement and she told me that she's asked around for someone to loan her the start-up costs and has only hit dead ends. I told her I'll be praying about the opportunity for her. And I made a mental note to see about helping her make this dream a reality.

I thought about titling this blog "It Takes a Village". You know that proverb, "It takes a village to raise a child"? Most the time a great number of people pour into the life of a child and his life is uniquely shaped and molded by each of them. Not only that, but it's not just the efforts of a parent or two to raise that child. Often times, even in the first world, without the help of others, the child would struggle to thrive. I reflect on that concerning Evenson's family. Already, a large amount of outside help has come to their side, walking with them and holding them up. And in order for them to continue this journey of life—and thrive—they'll continue to need assistance for some time. On the website for Little Footprints, Big Steps, some of Evenson's children are listed as sponsored children through their program. At the end of one of the bios it says, "...however, her parents are very impoverished and need our help." Yes, the little girl has been sponsored, and what a blessing to have some of her significant needs met. But the story isn't over for the rest of the family or for the family as a whole. They continue to need help to stand on their own and find sustainable options for their present and future days. That is the goal, but there are still many steps needed before it is realized. I'm thankful for some of you who have already offered to help in some way. And I ask any of you who will, to pray for this family and pray for me and others who are trying to decide how best to help. No child should have to go hungry and no parent should have to worry and wonder where the next meal is coming from. As we hope and strive for a better future for Haiti, let us continue to put our heads together—with our Haitian brothers and sisters—to develop sustainable solutions for families like this one. There are no easy answers. It will take hard work, commitment, and a village-sized (or greater!) effort to walk beside these families and empower them to stand and thrive on their own. Is it worth it? Absolutely! Seeing their huge smiles as hope is being restored... it's a reminder of why I'm here and that yes, it's all worth it.



Marisolin with Florestal a few weeks after he was born

The older kids singing a cute welcome song




Jameson wanted a photo with all their new goodies


Marisolin loved the "What About Faith" book. It's a children's book in English and Creole that clearly presents the gospel. Hopefully they'll share it with others in their village.
Jameson loved looking at the photos in all the books, creating his own narration.

Food for their bellies! So thankful to be able to share these mealpacks with them!
[This is a post I wrote for FHM's blog.] I could spend all day bragging on our staff here at the guesthouse! Each one of them plays an important role keeping our guests comfortable, safe, relaxed, and feeling at home! Jocelyne is no exception.

Jocelyne will be sure to greet you with a smile and many words spoken in her fast Creole. :) She is in charge of keeping the house in top shape for our guests. She started working for FHM the day the guesthouse opened and has been a solid part of our team ever since.

Born into a family of seven, her mother died when she was nine years old. Each of her five remaining siblings (one died when she was too young to remember) went to live with various members of her mother's family. Jocelyne was raised by her mother's sister. Her aunt taught her how to cook and clean. "If I didn't wash a piece of clothing well enough," she remembers, "my aunt would rub it into the dirt and hand it to me to wash again."

When the guesthouse was about to open in 2012, FHM employee Missy was looking for trustworthy staff. Jocelyne's sister works for the hospital in Leogane and recommended her to Missy. Jocelyne was excited for a new job opportunity. Before coming to work for FHM, Jocelyne was a street vendor. She sold all sorts of fruits and vegetables... bananas, avocados, sweet potatoes, plantains, oranges, passion fruit. Each day she would get up early, hoist the heavy basket of food onto her head, and set off for the market. The work was difficult. The days were long. The journey to the market was not easy. She talked about the slippery roads after a rain, or having to depend on public transportation and the risk of accidents. She has enjoyed working at the guesthouse because it's "pi poze"—more relaxed. At her age, she appreciates the blessing of having a job that doesn't require such long, hot days, with a daily (and tiring) journey to the market. She shows up faithfully each day for work... except for Sundays, she will always remind you that she doesn't work on Sundays. "That's the day for worshiping God!"

Jocelyne has seven children of her own, four daughters and three sons. Her oldest child is 27 and her youngest is 16. She was able to send all of them to school and talks about them with pride. Her oldest is living in the Dominican Republic and she will be getting married in December.

I'm so thankful to have such an attentive and caring housekeeper here at the guesthouse. It certainly makes my job easier! Like all of our staff, Jocelyne takes her work seriously and does everything she can to keep our guests comfortable and satisfied. "When visitors come, I want them to find our guesthouse refreshing—everything clean," she says. "I want guests to come, enjoy their stay, and come back again!" And we trust with fine staff like Jocelyne, that's exactly what you'll do!


Jocelyne is available to wash clothes
for the guests for a small fee.
She enjoys helping Yvette with the
cooking when she has extra time.
Jocelyne loves having visitors, like
this precious little girl and her mama
who is a friend of mine.
On March 9th, my heart sank. I received a call from the pastor in charge of the children's home I help with. The father of one of the toddler boys had come to take him back.

