TIH

Well, there's just nothing to call this blog except for TIH (This is Haiti) - our favorite little phrase that explains all the CRAZY that goes on here and simply can't be explained any other way. 

On Saturday, I wake up and spend a little more time with these two guys, Richard and Chris, who have been staying with us this week from an organization called Loving Orphans Global (website!). They were fantastic and had such full, loving hearts. I learned a lot from them and am grateful that God crossed our paths… And that they were here for our Zoo To Do party on Friday night!  As the official fun coordinator (I think I’m about to start calling myself the cruise director) I’m planning to keep it real FUN with some theme parties this summer. I was extremely pleased with the creativity and effort put into the animal costumes for the second bash. Best of Party goes to intern Joel who dressed up as a gorilla by covering himself head-to-toe in mud. SO good. Bravo!

Anyway, Chris and Richard leave, which is a bit of a bummer because they are so cool. I spend half the afternoon working and half the afternoon goofing off because its Saturday and that’s what the weekend is for, right? Come evening, I go for a walk with sweet intern, Hannah. We walk up to the top of a hill to a slab (earthquake leftovers) where I’ve gone in the past to watch the sun set over the Caribbean. As we walk out on the slab, I notice a new house just beyond it and see a girl playing in the backyard. She stops, gives us a puh-recious smile, and we exchange greetings before Hannah and I walk over to sit and look at the water. But before we can get in much of a chat, the little girl appears on the slab accompanied by her father. They come over and start talking to us. Hannah and I are working hard to combine our meager Creole powers to make this work, but after a few sentences, we just plumb run out of things to say. Yet the man and little girl keep staring at us and smiling; beautiful smiles. We look at each other like, “Okayyy, this is a little awkward?” kind of thinking they would go home. But they don’t. And we can’t help but smile back at them. Next thing you know, the man excitedly asks us if we would like to come over to their house and meet his wife. Of course we would like to meet your wife! So we walk the short distance home with them.

His wife greets us at the door and is also adorable and pregnant. We use our mediocre language skills to figure out that she’s six months along. I can’t help but rub her stomach and engage in some embarrassing baby talk. They have a dog named Bubby out in front of their door. He’s a bit forlorn looking, but of course I can’t help but pet him and engage in some more embarrassing baby talk with the family pet. Next thing you know, they’ve invited us into their home and are showing us wedding albums and all sorts of family photos. We are obviously having a blast.

As it begins to get dark, I tell them that we better get going. The man and precious little girl walk us out. There’s another dog at their gate which the man points out who is also a pet. I assume its friendly like Bubby and reach down to pet it. As I do so, the man grabs my hand just as the vicious thing tries to bite my hand off! I have a mini heart attack and thank him profusely for saving my hand. We’re now best friends for life. (Sorry mom, promise I don’t pet strange dogs in third world countries like, ever.) Hannah and I walk back down the hill so grateful for getting to meet and hang out with this loving family; a solid, happy family in the midst of so many broken ones. What a blessing.

When we get home, Tachi (my Haitian best friend/house mom for those who may just be tuning in) asks if I want to go down to the corner store and meet up with Bernard and his brother to hang out. I, of course, do. So Tachi and I set off along with another friend, Wesley, who is staying with us for a few weeks.  We get to the place, which is on the national highway, and grab a couple of Prestige. Bernard’s brother, Benoit, comes up and just after I greet him, we hear a sound… like something skidding over gravel. We both look over just in time to see a motorcycle sliding at a high speed on its side down the highway.

I lose my breath.

A figure tumbles along the pavement then does some sort of tuck and roll, lands on his feet, and stumbles off to the side of the road. I sharply inhale. Try to process what I just saw. Then I exclaim to Benoit, “Its ok! He got up.” Benoit replies to me, “But the other one didn’t…” And then I see him, crumpled up in the road. My head spins. I ask Benoit, “What do we do?? Is there anything we can do?” You can’t just dial 911 in Haiti and wait for the EMS to show up, there is no such thing. A crowd gathers around the man and I walk over to him as well. I figure that if he has any wounds that need attention, I can run up the road to our clinic and get supplies to clean them up at the very least. I get to a gap in the crowd with Benoit on my heels. I stand over the man, lying there on the road. Is he dead? No, he’s still breathing. I don’t see any visible wounds, but he’s completely dazed, not moving, and bleeding from the mouth, which gives me an ominous feeling. I don’t know what to do. I walk back across the road.

