When I woke up Tuesday morning, Jan. 12, I had an email in my inbox from my father. Every now and then, he’ll send links to me and my siblings with information about his home country, Haiti, just to keep us updated.
My parents have lived in the United States for almost 40 years, and I have never been to Haiti myself. But I was raised Haitian. Very much so. The food. The music. The language. The values. The pride. Definitely the pride. There is a certain honor associated with having Haitian blood.
Haiti has an amazing history, rich culture, and strong, enduring people. Unfortunately these things have been overshadowed by the poverty, political turmoil, and violence that has plagued the nation in recent decades.
Nevertheless, I'm always eager to hear stories about Haitian current events and people. This particular link that my father sent was one of hope. It spoke of a recent turnaround in Haiti. UN peacekeeping efforts were proving successful. The number of kidnappings, which had become so infamous, had decreased tremendously. There was some stability.
In addition, many international corporations were being encouraged to invest in the country, which certainly would have created more jobs and opportunity for poverty-stricken Haitians. This was such positive news.
As I left for work, I grabbed a CD of one of my favorite Haitian bands, Carimi, and blasted it during my car ride. I hadn’t listened to the CD in almost a year. In fact, it had been awhile since I listened to any Haitian music at all. So now, knowing what I know, it’s a little strange that I was in such a Haitian state of mind that morning. The Carimi CD and email from my father seem almost like a cruel foreshadowing to the events that were to come later that day.
I found out about the earthquake at work. It was a simple email that stated, "A strong earthquake has hit the impoverished country of Haiti where a hospital has collapsed." Of course, these words in no way capture the actual scope of the disaster, but it was all we knew at the time. I said a quick little prayer for those involved, texted my family the news, and continued with my work.
Even as more information trickled in, I'm almost ashamed to say, I was slightly removed from the disaster for a combination of reasons. Working in news, I come across depressing stories and video all the time. I have had to teach myself to segregate emotions somewhat and deal with the difficult ones quickly, or at a later time, in order to be effective at my job.
Also, I have become so accustomed to Haiti struggling with obstacle after obstacle, that it almost seemed normal that the nation was facing yet another disaster. Sad, right?
Eventually, as we moved into the next day, the images began to tell the story in ways words never would be able to. Buildings that once stood were completely destroyed. People were screaming out in anguish. Desperate attempts to reach loved ones still trapped in the rubble were underway. Blood. Death. Despair. It was a disaster in every sense of the word. It was tragic. Heartbreaking.
I found that the internal dam I set up to compartmentalize my emotions was no match for the gush of grief that swept through me. I wept. Not at work thank goodness, but I wept.
I quickly began getting in contact with friends to ask about them and their families. In doing so I almost forgot about my own family. I later received word from my sister that two Great Aunts had died in the earthquake. Another had broken her legs. My cousin and his family on my mom's side were unreachable, as was my father's sister. If the disaster wasn't personal before, it certainly was now.
Over the next few days, I began to follow the example of some of my friends and posted pictures and information about my missing relatives on Facebook, hoping anyone could tell me anything. My dad spent most of his time doing the same on the CNN website. Every family member became active in trying to get as much information as possible. Days went on with no word from family, only more discouraging images from Haiti. But we kept up hope. We kept praying.
Again, I began to section off my emotions. I think we all did somewhat. Obviously we were all crushed about the family we'd lost. But we needed for hope to have a stronger, more powerful presence within us. It was essential.
I personally transformed my emotion into action. I was surging with adrenaline and needed to do SOMETHING. I began writing. It's what I've always done when I've wanted to manage and release emotions. In a surprisingly short time, I wrote a song, but I can hardly take credit for it. I just channeled the powerful footage I was seeing into words. I tried to echo the cries for help in song. I also wanted to give hope to the Haitian people.
In the chorus, I spoke to them directly in Creole saying, "The walls can fall, but Haiti won't break. The ground can shake, but Haiti will stand. We need to pray for all the Haitian people. And those who lost their lives are with God now."
I edited video to the song. My goal was to make sure people knew of the horror, and that they wouldn't forget. I wanted them to open up their hearts and reach out to my Haitian people in need.
I am grateful that the rest of my family in Haiti, that I know of, is safe. In fact, our news team in Haiti (Bryan Mims, Tom Normanly, and Tony Gupton) took it upon themselves to find out about my aunt while they were down there. Wow. Amazing. Much thanks to them!
Still, so many people have lost so much. I have a good friend who lost her mother. HER MOTHER. Can you imagine? And there are so many other tragic stories that you wouldn't believe could all come from a third of a tiny Caribbean island. So please keep Haiti in your thoughts and prayers. Because Haiti can't afford for people to forget. Not again. Not this time.