I first met this little boy in May 2012. He had been living at the children's home for less than two months. He had just turned one year old in April of that year. He was sick and malnourished. Every time I would go to the children's home he would just be sitting there, very little energy, very little interaction with anyone. That summer we would all take turns feeding him, holding him, loving on him. By the next year he had chubby cheeks and was developing his own unique personality.

At the end of last year I remember reflecting on how much he had changed and grown. I remember the first time he said my name in the fall of last year. My heart leapt and I couldn't wait until he'd say it again! After that, anytime I showed up at the children's home, he would join in the "Ana" chant the kids would do to announce my arrival and welcome me to their home. In the months that followed, he was really thriving. He was talking up a storm, and constantly laughing and being mischievous. He certainly was not shy as he'd be the first to start dancing to the music. 

Everyone who visited the children's home loved him, including my own family and friends who've come to visit. You'd often find him napping on someone's lap. The majority of Sunday mornings at church last year were spent with him sitting, and then napping, in mine.

All of this was rushing through my head that Sunday afternoon in March when I got the call that his father was at the children's home, ready to take him back. All of that and many more questions. 

Does the son even know his father? Why does the father all of a sudden want him back? Can his father really care for him and give him a good, healthy home?

I also realized that there wasn't much we could do to prevent the father from taking his son. He still had all the rights to do so. It's a long story how many children's home operate in Haiti, but the short story is that most children's homes are not technically registered with the government as that can be a difficult and expensive process, especially with many that are still recovering after the earthquake. This is a goal we have for the children's home, but it may still be several months before it's fully realized. All that to say, there was little we could do to keep the little boy with us, even though it broke our hearts to see him go. 

When I arrived at the children's home, the father was sitting there with the pastor. I tried to ask some questions, but I quickly realized that my biggest objective for that moment was going to be not completely losing it in front of everyone. I could hardly get words out as my voice was trembling and tears were on the verge of pouring out. I called the little boy over to me, but he walked like a zombie. Wide-eyed, not really looking at anyone, not saying a word, not changing his expression in the least. I pulled him on my lap. I tried to get him to interact with me--nothing. After about 30 minutes, he did what he's done countless times before and fell asleep in the comfort of my lap. 

About that time, the "Mama" of the children's home arrived. She typically attends her own church on Sunday. The pastor called her to come when the father arrived. She was obviously upset and started talking to the father... talking which quickly turned into a rapid fire of questions and accusations. At this, I turned my head away from everyone and let the tears come. I realized that even though everyone had been sitting there pretty civilized, this was something that was going to greatly affect everyone and I wasn't alone in my overflowing river of emotions. 

The father said his mother, the child's grandmother, had sent him to get the boy and bring him back to their home so they could raise him. The boy's mother had been and still was completely out of the picture. But it seemed like the grandmother wanted the family to be together and could help take care of him even though the father admitted to only having sporadic work. The father supposedly had visited the children's home three times in the almost two years the little boy had lived there. But the boy didn't respond to him any more than he responded to me or the pastor. 

"Mama" eventually woke the boy up and got him bathed, clothed, fed, and ready to go. She was crying the whole time. I stepped around the corner to find some tissue and found the oldest girl, now 18, crying into a towel. I shared a spot on that towel and we cried together. I went back out and sat with "Mama" as she finished everything up. Shortly after, the boy and his father were on their way. I passed them as I rode by on a motorcycle. They were walking back to the main road so they could get a taptap to their town, about 40 minutes away. The little boy just stared at me as I waved and said, "Bye bye!"

Weeks went by and I was resolved to visit the family so I could see for myself how he was doing. I needed to see with my own two eyes whether or not he was thriving there. And I figured that I would be able to tell. I knew this little boy. And I knew how much he had been progressing, and I was hoping that I would see that spark of life in his eyes again, hear his laughter, and know that he was going to be ok.

About a month after he left, we finally made the trip up to see him. The town is easy enough to get to, but we didn't realize he lived up on the mountain, up some crazy steep and terrible roads. We eventually made it and arrived at basically what I'd call a tent community. The houses are makeshift homes made out of tents and tarps. And there among them was the little boy. They had said on the phone he had been sick, but he looked pretty much like he had the last time we'd seen him. He didn't appear to have lost any weight. He didn't seem phased that we were there. I suppose I had been hoping to hear my name or a glimpse of recognition. Nothing. We all went inside a tent to sit and talk. I put him on my lap. I had brought a 20oz bottle of gatorade for him. He tilted it back and didn't stop until the entire thing was empty. 
His home on the mountain

Inside the tent was like a sauna. We were all dripping with sweat. I didn't care. I was just glad to finally be here, seeing the little boy, and trying to piece together how things are going for him. He would be turning three next week. And I realize that you can't completely judge a situation by the mood of a three year old child. But I did know him. And I was hoping that I'd have a clearer sign of how he was feeling and how he'd been treated. He was mostly unresponsive and didn't even smile until Melanie started tickling him for a photo.

