* Q: Wha? A: Every week I go through about 1000 posts on my RSS feed. These are ones that I thought worth sharing. You can find previous Shared Items here.

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Valihist is an “Antihistamine-Stimulant for allergies, colds, [and] runny nose.”

The back of the package lists the the ingredients as: Acetaminophen 325mg, Caffeine 45mg, Phenylephrine Hydrochloride 5mg, and Chlorpheniramine Maleate 2mg.

How many medications contain caffeine? 45mg is about what you get the average can of soda^[1].

There’s a little note at the top of the package: This medication is made for occupational use, to keep people on the job, safely and productively. Yea, caffeine will do that for you.

1. http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/caffeine/an01211

Photo by Brenna Hesch

The problem with mission trips, and really anything else that thrusts a person into atypical situations is that it exposes you to what looks like the greener side of the fence without showing you all the weeds. The typical reaction to this feeling, I think, is to change everything in ones life all at once; there’s a huge push to become a better person, but at what expense? My approach has been one of timid toe-dipping: make small course corrections now, nothing that will list the ship. It doesn’t seem like much now, but in one year (or five, or ten) the trajectory change will be substantially noticeable.

I still have more growing to do.

Photo by Jon Mullins

In the beginning, I wasn’t sure how I was going to process everything. I would have just liked to have sit in quiet meditation for a couple of days, but I’ve never been one to sit still for very long and my responsibilities in the real world were calling me.

Photo by Brenna Hesch

I spent several hours (over twelve) editing the photos and probably another five or six hours writing (and linking photos). I really wanted to avoid a telling a serialized string of events, so I stuck to recalling events that stood out in my mind, even if that meant skipping over some things. My goal is that I could use the picture to compliment and supplement what I wrote^[1], and in that regard, I hope I was successful in telling, more or less, the entire story.

Photo by Jon Mullins

I also wanted to avoid having this be all about the earthquake. This has probably been the most difficult issue to deal with. Initially, I felt like a survivor without a disaster. But as the shock of the entire situation has warn off, I find myself wonder what our status really was. Were we evacuees of a natural disaster? What sort of danger were we really in? I’ve tried to push myself to tell a fair story, but it’s a tricky balance.

Photo by Brock Fehler

If you were to ask me to sum up my experience in one sentence, it would be this: Greater things have yet to come and greater things are still to be done in this city^[2].

1. they say a picture is worth a thousand words
2. to quote Chris Tomlin

My first reaction was untempered, “Let’s go! People need our help!” However, Bruce kindly and patiently explained our position: a group of white people, with no experience in disaster recovery, who can’t speak French or Creole, and don’t have place to stay, food to eat, or water to drink. Of course, Bruce was right; we would have been more of burden than anything. I guess that’s the kind of insight one gets after working in Haiti for twenty-five years.

Life continued, more or less, as normal. Bruce was working overtime trying to coordinate relief efforts with his organization, CrossWorld, and we did what we could for the people of Port-au-Prince from where we were by praying. The only real impact to us was that our days were a bit shorter since Bruce had so much going on.

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By Thursday, we were in full swing at Foison. We were laying electrical conduit and wiring, digging holes for the foundation, and having fun.

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Friday threw another curve ball. We’d been gone for a week now, and up until this point, things were still looking hopeful for leaving on Monday, maybe Tuesday at the latest. Then the word came down, American Airlines was continuing to cancel flights and we were rebooked for the following Saturday.

This was a hit to the gut for everyone, I think. Everyone had jobs back home and most of us were using vacation time to be down here. What was the plan now? How much more vacation time would we have to use up? What if we ran out? Some people were in more precarious positions than others, with a limited amount of vacation time and no reprieve if they ran out.

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Saturday was our scheduled off day and we went to the beach on the northern coast of Port-de-Paix. It was good for everyone to get a chance to relax, tensions were high as the uncertainty of our position became more and more apparent. It had been several days since we felt any aftershocks, yet news of the destruction in Port-au-Prince was still only trickling in.

One of the biggest differences in being in this particular mission field is the change in communication. Information access becomes a resource almost as precious as food or water. Satellite Internet is paid for by the megabyte. There is no newspaper or evening news, at least for us. And calls back to the United States cost $2.39/minute…if you can get through.

