The Country Continues to Unravel

Adequate words fall short at a time like this. If you know me, you know I have a deep passion for empowering the marginalized, particularly those in Haiti.

For the past four or five years, it has seemed that things cannot get worse, but then they do.

Last year at this time, I was in the majestic mountains hovering above Port au Prince. Truly, it was the most incredible scenery that was literally breathtaking. We were home—a home that felt safe, a home that provided healing, and a home that fostered and allowed for joy.

Also, at that time, I was riding a Moto in the streets, even driving myself. If you’re unfamiliar with Haiti, that probably doesn’t mean much to you, but if you are, you’ll understand.

My last night at our home was cold. I had to bundle up in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and two heavy blankets. Even then, I woke up cold. Our home in the mountains was the coldest area in all of Haiti. It was so refreshing. We didn’t have hot water, so I would book myself a night in a hotel in the middle of my stay to get a proper shower. The brisk air and cold water were too much to bear otherwise. Although cold, the fresh, chilling air felt like a gift in a country typically smoldering in heat.

That last night, I woke up to voodoo drums. That’s not highly uncommon, especially the more rural you are, but this was different. The drums were so loud that I felt the house shake and my heart beat out of my chest. It was unusual that drums and demonic chanting were so close to our house. The beating of the drums and chanting were relentless. It lasted until 3 in the morning. In hindsight, I feel like that was a sign from God that things were changing. At the time, I didn’t realize that a few short months later, gangs would be invading our newest peaceful, safe haven, committing horrendous acts of violence against innocent families. Entire families were massacred a short couple of miles away.

Moving 17 children plus staff plus family to a safe area was the third move for us. We had already moved away from gang violence twice, so we knew we needed to get further this time, and that meant moving across the country. There is nothing simple about that. The financial aspect, the logistical components, packing and sneaking out in the middle of the night, praying as we traveled through high gang territory, moving to a new city, and leaving behind our home and many friends and family was painful. It still is.

Right now, our kids are safe as we are in a safer part of Haiti, but every day is unpredictable.

The country continues to unravel, and the gangs continue to gain more and more control. I have never been naïve about the risks or potential dangers in Haiti. Things began to deteriorate after my first year of traveling there. I don’t share it often because I don’t want it to be or sound like a really cool story, but I’ve been robbed at gunpoint, more than once. I have witnessed a good friend lose one of his best friends in the street as he bled out. I’ve seen others lay dead in the street. We have lost a member of our organization due to gangs raiding their home and shooting him in front of his wife and children. These aren’t people in a faraway world we read about in the news. These were people that we loved, cared for, and shared meals in their homes.

Haiti has always been “hard.” But what happens now, 1.5 hours off our coast, is different. Many Haitians feel hopeless. I have never felt hopeless, though. Several years ago, a friend told me that if we lose hope, then what do we have? That has stuck with me.

But, if I’m honest, my hope feels weak.

Please pray for Haiti. Pray for the innocent women and children being raped and brutalized. Pray for the men who are being tortured and beheaded. Pray for my friends who have become family as they fight on the front lines and are being hunted by terrorists.

Pray that the voices of the suffering are heard and not left void.

Pray for hope.

Ayiti Cheri, mwen renmen ou toujou.

-Jocelyn White, Global Programs Director