As we sat there we began to learn several things. Perhaps the most startling was that the dad's story on the day that he took the boy from the children's home was not true. He had told us the grandmother wanted the child to come live with them. But the grandmother begins telling us that the moment he returned with the child, she was upset and told him to take him back immediately. She never asked for him. (She says this to us while holding a lethargic toddler, implying that she did not need one more mouth to feed!) My heart sank. I wanted the child to thrive. I had been aching to see him. But I had been praying that we would find him thriving. That we would be convinced in our minds and hearts that he would be ok. And that particular prayer did not seem to be answered. We asked hard questions of all the family members and friends present. They asked if we would take him back. Some begged us to. The father stayed quiet at this point. I went around the room and asked for everyone's opinion. Everyone said to take the child back. I asked the father last to which he replied, "Whatever you want to do, I'm fine with it." I told him that response was unacceptable and that I wanted his actual opinion. Others in the room pressured him to provide his thoughts. He eventually said that he did think it would be good for us to take back the child. 

We told him that we could not make a decision now. And furthermore, I let them all know that I, personally, would not be making the decision at all. It would be up to the pastor. We told them that we would be in touch and we said our goodbyes. On the way out, we patted the heads and fist bumped the other kids around. They were curiously following our every move and had the biggest smiles on their faces! I left, watching them, and thinking... these kids seem happy. Who's to say what living situation is good, bad, joyful, depressing—the list could go on and on. My heart was once again broken, and even more confused than ever. We waved our goodbyes and headed back to Leogane.
Some of the kids in the village

The ride home was filled with discussion. I wanted to hear the pastor's thoughts and opinions. As we were finally turning back on the road to the children's home, the end of our conversation got to the question, "What is best for the child?" And we both tried to answer it. 

Who can answer a question like that? So many unknowns. So many factors. So many complicated details. What's best for him educationally? What's best for him psychologically? What's best for him medically? What's best for him socially? What's best... ??? I don't feel comfortable holding the power to choose the fate of a child in that way. That's a HUGE thing. No, I do not think that orphanages are the best option for children, especially children who have living parents. But I also don't think children should suffer within families who can barely afford to feed them. Though is even "suffering" a relative term?
After more discussion on all sides over the next few weeks, the decision was made to bring the child back to the children's home. My friend Melanie saw him a day before I did. "It was as if he never left," she said, "He was running and laughing and playing with all the kids!" And indeed, when I saw him the next day, I found him full of life and all smiles! He seemed to be talking even more. I soaked in every word. Every little movement. Aside from having to treat him for his big belly filled with worms, he was his happy, chubby-cheeked self.

 Living in Haiti, I really struggle to have all the answers. I realize that I don't have to have them all, but the questions come nonetheless and decisions—big ones—have to be made. And unfortunately, these issues are often not clearly black or white. There are so many factors and considerations. And a decision made today can change the life of a child forever. The weight of that is terrifying! So much prayer and discernment is needed. And I'm thankful for both Haitian and expat friends who I can discuss these issues with and continue to learn how to help these children and families. As I always say, it's complicated. And I just pray that God will fill in the gaps when we don't know the best thing to do. I take comfort in the fact that God loves these children even more than I do. And He is working out His plan for their lives. In the meantime, I'll continue to do all I can to provide them with love and security and help make these difficult decisions with God's help for as long as He has me serving here.

 Thank you for praying for this child and for all the kids at Hope For Life Children's Home. And for all the children and families here in Haiti who need to know that someone loves them and is committed to fighting for them.
One of my all-time favorite meals is Haitian spaghetti. If prepared right, it is the most flavorful dish! Perhaps the most interesting thing about eating spaghetti in Haiti is that it's often served for breakfast. Sometimes it's not much more than plain noodles with oil, onions, and seasoning. I love it with the "red sauce", peppers, onions, and ham! There will always be ketchup within reach, as it's a staple for this dish and many others. Here's one of the best recipes I've found for Haitian spaghetti. And if you're down for a visit, I'll point you towards an oceanside restaurant that cooks it up perfectly!