I walk up to Tachi just as Megan calls her and asks for me; I take the phone. I hear a note of panic in her voice as she asks me to come back to the intern house as soon as I can. A man that two of our interns met a couple of days ago as he was reportedly on the way to hang himself has come to the house. He’s acting in a very peculiar manner. He’s complaining of voices, demons telling him what to do. I tell her about the accident we just witnessed. Knowing there’s nothing I can do here, I tell her we’ll be on our way home immediately. We turn to go, and as we walk back down the highway, I throw up muddled prayers from a heart in shock – for what I’m walking away from and what I’m walking into. I feel tears shoot into my eyes and I want to lose it right there on the road. But in another instance, they’re gone. I turn back towards the accident and see a vehicle owned by a non-profit loading the man into their car. They speed off towards Leogane, presumably to the Doctors Without Boarders clinic there where you can get medical attention at this hour. Hallelujah. God picks me up and prepares me for what is next…

I get back to the house and join the rest of the team. We spend the night praying over this man. We are completely humbled before the Lord, not knowing what else to do but seek him and his Spirit. For where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Cor 3:17). The spiritual oppression of this man was so tangible, but so was the power of the name of Jesus, driving back the darkness. I don’t know how else to describe it. It’s a soul-rattling battle. But one that we know Christ has already won. This isn’t a one night only thing. We will continue to walk with this man, along with the church here in Gressier, through his trials, struggles, addictions – in love and community.

Sunday is a wonderful Sabbath following the chaos of Saturday. Megan and I go up the mountain and spend the morning in prayer, scripture, and fruitful discussion. Its cloudy and grey out. I don’t sweat the ENTIRE day and take a fat nap in the afternoon. Rainy days in Haiti are the cats meow. I’ve had my hair down for almost a full 28 hours or something like that – unheard of.

Today I had the most productive day I’ve had yet since arriving here. I had another great meeting with Bernard and Wadley who will be my hands and feet for the study that will be conducted in October when the students start school again. They are intelligent, attentive, and best of all enthusiastic about this research. I am praising God for them – after months of hitting just about every wall possible with this project, somebody is making this process a little easier on me. And I am thankful for the way things worked out. I would be dying right now if I had gotten here and hit the ground running with this study, racing to finish it before this Wednesday when school gets out. It hurts my head to think about. So I won’t. God is sovereign. He knew. Amen.

Team of 19 people is coming in tomorrow. Hold onto your hats folks!

First Field Trip

Today was a very exciting day for Respire Haiti Christian School – the students went on their very first FIELD TRIP! It made me think back to when I was a kid in school, some of the most memorable days I had were field trips. And its so important for kids to get out and see their world. My mom shared some horrific story with me the other day about impoverished kids in north Baton Rouge, a place that is plagued with poverty and violence. A group working with youth there asked a group of about 40 kids or so to raise their hand if they have ever seen the Mississippi River (> 5 miles away). About 5 kids raised their hands. Five. That horrified me and made so much sense at the same time. You can’t be aware of what else there is, of what possibilities are out there, unless you go see! So needless to say, I was SO excited for this little trip.

