"I have a very bad news to share with you concerning Michelet. Let me know if you are online."
It was Sunday morning, and I had just rolled over in bed to see the message on Facebook Messenger, sent from the director of the elementary school I work with in Haiti. It had been 90 minutes since the message was sent. I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure I was reading it right, and quickly dashed off a return text "Good morning, Sadrace. I am now. What's going on?"
My mind raced. Just the name Michelet has long been enough to get directly to my heart. If anyone ever wanted to get conversation with me to go beyond the casual superficial, all they had to do was ask about "my" sweet Michelet. And to use his name, and the threat of something unfortunately, my mind immediately raced to the worst.
I first met Michelet December 2010. At the time, I was frustrated with the short-sightedness and culturally naïve approach of short term medical missions, and eager to get to know a deeper and more authentic face of Haiti. Gardy, a Haitian friend and translator I met through the earlier medical missions, offered to host me for a while, and show me "his" Haiti, and I eagerly accepted the offer. So we partnered up, and on motorcycle, drove deep into the mountains of Haiti. About a week into our time together, we were somewhere just past Kenskoff, when I saw a few young boys playing in the street, and we decided to take a break on the motorcycles. The three boys eagerly ran up to us, and we engaged them in conversation. Trying to learn as much as I could about the area, I wanted to know where the local schools were, and more general questions about their community. I reached into my pocket, and accidentally dropped a wadded up 100 Gourde bill (equivalent to about $2 US, but classic dumb American mistake! this could be seen as a very pretentious thing), and while this was likely more money than the boys had seen in weeks, with out a second thought, one of the young boys reached down and with a big cheeky smile handed it right back to me. That boy was Michelet.
I aske
d the boys to show me where they lived and played, and asked if their parents were around. I was led to their house, which was equivalent to about a 10'x10' shed, that two of the boys and their father shared (the third boy was the neighbor kid). I was invited into their home, and found a single piece of plywood propped up on some buckets, that the three shared as a bed, and a few pieces of magazine torn out and pasted on the walls as pictures. Looking around, the shed was within an approximately 1 acre piece of land, filled with weeds. I inquired about their life, and was told that about a year previous, their mother had come home from selling produce at the market, complained of fatigue and over-heating, and died in their home an hour later. To pay for her burial, the boys' father, Keke, had sold their crop and seeds, and for the last year they had lived on fallow land, living off pocket change given by their neighbors in exchange for small chores. They could afford about two meals of rice per week, and I was shocked to learn that while the boys looked very young, they were indeed 11 and 12 years old; their growth stunted by malnutrition. I bought them large bags of rice and beans to last a few months, prayed for the Lord's mercy on them, and was on my way.
I had been doing talks in local classrooms about international poverty, and brought this family's story to the 8th grade classrooms of Chief Moses Middle School in Moses Lake. There, the students inquired if there was a way they could help this family long term, and came up with the idea of raising money to pay for Keke to be able to buy seeds again. The Chief Moses 8th graders did exactly that, and I returned that December (6 months later) and assisted in purchasing Keke seeds and fertilizer. His crop of choice? Leeks! Almost a large onion of sorts; a crop he had grown previously.
I asked Keke what further way I could help him and his family, and he expressed that he wanted nothing more than for his boys than to receive an education. No-one in their family, for generations past, had ever learned to read and write, and he felt an education could be a key to something more for them. In a separate conversation, I also asked the boys what they wanted for themselves, and they pointed up the street to the nearest school, and indicated the same. So after consulting with various people, and after a few more very serious conversations with the family and the director of that nearby school - we decided to do exactly that, and enrolled Michelet and Elisee in that very school, along with another neighbor girl, Illiomene.
In the process of enrolling the boys in school and purchasing the necessary supplies, I asked the three children what they wanted to be when they grew up. It was amazing the confusion they displayed at being asked this. In the United States, children are asked what they want to be from a very young age, for we live in a place where "you can be anything you set your mind to". But in Haiti, these three had never once been asked this question. After some thought, Illiomene and Elisee both thought they wanted to be teachers. Michelet asked me what I did, and I told him that I would soon be a doctor, and he asked if I thought that that was something he could ever be. He explained that his mom had died because she didn't have a doctor, so perhaps he could be a doctor so that others didn't have to die. I told Michelet that if he put his mind to it, and worked as hard as he knew how, I thought he could do it.
