Haiti has always had a big place in my heart.  After the January 2010 earthquake devastated the Caribbean nation, I had the incredible privilege to live inside an internally displaced people camp and write about what life is really like for families there (click here to read those articles).

That is why I was so excited to learn about the work of a friend of mine, Jace Freeman.  Jace, a talented documentary filmmaker, also spent time within Haitian refugee camps after the earthquake.  And while I used writing and photography to try and capture what I was experiencing, Jace used film.

A scene from The Country Club

Trying to describe Jace’s film-making style is difficult.  It’s a bit like… well, like you’re actually there.

But wait… Why am I telling you all of this?  Why not just show you?

Jace and his co-producer Sean Clark have just released their 14-minute short documentary, The Country Club and have given us permission to embed it right here on World Next Door!

I encourage you to take a few moments to focus in and let the story of one 12-year-old boy open your eyes.  After you watch it, take a look at the Next Steps below to learn more.
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Hello there!  Welcome back!  It’s been a busy winter.

Since coming home from Cambodia, I’ve been focusing in on a lot of the behind-the-scenes stuff that keeps World Next Door running: fundraising, administration, selecting our summer interns and working with our Kenyan partners to prepare for the summer.

But now we’re jumping back into the heart of what World Next Door is all about… new articles!!!

I’ll find out how Haiti is developing.

To kick off our spring season, I am heading back to Port-au-Prince, Haiti to reconnect with our partner ministry, Nehemiah Vision Ministries.  Here is what you can look forward to from this trip:

Haiti Checkup

Me with the Dazmas, the family that hosted me in their tent.

I’ll ask lots of questions, walk through downtown Port-au-Prince and visit tent villages to find out what, if anything, has happened since I was last there.  How has the rebuilding been going and what do we, as Americans, need to know now that the international media has moved on?

Checking in with the Dazmas

Although I won’t have time to stay very long, I will definitely check in with the family that graciously hosted me in their tent last time, the Dazmas.  I’ll learn how their situation has changed and find out what the future holds for this incredibly hospitable family.

Elliott Family Update!

As many of you know, the Elliotts (dear friends of mine) are a family of five that bravely chose to live in Haiti for a year to work with Nehemiah Vision Ministries.  Now, four months into their year-long adventure, we will find out how life is treating them in the village of Chambrun.

With NVM’s child sponsorship program, you can directly change the life of a Haitian child!

NVM’s Child Sponsorships

Finally, I will be digging deep into Nehemiah Vision Ministries’ excellent child-sponsorship program.  I will begin personally sponsoring a child and will spend time with him and his family, writing about how his life will change now that he has a chance to go to NVM’s school.

Our goal for this trip is to secure 25 new sponsors for NVM.  I count as number 1, so we have 24 more to go!  Perhaps you will be one of them.  For $40 a month you can forever change the life of a child in Haiti.  Think about it…

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All that to say… stay tuned.  It’s going to be a short, but very sweet trip to Haiti!

My favorite comment on this photo gallery was from my friend Curtis:

“Wow, I’m really impressed by that guy’s mp3 player…he’s like a Haitian MacGyver.”

As funny as that is to imagine, it’s really true!  The ingenuity and creativity I’ve seen among Haitians really is impressive.

Toys made out of trash, homes made out of scrap metal, a working model helicopter made out of an old soup can… The Haitians that I’ve met do not merely accept their lot in life with an air of resignation. They fight to retain their dignity.

Ingenious Bebeto with his hand-made toy helicopter.

When I put this photo gallery together, all of these resourceful people were running through my head.  I realized, maybe for the first time, that the best hope for Haiti is not international aid.  It’s not clever new initiatives.  The best hope for Haiti is its strong-willed and creative people.

Although we may often lose hope, they will always be ready to fight another day!

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I think one of the reasons people don’t get involved in social justice issues is the fear that the help they give won’t make a difference.

“Sure, I’d love to give money,” they think, “but my $50 will never cure AIDS in Africa, so what’s the point?”

