The Third Wave

by Alison Thompson

  Even if we weren’t attending the church services, we could hear them all the way up in our camp, thanks to the powerful speaker system. Pastor Cyncre would say each night, “Thank you to the Army angels in uniform. Thank you, Sean Penn. Thank you, Alison and Oscar and Captain Barry.” Then he’d thank the other NGOs working in our IDP (internally displaced persons) camp: OxFam, Save the Children, and Catholic Relief Services, among others.

  Over time, Pastor Cyncre helped tremendously in our efforts. He was the backbone of the village. He registered people as official residents of the camp so that we could ensure an equitable distribution of aid to everyone there. He also organized teams of people to serve as a citizens’ patrol, keeping the villagers safe from violent looters and rapists at night. Thanks in large part to Pastor Cyncre, our camp was relatively peaceful, with lower crime rates than other IDP villages around Port-au-Prince.

  Late one night while lying in my tent, I wrote this letter to my friends:

  When I find myself crouched in a narrow passageway of Cité Soleil, the most horrible slum in Haiti, I feel at peace. There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than here. An inch of raw sewage covers the ground, and naked children play in it like it is fresh grass. Pigs sunbathe around us as these young ones, infected with worms and scabies, cuddle me in excitement. I feel like a rock star, though I have nothing to give them but love.

  Later, in the clinic, a shy girl with a runny nose and scabies eating away at her head asks me for water. I pour a tiny medical cup full of it, and she sits back with a smile, slowly letting it slide back into her mouth like pudding. I realize that it is probably the first time she has ever tasted pure water. I am humbled in my heart as I pour her another cup, and then another. I give her mother a few sanitary pads, a bar of soap, and a can of milk, and she cries at her wonderful presents.

  This is why I stay here. This is humanity, and I’m sitting in the depths of it. In Haiti, you feel alive and in Haiti, everyone’s love is appreciated. In Haiti, it is what’s on the inside that counts and we are all God’s treasures.

  xxx Alison

  Our 103rd delivery. They named her Alison.

  On May 17, four months after the quake, we delivered our first stillborn baby. She was our first death in childbirth since we took over the hospital in late January. We’d had 103 successful deliveries so far. But this baby had already been dead inside her mother’s belly; her skull had been cracked open when her mother fell during the earthquake. Because most Haitians don’t receive prenatal care—and didn’t even before the earthquake—the mother hadn’t known that her fetus had died months before.

  In New York, I had often thought of Twitter as a useless waste of people’s time and intellect, but in Haiti it became a valuable tool. Although I had hesitated to sign up, I ended up using it to call out to the world for help on a regular basis. One day, we had a lady dying of rabies, so I sent a tweet out, and within four hours someone had the antidote flown in from the Dominican Republic to save her life. Days later, I was weak and sick in my tent after having vomited all night. When I called out for help from my tent, none of the volunteers around me could hear because the generator was blasting so loudly. So I tweeted my message, and someone alerted Aleda, a volunteer in the tent next to mine, and she raced in to help, which made us both laugh. Another time, when all the hospitals were out of oxygen, we found a fresh supply via Twitter by offering to trade some whiskey for it.

  I spent most of my time helping to oversee the hospital, sharing love, and keeping the volunteer medical staff coordinated and happy. I also made regular trips with the mobile clinic out into tent villages across the city, since the people in many camps weren’t receiving any medical care at all. The government had declared mobile clinics like ours to be the most effective way of dealing with local health issues. We regularly visited Cité Soleil, a slum that was already in terrible condition before the quake.

  The J/P HRO hospital

  After our original team of amazing New York City doctors had left, we formed a partnership with CMAT/IMAT, the Canadian Medical Assistance Team and the International Medical Assistance Team, which would send us about a dozen or more doctors, nurses, and EMTs at a time, who would rotate through J/P HRO every two weeks. They were all hardworking, bright, passionate volunteers who were ready to jump into the fray the moment they touched ground.

  Sean Penn continued to work his guts out. I saw him rescuing people, buying X-ray machines for many hospitals, and giving his personal items away. He slept in a small tent alongside the rest of us and ate rice and beans nightly, just like everyone else. He has committed himself to doing this work in Haiti for years.

  J/P HRO took the lead as managers of our IDP camp, overseeing OxFam, Catholic Relief Services, Save the Children, and about a dozen other NGOs doing work there. Together, we worked to ensure that the village residents received tarps and tents for shelter, that they had enough food and water, that the latrines were kept up to standard, and that the children had a safe place to hang out during the day. Our camp was the largest in Port-au-Prince, with about 55,000 people visiting it during the day and up to 65,000 people staying over at night.