All of our information came from what Bruce and Deb told us. And the only things they knew where what they gleaned from sporadic checks of news sites online and emails from coworkers in Port-au-Prince who’s homes weren’t completely destroyed. Susie Day, a missionary based in Port-au-Prince, wrote, “I went briefly into Dad’s study…then it hit…it was unbelievable…it was horrible…dad’s office caved in on me…I had no time to react, no warning…a loud noise, then the violent shaking and screaming…I fell down on the floor in front of dad’s sofa, covered in debris. I got hit real hard to the right side of my head … I started talking to God…praying…crying…my legs were buried and I had injured my right arm. I guess I got up on dad’s desk…the iron window at his desk caved in with the wall and I climbed on top and pulled myself out. It was horrible outside – people screaming…rushing up the street…all over.”

The end to Saturday really couldn’t have been more perfect; well, plans for how we were going to leave Haiti would have been nice, but one thing at a time. Deb cooked us a Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, mash potatoes, gravy, stuffing, green beans, and Pumpkin Pie.

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By Sunday, plans for our evacuation were in place. I hate using that word, we weren’t in danger and we had plenty of supplies; let’s call it an unplanned deviation in plans resulting in less than ideal travel conditions. The plan was to drive 10 hours to Cap-Haitian, then catch a flight on Missionary Flights International to Florida. Once in Florida, we would resume out flight on American Airlines from Miami back to Seattle.

Going to church was almost a surreal event, everyone lost someone or knew somebody who lost someone in the earthquake. Despite the tragedy, people were thankful for what they did have, and they showed it; the outpouring of love and faith transcended the Creole language.

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We spent Monday doing what we learned to do best: hurry up and wait. We needed to pack light for our journey home, so we only took the essentials. Everything else we left behind to be sent back later. One last round of soccer with the kids and a final check of our bags. Tuesday would be go day.

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In many ways, I feel Tuesday morning came to fast.

A journey of a thousand miles begins with the first step; ours began by piling 17 people in to the back of one 1980’s Toyota Land Cruiser configured as a pickup with high metal sides to carry cargo. Plus two spare tires. And our luggage. We left just before 7am, and set off for Cap-Haitien. The northern coast of Haiti was picturesque. It was easy to forget that we still in a country so ravaged by poverty, war, corruption, and now a natural disaster.

The roads were as before, however as neared the mountain pass they became progressively worse. We crossed several giant puddles, which would appropriate to describe as very small lakes. We made it up most of the mountain range before we ran into our first problem, a flat tire.

With NASCAR pitcrew-esque speed, we deftly changed the tire and were back on our way, although we ended up walking the rest of the way to the summit to reduce the risk of getting another flat.

Once we got out of the mountains, the roads became better, we even experienced some paved sections again^[1]! The traffic in Cap-Haitien was very congested, however we were able to make our way to the missionary compound we were staying at, which was just ten minutes from the airport. Frankly, we were just happy to have a good nights rest.

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The next day, we didn’t know when Missionary Flights was going to arrive at the airport, so we played it safe and got there with plenty of time to spare^[2].

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Just after four in the afternoon, we left the Cap-Haitien International Terminal and walked out to our awaiting DC-3.

A relic of World War II, our DC-3, N400MF, was manufactured in 1944. With a cruising speed of 150 MPH (almost 3.5 times slower than a conventional 737, which cruises at 511MPH), it took us over six hours to fly to Fort Pierce, Florida. The unpressurized cabin meant that we had to fly low, about 8000 feet according to my GPS, offering a unique view of the various Caribbean islands.

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We had a layover in Turks and Caicos to get fuel and were treated to pizza and snacks. There was a copy of the local newspaper sitting on the table. There was a picture of the collapsed Haitian Presidential Palace; it had been over a week since the earthquake and this was the first time I had seen any pictures of the destruction.

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When we landed in Fort Pierce, members of Deb’s church, Boca Raton Community Church, picked us up and took us out to dinner! We weren’t able to secure hotel rooms, so the church also gave us all a place to sleep for the night, along with the first hot shower we had in two weeks^[3]

The kind church folks picked us up again in the morning and drove us to the Tri-Rail rail station where we caught a commuter train to Miami International Airport.

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Amber, through her amazingness, got us all on a flight to Seattle via Chicago.

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We had a long wait at the airport. Some people read through Newsweek and Time. We stole glances at CNN Headline News whenever they had a “Haiti Update”^[4]. Alex graciously allowed me to use his iPhone and I got through several hundred of my emails.

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The rest of the trip was really just going through the motions. My mind was else where (perhaps in Haiti, perhaps somewhere else) while my body was being transported back to Seattle.

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I kept replaying the events of the last two weeks in my head, over and over and over.

I tried sleeping, but I couldn’t. Which is funny because I slept on all the planes on the way to Haiti. Now when I wanted to sleep the most, I couldn’t.

