Dear Friends, I wanted to share an email I received from a young lady who has visited us. It is the perspective of Haiti seen through the eyes of an american teenager on her first visit.

I peer out the window, overlooking the slums of Port-au-Prince. Trembling with anxiety, excitement, overwhelming curiosity, the plane comes to a halt. I wait in a line of unfamiliar faces as the crowd shuffles down the stairs. Stepping into the Haitian sunlight, the stench of burning garbage, the heat, and the anticipation engulf me. The distant mountains paint the background of the peaceful sky. Mumbles of Creole fill my ears, a melodic hum. I'm here. I'm finally here. The streets are bustling, a chaotic mess. Cars dodge past one another. I sit in the back of the truck, the wind rushing into my face, filling my hair with dirt and dust, and I finally feel free. I'm not trapped inside the walls of Mariemont. I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to fit the mold of the "cookie-cutter" image.

The sun begins to set, radiating a beauty unlike any I have seen in the states. Hues of purple, magenta, and orange illustrate the canvas against the horizon. Children run alongside the road, waving emphatically, with illuminate grins painted across their faces. The tired, worn eyes of an elderly woman gaze into mine, crying for help, for hope, for a future. She gathers the goods she had been selling that day from underneath her small stand, identical to the neighboring stand, selling the exact same products. On the corner, a defeated man resides in his wheelchair, for he is missing both legs. Draped in filthy rags, his piercing eyes stop when they reach mine, as a smile is uncovered in my expression. I see their pain, their suffering, their hunger. It is no longer a question of want, but a question of need. As I step foot through the door in the cement wall surrounding the garage-size school, children, clad in red and white checkered uniforms, immediately race to my side, grabbing at my hands, wrapping their skinny arms around my waist, almost knocking me to the ground. Shouts of excitement and laughter echo in my ears as the orphans cling to my body. A little girl carefully runs her fingers over my fingernails, examining, in awe, the pink polish covering them. She has never seen nail polish, a simple accessory almost everyone has in the states. Several little girls begin speculating my hands, noticing the contrast of my skin color, because it is not often they see an American. Katai's face is covered with stains from tears and sweat. Only a few inches shy of my height, I smile at her. Her morose expression melts away as she reveals a grin. She hugs me, grasping to my body, longing for someone to love her, to accept her. Her beautiful smile is no longer hidden behind her sadness. I hurt for these orphan children, for the elderly woman on the side of the street; for the teenage mother, younger that I, desperately searching for someone to help her sick baby, for the man who has lost his sight and is, therefore, good for nothing. I had been so ignorant. How can I live in such a materialistic society while the people of Haiti suffer? I will not go and I cannot go back the same. I have been forever changed.

Thank you for your support


Tom Osbeck
Executive Director
Jesus in Haiti Ministries

For Contributions:
Jesus in Haiti Ministries, Inc. Suite 155 10214 Chestnut Plaza Drive Fort Wayne, IN 46814