“I could volunteer my time at a local food pantry, but won’t there always be hungry people?”

I admit to thinking that myself from time to time.  Especially when I’m in Haiti…

She may only be one person, but this little one now has a chance!

The problems in Port-au-Prince are so monumental, so epic, so mind-numbing, that it’s easy to see the care of an individual as nothing more than a drop in the bucket.  “What’s the point of providing a family with a bag of rice?  There are still millions of others starving nearby.”

But two weeks after the earthquake, after spending a day watching individual after individual receive badly needed medical care, I started to realize the truth:  people are being helped.  Haiti is being restored.  It’s slow going, sure.  But it’s happening… one person at a time.

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Haiti messed me up.  Big time.  Seeing the destruction and devastation just two weeks after the earthquake in January of 2010 was more overwhelming than I could have possibly imagined.

On top of that, I felt quite a bit useless there.  Everyone I traveled with was a nurse or doctor or engineer.  I did what…  Write?  Take pictures?  Sometimes I felt like a waste of space.

His story must be told.

But after my time walking the streets of downtown Port-au-Prince, I realized that I did have an important part to play.  Although I couldn’t start an IV drip or design a hospital building, I could tell the story of what I was seeing.  I couldn’t prescribe an antibiotic, but I could bring Port-au-Prince home to many people in the suburbs of America.

I wrote this article right as I was going through that realization.  I could bring healing to Haiti… But only by mobilizing my community back in the U.S.

Now, because of the articles we’ve written, many people have chosen to get plugged in with our partner ministries in Haiti, primarily Nehemiah Vision Ministries.

The mobilization has begun.  The voiceless are being heard.  In small but significant ways, Haiti is beginning to heal.

Huh… Maybe I wasn’t such a waste of space after all!

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In September of 2010, I spent a week and a half living with internally displaced people (IDPs) in a Haitian tent village.  I spent my time wandering Port-au-Prince with my translator, interviewing earthquake survivors and getting a sense of what life was really like for average Haitians now that the global media has moved on.

The facts were startlingly bleak.  There is very little aid reaching those who need it, and many IDPs are getting by with less than one meal a day.  And yet, the Haitian people are incredibly strong.  I never once heard a “woe is me” attitude.  Instead, people have accepted their circumstances and work hard every day to survive.

Baby Rosmelie and her mother, an incredible story of hope in a very dark place. Read her article below!

And although the situation is rather hopeless on a grand scale, there are glimmers of hope in the midst of the darkness.

One of the brightest of those glimmers, in my opinion, is the work of Nehemiah Vision Ministries.  Their tireless devotion to the community of Chambrun gives me hope that Haiti can be restored.

If you look below, you’ll find all of the articles I wrote on this trip to Haiti.  I encourage you to brew a cup of coffee, read them all and let the hope of the kingdom of God astound you… because I know that what I saw in Haiti was truly astounding.

Back to Haiti!

What will it be like to see Haiti through the eyes of a refugee?

Click here to read this article…

Made It

I made it to Haiti in one piece.  Now the real adventure begins!

Click here to read this article…

A New Kind of Normal

How could a family that lost everything still fight hard to go on?

Click here to read this article…

Unexpected Hospitality

In a place filled with people who have nothing, I am living with a family that gives everything.

Click here to read this article…

World Next Door Uncut – Episode 1

Check out the first episode of World Next Door’s new video blog!

Click here to see this video blog…

A Glimmer

After hearing the stories of many Haitian IDPs, I am convinced yet again that there is hope in Haiti…

Click here to read this article…

Culture Guide: Being Blan

Alien languages, sweat pheromones and sewage jumping… All in a day’s work!

Click here to read this culture guide…

World Next Door Uncut – Episode 2

Episode 2 of our brand new video blog is live!

Click here to see this video blog…

Photo Gallery: A Glimpse Into Humanity

In a surprising way, living in a tent village has taught me what it means to be human.