So this morning the buses are supposed to pick us up at 10 am. They of course don’t show until 10:45 since we’re way on island time here. But by 11 we have 131 kids, 4 teachers, the director of discipline, the assistant principal, the principal and several white people chaperones piled onto two buses. Destination: the National Museum of Haiti in Port au Prince. I get on a normal looking old school bus then look over back up the mountain and realize the other bus is one of those party bus extended tap-tap things, hah. I am a bit jealous. Especially after I hear that something is wrong with this bus and we will have to stop in Carrefour and switch to a different bus… Hm, it seems quite possible this bus might explode in between here and there. Before we leave, the school disciplinarian (who wears these great Men in Black shades) leads the kids in a song and prayer. That makes me feel a little bit better about the defective bus trip. I keep praying for it not to explode anyway after this prayer is finished…

And off we go! Occasionally the other bus passes us and I hear loud dance music playing and see kids laughing and waving out the window at us – they’re totally having a party on the extended tap-tap party bus. Still a little jealous. Somewhere in Mariani we have to pull over and buy water for the driver to pour under the hood of the bus, presumably to keep it from exploding. One of the kids asks Megan where we are and when she replies, “Mariani,” the kid exclaims, “Oooh! Miami!” A little further down the road we get into Carrefour and shuffle all the kids out of the potentially explosive bus onto a white and blue school bus. We take off again at a much faster clip and end up in PAP in no time. Unfortunately, in the new bus I get stuck sitting in a seat directly behind the back wheel; and soon the incredibly bad roads mixed with the incredibly bad stench of Haiti and motor oil has me feeling a bit queasy. I apologize to the kid I’m sitting with and run up towards the front of the bus and squish into a seat with some girls who are probably wondering what they did to deserve having me come sit almost on top of them. But everyone is a good sport, I don’t barf, and we make it to the museum all in one piece!

Bernard and I in front of the entrance to the museum.

Once we get there, Megan goes in to pay for everyone and I potter about the street with some of the other adults. We’re on Champ de Mars: the big street with the palace, this funky monument that looks like a space ship, and other various government buildings. Great place for sight seeing. Its after noon and I figure now is a good time for some lunch so I pull out my granola bar. Many of the kids brought lunch from home as well and happily share their spaghetti, chicken, fired plantains, picklies, etc. with one another. I try to ask a kid if he’ll share one of his fried potatoes with me, and this creeps him out. So instead I walk over to Alex and bum some plantains off him that he just bought from a street vendor.

Finally the museum is ready for us! We commence the arduous task of making the kids line up two-by-two, Noah style!, in an attempt at a buddy system. We have everyone good to go and lined up outside the door waiting for another group to exit when the OCD museum security guard comes over and tells us to line up our pairs in height order. And he means EXACT height order. So we scramble the kids around and have everyone looking sharp in an ascending line. Then! Drum role please… We ENTER.

I run to the front of the line and lead them in because I’m probably more excited than half of them. The museum is actually much nicer than I expect inside with marble floors, nice lighting, and, get this, air conditioning. Several kids are very confused as to why its so cold in here and keep asking the chaperones. The OCD security guard catches up with us inside and literally grabs each child to line them up exactly as he sees fit. And after taking several minutes to do so, we are met by our lovely tour guide. She obviously speaks Creole to the kids and all of the plaques are in French, so I really don’t know what’s going on. I follow Bernard around and try to get him to summarize everything she is saying for me. Once I learn that the giant thing we’re standing in front of is actually the tomb of Toussaint L’overture and Jean Jacque Dessalines, I am SO excited! Apparently Haiti went over to France and had to ask for Toussaint’s bones back… and France was like, “Uh, sure. You can have him.” So now you can see his tomb at Haiti’s museum. COOL.

The museum tells the story of Haiti’s history. The exhibit following the tomb is of all sorts of artifacts from the Indians that inhabited Hispaniola before the Spanish showed up and wrecked everything. Speaking of Spaniards, the next exhibit was about Christopher Columbus, and get this yo, they had the ACTUAL anchor from the SANTA MARIA in the museum!! I flip out! THE Santa Maria, as in the Nina, the Pinta, and Santa Maria. (The Nina was always my favorite as a child because I thought it had the prettiest name). Next was an exhibit on the slave ships that brought over Africans to harvest sugar cane. Then came exhibits on the revolution. They had Petion’s (as in Petionville) drum on display, which I think is super cool but then learn it was his voodoo drum to summon spirits with. This creeps me out a little bit. They say the revolutionaries made a deal with the devil to gain Haiti’s independence. The country was founded on slavery and voodoo and you can still see the ugly scars of these things today – violence, cruelty, darkness, death, spiritual bondage. The nation’s dark history helps to make so much sense of its current situation. I am given so much to think about at the museum and learn a lot! And I have to say, the kids are so, so well behaved on this trip. We were all extremely proud of them!!

