I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord watches over you - the Lord is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. Psalm 121
This is the scripture passage that those precious Christians were quoting all night long in that field. Linda said it was like "sitting in God's lap." Those precious people of God sang and worshiped and prayed and quoted scripture all night. Every time there was a tremor - they shouted hallelujah and praise the Lord and glory to God! Those shouts were like weapons against the fear. Small groups clustered around the field and as one group finished up their song, another picked up a prayer; as they closed their prayers, another quoted Psalms. And at midnight, a revival broke out! Shouts of praise and singing went up into the quiet night. It went on until the sun came up. I can only imagine what Heaven will be like, if that was just a glimpse! Such abiding peace. I hardly knew that chaos was all around us. The Lord knew that we would need a peaceful night for the next day ahead of us. We did not sleep, but somehow we were energized for the day ahead. Now this was also my second night of no sleep, remember?
As the sun came up around 6, the people gathered in one place on the field. They held a little worship service of singing and praying for about an hour. At that point we gathered inside one of the concession stands to the side of the field. Pastor Val was chatting with other men there, and we got bits and pieces of news. The tremors are expected to last until Friday. Planes with aid are supposed to be landing starting today. My family is okay. How's yours? We began to hear planes and helicopters in the distance, and then eventually saw them flying over our field.
After a while, Pastor Val suggested we walk back to his vehicle. In the daylight, it was easier to see, but also brought to light the extent and the horror of the damage. We stepped over power lines, power poles, rubble, a shoe here and there, around broken down vehicles, the injured, dying and dead. It was unimaginable and so enormous. The mind cannot comprehend; we just prayed as we walked and I'm sure the Lord shielded our eyes from too much.
We arrived at the Trooper just as the sun was climbing high into the sky, and miraculously, not a door or window had been disturbed. It was still locked up, our luggage was untouched, and my cash was all there. Thinking we would spend the day back at this location, we began unloading our bags. We were getting thirsty, too, as our water had run out. We had been sharing a liter bottle of water purchased at the Miami airport, although half had been consumed by the time we arrived in Port au Prince. There seemed to be plenty for us all night, but now it was time to find more. We had three water filters for the orphanage, so we opened one thinking we could use it for ourselves. The instructions were complicated and we needed two large containment buckets, which we did not have, nor a source of water, even dirty water. Pastor Val realized our need, and his, and disappeared in search of some. He miraculously returned less than ten minutes later with a huge bag of water pouches. I had been telling the ladies about these, and although I had been reluctant to drink from them in the past, we opened our hand sanitizer and wiped them down and drank deeply from several. We then refilled that liter bottle and shared it the rest of the week.
We changed clothes behind some chalkboards set up in front of the church, and sat down for a rest. Pastor Val, came to us then and announced that we needed to return to the field, that it was safer there. Again, reluctant and tired, and feeling a little lost, we piled our things back in that truck and headed out again.
On the way back to the soccer stadium, we remembered the supplies we had in our bags: band-aids, Neosporin, alchohol wipes, fabric, scissors, 25# of rubber gloves! So we decided that when we arrived we would use these things to help people. At first, one or two people came over and we applied the ointment and band-aids and prayed for them. the rubber gloves were rendered useless, as the bandages stuck to them and made the work difficult. Lisa stayed busy cutting strips of cloth to sling broken bones and hold ointment in place. But soon, we were mobbed with the injured: deep cuts filled with sand and rubble, broken legs and twisted feet, head injuries, the barely conscious. We were overwhelmed with our inability to help. I felt the crowd pressing in and the sun climbing high and beating down on us.
One dear woman had placed a dirty terry-cloth towel on a deep cut on her forehead. Overnight, it had dried in place. I knew that I must remove it before I could apply any antibiotic cream. I poured some water on the towel, and loosened it slightly. Then some ointment. A little more. Then I had to tug, but it wouldn't give. The fibers of the cloth were deep in the cut. I told Pastor Val to tell her that I must pull it off and that it would hurt, to brace herself. With tears in my eyes, I yanked that cloth as gently but as firmly as I could. She winced, but did not cry out. I had to do it a second time and I could hardly see for the tears. Finally that towel came off and revealed a gash needing stitches. All that and I couldn't really help her. I prayed for healing, and placed some Neosporin and a band-aid on her and sent her on her way.
A well-dressed man came to us and spoke in English. "My wife is in labor and close to delivering. I need you to help me." We tried to convince him that we were not doctors or nurses, but he insisted that any help would be better than none. While I bound up the bleeding, Linda and Julia went with Pastor St. Mark across the street to a hospital.
We heard very little by way of crying, moaning, or complaining. Even the little ones they brought us didn't fuss. We ran out of bandaids and ointment, and the crowd dissipated. Thousands of people began to pour into that stadium looking for shelter. They set up makeshift tent with four concrete blocks, four branches, and some sheets. They had a better set up than we did! The babies and children played under those tents with their mammas. The men must have been out helping. Pastor Val offered to move the truck to the other side of the field near his friends.