Our cook Yvette and I have been dreaming up an idea for a cookbook. She's the fifth cook I've had throughout my time in Haiti and while all the ladies were fabulous, Yvette takes the win! She has such a wide range of culinary skills. Of course she can master any Haitian dish, but she also knows how to make pizza from scratch, her chicken lasagna is to die for, and she'll even surprise us with gooey Rice Krispies treats! She'd love to write a cookbook that she could share with our guests. The challenge will be for me to somehow get the recipes down since Yvette spends all day in the kitchen, floating from one pot to the next, no measuring utensils in sight. But we will find a way to make it happen! And of course you all will be the first to know when it's in print! :)

Creole vocabulary of the day:
The noun "food" and the verb "to eat" are both "manje" in Creole. [mahn - Ê’ay]

The "an" sound is pronounced like the "on" sound in "con". The "j" is pronounced like the "si" sound in "vision". In Creole, an "e" is pronounced like a hard "a". 
I received one of the sweetest gifts today. My friend Mesye Ford said my name for the first time. Mr. Ford is a man who stands in front of the Sri Lankan UN base as you're coming into Leogane. There are speed bumps there (called "polis kouche" in Creole which literally means "lying down police"), so the traffic is forced to slow down. Men are ready and at your window with ice waters and Haitian treats to sell. There's a wheelbarrow of coconuts under a tree and sometimes an older gentleman selling handmade hammocks urging you to try out his creation.

 There Mr. Ford stands, palm out as people drive by. Quite content for someone to put something in it. I don't know for how long Mr. Ford has stood in that spot. I don't remember a time when he wasn't there. So I suppose I've passed by him for over two years. He only has one leg and leans over on his crutches, waiting patiently for the next vehicle. Sometimes I see him writing numbers down on his hand or a piece of paper as a vehicle drives by. I've often see him chase after trucks and tap the side of it with his hand. It's almost as if it's a game for him to touch as many cars as he can in one day. But mostly, he just stands there. Sometimes people give him some change. Occasionally I see him with a cold drink or taking a pause to rest along the wall of the UN. 

 After moving down to Haiti full-time in January 2013, I made a lot of trips past Mr. Ford. His post is midway between the town of Leogane, where I live, and the children's home. Obviously I make many trips back and forth... last year, mostly on a motorcycle taxi, and this year driving by with the truck. I would always greet him, even if it was just a quick hello as we're whizzing by. He'd usually reply with, "Bonjou, cheri!" (Good morning, dear!) Realizing we'd be pretty regular greeting buddies, one day I quickly asked for his name. Mesye Ford. I don't know if that's how you spell it, but that's how it sounds. At least now I could shout out a "Hello, Mr. Ford!"

 Since having access to the truck these past several months, I'm able to drive by a bit slower. I always pause for a few moments (much to the frustration of drivers behind me). Each time I reach out and grab his hand and exchange a nice greeting with him. Sometimes he's quite talkative. Other times, when there's a lot of traffic, we make it super brief. I'll tell him how happy I am to see him. I'll notice when he's had a haircut and a shave and remark that he's looking handsome. I'll ask him how he's not burning up in the sweater he sometimes wears. I think he must have had the chikungunya virus a few weeks ago, because when I did see him, he looked rough, and I noticed he wasn't out as often. But the majority of the time, he is ready with the most heart-warming smile. And today, he said my name. 

 It was the first time he ever said it. I've told him my name before. And although I'm terrible with names myself, I know there is significance in remembering someone's name. It makes me feel special when someone I've only had a limited amount of interaction with remembers my name. With Mesye Ford, I know he recognizes me when I drive by. There are weeks when I drive by one or two times a day. But I didn't just want to be "the white girl" who drives by and says hello. I want to have a real friendship with him that goes beyond pleasantries. And knowing my name is the beginning of that deeper relationship. As I drove past today, he had a huge smile on his face. "It's been a long time since I've seen you!" he says. I agree. I hadn't seen him since the weekend. That's a long time for us! And then he said, "Ok, Hannah, have a nice day!" My heart leapt. I told him, "You remember my name! That makes my heart happy!" He just continued to smile and we said our "see ya laters". I'm sure I smiled the whole way home!

 Please pray for my friend, Mesye Ford. I don't know many specifics yet about his life. I've heard there are multiple stories out there about how he lost his leg. Some of those stories don't make for the best reputation. But I know him as a friendly man who is always ready with a smile for this crazy American cruising around Haiti. He is a man who deserves love and friendship. And I hope to continue to get to know him more, to go beyond our simple greetings, and demonstrate to him the love of Christ by my actions and my words.
I asked to take his photo after I gave him a "new to him" pair of crutches thanks to my friend Kathleen. They are a maximum of 5'2" but the same height as his last pair—he's used to leaning over them.
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About Me

About Me
In 2005 God asked me to surrender my life to His plans and purpose. Everything changed. From Mexico to New Orleans to Namibia to Haiti it's been one incredible adventure with the Lord after another. This blog is a piece of that journey.

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Hope For Life Children's Home

Hope For Life Children's Home
Wanna meet some special kids? Visit www.hopeforlifehaiti.com and see what they're up to and how you can help! Click on the photo above and "Like" them on Facebook!