I froze. I felt the smile slowly slide off my face. I stared at the picture of the beautiful Haitian sunrise in my hand. My eyes fell on the colors in the sky—deep blue and orange and pink and gray—and on the layers of verdurous mountains that seemed unending and on the warm, golden sun, whose generous rays bathed the entire landscape. I knew that my friend’s question wasn’t meant to sound pointed. I knew that what he had heard about Haiti and what was reflected in that picture were two very different things. I knew, too, that he had not just spent a week there like we had, and therefore, he did not understand. So instead of getting defensive, I smiled again and said the phrase that I had heard all week from Haitians and blan alike, “Yup! It’s Haiti.”

Last week, eleven of my students from Holy Name High School traveled to the Be Like Brit Orphanage in Grand Goave, Haiti with four chaperons, myself included. The story of Be Like Brit—its origin and how it came to be what it is today—has forever seeped itself into my heart and, indeed, permeates one’s entire experience while staying at the orphanage. Britney Gengel had traveled to Haiti with students from her college, Lynn

University, in January 2010. During their stay, a catastrophic earthquake struck Haiti, devastating the country and killing an estimated 300,000 people, including Brit. The last text she had sent to her mom said, “They love us so much and everyone is so happy. They love what they have and they work so hard to get nowhere, yet they are all so appreciative. I want to move here and start an orphanage myself.” In Brit’s memory, her family built an orphanage in Grand Goave, the town where Brit was scheduled to travel the day after the earthquake. This story, although at this point very well-known and often spoken about in our Worcester community, gives me chills every time I hear it.

It is rare that one comes across a person with an innate ability to empathize with humans whose experiences he or she has never shared—someone who can imagine his or her way into other people’s shoes. In a world focused on individual achievement, it is more common to remain comfortably within the bounds of your own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than what you are. You can close your mind and heart to everything that does not touch you personally; you can refuse to know. I never met Brit. But I can guess just from that text message that she was one of those rare people. Her willingness to encounter the unknown with fearlessness and compassion has embedded itself in the life of the orphanage. When something does not go according to plan, that spirit is what allows everyone to say affectionately, “It’s Haiti!”

There’s no denying that Haiti has experienced its share of instability, and certainly the focus in the headlines surrounding Haiti leads most people to associate it exclusively with earthquakes, coups, and unrest. Add in the threat of mosquito-borne illness in the Caribbean, and the general response people give when you announce that you are traveling to Haiti becomes an indirect expectation of doom. But for those of us who have been there—even for a short time—it is so much more than that. These are some of the hidden treasures that my group found there:

I saw kids running and jumping into our arms to welcome us upon our arrival (Bernie).
I saw a little girl chase me around with so much energy and a huge smile on her face (Nora).
I saw adults coming out of their houses and watching and smiling as we played hand-games with their children at the work site (Lindsey).
I saw a boy, who was the same age as my little brother, come up to me during movie night and put my arms around him, because he wanted to cuddle (Bethany).


I saw my students amazed at how strong of connections they could make in so little time, because Brit’s children were more capable of showing love than most people back in the States (Greg).
I saw one boy, Steeve, who was on clean-up crew after dinner one night, belting out the song, Hallelujah, as he swept the floor with a huge smile on his face (Anne).
I saw a little boy with no pants or shoes come up to me and hold my hand when we were on a hike in the mountains like he had known me forever (Erin).
I saw the men at the work site teach us with SO MUCH patience how to hammer and saw and paint, and they probably could have done all the work so much faster themselves (Emma).
I saw people’s faces light up every time we said “Bonswa!” even though they had no idea who we were (Leslie).

It’s difficult to put into words how meaningful this experience was, because it meant something different for all of us. But that is because Haiti is complicated. It tempts you to question, to experience, to learn, and to re-learn. It forces you out of your comfort zone and challenges you to live exclusively in the moment—to just be. It is hungry bellies and friendly smiles. It is tears of helplessness and songs of joy. It is unending piles of rubbish and a warm, colorful sunrise. It is tradition and change. It is heartache and hope. It’s Haiti.