Over the next six years, I had the immense privilege of watching Michelet grow into a remarkable young man. He went from the sweet wild child, who had rarely stepped foot into a public building and knew little but playing in the dirt and begging for food; to a very respectful, polite, smart, humble, kind gentleman. When his brother, Elisee, dropped out of school with out the will power to give up play for a strict work environment, Michelet pressed on harder, and somehow felt the need to make-up for his brother's short comings. Michelet continued to excel, and was described by his teachers as doing better than one could have possibly hoped.
The first time I asked Michelet to write for me, Keke watched on. I looked up and smiled, "Keke! Your son can read and write!" Keke wept with pride. His dream for his son had come true.
My favorite memory of Michelet is the day we went to the beach. Despite living in Haiti, and only maybe 60 miles from the beach, he had never before been to the beach because of lack funds to go. When one is struggling to eat, you do not sacrifice the time and finances for a fun trip. So, when report was received of a very successful completion of the third grade, we planned an outing with both Illiomene and Michelet. To celebrate the outing, the children's teacher and neighbors rallied around them, and lent them swimsuits, nice clothing, jewelry and sunglasses, to help them feel as "cool" as possible. Transportation to the beach ended up being a disaster -- we rode taxi motorcycle to the bus, took the bus to meet up with a borrowed car, the borrowed car then broke down somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and we had to flag down and rent a private tap tap. Somewhere in the middle of the adventure, we were pulled over and then ticketed for what I call "DWW"...Driving While White (the corrupt police spot a white person in the vehicle, and make up something for which to ticket us, knowing they can get the money from a white person). The reason they made up on the ticket? Our windows were too tinted, despite the fact we had all four windows rolled down as low as they could go, and there was no physical way they would have seen them. Overwhelmed with my own disappointment that what was meant to be a very special day out with these two children, was being spoiled by corrupt people of authority, tears silently slipped down my cheeks. Michelet caught my gaze across the seat and held it, and then apologized to me on behalf of his own country. But who was I to stay angry, when a child wants to try and take such weight upon himself?? I quickly wiped the tears and smiled a reassuring smile.
When we finally made it to the beach, five hours after we had set out (a distance that would have only taken one hour in the States), I felt defeated and wanted to apologize for the day. But instead, as the ocean waves came into sight, Michelet and Illiomenes' faces lit up with the purest look of joy I have ever seen. It was if the best day of their life had just come true!!! That afternoon we played as if nothing at all bad had happened. We splashed, played water games, and drank from freshly cut coconuts. I purchased everyone meals, and Michelet ate half of his while saving the other half to bring home to his brother. He was wrapped up in pure delight -- but yet never once assuming, or forgetful of others and his care for them.
Back to the present, after texting Director Sodrace back, I continued my morning back in the United States, trying to get my brain from going to the worst case scenarios. But instead, an hour later, the director texted back with fateful news, "Friday, he was beaten and he died last night." I dropped the phone, my knees gave way, and all that could form was "NOO! No, no, no, no, no, no, no...."
As I got more of the story, I learned he had been playing soccer, and a neighborhood kid randomly jumped and beat him. He was able to walk home, and the next morning woke complaining of abdominal pain and asked to go to the hospital. Both with out easy resources to get him help, and perhaps not fully attune to the situation, his father told him to rest. As Michelet became sicker, Keke tried to summon for help, but it was too late. Michelet died December 17th, 2016.
It is difficult to wrap my mind around his death. He worked to be a doctor so he didn't have to watch any more senseless early death, but instead he died an even more senseless death, in the same one room shack his mother had died seven years prior. His memorial service was a gathering of a dozen or so neighbors amidst the farmland we had worked together to plant, just six years prior.
Nearly three months later, and I am still deeply angry with God. The description of his death sounds to me like he died of internal bleeding from a splenic laceration. This is an injury that would have been easily picked up on and surgically treated here in the United States, with out any question given to his ability to pay for treatment, or to his background. Had I been in Haiti at the time of the injury, I could have surely picked up on the symptoms he was exhibiting and helped expedite his access to treatment. Had he been here, or I been there, he would likely still have been with us. In the end, he faced more obstacles and fought harder to be a doctor than I ever have, his motivation was more pure than mine has ever been, and he was a far kinder and more selfless soul than I will ever be. Yet... he was buried at 18 years old because of the circumstances his sweet soul lived in.
