Haiti is not a kind place. The heat is unforgiving, traffic is nuts, the dust and humidity makes my hair comically unmanageable, the terrain is rough, and the people are brutally honest. They tend to be direct and loud; no passive-aggressiveness here! It’s my experience that most Haitians were not taught that it is impolite to stare, and their rules of politeness are entirely different than I am used to anyway. The children can be especially cruel, to each other and to outsiders.

I knew this moving here. I am regularly called fat and ugly and probably much worse, but language barriers work in my favor sometimes. Earlier today a pre-teen girl with limited English sitting next to me suddenly said, “Stand up! So I can look at you!”

I am a big white freak show to many, but as I get to know more people, I am becoming “Kah-tee” more and more often and not just “Blanc”-the Haitian (not very nice) default word for a white person. This morning at church, I was able to greet at least a few people by names, and their response was hugs, kisses, smiles and pleasantries that I understood a few words of!

But two moments of kindness have especially impacted me in the last two days. Yesterday, I was able to go on a few elder visits with a Healing Haiti team from Illinois. One of the elders has a teenage granddaughter I’ve been slowly attempting to find out more about. She doesn’t speak or engage with anyone from what I’ve seen, but she will eat and drink if her grandmother gives her something directly. It is unclear whether this is due to disability, trauma or a combination of the two. Everywhere in and around their home smells like urine.

I was immediately drawn to her, and whenever she looks up at me, even for a brief moment, it is like a knife through my heart. So, yesterday I was there with a team and I watched her have this same impact on a woman on that team. While everyone else sang and focused on the grandmother, this woman sat with her arm around the granddaughter, tears rolling down her face. She was the last to get up and leave, and all I could say as we walked away together was “she breaks my heart too.” I have to believe her kindness and presence made a difference. It made a difference to me.

And today, one of the teenage boys who lives here at Grace Village walked me home from church! My apartment (and the family-style homes which are home to Haitian children who were unable to be reunited with their biological families) are located inside of Grace Village. Grace Church is down on the street level, while Grace Village is at the top of a steep and rocky climb inside a secure wall with a guarded gate.

Due to an electrical fire which tripped the generator somehow this morning, my apartment-mates had left suddenly during the church service to figure out wiring issues and get the power back up. Which left me to be the only American at church. I really was fine walking back by myself. The climb tests my muscles and my lung capacity, but it wasn’t my first hike. Still, my new friend was determined to see me up the mountain safely.

He came up beside me as soon as church was out to find out where Kenny (one of my apartment-mates) was. When I didn’t know, he followed me out the church gate. I realized upon turning around to check on something else, that he had gone half a block, then stopped and turned back for me. He walked silently beside me the rest of the climb. Presence does matter. Kindness does matter. I am grateful today to be witness to kindness.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.”

Galatians 5:22-23