Friday, January 15, 2010
I sit and I sit. I keep crying. Like you are, like we all are.
Haiti. Mwen regret sa, Haiti.
I sit and I sit. I go online and make a donation and I feel futile. I sit and I wish I could do more. M hears us talking about it and it scares her. Earthquakes. Can it happen here she says and I nod, I can't help it so I nod and but I also say but it wouldn't be as bad as there even if it shook as hard. When you are poor, when you are so poor, everything is harder. Buildings fall down easier. There aren't as many cars and tools and machines to help you.
Like the jungle, she says. Like if we had an earthquake there.
More like that, yes. It would be more like that. But it's still so much worse there. For as poor as the jungle is, this place is worse. Worse, she says. Like she can't believe it. This child who grew up on shelters and then the jungle. She's already seen what a lot of people might think was bad already and yet I see her try and dig down deep and figure out more. It must be really bad she says. Yes. Can we go there and help she says. I hug her, maybe a bit too hard. We would just be in the way, I tell her. They need doctors and nurses right now.
Mothers. Fathers. Babies.
Haiti. Mwen regret sa.
Kisa pi nou fe?