Haiti: Day 7. On being completely unqualified.

These past few days I learned that the suspicions I had of myself and Haiti are true. I have only one thing that this country actually needs. That being said, I'll put it out there that I don't have enough of it.

The first few days of school I was feeling so frustrated because all my teacher tricks that work at home with my students just don't work here. At home when I would take the metaphorical hammer and hit the metaphorical nail on its metaphorical head, it would go into the metaphorical wood. Here, more often that not, the metaphorical nail flies in the complete opposite direction, disappears, or goes into my metaphorical finger.

I realized how unqualified I am to teach these kids on... Wednesday? Thursday? I'm a slow learner. Looking back on it I should have known Monday morning when my very first math class came in and instead of sitting at the desks, one of the girls took a nap on the floor and one of the boys asked me when I was going back to the United States.

In a country where child slavery is still legal and orphan rape is just one of the harsh realities of street life, one would have to be naive to think that kids would be excited when yet another person was coming in to help. One of the boys this week told another missionary, “you Americans keep coming and nothing here ever changes.” I understand why he would be so angry. Not all the children share this same opinion, but the truth is that we keep coming in and there is still burning trash on the streets, still hungry kids everywhere, still hurt and pain and loneliness.

We've all heard someone at some point in our lives say, “Well, I guess all we can do now is pray” when things seem to be at their worst. I disagree. If this week has shown me anything, it's that all we can ever do is pray. The brokenness that resonates within so many hearts of the children here can only by healed through prayer.

And that's the most effective way to help Haiti.

The first few days the children were standoffish because they thought I was leaving on Saturday. What's the point in getting to know someone if they're only here for a week and then they go back to the comforts of their home country and the child is still here? I have nothing to teach these kids except for the fact that I'm unqualified to teach them, however I am more than qualified to pray for them. “Our hands aren't just made for praying. They're made for helping.” Thanks, Bono. So let's help people heal while we're on this planet for a geological eye-blink, shall we? Heal our own brokenness, heal the poor of Haiti, heal the wealthy in America. From one person to the next, we are all broken in some way, many ways, maybe even every way.

This week I practiced doing something that I did a lot of last year with my students who posed a “unique instructional challenge.” That's what I'd call the little stinkers who interrupt every four minutes to try to throw off every great and wonderful activity I planned for my scholars. I asked God to help me to see these kids as He sees them. I wonder if we begin to see each other as God sees us- broken yet so lovely and wonderful- we can deal with each other so much better. We can begin to see and love each other as we were intended to be seen and loved. Sincerely? Unconditionally?

So back to this week. I just finished my first round of photography with my students. On day one we learned about culture. What is culture? I didn't really know, but according to Wikipedia it's the people, customs, food, language, habits, architecture, art, and so forth of a group of people. The next few days I took my 6 students out and we documented culture with our cameras. The first day I was at the lower end of the effective teacher bell curve, and in their defense I did say that culture was the “people” in a group of people. At the end of an hour I had hundreds of pictures of my six students posing for the camera... by a tree, by a bush, by the security guard, by the boys' bathroom, in front of a wall. Many of them don't have pictures of themselves. It's ironic because people come in and take their picture all day every day, their faces are on blogs, facebook, sent through email, but many times the most they see of these pictures are what they look like on the little screen on the back of the camera.

That changed yesterday when we plugged the cameras into the photo printer (THANK YOU, SPONSORS!!!) and printed out pictures of “culture.” Their pictures are incredible. I'm going to try to post them on this blog but the internet here is so slow that it might be hard. We had an impromptu lesson in primary colors when the printer first printed the yellow (the girls shrieked in horror and thought the printer was broken), sucked the printer paper back in and printed the red (“Mizz Keht-leen what iz hahp-pen-eeng!?”) and then sucked it in for the third time and printed out the blue. And then you'd think I just told them that they all received green cards and free rides to American universities. When the first picture was finished they were so excited, jumping up and down, running around the room. It was madness. Yesterday was the hottest day I'd endured up to that point and their energy made it even hotter. I asked God to let me be His hands and feet to help heal brokenness. A part of me wonders if this is how He is going to do it.

And then the day got hard...er.

As I wrote before, our kids help feed the hungry kids who live on the street four times a week in the feeding program. One of the boys from the street walked in and had flies swarming around his head. Upon looking closer I saw that he had a terrible infection.

I'm going to spare you the details.
You're welcome.

The other kids wouldn't sit by him, he wouldn't look us in the eye and just seemed like he was so ashamed and embarrassed by the infection that covered his scalp. Praise God, we have an incredibly gifted nurse here who took him to the clinic and poured hydrogen peroxide on his head. It was supposed to hurt. He had open wounds, and all things considered the little guy should have been so scared. Brooke (the nurse) thought that the infection probably numbed the nerves (the way she said it, it sounded much more medical and probably twelve times more accurate than how I described it). She took him into the medical clinic at the house and I'm a total creeper so I followed. This child showed such bravery and strength. I held his hand as she disinfected and wrapped his head, but for the record I asked him to hold my hand for my sake, not for his. I'm selfish like that. His bravery was such an encouragement to me. He seemed so resilient. After being shunned by hundreds of other children, he was able to march his sweet self back out there and sit among them, though he had his head completely wrapped in gauze which made his affliction all the more obvious. How many of us could do that? I couldn't.

On a final note, every lesson I teach to my scholars back in CA always has what's called a “learning target.” For example:

Day 1: By the end of class, students will be able to identify the theme of The Giver.
Day 2: By the end of class, students will be able to identify and analyze how a passage of The Giver portrays the theme.
Day 3-5: By the end of class, students will be able to articulate why it is important to not bring a dead animal back from lunch and give it to Ms. O'Connor.

In the same way, I think God creates learning targets for us every day. We can see it if we're seeking it. One thing I should add is in my class, until 80% of my students have met the learning target I don't go on. I could spend a couple of days explaining to the boys that dead birds carry diseases, I don't like dead animals, I don't think it's charming... yada yada blah... I wonder how many times I'm taught the same lesson.

This week I'm thankful that God gave me some learning targets of my own. We couldn't go on to the next lesson until I realized how unqualified I am. Then He reminded me to see His kids as He sees them, and finally, a lesson in humility.