Christman Baptiste

I met Christman Baptiste one morning when the medical team was there. On this particular day, a few women had come and found me, as usual, and I agreed to make a detour with them before I went to the clinic to look at some damaged homes. Christman was not in this small group of women, but was a friend of theirs and they asked that we pass by her house. She was not in this group because she was too ashamed to come ask for my help, but her friends knew how badly she needed help that they led me to her house anyway. It was located at the end of an overgrown path and nestled deep in a thick patch of bushes and trees, quite isolated from the rest of the community. Once we arrived, and I met Christman, it was clear that she was an independent woman who was proud of being able to take care of herself. But it was also clear that she had reached a point where she was not able to anymore. There, among so much plant life that I could barely see many patches of blue sky, let alone any other homes, all that I could see was the wreckage that used to be Christman’s home. It looked like a small forest fire had occurred with nothing but a few bare timber beams rising out of a pile of rubble and ashes. To really inspect the damage, I literally had to climb onto the mound of debris, and almost slipped off, causing the women to gasp, concerned that I would fall.

Just to the side of the ruins, stood a tiny, one room building, which I assumed to be the old kitchen, in which Christman now lived. I stepped inside the shack with no windows and a broken door and was immediately overwhelmed by the scent of mold which had infested the walls and beams and my sinuses filled up within seconds. I sat down next to Christman on her bed as she explained to me her situation. She had heard about the work that I was doing for several weeks, but was afraid to ask for my assistance because she had made up her mind that she would be able to make some money to rebuild her house herself. She had started selling pork in the market up the mountain in LaVallee. It was almost a 2 hour hike from her house, but ever since the hurricanes, she had been making the trip up the mountain twice a week with her meat to sell. She lifted the lid off of a white 5-gallon bucket sitting in the corner to show me the pork that she had to sell still that week. Business had been going well for her lately and she had made enough money that after this week she was going begin buying some cement blocks for her new home. That was, until the day before, when she was in the market in LaVallee and a man stole all of the money that she had made, leaving her with nothing. She was so devastated by this that she finally decided, that, even though she was still too embarrassed to come to me herself, she would have her friends bring me to her so that she could see if I could help. She is not married, has no parents, siblings, or family of any kind. She was there all by herself, with a few friends nearby. But now she had me. So, when it came time for me to decide who to aid with the resources we had, Christman was at the top of my list and she received one of the largest amounts. Then I left her to begin the work and told her that I would check back on the progress in a couple weeks.

But that’s not the end of Christman’s story, because it’s what happened next that really blew me away. About two weeks after I had given Christman the funds for her home, I was walking back to my house from the artisan’s coop and I met her in the street with a large cement block on her head. I quickly greeted her and asked how things were going, but did not want to hold her up too much with that weight on her head. She told me that she was doing well and that the work on her house had begun. As she continued on, I called to her that I would pass by and visit it soon. I was happy to hear that progress had started and that she must have found some good construction workers to build her new house for her, but still was impressed that she was helping them out herself by carrying some blocks. Especially because Christman Baptiste certainly is not a big woman. She is short, and petite, and even with a large block on her head, was not as tall as me. But, I figured, she must have just needed to buy a few extra blocks from someone else after having made all the others on site at her house, which often happens on construction projects in Mizak.

But then, one week later, I met Christman in the street again. With another block on her head. This time I made her set the block down and talk to me. She explained to me that it was cheaper to buy the blocks already made, than hire labor to make them all on site, so she had used the money I had given her to buy blocks from a family down near the market, and had been carrying them, one by one, by herself, back up to her house. And she didn’t live just next door. It’s at least a 20 minute walk, without carrying anything on your head. She lives beyond the artisans coop, which means, to get to her house, she has to go up a very unforgiving hill coming from the market. It’s a hike that some of the perfectly healthy Americans on the medical team had difficulty making once a day that week. Difficulty – without cement blocks on their heads. But, tiny little Christman Baptiste had decided that she was not going to live in chaos anymore, but was going to do what she had to do to create some structure and beauty in her life. So, for more than 3 weeks, everyday, she carried blocks, one at a time, up to the spot where she would rebuild her life.

And, every time I think about this woman with her blocks on her head, it breaks my heart and gives me strength. She demonstrated to me a simple determination to make things better for herself that it often hard to find in our own lives. And, in this way, she represented to me the spirit of Haiti, and what makes this country so great. It may seem at times that the rest of the world, and God himself, has given up on this country, but they haven’t given up on themselves. And, if they are given just a little boost, a little encouragement, then they are willing to do whatever they need to do to make their lives better and to improve their communities. As Paul Farmer writes, “Haitians aren’t looking for charity, they’re looking for justice.” And I’ve seen that they’re going to work like crazy and even fight if they need to get that justice. This is why I’m proud to work along side them, and why, they have become such examples to me in my own life. And why, I think people like Christman Baptiste need to be inspirations to all of us in our lives.

-Lee Rainboth

taking a step

Trying to keep in touch and get quick updates to and from Haiti can be a little difficult. We at HAPI - Haitian Artisans for Peace International, thought that a blog would be a great tool to help our communication with each other and around the world. It won't just be about news and us talking...but we can hear directly from you too!

Teams could use the blog to share with those at home and home can have conversations when that phone card just doesn't seem to let you connect.

Home web remains www.haitianartisans.com