Yesterday at 4 am on their way to work, Madame Gaston and
her friend, Murielle, were getting on a tap tap in a faraway place on the other
side of Port au Prince to come to work at Maison. Madame Gaston saw three young boys, filthy,
smelly, and thin, on the side of the road and asked them what they were
doing. They had been asleep somewhere on
the street and a man had woken them up and said to move on. She said she could hardly handle the smell
coming from the boys, yet she continued to talk with them. They slowly began to tell their story, eager
to share with this stranger who seemed to care.
Madame Gaston knew of the boys' house near Maison, and decided to try to
get them in there. A man, a stranger,
gave her 50 gourdes to put them on the tap tap with her. She instead bought them some food, and used
her own 50 gourdes to pay their fare.
At 10:30, Ruth and I arrived at Maison. As we entered the gate, we saw birth parents
waiting for the meeting to begin, lined up along the side of the driveway. Next to some of them sat three lonely
looking, raggedy, thin boys. This isn't
uncommon, so I went inside to put my things away and check on Jean Marc and all
the babies before I went to greet the birth families. The moment I entered the room, Madame Gaston
began telling me the story of the boys.
She told me again that she has 9 children of her own. She has raised them, and I don't know how
many countless others have called her Mama.
She said that when she saw those boys at 4 am on the street, hungry,
dirty, smelly, it made her heart hurt.
She knew she couldn't leave them there; the street is no place for a
child. She is well aware of what
happens to children living on the streets of Port au Prince. She said that riding in the tap tap with them
was a huge challenge because they smelled so very bad. She could see the sickness on their skin, and
in their eyes. But she knew she had to
do what she could to help them. So she
used $1.25 of her $3.25 that she made yesterday to get them closer to
help. She teared up telling me how the
one cried because he was itching so badly.
I hugged her, tearing up myself, and told her I would check on them.
I talked with Mommy Clenide, and she had already been down
to talk with them. She began sharing
with me pieces of their story, as they shared it with her. One of the boys lost both parents in the
earthquake. They were buried in a
building somewhere. Since he was 7, this
boy has been fending for himself on the street.
Another of the boys said his father is dead, and that he went to Hinche
to stay with his mother. Somehow, for
some reason, he ended up back in Port. I
can only imagine the heart wounds associated with being sent away from your
mother's house. The third boy said he
lived with his father. One afternoon his
dad sent him out to buy water. The rain
started falling, then pouring, so heavy he wasn't able to make it back home,
and he was forced to sleep in a broken church.
When he was able to make his way through the flooded streets to his
father's house the next morning, he arrived to find his father shouting at him
to go away, to go sleep wherever he slept the night before, and to not come
back there. Since then, he has slept
where he could, eaten what he could, and fought his own battles on the streets
of Port au Prince.
I asked Clenide if we could give them a bath and new
clothes, and make sure they were fed.
She was already on it, having fed them breakfast, and planning to bathe
them and clothe them after the birth parent meeting was over.
I headed to the gate to say hello. I learned their names are Jameson, Davidson,
and Claudson. They were ten, ten, and
nine. They were wary of me at first, but
then I joked around a little, and they saw I wasn't going to make them leave
and they relaxed, just a little bit. I
told them they were fine there, that we would help them how we could. They spent the morning and early afternoon
lounging, and baking in the heat.
At lunchtime, Mommy Murielle took them food, warning them
that it was very hot, and not to burn themselves. I watched as they spooned up the bouillon,
blew on it, and put in their mouths. I
watched our security guards stand watch over them, making sure they were settled,
and not going to spill the hot soup on themselves.
After the meeting was over, supplies were gathered for a
bath. New underwear, shorts, t-shirts
and soap. I found some towels to dry
them with. The one boy began to cry
again. The scabies on his arms and legs
were so bad, he couldn't scratch in all the places at once. I sat down next to him, and told him I had
medicine to help him, and to try really hard not to scratch. One of the other boys had tears in his
eyes. I told them it was ok to cry if they
needed to, that I cry, and that it's ok if they need to do it with me. Boys and men crying is not necessarily
acceptable behavior for many of these ladies at Maison, but I wanted them to do
what they needed to do.
The bathing happened outside, where the ladies wash
clothes. The boys were stripped down,
and their clothes removed to a faraway place.
They stood there, naked, waiting for the soap and cold water. Mommy Clenide soaped one up and scrubbed his
arms, legs, head, rinsed him, and did it all over again. I wrapped him in a big white towel, dried him
off, and let him choose his new underpants.
He sat with Ruth, clean, belly full, and content, to watch the other
boys be bathed. The second boy was
covered in scabies. When he finished, I
gently dried his thin body off and covered him with Permethrin, praying that it
would kill the scabies upon contact and that he would experience relief from
his itching. He chose his underpants,
and sat down to relax as well. The third
boy had a smile that wouldn't stop, even as the cold water poured over his
head. Even as Mommy Clenide scrubbed the
layers of dirt and grime off of his body.
He dried off and put new clothes on as well.
I had noticed as I dried two of the boys that they were very
thin, but had hard protruding bellies. I
went to the nurse and asked for anti-parasite medicine and vitamins. I returned to the boys and explained that the
one pill was going to get rid of the parasites, and the other was going to help
make them strong. They took both without
question.
Fifi had found a friend with an orphanage who could take the
boys. Mommy Clenide gathered extra
clothes, toothbrushes, and toothpaste.
The one boy was given new shoes.
I washed the other boys' shoes, and set them out to dry. Madame Gaston arrived to inspect the finished
products. She hugged them, and I asked
her if she would pray for them before they left. She said yes, but she needed Mommy Murielle,
so I ran and grabbed her too. We circled
around the boys, and these women of faith prayed over these sweet babies. At the end, all eyes were teary, and Madame
Gaston and Murielle had tears streaming down their faces. These women, who have seen more than I will
ever know or comprehend, whose hands have nurtured sick babies to health, hands
that have held children as they died, sacrificed health, and so many other
things for these children, stood there with tears and said to the boys again,
'It is by God's grace you are here right now.
Do not make trouble, do not go back to the street.'
And then Madame Gaston insisted we take pictures. I had declined to do it when they were
dirty. No one wants their picture taken
when they don't look and feel their best.
So now I agreed.
As the boys went to sit on the front porch and wait to leave
with Fifi, I reflected a little bit on this whole thing. Not a lot, but a little. When I was praying for the boys, I found
myself asking for Jesus to walk each step with them. I prayed they would feel the love our Father
has for us, since none of them have fathers.
I asked that they would experience what it is to be adopted into God's
family, and for them to understand the grace and love they had been given that
day.
I am in awe of these women, these beautiful, strong,
faith-filled women. Without hesitation,
Madame Gaston gave a third of her daily salary to seek help for these
boys. She stepped out in faith because when
she looked at their faces, she knew she had no choice but to respond from the
grace and love shown to her by Jesus.
Oh Heavenly Father, let me follow in these women's
footsteps, filled with your love and grace.