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We arrived at SeaTac, the exact same gate we departed from 14 days earlier. A nice sort of closure, I think. High-fives all around and one last shot of the group together before we raced to our loved ones.

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1. Praise God from whom all pavement flows…
2. hurray up and wait was one of big themes for our trip and a great time to practice our virtues of patience
3. When I got in the shower, I turned the knob on the left and let it run for a few moments. The water was still cold, so turned it off and tried the knob on the right. It was also cold! I quietly shouted, “No! No! No!” and frantically turned both knobs on. After a few seconds, the warm water started to flow. Whew.
4. I use that term very loosly

Below is an expanded version of what I wrote for The Oredigger.

For those who aren’t majoring in History, here’s the quick introduction to Haiti, courtesy of the CIA World Factbook:

In the early 17th century, the French established a presence on Hispaniola. In 1697, Spain ceded to the French the western third of the island, which later became Haiti. The French colony, based on forestry and sugar-related industries, became one of the wealthiest in the Caribbean but only through the heavy importation of African slaves and considerable environmental degradation. In the late 18th century, Haiti’s nearly half million slaves revolted under Toussaint L’ouverture. After a prolonged struggle, Haiti became the first black republic to declare independence in 1804. The poorest country [and also perceived as the most corrupt] in the Western Hemisphere , Haiti has been plagued by political violence for most of its history. After an armed rebellion led to the forced resignation and exile of President Jean-Bertrand Aristide in February 2004, an interim government took office to organize new elections under the auspices of the United Nations Stabilization Mission in Haiti (MINUSTAH). Continued violence and technical delays prompted repeated postponements, but Haiti finally did inaugurate a democratically elected president and parliament in May of 2006.

My involvement with Haiti is a rather curious one. Last spring, I was looking for a summer mission trip that would be able to use to my skills as an engineer. Although I pursued several different avenues, I didn’t find anything that struck a chord with me. Excuses will always be prevalent, especially in today’s society. Through an interesting set of short conversations with a variety of people over the fall, I decided that it’s high time I let my “religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.” (G. K. Chesterton)

So there it was.

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I left for Haiti on January 8th. It was an arduous journey to get there (or so I thought), leaving in the early morning from Seattle, flying to Chicago, and then to Miami. Miami only offered a short reprieve (I think we spent more time trying to get to our hotel rooms than we did in them) before we had to be back at Miami’s International Airport to catch our flight to Haiti.

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We landed in Port-au-Prince easily enough and then shuffled over to the regional airport (which shares the same tarmac and runway) where we caught our 45-minute flight to Port-de-Paix. An hours drive by Toyota Land Cruiser (albeit at 10km/hr) and we found ourselves in Passe Catabois.

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I was with a group of twelve, myself included. We are all part of Convergence, the young adult group (20’s and 30’s) from University Presbyterian Church. We range in age from 23 to 35 and only one of us is married. Our vocations range from engineer to office assistant and everything in between. Our mission was to serve with long term missionaries Bruce and Deb Robinson, working on projects they planned, primarily construction and electrical, at a school/church located 30 minutes away in the town of Foison.

We spent the rest of Saturday scouting the terrain and learning about flood plains. On Sunday, we went to church in Poste Metier, then ventured back towards Port-de-Paix to examine a river that has been eroding its banks, preventing a water pump from working properly.

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Unfortunately, the first few days we were in Haiti it was raining and the roads, while technically drivable, were not ideal. Thus we had a change of plans, and our first of many lessons in being flexible. Monday we ended up doing some small jobs around Bruce’s workshop, sorting bolts, running electrical wire, fixing wheelbarrows, and playing with the local kids, among other things.

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Tuesday, we were still at the workshop, letting the roads dry out, although we had a chance to visit a water canal project. At 4:47 pm, we felt a rolling. Everyone looked at each other, mostly in confusion. A few seconds later, more rolling. Almost out of instinct, those that were inside headed to the door ways. I was at the front door, and decided that the best place, given the lackluster building codes, would be outside.

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Bruce had mentioned that Haiti was home to frequent tremors and we all though this was just that. It would be another two hours before we learned of the actual devastation. The word came over dinner: Port-au-Prince had been hit by a huge earthquake, at least 7.0. Everything was flat.

Everyone was shocked; I hadn’t even once considered that the epicenter could be Port-au-Prince.

* Q: Wha? A: Every week I go through about 1000 posts on my RSS feed. These are ones that I thought worth sharing. You can find previous Shared Items here.

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