After our tour wraps up, we head back out to the street. Bernard, one of the interns Amanda, and I walk over to the palace to take some pictures while we wait for the other group to finish their tour. The palace is such an eerie reminder of the total destruction of the earthquake touching every part of this place from the bottom to the very top.

Once everyone is back on the street, we pile back into the buses. I make a beeline for the very front seat determined not to get carsick this time. I settle into my seat and before you know it, am totally passed out with my mouth open. Probably caught some flies and ate a lot of dust…  I wake up somewhere on the edge of PAP going into Carrefour to the sound of our driver obnoxiously blaring the horn which sounds like some big rig honking. We’ve gotten into some sort of traffic jam, big surprise (not). I look down and realize the bus horn sounds when he mashes these two bare-ended wires together that shoot sparks out when they touch. I stare at him doing this for awhile, totally entertained by the way people rig things up on cars here and the fact that he’s probably shocking himself every time he honks at someone. Oh Haiti.

We get home sometime later all in one piece, and by the grace of God, with no missing children! Woohoo! Respire Haiti Christian School’s first field trip was a smashing success indeed. 

Readjust

There comes a moment in every day when I think to myself, “MUST shower NOW or will not make it.”  That moment came early today. And after my luke-warm, trickle-when-necessary shower had taken off the caked on layers of dirt and sweat, I sat in front of two fans and let them cool/dry me off (because we finally got power after the sun set).  It was marvelous and I now feel ready to write.

Things have been going pretty smashingly here. I am really enjoying my time with Megan and the girls. Yesterday was some holiday. Megan kept saying it was Father’s Day, but Bernard said later is was God’s Day. Maybe it was God the Father’s Day or something… anyway the workers were off and school was out.  So after the AWESOME 147 Million Orphans team left yesterday (sadly), we declared a day of rest. What that ended up equaling was a huge dance party kicked off by a thriller lesson (since I just learned the dance on the cruise last week) followed by the creation of several excellent dance videos, including us doing The Wobble. That night, Megan and I enjoyed a YouTube binge that turned into us watching several episodes of TLC’s My Strange Addiction, featuring people addicted to eating nail polish, baby powder, and eating tape… Makes our life feel more normal I guess ha.

When I got in bed that night, I realized what the hardest thing has been for me to readjust to: sleeping in Haiti. Its 5 million degrees and the power was off so I had no fan; imagine trying to sleep in a puddle of your sweat. Then there are all the ridiculous neighborhood noises. Last night was real heavy on animal sounds: dogs howling everywhere, huge frogs, the family of pigs next door occasionally grunting obnoxiously, and after midnight the dumb/confused roosters start making horrific crowing sounds. There are some chickens that live in our garden and they sometimes wander into our backyard. So in the morning I heard COCKADOODLEDERRAhererrr in stereophonic sound. Really, it’s a nasty screech that doesn’t end well. Oh and a bug had gotten under my mosquito net and would occasionally buzz around my ear until I would start smacking the side of my head in hopes of killing it… I don’t think I got it. Then in the morning, the blinding, burning sun never fails to wake me, and cause me to reach for the nearest pillow, sheet, towel, etc. to put on my face to try and block it out. Sadly, I lost my cute little face mask from last year.  Oh well TIH, I adjusted last year and I will this year too. You just stop hearing it eventually and are so tired it doesn’t matter anyway. Otherwise I feel like I'm adjusting just fine. 