Click here to see this photo gallery…

Numbers

Why did the number 63 mess with my emotions so much?

Click here to read this article…

World Next Door Uncut – Episode 3

Episode 3 of our video blog is live.  Now with extra wind!

Click here to see this video blog…

Patience

Could our well-intentioned aid to Haiti be totally missing the point?

Click here to read this article…

Rosmelie

Can a despairing teenage mother learn to care for her neglected infant?  Absolutely…

Click here to read this article…

The other day I had the chance to visit a massive tent camp on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince. 

The camp had been set up out in the middle of nowhere by international aid organizations with great intentions:  get people out of the collapsing city, centralize the tents to make it easier to bring in clean water and food, dig deep latrines in the empty farmland…  In short: bring relief.

But now that many aid organizations have pulled out of Haiti, conditions in the tent village have deteriorated.  Poverty is rampant, unemployment is pervasive and I heard many disturbing things about the living conditions there, including the fact that women have begun selling their bodies for as little as $0.63 to buy a meal or two for their families.

What happened?  What went wrong?  Why did an initiative with such a well-intentioned beginning end up in such tragedy?

The massive tent camp I visited at the end of my stay in Haiti. With tents stretching to the horizon, it’s no surprise that few people have been able to find jobs here.

Well, in interacting with Nehemiah Vision Ministries in Haiti, I’ve begun to find some answers to these questions…

The dust has settled

As Americans, we like numbers.  We like to see the return on our investment.  So when the earthquake shook Haiti, we all jumped at the opportunity to help out in ways that would produce clear, measurable results.

We distributed lots of food, we built lots of shelters and we provided lots of free medical care.  We came back home with success stories of using X amount of dollars to help X amount of people with X amount of volunteers.

It was all good.  America, along with the international community, rose up as one to bring relief to Haiti.

But now that the dust has (literally and metaphorically) settled, a difficult truth has emerged.  Yes, Haiti needs relief.  And lots of it.  But until we begin to focus on development, the country will remain perched on the edge of crisis.

Unfortunately, development is not very attractive to Americans like me.  It’s not simple.  It’s not easy.  And it takes a long time to establish measurable results. 

This, frankly, is why organizations like Nehemiah Vision Ministries are so important.  They have a completely different perspective on the issues at hand.  And now, seeing what the Western, relief-oriented perspective has done to a community of Haitian IDPs, I’m beginning to sit up and listen.

The Long Haul

Pastor Pierre, director of Nehemiah Vision Ministries, his staff and his volunteers are not motivated by the short-term outcomes that come from relief work. Instead, they are driven by a relentless pursuit of development.  

If you didn’t see this in an earlier article, please click on this image to see the full-size version. The extent of this tent community takes my breath away!

This is not to say that relief work is not important.  Yes, they distribute food as they are able.  Yes, they provide urgent medical care to earthquake victims who need it.  But NVM is not flailing around randomly, trying to bring relief to all of Haiti.

Instead, they are laser focused on continuing the mission they began over four years ago:  to transform the life of their community, to bring hope to the people of Chambrun and to steadily pull an entire village out of poverty.

Faithful

But what about the IDP camps?  What about the people living in tents?  Shouldn’t Nehemiah Vision Ministries change its focus now that the earthquake has taken its toll?

Pastor Esperandieu Pierre, a visionary who sees the value in long-term development.

Well, I recently sat in on a meeting between Pastor Pierre and some of his volunteer staff (including several long-term American volunteers) where he addressed some of these concerns.  In the meeting, he encouraged the team to stay focused on the big-picture vision of NVM.

He reminded the team of the biblical story of David, who spent years caring for sheep before ever living in to his ultimate purpose as king of Israel.  If NVM stays faithful “in the dusty clinic…” he said, “we too will someday fulfill our ultimate purpose: to help transform the life of this community.”

“It’s a hard thing for me.  I like to move,” he said. “But I want to be a living sacrifice that stays put.”  

