Wealthy Americans

The Wealthy American

In November of 2003 I embarked on a volunteer mission trip to Haiti. My task was to work for seven days at a medical facility, and perform maintenance on as many medical devices as possible. The decision to volunteer was not easy because I was a financially challenged newlywed with limited resources. There were many risks associated with this trip and I had very little ability to get myself back to the United States if something went wrong. Plus, my wife and I could ill afford for me to contract a dangerous disease such as malaria. I chose to volunteer because I believed my skills were useful to the Haitians; this was a way to serve our country and humanity by spreading good will to other people. I volunteered to help the Haitians, and did not expect it would be the other way around. The Haitians helped me understand and appreciate my own wealth.

Haiti was horrifying at first sight. The plane had not even touched the ground before I found myself in a state of cultural shock. As I looked out of the airplane, we descended on a large city, Cape Haitian, Haiti. This was the worst looking city I had ever seen, tens of thousands of homes but not one civilized structure. Looking down into the homes of the Haitians I noticed that most lacked a roof. Water was everywhere and it was difficult to tell where the ocean ended and the dry land began. The plane landed and somehow managed to avoid a man who was standing on the runway. The man stood on the runway along with an unhealthy looking cow! Someone on the airplane joked, “they must be airport security.” Upon exiting the airplane, I was struck by an unforgettable odor smelling of smoldering charcoal. The air was thick with this smell. I cleared customs and exited the airport, and then I was immediately surrounded by Haitian paupers. For the next several hours my caravan made its way through the city, we were heading toward a smaller community about fifteen miles away. The scenes of Cape Haitian from ground level were increasingly horrific. These people had no running water or organized sewage system and therefore appeared condemned to live in their own waste. Each time our caravan was forced to stop, I literally feared for my life. I couldn’t understand what was preventing these desperate Haitians from robbing the caravan of everything we had. I finally arrived safely at a Catholic compound next to the medical facility. I inspected my room. The humidity was so high that the sheets of my bed were wet. I went to sleep as day one ended.

During my second, third, and fourth days in Haiti, I continued to witness scene after scene of unimaginable human filth. The sights and smells at the medical facility were so incredibly shocking that it all seemed surreal. I kept myself busy by working fourteen hours each day, and this comforted me. I began to make a few friends among the Haitians and I sought to understand their lifestyle. Their language was some version of Creole and seemed to be a combination of French, Spanish, and English. It was very difficult for me to understand the Haitian language, making conversations slow but interesting. I started to recognize the good human qualities these people possess, despite their obvious poverty. Their smiles brought hope into my assessment of their lives. Qualities such as love and sharing appeared to be their best hope. Their government has let them down, and the world at large seems to turn a blind eye toward Haiti. Even the Catholic sisters did not encourage charity, as I was chastised for giving away flashlights.

Days five and six, I was eager for the trip to end. I began to realize that in the United States of America, we are wealthy beyond our own realization. It became clear that even the poorest Americans are actually wealthy by Haitian standards, and wealth is merely a relative term. I ventured out with some of my new Haitian friends, and visited their homes. I was greeted with a new level of shock when I witnessed their actual dwelling places. The poverty and the extent of the poverty were simply breathtaking, but the Haitians maintained their human dignity. These Haitians never threatened me and were as hospitable and friendly as possible. I imagined that if this situation occurred in the U.S., people would certainly behave more aggressively. The Haitians were lovely people despite their living conditions, and this endearing quality started to change my definition of the word “wealth.”

When I awoke on day seven, I was thankful for the humidity soaked bed I was provided. I was thankful for the amazing country I was about to return to. I also felt guilty to be so privileged unlike the millions of desperate Haitians. I was born into privilege simply because I am an American citizen, yet I am no more deserving than most Haitians. I returned to my rich country although I wasn’t the same person who had left it seven days earlier. When I landed in Florida I was struck by the unforgettable smell of Sbarro’s pizza.

I left the United States struggling to make ends meet and returned to the United States as a wealthy American.