Haitian Girl

My original intent was to write an insightful anecdote about what this young Haitian girl, whom I met in Haiti last April, was thinking.  The prospective of comparing what she may be thinking compared to, let's say, a girl her same age in America, was too hard to resist.

The possibilities seemed endless.  Yet as I began to write my poignant observations, all I was left with was a mound of crumbled blue lined notebook paper balls at my feet.  I'm sorry.  I must confess  that  I was actually writing on a laptop.  There were no paper balls at my feet.  I just couldn't pass up a chance of depicting such a romantic scenario -- only omitting the flickering candle by which I wrote, or didn't write. 

I digress. 

I felt frustrated as to why, when my list of comparisons and feelings about this girl was long, I seemed unable to capture them in writing.  Haiti is the only third world country I have ever visited.  Ok, I did go to St. Thomas, for my honeymoon, twenty-six years ago.  But then we were part of the problem, tourists, being served by those so grateful to have a job, native islanders.  A quick side story, we were on a local bus, when abruptly the bus stopped and the driver informed us we had to get off the bus.  We couldn’t go any further into the island.  “Too dangerous,” he said.  Maybe the Islanders weren’t as grateful as one would have assumed.

But again, I digress.  It may not be the last time.

Being in Haiti, it doesn't leave much to one's imagination.  It was easy to recognize outward differences between a  girl living in Haiti vs. her counterpart living in, let’s imagine, Richmond, Virginia.  With this knowledge, I felt qualified to scribe these comparisons, even admittedly, at times, with a sense of smugness over those who may also attempt to make these comparisons, without even having been to Haiti.

A comparison of material goods was a gimme.  My Haiti friend had no iPad, wardrobe, shoe decisions, ineffective anti-bacteria liquid soap and the likes. Unintentionally, my bias immediately led me to the initial inevitable assumption of what she is missing.  Influencing me to ask what can I do to minister her non-material goods dilemma?   Even as I thought this, though, a distasteful feeling washed away any noble intentions.  After making this realization, I was left feeling exposed, embarrassed and inadequate.

I looked back at her picture.  She holds a wry smile.  Her eyes confidently, intently stared into the camera. I sensed no detection of unrest, loneliness, unhappiness.  It's then I realized I had been trying to think what I perceived she was thinking.  When truth is known, candidly, I had no idea what she was thinking.  How could I? I had never asked her.  I can't even speak her language.  I had never walked in her sandals. Her great white hope had failed her, himself.

Leaving me to wonder, when she lies down at night, what does she imagine, dream of beyond the endless Haiti night sounds of barking dogs and crowing roosters?  Can one miss or desire what one doesn't have or know about? 

Her stars shine brilliantly brighter in Haiti. 

I close my eyes tonight to sleep, in starless light. I wonder what her thoughts may be, as she goes to sleep, hundreds of miles in between.  I long for her innocence and ignorance of what I know and own.  

Asleep,
she silently soars angelically
around our shared silver, universal moon and
her smile prevails.