Listening to Pastor Pierre talk, I got a sense of just how unique his perspective is.  Esperandieu carries within his heart a profound vision for the restoration of Haiti.  He envisions his country alive and thriving, beating back generations of poverty and emerging into a new era of life and hope…

Small houses being built by an international aid organization in the tent community. Sure, they’ll bring relief from the rain and heat, but where will the new residents work?

By staying faithful to the vision God has given them, he believes, NVM will become more and more of a model for other organizations in Haiti to replicate, creating a cycle of development that will sweep across the nation.  This movement will help IDPs as well as the millions of Haitians who have been living on the brink of destitution for years.

But for Pastor Pierre, this grand vision begins not with helicopters and tents.  It begins not in the office of the president or on the stage of a massive rally.  It begins in the dust of Chambrun.

Patience

As I left the meeting that day, I was reminded yet again how important it is to invest in the work being done by indigenous leaders around the world.  Sure they may not all have our specialized training or our resources or our obsessive drive to constantly grown and expand, but they do have something that Americans like me often lack:  patience.

When I walk among the IDP camps of Port-au-Prince, my gut reaction is to do something.  I want to fix it… to change the situation now.  

But leaders like Pastor Pierre recognize that even if they were to distribute 10,000 meals today, there would be 10,000 hungry people to feed tomorrow.  And the next day.  And the next…

Pastor Pierre unloading a large container full of food. NVM continues to distribute food to IDPs in need, even while focusing on the development of Chambrun.

They understand that for long-term, sustainable development, their focus must be much more holistic.  

That’s why Nehemiah Vision Ministries is located in Chambrun.  They don’t just help with a single issue… they help with all of them: providing a school for children in the village, running a well-stocked medical clinic, drilling wells for clean drinking water, teaching agriculture techniques, running a children’s home for orphans and other kids in need, building new homes and providing wheelchairs for disabled villagers…

And lest I forget, on Sundays NVM is a church for over 700 people.  Beyond material needs, they are helping to empower villagers with the hope, life and joy that come through the kingdom of God!

Hope

As I left the meeting with Pastor Pierre and his team, I was filled with a sense of hope.  And not just for the people of Chambrun.  I was filled with hope for Haiti.

Nehemiah Vision Ministry’s church on Sunday morning. For the impoverished and beaten-down people of this community, there is now a beacon of hope…

Nehemiah Vision Ministries is having a profound effect on the thousands of people in their community, including many of the IDPs who now live nearby.  Their elementary school is about to re-open and construction has begun on a new, fully functioning hospital.

And with such incredible stories of growth emerging from Chambrun, other national organizations have begun to notice.  Within the next few years, I would not be surprised to see other local and international organizations modeled on the work of NVM springing up all across the country.

Communities being pulled back from the brink… Poverty beginning to decline… IDPs finding jobs and homes and healthcare…

It may not look very glamorous on a not-for-profit fund-raising proposal, but the tireless development work of the “long-haulers” like Pastor Pierre will be what finally brings relief to Haiti.

Ah, and now we see the pitfalls of doing a video blog in only one take…

If you’ve seen Episode 1 and Episode 2, you’ll know that we’re going pretty low-tech on this.  No editing, no rehearsing… Just me, the camera, and a simple glimpse into the world I happen to be living in at the moment.

Unfortunately, while filming Episode 3, a strong, steady wind made it almost impossible to hear me in some parts of the video.  Imagine my disappointment when I got back to my computer later that day and discovered just how noisy the wind was!