I taught my first adult English class of the year with Bernard today. A lot of my old students were there and it was GREAT to see them. The classes have become a lot more structured now and are pay-to-attend (very small fee) and the students are doing really well.  There are two sections; one for beginners and one for more advanced, which is marvelous. The two official teachers arrived late for the lessons today because JimmyNet was slow making copies (I think I may have mentioned before that JimmyNet is an internet café that has no internet. But Jimmy does have copy machines and printers and such. Well update: he moved to a new location now so I think mayyybe he has internet! I will have to inspect this soon.) So I knew that I needed to come up with something to entertain the students. Instead of making the crowded room play Simon Says as I normally would do, I had one of the interns, Joel dance for them. Joel is a hilarious and top-notch dancer and taught one of the brave student volunteers how to two-step, much to everyone’s delight. Then the lesson happened and it was great because I was able to do a little reverse learning of Creole. The students took a test that Bernard made up at the end of class. I looked over them and they did really well J My favorite question was the last one that instructed, “Talk about yourself. Use five lines.” I think my favorite response was something about “I’m 2 sisters. I’m 4 uncles…” But no really, most everyone did well! I’m excited to be working with these great students again in the beautiful new school. Man, it beats the heck outta trying to teach in that one room church building, aka people oven. I’ll try to post pictures as soon as I can!

Back on the Island

Helloooo from Haiti, or bon swa rather. Not too terribly much has gone on yet but I figured I’d get the ball rolling so you (mostly Grandma :) would know I got here safe and sound on Monday after a pleasantly uneventful trip. The miracles were starting early - it was the first time all of my flights have been on time in years. I just got back from a cruise to Central America the day before and while I planned for this cruise to be a time of rest and relaxation, in true Kathryn-form, I just had a lot of fun and didn’t sleep much. So I had this incredible sore throat for the trip.

In the Miami airport, I met up with two other girls who will be interning at Respire for the summer, Sam and Hannah. They probably thought I was quite strange because of the frog-man voice I get when I have a sore throat coupled with the fact that I was rapidly spooning miso soup into my mouth at 9 in the morning to soothe it. I’m such a star at first impressions.

We land in PAP and go through the janky airport to the board the bus that takes you to the shed where the luggage carousel is (but I did see construction work going on for the first time in the main building that had to be abandoned after the earthquake!). After I walk through customs, I immediately hear someone calling my name. I look over and there is our bodyguard from last summer working security at the airport! I am very excited to see a friend straight away. Megan and Josh are waiting for us in the truck and we get all the luggage inside unmolested by the dozens of guys outside the airport trying to carry your bags for you thanks to another friend of ours. And off we go to Gressier.

Maybe its just because I am feeling tired or sick, but I realize after we’re past Carrefour that I’m no longer glued to the window like I was my first trip. Haiti really is starting to feel so normal to me. It is SO nice to see everyone at the house again and the girls have grown up so much even in six months. They listen better, get along better, play more and whine less. And, get this, Michaelle can SPEAK ENGLISH! And Jessica can to a small extent as well. It’s a whole new world of being a quasi-auntie that I am loving!

When I get to the house there is a huge team there and tons of new interns. Oh and we now rent a house that backs up to our big white one and the two are connected by a beautiful garden path designed by our very own Kyle the Builder. I catch up with Bret, a friend from BR who is in with the team for a while, eat a delicious rice and bean dinner (commence the weight gain), and then take some Tylenol PM and knock out. And because I am sick and exhausted and feeling a bit overwhelmed by so many new people in my familiar environment, I sleep for about 13 hours. Kyle and Josh both fly out for the states while I’m snoozing; Josh returns in two weeks and Kyle will be gone until July. When I finally wake up for good the next afternoon, it is to tell the team goodbye and I no longer have a sore throat! Right as their school bus is pulling out, a short bus is pulling in. Another team is here.

The new team is only staying for two nights and its this group of five women from Tennessee representing an organization called 147 Million Orphans (147millionorphans.com). They are super cool and have been a great official first team to have – a bunch of loving, encouraging moms.

Me with the LOVELY ladies of 147 Million Orphans.

This afternoon, we go to an organization in a neighboring town today called My Life Speaks. They have a ton of cool things going on with the main focus of keeping families together. (Yay anti-orphanage approaches!) Their mom’s and babies program is in full swing while we’re there. A lot of moms from the village are in for a small medical clinic for their babies coupled with a health lesson, and some formula. Hannah puts a baby in my lap and I actually really take to this kid. I also have the song Miss New Booty stuck in my head, so I decide to call her Miss New Booty and proceed to rap to her. Hannah comes by later and says, “Most people sing lullabies to their babies…” Ha. Anyway, I’m excited to hear more about this organization in the future and to write a post about ALLLL the changes going on around here. Crazy! (as usual.)