  By May, our primary focus became relocating the village. It was time for us to vacate the Pétionville Golf Club land, not only because it was private property, but also because it would be in the middle of a flood zone as soon as the rainy season began. With the monsoons starting in July, we were in a race against time. Experts told us that the rains would destroy the shoddy, pieced-together shelters made from bits of tarp and sheets, which many thousands of Haitians continued to live in. Not only that, but water flowing in rivers through the streets and down the hillsides would turn the land into mud, which would mix with human feces from the ground and cause diarrhea and widespread outbreaks of communicable diseases. Our team began a “Beat the Rain” campaign focused on moving people out of flood zones and providing them with proper tents or even temporary shelters. Evacuating people is a tremendous task, requiring a great deal of planning, but we were fortunate to have military logistics experts helping us.

  The Pétionville Golf Club course, where 65,000 displaced people live

  In Haiti, I saw the same patterns that seem to show up after all disasters: The aid money gets stuck in bureaucracy, the NGOs have meetings upon meetings, small-scale local officials and large governments make increasingly impossible demands, and nothing happens. The good news is that if you can predict what’s going to happen, you can seek to avoid it. I had learned from our experience in Sri Lanka, for instance, how devastating the rainy season could be to people already living in fragile conditions, so this time we planned in advance.

  After a few months in Haiti, I could already foresee the uprising, the point when people would move out of the shock and sadness phases of their grief and into rage, turning against us. Then, the infighting would begin: the mad jealousy at the neighbors who were lucky enough to get more, the blaming of us aid workers for not doing a better job, even though the Haitian government was doing nothing for its people. In anticipation of that, all I could do was warn the others, steel myself with faith, and reach deeper into my heart for love and forgiveness. I was ready to unconditionally love everyone, even before they’d hurt me.

  On our way back from a two-day trip to the coastal town of Jacmel, Oscar, a camp volunteer named Stephen, and I were passing the broken presidential palace when something caught my eye. I saw a professional photographer with a long lens on his camera, and then I noticed small fires burning in the middle of the street. Before I could put two and two together, a group of teenage boys with huge rocks in their hands came running at our car. I saw the whites of one boy’s eyes as he sent his rock flying directly at my face. In a split second, the danger registered in my brain and I dove to the floor of the car, covering my head with my hands. Oscar and Stephen did the same. Our driver sped off down the road from a crouched position, struggling to see over the steering wheel as the windows came shattering dow
n around us. He miraculously drove us to the safety of the Plaza Hotel, which was being guarded by two men with machine guns.

  Inside the compound, the expressions on our faces must have resembled those of Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone after he realizes that his parents have forgotten him. I shook the diamond-like pieces of glass from my clothes and hair and they fell to the floor with the weight of years of distress. The situation had turned dangerous in just a few seconds, and I had felt more vulnerable than I can ever remember feeling. When I walked into the restroom, I saw a girl with nine lives looking out at me from the mirror. I was confused and my ego was hurt, but I should have known better: These sorts of incidents are par for the course in disaster areas, especially after the initial shock of the trauma has worn off. People get angry. Later that night, I learned that the protestors were Haitian students who were upset at their government for its lack of support after the earthquake. I turned on my cell and twittered these words: “For every small crime committed here there are thousands of really great projects going on in Haiti with really good people helping,” and in that moment I unconditionally loved the boy who had nearly killed me.

  Relocating 5,000 people from our village out of the flood danger zone was exhausting work, with no breaks for weeks, and my toes were perpetually numb. The new land we found for the displaced people was raw, but it flourished daily. A school and market popped up, and soon the village will grow into a city with new homes and the possibility of new beginnings. What I witnessed in Haiti was amazing. Sean had somehow managed to get all the NGOs in our village to work together. I saw how much stronger we all were when we pooled our resources and contacts for the greater good of serving the Haitian people. In all my years of aid work, I had never seen a collaboration like that happen. We sweated and laughed together, and would collapse at the end of an honest day’s work.

  On a more romantic note, I fell in love with one of the volunteers. He walked into my life looking like a full-bearded explorer and we spent long hours saving Haiti together. He reawakened me to romantic love as we kissed for the first time way past midnight on the helicopter landing overlooking the tent village. It was the first time we’d had a moment alone together since we’d met. Only after we pulled away from each other did we realize that some of the 82nd Airborne paratroopers were positioned forty feet away watching the whole thing with night vision goggles.

  Please don’t forget Haiti. Just because the earthquake is no longer making headlines, that doesn’t mean that the problems have been solved. There’s still so much work to be done. We need your help. Time is the most important donation: Come to volunteer, and spread the word through your social networks. Help us to alleviate the suffering. Haiti can be born anew, and we can also learn from the spirituality of the Haitian people. I don’t have a lot of impressive skills; I just know how to do a lot of little things that add up. One thing I do know how to do is love. Somewhere out there, a child is waiting for a delivery of your love. Come join us.

  EPILOGUE

  I have experienced great changes since that tragic day when I Rollerbladed through the streets of New York down to Ground Zero wondering if I could help. Every day on the volunteer journey, I have learned the freeing secrets of life. My parents instilled this knowledge in me throughout my childhood by taking me on their volunteer adventures, but it awakened in me as an adult only over these past ten years when I started doing missions on my own. In between, I indulged in many selfish years of me, me, me. Volunteering taught me that life is most enjoyable and satisfying when it is about everyone else. Through volunteering, I finally grew up. At the same time, I learned to be more simple, honest, and childlike.