I can't say that I have answers to any of the "why's" the above carries with it. But I can say that I am deeply grateful to the people who poured into Michelet's life. He was a young man like none I have ever met or will ever meet again, and to those who invested into his life with me -- I offer the most heartfelt "THANK YOU" I could ever imagine. I loved Michelet like a child; and your investment with me, is a gift I shall never forget. Thank you Chief Moses Middle School 8th graders (over the last 6 years!!!), and their teachers Mrs Carol Green and Mrs Linda Miller, who have helped foster a selfless love for strangers on the other side of the world, and with it allowed a beautiful thing to unfold within young lives -- both in the United States and Haiti. Thank you to Jacob and Gardy, for being my unfailing support system in Haiti while I am there, and being arms, hearts, and voices of love for Michelet and the other children year-round. Thank you to the Mountain School Director Sodrace and their teachers there, for loving Michelet as your own child, and believing in him every step of the way the last six years. Thank you to Ian, Emily, Paul, Millie, and Nate, for being my travel partners, carrying with you wisdom and love you were not afraid to invest. Thank you to Paul for allowing me to invest our resources in children who were not long ago, strangers to you; and for recognizing that Michelet was like a son to me, and so choosing to love him in turn. And thank you to everyone who has carried me through the last six years of this program, as together we have believed in these young people. It is humbling beyond any words that I can put to it, that I have been permitted the opportunity to be the hands and feet for Michelet (and the others), on your behalf.
Over the last few weeks, I have come to peace in the understanding that in the eternal spectrum of things, having lived 18 years on this earth or having lived 80 years, makes little difference. And while Michelet was not able to fulfill his dream of caring for his fellow Haitians as a doctor, he did accomplish much: he was the first ever in the generations of his family to read and write, his own achievements earned him travel to places he never would have seen otherwise, he taught school children on the other side of the world that the color of your skin or nation of origin does not determine your character or worth in this world, and he was an unforgettable and irreplaceable model of kindness, duty, and humility, that his classmates, my employees, my travel partners, and I, will continue learn from the rest of our lives.
Mwen renmen ou, Michelet. M ap sonje ou, jiskaske nou rankontre anko nan sye'l la.
It was Sunday morning, and I had just rolled over in bed to see the message on Facebook Messenger, sent from the director of the elementary school I work with in Haiti. It had been 90 minutes since the message was sent. I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure I was reading it right, and quickly dashed off a return text "Good morning, Sadrace. I am now. What's going on?"
My mind raced. Just the name Michelet has long been enough to get directly to my heart. If anyone ever wanted to get conversation with me to go beyond the casual superficial, all they had to do was ask about "my" sweet Michelet. And to use his name, and the threat of something unfortunately, my mind immediately raced to the worst.
I first met Michelet December 2010. At the time, I was frustrated with the short-sightedness and culturally naïve approach of short term medical missions, and eager to get to know a deeper and more authentic face of Haiti. Gardy, a Haitian friend and translator I met through the earlier medical missions, offered to host me for a while, and show me "his" Haiti, and I eagerly accepted the offer. So we partnered up, and on motorcycle, drove deep into the mountains of Haiti. About a week into our time together, we were somewhere just past Kenskoff, when I saw a few young boys playing in the street, and we decided to take a break on the motorcycles. The three boys eagerly ran up to us, and we engaged them in conversation. Trying to learn as much as I could about the area, I wanted to know where the local schools were, and more general questions about their community. I reached into my pocket, and accidentally dropped a wadded up 100 Gourde bill (equivalent to about $2 US, but classic dumb American mistake! this could be seen as a very pretentious thing), and while this was likely more money than the boys had seen in weeks, with out a second thought, one of the young boys reached down and with a big cheeky smile handed it right back to me. That boy was Michelet.
I aske
d the boys to show me where they lived and played, and asked if their parents were around. I was led to their house, which was equivalent to about a 10'x10' shed, that two of the boys and their father shared (the third boy was the neighbor kid). I was invited into their home, and found a single piece of plywood propped up on some buckets, that the three shared as a bed, and a few pieces of magazine torn out and pasted on the walls as pictures. Looking around, the shed was within an approximately 1 acre piece of land, filled with weeds. I inquired about their life, and was told that about a year previous, their mother had come home from selling produce at the market, complained of fatigue and over-heating, and died in their home an hour later. To pay for her burial, the boys' father, Keke, had sold their crop and seeds, and for the last year they had lived on fallow land, living off pocket change given by their neighbors in exchange for small chores. They could afford about two meals of rice per week, and I was shocked to learn that while the boys looked very young, they were indeed 11 and 12 years old; their growth stunted by malnutrition. I bought them large bags of rice and beans to last a few months, prayed for the Lord's mercy on them, and was on my way.
