fear

A flash of lightening catches the corner of my eye from the window. I wait, breathing slowly, for the thunder to follow. I don't count the time anymore like I used to do with my Dad when I was little. Here, the anticipation isn't fun. Here, the anticipation builds and I breathe a little faster and I feel my chest tightening. I brace myself-- I can't help it-- for the wall-rattling, all-consuming thunder of the Carribean. The first boom sounds and I stop. For a split second longer I wonder if this roll is really going to shake us.

The thunder here scares me. Not in a hysterical, hide-under-the-covers kind of way, but as a powerful force outside of anyone's control that can destroy this fragile place. When I came to Haiti, I loved the thunderstorms. As soon as the rain started, or hopefully a little before, I would run into my house, open the curtains in the second bedroom and sit on the cot and watch the lightening crack in the distance. It was thought-provoking in a positive way to have finally arrived in Haiti, to be in the tropics and to feel the power of something so much bigger than myself. I knew the troubles the rain brought, cholera was already here, and I knew my job was more urgent with each passing storm. But I never felt the fear.

Ten months later, I feel it. I feel it with each bolt of lightening, each rumble of thunder, the passing minutes of a downpour. I feel it when I see young children, 6 or 7 years old, playing and splashing in the bay of trash outside of St. Mary Hospital. I feel it in the moment of hesitation before I enter the abandoned room, knowing that at any time one of the kids could be gone. I feel it when a coworker tells me his friend has had signs of cholera since the morning and I hear the trembling in his strong voice. Oh man did I feel it when we had an earthquake here. At first fear for myself, but when it was over, fear for my friends and the horrible memories I knew this small quake would bring back.

There have been so many of these moments here. And the accompanying realization that although I'll do what I can, there are powerful forces both natural and man-made that leave me helpless. To continue living in Haiti, I won't let this fear consume my thoughts. But on this stormy evening, it seems right to acknowledge it and respect it's rightful place in my experience here.