Flying back home, the cacophony of sensations from a month in the poorest country in the western hemisphere began to bubble up as I anticipated the luxury of home -- hot water flows every time I turn on the faucet, lights turn on when I flip the switch, the air I breathe and the environment are protected and monitored, roads are smooth, traffic obeys stop lights and usually wait for pedestrians, roads are smooth, the timer on my coffee maker has strong, hot coffee ready for me as I wake in the mornings, my first language is spoken everywhere I go, I can drink water from the faucet and I only have to open my computer almost anywhere and can connect on the internet. If I want to drive to Moab, I know the road will be smooth and I will find good friends, the high desert slick rock and peace.
The juxtaposition of children taking bucket baths (with water they've carried quite a ways) right on the streets, a mom sitting on the sidewalk, nursing her cachectic baby, a man pulling broken metal from the rubble - bare-handed, bare-footed, a toothless woman tugging at my arm begging for some small help to get food, a child sleeping alone on a sidewalk, men, women and children somehow making do in a world that betrayed them.
I’ll write more, but for now, I am very happy to be safely home (not sweating). AND I am very much aware of the people who I left behind in Haiti. My landing brought a surprise of tears - relief to be home and finally allowing myself to begin feeling some of what I’ve been seeing and hearing for the past month.