The End is Never the End: Case in Point.

I'm in the process of cleaning up/out my apartment today as I will be moving out for the summer next week. So I'm bopping around my room to some tunes going through the agonizing process of deciding which pieces of my precious junk should be thrown out and which should actually be kept, when I hear my phone ring. I run to grab it and see some 512 number I don't recognize. This always scares me a little because an unknown 512 number always means business. I answer it in my business voice and its some guy from the IRB asking me questions about my proposal. Oh crud, I haven't brought myself to call Dr. F yet and figure out what we're going to do with the proposal now that the travel request has been denied. Guess I'll just fake like this thing is still happening... so I talk to him for a bit. When I hang up with him I notice I have a missed call and voicemail from Dr. F.

I call voicemail and the lady greets me and tells me I have, "one unheard message. Message one..." As I listen I try not to wet my pants. I cannot believe what I'm hearing! Dr. F tells me I need to try and appeal the IOC decision (and I'm like, yea right)... and that this thing can still happen, call her ASAP. (OMG)

So I take two deep breaths and call her. She has been talking to IRB folks and my proposal can and WILL still be reviewed on Monday. Without the university's permission to travel, I can't go and do the research as we had initially planned methodologically, BUT, it is still eligible to get conditionally approved. And Dr. F has come up w/some ways to potentially tweak the methodology that would still get us the data, I just wouldn't physically be there collecting it. For instance, I could interview kids over Skype, or set up a survey online and have people on site help administer it to the kids after I'm gone.

There are still too many variables up in the air to say what is going to happen, but I do know this: ITS STILL ALIVE!! And to be able to say that after all that has happened has removed every last bit of doubt and anger that has plagued me since receiving the denial letter last week. Someway, somehow, something is going to come of this. Who knows what, but something will. And it will be good.

I am filled with joy to be celebrating the little resurrection of this project! It is an abundantly beautiful truth that the end is NEVER the end when you serve a risen Lord. All glory to him who is faithful! I know there will probably be plenty more frustration and setbacks (ha, especially if the last few months have been any indication), but he is faithful. Faithful faithful faithful faithful! WOO just wanna sing it, dance it out with me yall!

So to review: I will be "appealing" the IOC's denial of my travel proposal (more like inventing an appeal process since no one has ever done it before). My research proposal will be reviewed by the IRB on Monday (I will probably be given several changes to make and then be granted full approval in June*), and I leave Austin that day. I fly to Haiti June 4. THANK YOU for your continued support and prayers on all of these things, they are why this thing is still going.

*you know, hopefully. again, who knows...

The End is Never the End

I do not want to write this blog. It’s hard to talk about failure, efforts that come up short, things that don’t work out. After a long, hard semester, my proposed research in Haiti is one of those things. A few days ago I got an email from the International Oversight Committee with a very generic letter attached to it denying my request to travel there as an affiliate of the university because they have designated it a “category 1 (most extreme risk) restricted region.” Other category 1 restricted regions include Afghanistan, Iraq, Iran, North Korea, the Gaza Strip, Somalia, Sudan, and Yemen… (One of these things is not like the other one?)

I, after all of this, was not about to take no for an answer. But after talking to all of the people I know who could potentially help me, I think its actually done this time. There is no appeals process. The IOC board members are very high up in the system. I was able to get the contact info for the board chair after barging into someone’s office yesterday unannounced, but I’m not feeling optimistic about it. I can’t meet with her, I was only invited to “write” her if I have any questions. The bureaucracy doesn’t know me, it doesn’t care.

So that means I will not be able to conduct research on the students at Respire Haiti Christian School, research targeted at helping the most vulnerable students and restaveks. I will not get data that will help us identify barriers to their education and subsequently develop programs and policies to mitigate those barriers. I will not get data that can be used to get grants, educate more people on the restavek problem, or advocate for these students.

