True Heroes
By Marlene Minor
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| Photo: Marlene Minor |
This clearly was one of the worst disasters I have ever witnessed. As Vice President of Communications for Medical Teams International, I went to Haiti to help with initial communications needs—raising awareness and telling stories about what people were facing after the 7.0 earthquake.
I arrived eight days after the catastrophe. There were still people trying to move rubble, crying as they worked, trying to dig for survivors—to find any trace of where their relatives were last seen.
I’ve had people stop me and thank me for going to Haiti. Some people have gone so far as calling me a "hero" for going. But I’m not a hero at all. I went to tell stories about the true heroes: our doctors and nurses who helped save lives. And the unsung heroes: the survivors. Those who will still be there, even after our doctors and nurses return from weeks and months of service. They are the local pastors and church volunteers who never get to leave. They are the ones in the community who pray each day and volunteer without hope or desire of recognition. They just want to help their neighbors and see God glorified in the middle of the horrible chaos. These are the heroes to me. And here are some of their stories.
Jesus There
When the earthquake hit, 29-year-old Tamara and her family lived on the second story of a four-story apartment building. The structure flattened on them, instantly killing their four-year-old son.
Tamara was trapped in the building for ten hours. Her husband, Peterson, along with friends and relatives rescued her from the rubble. Tamara emerged from the building with her leg crushed, and just days from delivering a baby.
As they left their home, Peterson carried with him his son’s body and a pair of shorts that belonged to his now lifeless child. Tamara and Peterson huddled together for shelter and comfort in a local homeless tent city that sprang up in their neighborhood.
When her leg got worse, friends brought her to King's Hospital where our doctors operated, saving her leg. After they put her leg in a cast, she went to rest out in the open-air triage area and went into labor. Anne Blaufus, a nurse on our team, barely got her into the hospital and onto a bed before delivering the baby. The whole time she was in labor, her husband was crying and holding up the shorts of their dead son.
Thankfully, their baby girl was born healthy and is doing well. I told Tamara her baby was “Belle”, or beautiful. As we were rushing off as more patients lined up, she told me the baby girl's name–Jesula–which translates to "Jesus There.”
Tethered to God
Yrose could not have looked more frail. She had a port entering her chest, where every vein stuck out from her paper-thin skin. Her arms were half the size of my own. Her breathing was labored. She moaned with pain. Yrose looked to be in her 70s, but in fact we are the same age—54.
She needed to be rushed to the hospital because she was dying. She needed dialysis right away or she would surely die. Andy, our hospital administrator, looked me squarely in the face and said, “Don’t let this vehicle stop for anything until you find a hospital that has a dialysis machine. She will die without it.”
Her son, Pierre, helped his mother gently into the car. She moaned in pain with each movement of her body. Lines on her face twitched with pain. Each breath she took was labored. Sweat poured down her face. She put a small white, ragged washcloth on top of her head, occasionally mopping sweat from her face.
We stopped at the first and closest hospital where we were told a dialysis machine was waiting. No luck. We tried another hospital and waited to she if they’d admit her. Meanwhile, Yrose slumped over onto her son’s lap. Our doctor and driver-interpreter got out to talk to the doctors on site. Meanwhile I talked with her son, who knew some English. I told him to tell his mother, “Hang on. We are praying for you. God loves you.”
She put her hand on her chest and whispered, “Merci” and something else I could not understand. Her son translated: “She says, ‘God bless you for praying.’”
When I temporarily looked away after touching my chest as she had done moments ago, her son said, “You must really love Haiti.”
I replied, “I really love the people of Haiti. Just like God loves them…only He loves you most.”
With no luck, there was only one hospital left to check. The 82nd Airborne Unit asked a few questions and waved us in. It took over an hour but for now, Yrose was safe. As she was being carried into the hospital, Pierre, put his arm around my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek, saying, “Thank you for being so good to my mom.”
Then we drove away. Yrose was safely tethered to the dialysis machine—and to God.
Saved For A Purpose
Wilson was our driver who watched our backs there. He would tell us, "Lock your doors. We cannot stop here. We must keep moving." He also is the brother-in-law of Pastor Delamy, a member of Haiti Foundation of Hope, one of our local partners.
I talked to him one night about what happened. I ask him, "What do you think this earthquake will do to the future of the church in Haiti?"
Wilson, who appeared to be in his 20s, said "It will make us stronger."
As he said that, I could hear Haitians in the courtyard singing and praying.
"Before the earthquake, I believed in God–but I was thinking about my own future, my own activities. Now, I know I was saved for a purpose. I was saved to help save lives."
One night, Wilson drove an 11-year-old burn patient from King's Hospital to the airport so her life could be saved. All that week he had been transporting people out of harm's way into new life and hope.
"God has given me power now, since this earthquake," Wilson told me. "I will use it to help as many people as I can."
Hungry For Love
While I was writing stories at the World Relief Orphanage one day, I made a group of lifelong friends. These orphans hovered, rubbed against me, and repeated my name. One of them rested his head on my shoulder as I typed.
They showed me a map on a table and eagerly pointed to where they once lived before their parents died. Today they have time. They are hungry for love and attention. Today they have time. But how much time?
Will they run out of time while we—the world collective—respond to this unbelievable disaster as best we can? God help us not to let time run out…for the sake of the children.
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