Utah Haiti volunteer blog: Creature comforts, tent cities

Curtis C. Newman, a volunteer for the Utah Hospitals Task Force, is writing a series of first-person stories on what he sees in Haiti.

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Friday-Saturday, Feb. 5-6: Creature comforts, tent cities

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — Adapting to change has always been a motto of mine. Change usually brings positive benefits, but too much change can leave you reeling.

Maybe it is too much change when one week ago, you were disappointed that the meal brought to you by your local Applebee's wasn't quite hot enough; to the highlight of your day being the sweet taste of animal crackers in your MRE packet.

I've written about the mental changes I've gone through, the visual depiction of human disaster rarely seen on this scale; the triumph of the human spirit here in Haiti, despite the loss of life, shelter, food and water. Physical changes are expected, and with them comes a change in perspective.

First off, it is hot here, always 90-100 degrees every day with high humidity. With that come challenges. But the greatest challenge to me personally is the inability to cool off.

Cool water is not to be found — we have to drink water that is warm to hot, which is not real palatable. Dreaming of a cold Sonic slushie is almost an obsession. I never have been anywhere where I haven't had "creature comforts" such as cool water to drink, or hot food.

This obsession led me to venture out of our secure compound with a group to walk to the local Western Union. I spotted a drink vendor and chose a semi-lukewarm grape soda, which although warm, was cooler than the bottle of water at the bottom of my backpack.

Bad mistake.

Apparently, the only water that is certifiably pure is in Coca-Cola products. Because of my obsession, I ended up in the sickbay with fellows who ate some bad Haitian food. Two liters of IV fluid and 24 hours of sleep later, I awoke and felt much better, except for the 50-100 mosquito bites all over my body, which I had received during the night. I think I'd rather drink gallons of hot water rather than feel like that again.

Is that selfish, or what?

Worrying about whether water is cold enough seems trivial after visiting a tent city today in Petionville, an eastern suburb of Port-au-Prince (and one of the most affluent areas in the entire country). When I say tent, I use it loosely, as very few really have a tent. They've put up a tarp or a sheet on sticks.

Sean Penn, the actor, met us at the gate with his chief of operations. He had heard about our group and the good work that we were doing here, yet this is the same Sean Penn who lambasted Mormons for their support of Proposition 8. He asked us to help.

The tent city at this former Haitian golf course is now the home to 75,000 Haitians. Just to give you an idea, imagine putting the whole population of West Jordan, Utah on a single golf course with no water, no food, and no bathroom facilities. Fortunately, Sean is making it easier by getting water, food and bathroom facilities, but it's a slow process.

I have to thank Mr. Penn, even if I don't agree with his politics, because he is doing a good thing here, and he is in Haiti doing it, as opposed to being back home. I also have to thank him because once again, the Haitian people taught me. I was taught tolerance, patience, love and commitment.

We set up a "clinic", consisting of a table with some medical supplies. We were deep inside the tent city holding this "clinic". The Haitians waited in line to see our team of two doctors, three nurses and five translators.

Today was a clinic for the spirit more than anything: the wanted to talk, laugh with and be with us. We saw headaches and stomachaches, diseases caused by nutritional deficiencies and other chronic diseases.

Nurses let the children braid their hair. Construction guys showed magic tricks. Translators shared stories. We touched their hands, and, I hope, their souls.

They wait in line patiently, never arguing, pushing or shoving. Children are allowed to go first to the front of the line. They're grateful.

An elderly woman with chronic headaches and a condition caused by a lack of iodine (a goiter) in her diet (we get iodine from our salt) smiles as she carefully cradled ten precious Tylenol tablets. A father expresses gratitude for a quart of Pedialyte for his sick and feverish child. Relief washes over a middle-aged man as we give him antibiotics for his abscessed tooth.

We will be leaving Haiti in a few days. I can't say I'll miss Haiti. I CAN say I will miss the Haitian people. The truths in the Book of Mormon are testified of here: the pure in heart are usually the people with the least amount of material things. The greatness of the human spirit exudes from these people, their family, and their country.

Somehow, the last gulp of warm water from my water bottle feels just a bit cooler.

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Sunday, Feb. 7: Having nothing, giving everything

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — "Nearer, my God, to Thee" is the refrain as we prepare for sacrament meeting before leaving for the day. Somehow, the words have a deeper meaning, with each note leaving an indelible impression on my heart.

A "harrow" is a farming implement used to break up the crusty, hard earth to prepare it to receive all God has to give for it to produce life: sunshine, water, air, and seeds. If our hearts were not ready, they certainly are "harrowed up" now. We are willing and humble, ready to let whatever God has to give in.

Diet crackers serve as bread, water bottle lids as our sacrament cups. What a privilege to partake of the sacrament!

Under these conditions, the Atonement comes so alive. I'm so ashamed that it hasn't been so alive before now. A few testimonies are borne as the Carribbean sun rises to bring light and its daily torment.

University Hospital is the destination today, located in the heart of Port-au-Prince. It is secured by the U.S. Armed Forces. Once again, God Bless America!

A few blocks away is an ironic sight: the Haitian palace (or the Haitian "White House", as some people refer to it as), long representing corrupt government officials, lies crushed as it collapsed on itself during the earthquake. The government of Haiti is homeless, like most of its people. Unemployment is at 80 percent, and jobs are hard to find. People roam the streets surrounding University Hospital.

Inside, I meet with Jeanine Netalus, a 50-year-old patient lying in her bed with a surgically repaired broken leg. She was in her bathroom when the wall caved in on her. Unknown people pulled her out. While covered in debris, she reflected on her children, all three who had preceded her in death. She says she prayed that she would live.

When asked what she will do once she is discharged, she sweetly smiles and says, "I don't know. I have no place to go. I will be on the street. Only God knows what I will do. Many of us are in the same position. I pray to Jesus that he will help me and save me."

Such is the faith of many here.

I sat down with my interpreter on a bench, among a group of Haitian ladies on break from their hospital duties. We swapped stories, and they tried to teach me Creole. Having served a mission in Finland, I tried to teach them Finnish. They laugh and laugh.

It's funny how God is always a topic of conversation. One lady said to me, "We are all equal in God's eyes," and "We in Haiti pray for the rest of the world."

It has been a physically uncomfortable day. Small insects managed to get to me in the middle of the night. I have hundreds of bites appearing as red welts from my head to my feet. As I return to the hospital tent and change my socks at the foot of Jeanine's bed, she reaches out to touch my shoulder. I just applied ointment to my feet, and she offered me her shirt so I could wipe my feet.

There it is again, the common theme throughout my writings for the past week: they that have nothing are willing to give everything.

Curtis C. Newman is a registered nurse, health-care administrator and attorney volunteering in the Utah Hospitals Task Force. A native of Idaho Falls, Idaho, he currently resides in South Jordan, Utah. He is the father of Mormon Times staff writer Nick Newman.

E-mail: curtis.newman61@gmail.com