Man, what can I say? I did all I could do. I’m trying not to have regrets about all the work that was done or harbor bitter feelings about it because I know that won’t do me any good. But now I’m feeling so directionless; like my purpose has been taken from me and replaced with a hazy confusion.

I am still going to Haiti. I will fly out June 4. Not sure what I will be doing there but I’m clinging to the belief that it will be something useful. Because I do yet have a purpose that cannot be taken from me: to fight against oppression, slavery, and injustice. What that looks like now though has become a whole lot less clear.

Praying for grace. Praying for guidance.  

Thank you for the continued love and support, it has kept me going. It will keep me going and great things are to be accomplished yet in the name of Jesus for justice for these people. After all, the end is never the end in Christ.  

Research.

After I wrote that last blog post and I knew I would be going back to Haiti in the summer, I found myself tasked with determining what exactly I meant by returning to “work at Respire in a social work capacity.” I began talking to some of my professors about what that could look like and the answer that emerged was research. Yes, research. The very same thing that I whined about all through undergrad working in the psych lab. The reason I thought I could never put myself through a Ph.D. program. The bane of my existence while taking various required research courses… And so that is what I have been doing this semester (when I haven’t been studying or dealing with various client crises of course).

Let me explain a little bit about this process. There is this board at all major research institutions (and maybe some minor ones as well…) called the Institutional Review Board (IRB). You have to write a big formal proposal in which you talk about your study, do a lot of background research on it, talk about you’re target participants and all the ways you could potentially cause them psychological harm and how you're going to fix that, etc. You also must draft complicated consent forms and procedures, design a research instrument, and think about how you’re going to handle your data. Then when you think you’ve covered every single base and angle that could possibly exist, you submit your proposal to the IRB. And then you wait, and a month later or so, they say, “Yes, you can do this research after you make a million revisions to your proposal,” or “No, you can’t do the research even though you spent forever working to get to this point.” I am scared to death of the IRB.

So I was like, “Research! Alright, let’s do this!” And then I realized, I do not know what in the world I am doing. No clue. So immediately from the get-go I was forced into this spot of surrender. I knew I couldn’t do it; it would take a miracle. I would pray about it and be like, “Ha, ok God, I don’t know what I’m doing… its all you man.” The first time I met with Dr. F, the (widely published) professor who, for some completely unknown reason, agreed to sponsor my research she looked at me like, “What are you even doing in my office?” She asked me a thousand questions that I couldn’t answer. And the second time I went back thinking I was slightly more prepared, she tore up the ideas I brought to the table.

Finally spring break happened and I had a solid block of time to dive into this proposal. I spent everyday in the library for hours researching and refining my plans. Megan and I had spent a lot of time talking about it and I knew the project would center around collecting data on restavek children. A restavek is an “unpaid child servant living and working away from home.” Parents who can’t take care of a child send them to live with other families as a domestic servant in hopes that the child will have her basic needs met and the chance to go to school. Often these hopes are not realized and the child simply becomes a slave living in a distance relative or stranger’s home, doing all of the household work. A majority of the students in the school are restavek children, getting an education for the first time because they don’t have to worry about school fees or paying for a uniform.

I decided that I would conduct an exploratory study of the student population to learn more about common characteristics and experiences of children in the school. The goals of the study being: improve service provision to the children to enhance their educational and life outcomes, guide future program development, and get hard data on this population for advocacy purposes. I developed a structured interview to conduct individually with students at the school containing questions aimed at uncovering barriers and difficulties associated with the restavek experience.