Still, rather than simply discarding this episode, I decided to slap a little duct tape on it and move ahead. Now, when the wind really picks up, you’ll see captions to help you understand.  It’s not perfect, and I think it’ll probably shatter our chances at winning an Oscar, but hey…

Episode 3 Footnotes

• I call it an “IDP Camp.”  IDP stands for “Internally Displaced People.”
• If you haven’t seen the unbelievable panorama of the tent camp from Monday’s article, check it out here.  Oh, and look for the strip of white up and to the right of the Blackhawk helicopter (left side of the image).  That’s Nehemiah Vision Ministries!
• Are you as interested in maps as I am?  Take a look at this camp’s location on Google Maps (remember, the satellite image is from January) or, even cooler, open this file in Google Earth to see the camp’s location in 3D from exactly where I was standing in the video!
• Oops… I said that I met soldiers from the US Army, but I meant to say the Air Force.
• Stay tuned for Episode 4!

It was a blazing hot day in downtown Port-au-Prince.  I had accompanied my translator, Denis, to the crowded street where he sells school-books.  Covered in sweat, I tried to keep up with him as he wove in between the many shops and stalls along the way.

After an hour of walking in the sun, chatting with people next to their kiosks and getting a lot of strange looks and shouts of “Blan! Hey you!” I was ready for a break.

Thankfully, Denis needed to sort through the books he had stored in an alleyway nearby, so we were able to briefly leave the crowds behind.

The collapsed house I saw at the end of the alley.

As he organized the books in a rusty metal box, I took a look around.  Other than a small metal shack with a rusty roof, the L-shaped alleyway was empty.  Just a pile of concrete debris, twisted metal and junk.

Grabbing my camera, I walked farther into the alley to see what else I could find amidst the rubble.  In the back of the alley was a small, ruined concrete building.  As I looked closer, I realized that it was a house. 

After snapping a few pictures, I headed back around the corner to where Denis was.  To my surprise, there was a man standing next to him, looking a bit confused to see me.  Denis turned to me and said, “This is Luxon.  That used to be his house.”

Realizing how insensitive I must have appeared with my camera in my hand, I immediately began to apologize.  “Oh, I’m so sorry!  I didn’t know…”

Luxon Calixete, a brave father fighting hard to take care of his four children.

But instead of translating my words to Luxon, Denis simply said, “Would you like to hear his story?”

Still wondering if I needed to apologize, I quickly said “yes,” and dove into my backpack for a note-pad…

In an Instant

Before the earthquake, Luxon Calixete (pronounced Li-xon Ca-lix) lived a life similar to many Haitians who call Port-au-Prince home.  Although far from well-to-do, Luxon was able to provide for his family through his job as a security guard. 

On January 11, Luxon had a wife, a job, a house, and four beautiful children (including a one-month old baby girl).  On January 12 – in an instant – everything he knew had changed forever.

When rescuers made it to Luxon’s house after the earthquake, they found his wife dead beneath the rubble and his baby girl miserably frightened, but alive. His other three children, who had been away from home during the quake, also survived.

So, with four children, no home and no job, Luxon began a new season in his life… as the sole provider for his family.

Today, he lives with his children in a rusty metal shack built near the entrance of the alley that once held his home.

Luxon takes part-time work whenever he can, but with Haiti’s ruined economy, there are far too many workers for far too few jobs.  He has barely enough money for food, and looks with trepidation at the future.  Schools re-open in October, and Luxon has no idea where he’ll get the money for his three older children’s school fees.

A toy outside of Luxon’s house.

With no house, no job, no food and no money, the future looks rather bleak for Luxon.

“Only God knows”

Unfortunately, Luxon’s story is only one of many similar stories that I have heard since coming to live among the IDPs.

The other day I met a man named Jacob Jean-Charles in a tent camp by a river.  After talking with him for a few minutes about his job situation (occasional part-time work like Luxon), I asked if he would show me where he was living.  He took Denis and me to a tent like many others in that particular camp and introduced us to his family.

Apparently Jacob had found a bit of work the day before.  His children were eating soup made from plantains.  His wife was in a good mood.  But as I talked more with him about his situation, it became apparent that things were not going well for his family.

Jacob Jean-Charles with his wife and one of his children.

Sometimes Jacob finds work.  Sometimes his wife makes a few gourdes washing someone’s clothes.  But it isn’t enough.  “When we don’t have enough money for food,” he told me, “we just lay down in the tent.”

