Je Pense Que. . .

Hello, it's Hannah here. This is wierd writing on the blog again, after a week of nothing. It's also wierd because this is probably going to be my last blog post about Haiti. In a way, I wanted to stun everyone with my incredible insight after a week back from Haiti and surprise everyone with the answer of how we can make lasting and sustainable change in Haiti. But even after a week to collect my thoughts, I still don't have anything to say.

What we got to be a part of is something that people can only dream about. In fact, sometimes I think it was a dream. Everyone wants to know about my trip and how it was, but as soon as I try to explain it to them, I can't. There are no words to describe what happened there. There are tons of pictures where we can see ourselves looking happy and playing music with the Haitians, but we can't describe how that made us feel. The people at the camp not only changed how I see Haiti and it's people, they also changed me. Their never-ending energy, their wonderful spirits, the way they are always finding the bright side of life is something that I only wish I could have.

Being raised an American, it's not a bad thing, but it definitely has sheltered me from the realities of the world. Driving through Port-au-Prince the first day we arrived was strange and really sad, seeing large families live in houses that were the size of my living room, stray dogs and cats running around with no homes, debris from the earthquake in piles and laying on the sidewalks, garbage everywhere, and people sitting in all of the chaos fanning the heat away as they sold their wares like nothing was wrong. To them, nothing was. As an American driving by, and having Port-au-Prince be the first part of Haiti I saw, I pitied them. Ten days later, when we drove through Port-au-Prince again going back to the airport, my vision of these people was completely altered. I no longer pitied them people for what they didn't have. I marveled in their creativity and their flexability, how they were so strong and determined, even after they had been through so much.

Coming back home and "getting back into the swing of things" has been really wierd. Life doesn't always stop and let you enjoy the things that you have experienced, it seems. In America, there's always something you have to be doing, and you have to be there at a certain time. I prefer Haitian time as opposed to American time. It's still a challenge for me to not feel guilty for having a refrigerator that keeps things cold, for using a washing machine instead of hand-washing my clothes, for having a toilet that flushes, and for using a computer. I still use these things, but I'm more aware of what I have. Similarly, I'm more aware of what my friends in Haiti don't always have.

As for how we can make lasting and sustainable change in Haiti, I still don't know. The most I can think of is not to pity these people, don't tell them what to do, and don't tell them how to do it. These are some of the brightest, hardest-working people I have ever met. They don't need parental advice from America, they need friends. People who won't tell them what they are doing wrong, and people who will be there to listen when they need it. They don't need government involvement or NPO's "helping" them. They need real people giving only their time to teach Haitians how to be doctors or teachers or builders, instead of having other governments send doctors and teachers and builders into Haiti, therefore taking the jobs and opportunity to learn the trade away from the Haitians. I have no definitive answers of how to change the world; I am only 17 years old. However, I can tell you one thing: it needs to be my generation that makes the change. Hopefully, through the Maine Music Outreach, we have already started to make that change.