  Volunteering comes from your heart. You don’t get paid for it or earn school credits, and nobody forces you to do it. It is about free will and it is a very precious commodity. The leadership positions I found myself in through volunteering have given me inner confidence that tells me I can go out and make changes in the world. When I let go of my fear of what “might happen” or “could happen,” my life exploded into what I could achieve, and fulfillment and happiness followed. It gave me the strength to stand up and be heard, to feel that what I had to say was important. Try telling me now that I can’t do something and I will find a way around it. A powerful me stands up and screams from the mountaintops, “Hey, the world is really messed up. What can we do to help?”

  Saving lives and putting other people’s existences back on track used to be the turf of superheroes and comic strip characters, but now we know that anyone can do it. Volunteering can happen anywhere at any time and can last for just an hour. My trips evolved into very long ones because it felt important to me to stay and my life elsewhere seemed irrelevant. I was also having the best time of my life. Volunteering came down to using my common sense and not being bound by rules. These lessons continue to help me daily in every other aspect of my life, from the workplace to relationships.

  Volunteering also gave me a deeper passion for and understanding of humankind. It isn’t always easy, especially when people don’t want to be helped. In Sri Lanka, I endured harsh trials that nearly broke me, but in the end they only made me stronger. They made me feel that the hardest challenges in my life were behind me and that I could take on the world in whatever way I wanted to. I feel passionate in knowing that I am willing to die for some causes that are bigger than myself.

  If we could rise above the earth and look down, I think we would see a very dark place. But upon closer inspection of the darkness, we would see millions of shining lights sparkling out from the world. The people who care and show love for one another are these lights, and some burn bright while others stay dim.

  Be the brightest light you can be and lead the way in the dark. I feel a real hope for the volunteer movement in the United States and around the world. Let the revolution begin.

  WHAT TO KNOW BEFORE YOU GO

  Here is a basic packing list and some general tips for preparing for a volunteer trip:

  • Before you go, prepay any upcoming bills and leave checks with friends who can pay your bills while you are away. You might end up staying longer than expected.

  • Find out if malaria or any other diseases are prevalent in the country you are going to, and get the appropriate vaccinations before you leave.

  • Before your trip, Google the area you are going to and print out a few basic maps of the region to take along.

  • Pack light. You never know how you might end up having to get around once you arrive—it could be by motorbike, boat, train, on a horse, or by foot—and you won’t want to be burdened with an unwieldy suitcase. For the same reason, it helps to have a flexible attitude and a sense of humor.

  • Some great organizations to volunteer with, in Haiti and elsewhere, are J/P Haitian Relief Organization (www.JPHRO.org), GrassRoots United (www.grassrootsunited.org), Global DIRT (www.globaldirt.org), and Youth With a Mission (YWAM.org), but you can also just go with a few friends and create your own volunteer adventure. To apply to become a medical volunteer in disaster zones around the world, visit the International and Canadian Medical Assistance teams at www.imateam.org and www.canadianmedicalteams.org.

  • A soft backpack is generally easier to travel with than a hard suitcase. A bag with side compartments is great for stuffing things in on the go and finding small items in a hurry.

  • The last thing you want to do is become part of the disaster, so bring your own first aid kit. Ask your local hospital if they will donate a box full of basic medical supplies—they usually will. Also, ask your doctor to give you a good antibiotic in case you get sick or injured. Cipro is a good all-purpose antibiotic. Pack antiseptic, bandages, Band-Aids, and antidiarrhea tablets. (But if you get diarrhea, don’t take the tablet right away; you need to flush the bug out of your body first, so wait a day and a half before you take the pill.)

  • Bring along water filtration tablets or a water filtration system. Never drink the local water or anything with ice in
it—even ice cubes are made from the local tap water and will make you sick.

  • Bring along packets of electrolytes (or even little packets of salt and sugar, which are cheaper and work just as well) to empty into your water bottle. Most third-world countries are hot, and it’s important to stay hydrated, which doesn’t just mean drinking water; you also have to take care to replace the electrolytes that are depleted from your body when you sweat.

  • During a disaster there is no time for vanity. Pack basic toiletries—unscented cosmetics are best because they won’t attract bugs. (The exception, of course, is Chanel No. 5, or any small travel-size bottle of your favorite perfume. You’ll want it to dab under your nose to cover up the smell of decay, sewage, trash, and dead bodies.) Leave your hair dryer, curling iron, and bags of makeup at home—but do bring some lipstick and a light foundation with sunscreen in it for day wear. Sunscreen and insect repellent are essential. In the first weeks after a disaster, water is very hard to come by and you might not be able to shower, so bring along wet wipes to clean yourself with. Take a good hair conditioner and a few disposable razors, unless you plan on going au naturel, which many volunteers end up doing. I’ve never been able to find tampons on any of my trips to a third-world country, so be sure to bring what you’ll need. At certain Sri Lankan border crossings, mine were even thought to be bullets!