Why I do this work.
Over the past year, I’ve had the privilege of meeting hundreds of mothers, fathers, children and grandparents in Haiti and El Salvador. I’ve spent hours learning from individuals who are stewards of light in communities otherwise known for natural disaster, gang violence and corruption. Like all communities they are a collection of people, they are complex and they live amongst the awe inspiring natural beauty of our earth. While their lives are plagued by suffering, there is a persistent kindness and strength that is present even in homes without proper floors, walls or running water.
I first met Maria and her family in Ahuachapan, El Salvador last March. Maria tried to illegally immigrate to the US just a few months prior and had been turned back at the Mexican border. Contemplating another attempt at a better life, this time Maria was considering bringing her teenage daughter along for the journey. Organizers told her that the trip would be easier if she brought younger women, but friends quickly warned that her daughter would be “eaten by the wolves,” undoubtedly referring to the rape and extortion that occurs along every step of the migrant journey to the US. Let that marinate.
Despite the anguish and grief of the conversation, there was a warm display of hospitality in the room as Maria’s daughter, Josefina, quietly doted on us, offering orange soda and pan dulce. This sharp contrast, their compassion in the midst of agony, is indicative of their staggering resilience and grace.
And then there’s Artide.. I first met Artide, her husband Jean Sifere, and her beautiful children while they were playing with toy cars outside their tent in Labodrie, Haiti. They welcomed us into their tent, under the shade of the fierce Caribbean sun, as my Haitian colleagues and I learned their story. Artide and her husband, Jean Sifere, were married 8 years ago in January 2010, the same month a 7.1 magnitude earthquake struck Haiti. The daily hardship of living in a tent is inescapable, but so too is the dignity, kindness and hospitality of the 132 families I had the privilege of meeting in September 2017. For parents like Artide and Jean Sifere, when it rains you must stand with your ankles in mud and hold your children in your arms until it stops. But when you have only two arms and five kids, undoubtedly some of your children won’t sleep, instead, they stand and wait for the rain to pass.
As a Researcher and Data Manager, it’s easy to forget that the datasets, and the 12 communities New Story has built, are comprised of the resilient, the courageous, the hard-working and the kind. These traits are inherent within every being and I work to ensure that no family is without the dignity that a home provides. The families who live in the communities we serve maintain a kindness, far beyond hospitality, that shapes the arc of human dignity I believe lives within each of us.
This spirit persists even in the face of extreme suffering. In September, Hurricane Maria, a category 5 storm ravaged the Caribbean. Hundreds of thousands of homes, lives and communities were catastrophically changed. In the midst of the storm’s aftermath, the country and people of Haiti delivered humanitarian aid (food, water and sanitation pills) to the people of Turks and Caicos. My perspective of integrity has never been sharper than in witnessing Haiti, a nation more punished by mother nature than any other, be of service in generosity of dignity and strength. This was the first time Haiti was delivering aid to another country, not receiving it.
Last spring I had the privilege of meeting families in Titanyen, Haiti. Titanyen is a community most famous for their mass graves and burial sites for the tens of thousands who were killed during the 2010 earthquake. Titanyen, in Creole, means ‘less than nothing’. Families are living in tarp tents on land that is filled with the souls of the deceased. Yet still here, there is hope. Earlier this year we hosted our first participatory design workshop, and will be building a community of 200+ homes to give new meaning to the name Titanyen.
When in Haiti, I’ve learned to begin or end conversations with the simple phrase bon bagay. In Haitian Creole it means ‘good things’. To me, it is a metaphor for the strength that lives in Jean Sifere’s handshake and the warmth of Maria and Josefina’s hospitality. It is the unalloyed joy of Artide’s children playing in their new community and returning to their safe home.
At New Story, I work for a world where we, the people who make up communities, governments and nations, recognize the light and joy of our common human dignity. I work as a goalkeeper for global progress. I work for a world where no one lives in survival mode.