The week after spring break, I nervously awaited meeting with Dr. F again. Anxiously, I went back into her office with all of the work I had done over the break. I expected her once again to tear it apart, just like the IRB would do. But instead, I was greeted with words like, “This is really good,” and, “Wow, you worked really hard on this.”
I felt like someone rolled a rock off of my chest. They were some of the best words I ever heard. If Dr. F thought this was good, maybe the IRB would think it was good too! This MIGHT actually work…

Everything continued along smashingly. I still sometimes thought I was completely crazy for taking this on, but I guess crazy is just how I've always operated. I made my final edits to all of my documents this past Sunday and met with Dr. F again today to final-finalize it before the deadline tomorrow, April 6 – aka what I have considered to be D-Day for several months now; and I was sittin’ pretty. I even got tickets to the Hornets v. Spurs game tomorrow night and had a great trip planned to celebrate finally turning in this stinkin’ thing.

But when I walked into Dr. F’s office, she immediately starting talking fast in a tone similar to the one she used at our first meeting and I knew something was wrong. It’s very weird that this all developed in the last week after I’ve worked on this proposal for an entire semester… but to make a long story short, it came to our attention that UT’s study abroad office has Haiti listed as a "category 3 restricted region" because traveling there is “extremely dangerous,” and heavily restricted by the university. And I have to get some kind of approval that will be tough to get because if I die or something, the school doesn’t want to deal with people saying, “Why did you even let students go there and do research in the first place?? Fools.” Which I get, but seriously, all of the dangerous/bad things happening to American citizens in Haiti probably happen to American citizens on a more regular basis in New Orleans… Anyway, after my denial turned to spouting clever ideas about how to get around whatever approval I needed, Dr. F was like, “Look, we can’t turn this in tomorrow. What do you want to do?” I was reeling. I was trying not to cry, and I wanted to vomit… and I told her as much. She kind of looked like she wanted to cry too but managed to laugh at my honesty. She then offered to run upstairs and ask the head of the social work research center her opinion on the matter. “Ok, back in 15!” she said as she ran out the door.

I went out into the room outside her office and plopped into a chair while the fate of my 50+ hours of work, blood, sweat, tears, anxiety, my very heart, was decided. I began praying my go-to prayer in Haiti when I see things I can't handle – Oh God… Oh God… Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God. Then I heard my practice professor’s voice across the hall. I ran across the hall to her office because clearly, I couldn’t just sit alone while this was all happening. I tried to catch my breath and tell her what happened while fighting the tears with all my might. It could all be over in a matter of minutes. All that time and energy lost. But that didn’t hurt nearly as bad as possibility of losing the data that could be collected. The data that could be used for so much good. I also told my practice professor that I wanted to vomit and she offered to get me a bucket, ha.

A very LONG 15 minutes later, I walked back over to Dr. F’s office. She turned around in her important looking swivel desk chair in slow motion, like the bad guys in movies. And she was smiling? The social work research center lady said something along the lines of, “Yea maybe this could work… try for May submission.” So Dr. F was very excited that the study wasn’t dead in the water. I, on the other hand, continued to feel nauseous. To make another long story short, in spite of my high hopes, hard work, and quality research proposal, I will not be turning it in tomorrow. I will miss the April IRB deadline. Instead, during April – aka the month-long term paper and exam extravaganza – I will be fighting the terrifically large and scary bureaucracy that is UT in and effort to convince the right (and probably inaccessible) people that I need to do this and they should clear me to go. Mission: impossible.

After Dr. F and I wrapped up this disaster of a meeting during which I feel like the whole damn sky fell on my head, I walked out to my car. I got inside, plunked my head on the steering wheel, and bawled like a baby. I wept with complete abandon for the first time since I had surgery done on my leg in our bedroom in Gressier without any anesthesia… the very picture of pathetic and defeated. Ugh.

I went to a seder supper tonight and great deal of the symbolism had to do with contrasting slavery and freedom. I felt God telling me that I have to keep fighting slavery, have to keep fighting for freedom. And so I will. I guess I told this whole story (thanks, if you're still reading it) to just say, I need your help. The odds are completely against me, but I guess they were from the start. I never had any illusions about being able to pull this project off by myself… I just want to humbly ask you to pray for some kind of miracle to happen, for this research to happen. For me to have faith in the face of rejection, should it not happen. And for freedom. Freedom for the trafficked and those held by the chains of oppression, freedom for people enslaved to money or drugs or an idea of beauty, freedom for the restavek children in Haiti.