Like most of the 1.3 million Haitians living in tents right now, Jacob struggles to get by.

The day after seeing Jacob’s family, I met an 81 year old woman named Gatilia Lizair in a tent community across the street from the ruined presidential palace.  She was sitting on the ground in the doorway to her tent, too feeble to get up and move around.  Her family takes care of her when they can, but as with Luxon, the story is the same.  They don’t have food.  They don’t have work.  They don’t have a house…

After hearing a bit of her story, I asked her, “Do you think there is any hope for your family?  Do you imagine things getting better for you in the future?”

Her response was simple.  “Only God knows.”

Glimmers of Hope

Story after story.  Heartbreak after heartbreak.  It seems like there is no hope for Haiti.  And looking at the big picture (endless tent communities, a shattered economy, hundreds of thousands in desperate need), it would seem like that is the case. 

Gatilia Lizair. Although getting on in years, she was quick to share her smile.

But I have discovered something among the tents and the rubble and the poverty that comes as a bit of a surprise.  Time after time, as I have struggled to come to grips with the immense injustices weighing down on the Haitian people, I have noticed little glimmers of light in the midst of the darkness.

I have seen row after row of kiosks, set up in the rubble of collapsed buildings… shopkeepers refusing to give up their trade.

I have seen children eagerly writing down their names for me… young scholars refusing to give up their education.

I have seen neighbors coming together to share what little they have… communities refusing to give up their hospitality.

And I have seen countless shared smiles, prayers and encouraging handshakes… Christ-followers refusing to give up their joy.

This is the hope that I have for Haiti:  it is a whole country full of people that refuse to give up… that refuse to give in.  Although reconstruction may take more than a decade, the Haitians I’ve met will rise to the challenge.

A child in a tent village eagerly writing down his name for me.

This hope may not be big and glamorous.  It may not make for great slogans.  But the Haitian people are some of the most resilient I’ve ever seen. 

Come what may, they will endure.

——–

Looking back now at the three stories I shared above, I realize that even in those tragic lives I could see the same glimmers of hope.

With Gatilia, I saw a woman who was ready to hold onto her faith, even in the midst of crippling uncertainty about the future.  With Jacob, I saw a father willing to do whatever it takes to provide for his wife and kids.

And with Luxon, I saw a man whose main goal in life is to build a new home for his children.  Why?  So that they can have a safe place to return each day from school (whether or not they will attend doesn’t even cross his mind).

These are not defeated people.  They are fighters.  And even though it often exists in little more than a glimmer…

I do have hope for Haiti.

A couple of days ago, I was hanging out with 18 year old Ismail, the third of seven children in the Dazma family.  We were sitting in a concrete courtyard across from his old house, chatting as the sun went down.

He was asking me all sorts of questions about my family, my job, my life, etc. and I asked him about his dreams for the future (finishing his education and visiting the U.S. someday, among other things).

He knew that I was heading back to Chambrun for a couple of days the following morning, so during a lull in the conversation he turned and asked me, “Can you bring me some chocolate?”

Ruined Port-au-Prince was the last place I would have expected to find genuine hospitality.

Normally I would have laughed and said, “Um, maybe… I’ll try” (blans like me get lots of requests like this because we are white).  But this time was different.

You see, Ismail’s family has been remarkably hospitable during my stay.  So much so that I am often desperate for ways to be hospitable back. 

I’m supposed to be the rich, connected American, right?  So why am I on the receiving end of so much generosity?  I mean, in a place filled with people who have nothing, I am living with a family that gives everything.

Despite the hardships endured by the Dazmas and their neighbors, they are still willing to give.

All that to say, when Ismail asked me for chocolate I left determined to find some for him.  After all the hospitality I have received from his family so far, it was the least I could do…

Generous Meals

My first glimpse of their unexpected hospitality came after we had been in the Dazmas’ tent for only a few minutes. 