Lisa and I walked toward the hospital to find Julia and Linda. We were appalled to see many dead lying in the parking lot, on the sidewalk, at the entrance to the hospital. Some were covered up, some had a piece of clothing draped across their faces, but others, including a small boy, were not covered at all. There were also many injured and they called out to us for help. I suppose being white, people assumed the only reason we would be there was because we were relief workers, doctors or nurses. It felt like a violation of their trust to be there, because we could offer no help. We wandered around wondering where the entrance to the hospital could be, and then realized that we may never find them in there. We were both overcome with horror and decided to leave the area and go back to the field. As we walked down the driveway to the stadium a young man held out a baby to us with pleading eyes, "take her." We just shook our heads and said, "we can't." I wish I had taken her.
Lisa and I sat up on the bleachers, and waited, exhausted.
That was my low moment. I had cried the night before, but here we were in the middle of Port au Prince on a field, the US Coast Guard helicopters and planes flying overhead, but we felt so lost, and so unable to help. How would anyone find us here? No one knew where to look. We tried over and over again to reach our families on Pastor Val's phone, but the systems were overloaded and we couldn't get through. Pastor Val told us that the church was preparing food for everyone. Lisa and I sat on those bleachers, unable to rest or sleep, thinking surely the sun would go down soon, and we could at least lie down again.
It was 11:30 am.
We could not believe it. Soon Pastor St. Mark returned for provisions. They needed water. He said that one baby had been born, but his was still coming. He left. Within 30 minutes, he returned again with Linda, and his son had been born. They reached into our bags and gathered water, granola bars, sanitary supplies, and underwear for the mother and the Pastor. Their home had been crushed by the quake and they had nothing. We also gave him some money.
Soon both of our ladies returned, triumphant. Julia, who had been almost silent with fear up until now, was chattering away about her experience. How they had prayed because one baby was transverse and could not come down the birth canal. They watched the baby flip into place after Linda commanded the baby to move in Jesus' name. Julia described how Pastor St. Mark's newborn son peed all over the room upon entering the world. Joy amidst the sorrow. Linda named him, "Judah" which means praise because in the middle of all the pain, there was something to praise God for.
They cleaned up, and sat with us. We spread our blankets on the ground and tried to rest a little. We played with the children and their mammas nearby. Patty cake and "Oui, oui, non" their version of "Duck, duck, goose." We snapped photos of these beautiful people. And then another worship service began. We stood among the people and sang and thanked God for our lives again. Again and again we tried to phone out. Nothing.
And then, at 2:15, Pastor Val's phone rang. It was total stranger looking for Linda. They only spoke for 10 seconds and then it went dead. A few minutes later, it rang again, this time her husband, Wayne. We all cried, so happy that our families knew we were alive. She managed to say that we were on a soccer field on Delmas 33. Then the phone went dead again.
That put wind in our sails. The rest of the day was spent visiting with the people on the field, and playing with the children. Julia still preferred to stay in the truck, but the rest of us laid down on our blankets. Soon, it was time to think about bedding down for the night, so we picked a new spot. The precious church family there, had been preparing food all day in enormous vats. I'm not really sure how much they made, but we estimated 10,000 people on that field. They brought us a styrofoam container of the most delicious rice and beans with fish sauce that I have every eaten. We scrounged around in our bags for some plastic knives we had brought for spreading icing on cupcakes at the orphanage, and used them like chopsticks.
As the sky darkened, threatening storm clouds gathered over us. The wind picked up. The sky was about to open up on us. We ran to the truck for shelter. But no storm came. Just a few drops and then it was dark. We laid down for the night, even though it was only about 7:00. Julia and Pastor Val stayed in the truck. Lisa, Linda and I were on the ground again.
As it got darker and darker and more and more quiet, a few groups of men stopped by our blankets. At first they were asking about our blankets, could they have some, and then they became more bold and asked to lie down with us. Soon after this, about 11:30 pm, someone yelled in the dark, "Allez! Allez! Le mer! Le mer!" I thought I knew what he was saying, but I asked around to find someone who spoke English, and sure enough, they were shouting that the sea was coming; a tsunami. In my heart I knew that it was impossible. We were at Delmas 33 which is well above sea level, probably a few hundred feet. So even if the sea were coming, we wouldn't be affected up so high. But a frantic panic gripped everyone on that field, and all 10,000 people cleared out in 5 minutes. We hopped in the truck and took off as well.
We learned later that this was a ploy by looters to get people to flee, leaving their meager belongings behind. How cruel. But we saw it as the protection of God on our lives, because we were such vulnerable targets on that field for ill-intentioned trouble-makers.
Pastor Val began driving, and we just let him lead us where he wanted to go. He had been so good to us to this point, we trusted him as a father figure. In the dark, we turned onto a familiar street - Delmas 75 - Quisqueya Christian School! I asked him to verify that indeed we were there and he said yes.
It was quite dark inside their walls, so I wondered if no one was there. Perhaps they sustained damage as well and everyone had left. But the walls and the gate were in tact, so I boldly banged on one gate. No answer. I walked to the other gate, and yelled with all my strength, "Help! I'm Kellee Brackett! I used to teach here! We need shelter!" Soon someone came to the gate, and said in whisper, "Okay, come on in, just be quiet!"
A wave of relief swept over me. We were on safe and familiar ground and I just knew, now that we were here, we could work on getting home. We explained our situation to the Elementary Principal, Tony and he showed us to some picnic tables where we could spread our blankets. I stayed up a long time talking to the others, teachers and families that had sought shelter there. No sleep again, but such peace. In the morning, Tony led us to his apartment where we could freshen up and use the bathroom. Ah, what a luxury!
