Update from Jayne Flem­ing, Human­i­tar­ian Project Project, Lawyers’ Earth­quake Response Net­work (LERN)
It is my last night in Haiti. I spent the day at the gen­eral hos­pi­tal and Doc­tors with­out Bor­ders. We got med­ical care for an elder stroke vic­tim, four tots with frac­tures, and six rape sur­vivors. It was actu­ally the best way to spend the last day in Haiti. I felt like I accom­plished some­thing, helped in a con­crete way, which was a con­trast to the six days spent lis­ten­ing to sto­ries of loss, which made me feel so helpless.

Our team went to the hotel for din­ner again tonight. I stayed here because I have three teenage girls and two tiny angels (ages 3 and 5) here with me. They are all orphans and we got back from the clinic too late for them to go to their tent camps in the dark.

The teens did not know each other before this week. They have bonded over the days our team has been here and they are look­ing out for each other. The lit­tle angels are the youngest sib­lings of one of the teens. Their par­ents died in the earth­quake. I am babysit­ting all of them tonight. This is truly the best way I could spend my last night here.

I have learned a lot about myself on this trip. I have learned that I can be strong. I have also learned I am not immune from being swept away with emotion.

On the sub­ject of emo­tion, I did not report this last night. I could not bring myself to, I was so full of guilt.

Remem­ber the 18 year old named Nancy? The one who was raped on Fri­day and who I did not let out of my sight on Sat­ur­day? Well, she returned with the com­mu­nity lead­ers on Sun­day to sign forms and see me again. I was incred­i­bly busy and jug­gling about 100 cases. At some point, an inter­preter told me that Nancy wanted to know when she was going to the clinic. I told him to tell her Mon­day at 10:00. The inter­preter mis­un­der­stood and told her to leave and come back on Mon­day at 10:00. I searched for her later and learned she had gone back to the streets. I was hor­ri­fied and filled with guilt and fear. I had taken the child under my wing for just 24 hours and she was already miss­ing. To make mat­ters worse, it was pour­ing rain.

I wor­ried about her all night. Where had she gone? Did she have shel­ter? Would she be attacked again? Would she return?

This morn­ing I waited anx­iously, eye­ing the clock every ten min­utes.  I wor­ried when she had not returned by 9:00. At 10:00 a.m. I asked one of my inter­preters to see if she had checked in. I prayed she was okay. No sign of her. I checked with the inter­preters every 15 min­utes. I swung between anger and fear, like a mother who has lost sight of her child in the playground.

At 10:30 I pressed the inter­preters again. Where is she? At last, at 11:00, one came into my office. “She is back,” he reported. “She is in the courtyard.”

The relief I felt was like an emo­tional tsunami. I closed my office door and cried for the first time this week.

I hon­estly think if I had lost that girl I would have lost a piece of myself.  She is all alone. Her par­ents, grand­par­ents, aunts, cousins, and sib­lings are all dead. The least I could do was give her a safe place to sleep and a meal. Yet I had man­aged to fail in that promise the first night she was with us. So when she returned I thought per­haps I would have a sec­ond chance.

I explored all options in an effort to find her a safe place. By the end of today I had found a fam­ily for her to live with (my interpreter’s sis­ter). I will pro­vide for her needs. Maybe this is a way I can take a piece of Haiti home with me. Maybe it is a way I can leave a piece of myself here.

We’ve also placed nine other orphans with fam­i­lies in the com­mu­nity. Five are going with our inter­preters or their fam­i­lies. Four are going to neigh­bors of our driver.

It would be easy to feel that this is just a drop in the bucket. There are tens of thou­sands of orphans here. Yet hope has to start some­where. Per­haps it can begin with these nine youngsters.

Jayne