Jesus in the Third World

A story about Haiti: hope and life among the ruins of
a demolished economy.

Why was I born in the United States? Why did God choose to give me a comfortable, middle-class upbringing in California?  I might have been born to destitute parents in Cité Soleil, Haiti, the worst slum in the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

In the past several years, as a writer for a Christian relief organization, I have spent a lot of time in places where death is commonplace, hunger and starvation are a way of life, and homelessness is just a normal way of life for many.

In Haiti, I have seen destitution on a scale I could never have imagined.  We live in a country rich in resources. A country that allows hard working people to rise above their circmstances and realize a piece of the American dream, nice home, new car, good job and the opportunity for our children to attend college.  In Haiti, those things are simply out of reach.

Haiti is the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, 80% illiterate, 60% unemployed, a national median income of $216 per year.  Education is only for the few whose parents can afford the books and uniforms required to attend school.  This country has only one doctor for every ten thousand residents! 

My first visit was one of horror, joy, and sadness mixed with a feeling of helplessness, especially as I began to walk through one of the worst slums in the country. Even on a bright, sunny afternoon there was very little light.  We were surrounded by row upon row of crumbling concrete walls, our path was like a rabbit warren, snaking its way along ground that was indescribably filthy, and puddles of water, green and bubbling and filled with human waste and garbage. 

The sun wasn’t able to penetrate well because of the narrow paths.  Ironically, this is Cité Soleil - City of the Sun, 27 square miles and somewhere in the neighborhood of one million residents living in absolute squalor.  Here there are only a few stand-pipes for residents to get water, electricity is non-existent in most homes, and sanitation facilities simply don’t exist.  As I walked on with my guide and our photographer, I began to notice signs in English painted on walls, Jesus is Lord. Pray for Peace, and God is my Shepherd.  I began to see that although the body may be living in poverty, the spirit of the Christian population of this community has great faith in the Lord.

 We visited a small clinic, in order to photograph the volunteer doctor at work.  As we entered the courtyard, I saw thirty or forty mothers lined up holding babies and small children as they waited to see the doctor.   One mother, Guerda, was holding her son, Jerry. He was 18 months and weighed eleven pounds!  I watched as the doctor gently examined him and tried to give him a bottle of formula, which he promptly but weakly, pushed away.  He’ll die, probably today, the doctor told us, he has malnutrition, and is terribly dehydrated. His mother is not able to get food for him, and I don’t have the facilities for oral rehydration.   This poor baby’s stick-thin arms and huge, sad eyes just broke my heart. 

But Jerry was only one of many children in similar condition waiting in this courtyard.  In a corner, one of the nurses was dishing out a soup mixture of powdered milk, sliced vegetables and water, which made a milky broth that was being given in small cups to the children waiting.  They hungrily drank it down and asked for more, but there was only enough for one cup each. 

As we left the clinic and headed for the maternity hospital in Port-au-Prince, I was almost in tears at what I’d seen.  How can this be happening?  I prayed that our next stop would be a little brighter.  After all, we were visiting a maternity hospital new life, babies, that should be better.  Gina, our photographer who had been here many times, warned me to prepare myself for what we were about to see. This won’t be pleasant, she told me.  I couldn’t imagine why.

Upon entering the maternity ward at Isaiah Geanty Maternity Hospital, I thought at least in times of medical need a poor mother could find a clean, safe environment. I was wrong. For a moment I was optimistic as I watched a physician attend a young woman, she was breathing erratically and was unconscious.  He simply shook his head and turned to another woman two beds away.

Next we entered a room filled with women and their new babies. Sharing the awe of new life it took me a moment to notice the activity three beds away.  I watched as the nurses moved away and left a young woman lying there, feet tied together, hands tied across her stomach, and a string tied around her head to hold her Jaw shut.  She had died just a few minutes ago and they were preparing her to be taken away by her family.  In a place where new life is celebrated, it was death that was stealing the joy.  In a hallway, just outside, several women were writing in pain on the hard concrete floor, while their poor husbands stood by helplessly watching.  This is a far cry from the hospital where my children were born.

After the short but devastating visit to the hospital, we visited with a number of elderly people in a brand new village of 200 homes built by Food For The Poor in conjunction with a Christian organization in the United States.  Brightly painted houses, row upon row of them made a sharp contrast to the slums of Cité Soleil.  Small, twelve feet by twelve feet, two windows and a door, one light bulb hanging from the ceiling, and one wall outlet.  A small cot, a dresser, table and chair, is all that most of them had, but to their occupants this is a palace.

I met Denise Ravel, who had lived in the slum almost all of her life, and even though she had worked 25 years, she had nothing until she was brought here to live.  When I asked her if there was anything she needed or wanted, she told me I have everything I need, I have Jesus in my heart.  This is the spirit of the Haitian Christian, a people materially poor, but so spiritually rich, while so many of us are just the opposite.

These are just a few examples of what I’ve experienced in Haiti, Jamaica, and Latin America in the past few years, and this is only a part of the picture.  Looking past the distressing conditions, I was completely amazed when I spoke to these wonderful people.  Yes, I saw pain, I saw fatigue and hunger, but I also saw a spirit.  A spirit of faith in God that is incredible in the face of this poverty that surrounded them. I was even more amazed when they shared their faith with me! I came to meet and perhaps minister in some way to them, and they had ministered to me instead.

I fell in love with the Haitian people. I was ministered to by those I had thought I would minister to, and I saw a hope and faith in the Lord, so strong that I was ashamed of my own lack of faith.  Being in Haiti brought home how blessed we are, and how much of a blessing these precious poor are.  We need them as much as they need us, to remind us that we are our brother’s keeper.  Matthew 25:40 is more real to me today than ever before: The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these my brothers, you did for me.