After sitting and chatting for a while, Laneze (the mother of the family) jumped up and busied herself on the other side of the tent.  When she came back, she had in her hand a giant, steaming plate of rice and beans… much more than either my translator Denis or I could possibly eat (especially two hours after lunch!). 

We thanked her for her generosity but insisted that we split the plate between the two of us. 

It was a tasty meal, but it wasn’t until later that I realized how significant that small gesture really was.  As I quickly came to understand, the Dazmas barely have enough food to eat.  Their miniscule budget gives them enough to provide one meal a day for their kids… usually.

They struggle with malnutrition, and yet there they were, providing an enormously generous meal to their guests.  Wow.

But it didn’t stop there.

When we realized that the Dazmas were going to be feeding us regularly, I suggested giving them some money to cover the cost of food.  Denis agreed, but told me, “We’ll need to tell them to not start making expensive food for us.”

At first I was a bit confused at what he meant.  Then it dawned on me.  Denis knew that because the Dazmas are so generous, once they had a few gourdes (Haiti’s currency) in hand they would immediately go out and blow it all on nice meals for their guests.

Clothes drying on razor wire. When I accidentally left some dirty clothes hanging up outside their tent, the Dazmas gracious offered to wash them for me.

Can you believe that? 

When we did end up giving the money to Laneze, we had to insist that she feed us whatever they would normally eat instead of an expensive chicken dinner.  She actually needed convincing!

The Little Things

Another aspect of their unexpected hospitality has come from their almost fanatical dedication to my comfort and security.  Even the little things – the seemingly inconsequential details – point to a hospitality that is rooted deeply within their family.

For example, when it came time to set up our small air mattresses our first evening there, they insisted that we sleep inside the tent to stay out of the rain.  Presilma and Laneze, we understood, would be perfectly happy to sleep under the tarp outside…

I don’t mind sitting on the ground, but just about every time I do, one of the Dazmas runs up with their single wooden stool to make sure I am comfortable. 

Presilma and Denis washing up in the morning. The moment I woke up they offered me a basin of clean water to wash my face.

When I’m walking through town with Ismail, he points out every pothole, rock or crack in the sidewalk that might cause me to stumble. 

When I yawn in the evening, they ask me, “Are you tired? You can sleep now if you’d like.”  And of course, five minutes later I discover that our mattresses have been laid out neatly in the corner of the tent.

Open Hearts

But there is another kind of hospitality that I am discovering while living with the Dazma family: hospitality of the heart.  It’s making me re-think the whole concept of generosity.

The Dazmas have been remarkably honest and open with me about their lives.  They have let me enter into the center of their family’s day-to-day existence.  They have exposed the potentially shameful truth that they do not have enough to get by (an especially significant thing in a culture like this).

They have also risked all sorts of unknown consequences by having a blan stay in their tent.  What will their neighbors think?  What if some unruly men in the community decide to start making trouble?  What if the blan embarrasses them?

Despite all the potential outcomes, their hearts are open.  They have welcomed a stranger into their home… one of the purest forms of hospitality I can think of.

And that’s the truly mind-blowing thing about all of this.  In Matthew 25, Jesus says to those on his right, “I was a stranger and you invited me in” and “whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.” 

Me hanging out with the Dazmas in the evening (thanks to Denis for taking this picture!).

Is it possible that, to the Dazmas, I am one of the “least of these?” 

Boom.  Mind blown.

Who would have thought that the tables could have been turned so significantly by a simple plate of rice and beans?

I’m learning a lot from the Dazmas about what it means to be hospitable. Their willingness to give out of the little they have makes me wonder why I am often so stingy with my abundance. 

My hope and prayer is that the lessons I have learned from these generous people will stick with me… that I won’t quickly forget what it means to be a generous giver.

———

When I returned to Chambrun for the weekend, I knew that I had a good first place to start.  With Ismail’s request echoing in my head, I rooted around in my suitcase until I found what I was looking for…

Chocolate.