I had been doing talks in local classrooms about international poverty, and brought this family's story to the 8th grade classrooms of Chief Moses Middle School in Moses Lake. There, the students inquired if there was a way they could help this family long term, and came up with the idea of raising money to pay for Keke to be able to buy seeds again. The Chief Moses 8th graders did exactly that, and I returned that December (6 months later) and assisted in purchasing Keke seeds and fertilizer. His crop of choice? Leeks! Almost a large onion of sorts; a crop he had grown previously.
I asked Keke what further way I could help him and his family, and he expressed that he wanted nothing more than for his boys than to receive an education. No-one in their family, for generations past, had ever learned to read and write, and he felt an education could be a key to something more for them. In a separate conversation, I also asked the boys what they wanted for themselves, and they pointed up the street to the nearest school, and indicated the same. So after consulting with various people, and after a few more very serious conversations with the family and the director of that nearby school - we decided to do exactly that, and enrolled Michelet and Elisee in that very school, along with another neighbor girl, Illiomene.
In the process of enrolling the boys in school and purchasing the necessary supplies, I asked the three children what they wanted to be when they grew up. It was amazing the confusion they displayed at being asked this. In the United States, children are asked what they want to be from a very young age, for we live in a place where "you can be anything you set your mind to". But in Haiti, these three had never once been asked this question. After some thought, Illiomene and Elisee both thought they wanted to be teachers. Michelet asked me what I did, and I told him that I would soon be a doctor, and he asked if I thought that that was something he could ever be. He explained that his mom had died because she didn't have a doctor, so perhaps he could be a doctor so that others didn't have to die. I told Michelet that if he put his mind to it, and worked as hard as he knew how, I thought he could do it.
Over the next six years, I had the immense privilege of watching Michelet grow into a remarkable young man. He went from the sweet wild child, who had rarely stepped foot into a public building and knew little but playing in the dirt and begging for food; to a very respectful, polite, smart, humble, kind gentleman. When his brother, Elisee, dropped out of school with out the will power to give up play for a strict work environment, Michelet pressed on harder, and somehow felt the need to make-up for his brother's short comings. Michelet continued to excel, and was described by his teachers as doing better than one could have possibly hoped.
The first time I asked Michelet to write for me, Keke watched on. I looked up and smiled, "Keke! Your son can read and write!" Keke wept with pride. His dream for his son had come true.
My favorite memory of Michelet is the day we went to the beach. Despite living in Haiti, and only maybe 60 miles from the beach, he had never before been to the beach because of lack funds to go. When one is struggling to eat, you do not sacrifice the time and finances for a fun trip. So, when report was received of a very successful completion of the third grade, we planned an outing with both Illiomene and Michelet. To celebrate the outing, the children's teacher and neighbors rallied around them, and lent them swimsuits, nice clothing, jewelry and sunglasses, to help them feel as "cool" as possible. Transportation to the beach ended up being a disaster -- we rode taxi motorcycle to the bus, took the bus to meet up with a borrowed car, the borrowed car then broke down somewhere in the middle of nowhere, and we had to flag down and rent a private tap tap. Somewhere in the middle of the adventure, we were pulled over and then ticketed for what I call "DWW"...Driving While White (the corrupt police spot a white person in the vehicle, and make up something for which to ticket us, knowing they can get the money from a white person). The reason they made up on the ticket? Our windows were too tinted, despite the fact we had all four windows rolled down as low as they could go, and there was no physical way they would have seen them. Overwhelmed with my own disappointment that what was meant to be a very special day out with these two children, was being spoiled by corrupt people of authority, tears silently slipped down my cheeks. Michelet caught my gaze across the seat and held it, and then apologized to me on behalf of his own country. But who was I to stay angry, when a child wants to try and take such weight upon himself?? I quickly wiped the tears and smiled a reassuring smile.
When we finally made it to the beach, five hours after we had set out (a distance that would have only taken one hour in the States), I felt defeated and wanted to apologize for the day. But instead, as the ocean waves came into sight, Michelet and Illiomenes' faces lit up with the purest look of joy I have ever seen. It was if the best day of their life had just come true!!! That afternoon we played as if nothing at all bad had happened. We splashed, played water games, and drank from freshly cut coconuts. I purchased everyone meals, and Michelet ate half of his while saving the other half to bring home to his brother. He was wrapped up in pure delight -- but yet never once assuming, or forgetful of others and his care for them.
Over the next couple years, Keke unfortunately fell to more and more alcoholism, and I played more and more the role of Michelet's guardian. Last summer, as I had a very down to earth conversation with Michelet about his current circumstances, Michelet acknowledged the difficulty, but stated "I don't want to be like my father. I think I can make something more of myself." Michelet requested money for a nicer outfit (outside his school uniform), so that he could be permitted to attend community and church events. He again asked, as he did every time we met, if I would continue to support his dreams, and promised me he would continue to work hard so long as he had the opportunity to do so. I again asked him what he wanted to do in the future, and he stuck to his same answer: be a doctor, so he could help people. I played with the idea of formally adopting Michelet and bringing him back to the States, but knew that his best chance of becoming a doctor committed to giving back to the country of Haiti -- needed to start with him completing as much of his education as possible in Haiti. So instead, I hugged him tight, and then pulled myself away, telling myself it was best to support his life in Haiti. But I committed to supporting him there in Haiti, no matter what it took on my end. -HE- was my long-term Haiti plan.
As I got more of the story, I learned he had been playing soccer, and a neighborhood kid randomly jumped and beat him. He was able to walk home, and the next morning woke complaining of abdominal pain and asked to go to the hospital. Both with out easy resources to get him help, and perhaps not fully attune to the situation, his father told him to rest. As Michelet became sicker, Keke tried to summon for help, but it was too late. Michelet died December 17th, 2016.
It is difficult to wrap my mind around his death. He worked to be a doctor so he didn't have to watch any more senseless early death, but instead he died an even more senseless death, in the same one room shack his mother had died seven years prior. His memorial service was a gathering of a dozen or so neighbors amidst the farmland we had worked together to plant, just six years prior.
Nearly three months later, and I am still deeply angry with God. The description of his death sounds to me like he died of internal bleeding from a splenic laceration. This is an injury that would have been easily picked up on and surgically treated here in the United States, with out any question given to his ability to pay for treatment, or to his background. Had I been in Haiti at the time of the injury, I could have surely picked up on the symptoms he was exhibiting and helped expedite his access to treatment. Had he been here, or I been there, he would likely still have been with us. In the end, he faced more obstacles and fought harder to be a doctor than I ever have, his motivation was more pure than mine has ever been, and he was a far kinder and more selfless soul than I will ever be. Yet... he was buried at 18 years old because of the circumstances his sweet soul lived in.
I can't say that I have answers to any of the "why's" the above carries with it. But I can say that I am deeply grateful to the people who poured into Michelet's life. He was a young man like none I have ever met or will ever meet again, and to those who invested into his life with me -- I offer the most heartfelt "THANK YOU" I could ever imagine. I loved Michelet like a child; and your investment with me, is a gift I shall never forget. Thank you Chief Moses Middle School 8th graders (over the last 6 years!!!), and their teachers Mrs Carol Green and Mrs Linda Miller, who have helped foster a selfless love for strangers on the other side of the world, and with it allowed a beautiful thing to unfold within young lives -- both in the United States and Haiti. Thank you to Jacob and Gardy, for being my unfailing support system in Haiti while I am there, and being arms, hearts, and voices of love for Michelet and the other children year-round. Thank you to the Mountain School Director Sodrace and their teachers there, for loving Michelet as your own child, and believing in him every step of the way the last six years. Thank you to Ian, Emily, Paul, Millie, and Nate, for being my travel partners, carrying with you wisdom and love you were not afraid to invest. Thank you to Paul for allowing me to invest our resources in children who were not long ago, strangers to you; and for recognizing that Michelet was like a son to me, and so choosing to love him in turn. And thank you to everyone who has carried me through the last six years of this program, as together we have believed in these young people. It is humbling beyond any words that I can put to it, that I have been permitted the opportunity to be the hands and feet for Michelet (and the others), on your behalf.
Over the last few weeks, I have come to peace in the understanding that in the eternal spectrum of things, having lived 18 years on this earth or having lived 80 years, makes little difference. And while Michelet was not able to fulfill his dream of caring for his fellow Haitians as a doctor, he did accomplish much: he was the first ever in the generations of his family to read and write, his own achievements earned him travel to places he never would have seen otherwise, he taught school children on the other side of the world that the color of your skin or nation of origin does not determine your character or worth in this world, and he was an unforgettable and irreplaceable model of kindness, duty, and humility, that his classmates, my employees, my travel partners, and I, will continue learn from the rest of our lives.
Mwen renmen ou, Michelet. M ap sonje ou, jiskaske nou rankontre anko nan sye'l la.
Matthew 19:14 But Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me and do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of heaven.”
Psalm 139:16 Your eyes saw my unformed body; all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.
