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The non-profit organization, buildOn, has one simple philosophy: education is the key component to breaking the cycle of poverty. As a member of buildOn for three years and the Global Education officer for two, I supposed myself quite familiar with this theory. However, up until my journey to Haiti this past summer, I had not, and possibly could not have fully grasped the concept.
As our van wove through Port-au-Prince, images of the earthquake’s destruction crowded our car windows, scenes flashing across our vision—a grand cathedral in ruins, the capitol building collapsed, and thousands upon thousands of tents everywhere. A question suddenly formed in my mind, “How can we possibly help such a devastated people?” But we soon left the ruination and sped deep into the lush, exotic countryside.
After arriving in Cherette with a welcome of 200 people, we began the buildOn Trek mission—building a school. As we eighteen, fairly scrawny, American teenagers dug the earthquake-proof foundation, made cement bricks, and carried rocks from the river, I felt myself growing stronger, more resilient. Never having done manual labor of any kind before, I wore my blisters proudly as battle scars.
Our daily lives, seemingly mundane, consisted of washing clothes and employing our greatest language skills in communicating with the Haitians who had opened their homes to us. My host family spoke Creole, while I struggled to express myself in broken French. However, regardless of these difficulties, the fascination in one another, the mutual, burning desire to share and learn bonded us together. As my host family taught me how to wash my clothes in the flowing river—I fell in, several times—I showed them pictures of my life in the U.S. It was refreshing to be in a place so separated from our society. Before we began our journey to Haiti, buildOn hosted training sessions teaching us to keep an open mind and attitude. However, the only thought I had throughout these classes was “Why would we ever judge the Haitians?” It never crossed my mind that we were the first Americans to stay for more than a couple of hours.
As soon as I became comfortable in the village, confidently using the little Creole I learned, something happened that shattered my perfect glass picture—I was asked for my water bottle, and eventually most of my possessions. It may seem like I was being melodramatic, but I truly felt my purpose in Haiti fading then and there. My one thought was, “We are giving you a school, is that not enough?” I quickly became frustrated, but mostly lost. “What was I doing here?” I questioned. Why do the villagers not appreciate the education that we are providing, opting for a mere water bottle instead? I felt trapped a corner, finally realizing that I was judging the Haitians—just what buildOn had prepared us against. I was seeking for an alternate answer when I came to the conclusion that Haiti has for decades suffered from failed governance, death squads, poverty, and natural disasters, making it the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, resulting in an economy entirely dependent on donations—money, supplies, food, water—from other countries. No wonder the people were accustomed to foreigners coming to drop of necessities, and then leaving. This cycle of “help” creates an inevitable dependency. After this epiphany, buildOn’s philosophy of spreading education registered even more deeply, not just within my logic, but also in my heart. I could not blame them for their mindset; it was molded by many years of suffering.
I had, once again, found my motivation to be in Haiti, my motivation to build this school. Now, much more than before, I truly believed that education could bring an entire country out of despair. Although I felt little possibility that I could convey my ideas to my host family so that they could really understand, I saw that we were helping to build the new future where they could. This hope drove me to finish my mission in Haiti and inspired me to spread buildOn’s philosophy, which I had wholly adopted as my own. One could jokingly call me a convert and preacher of sorts as I make presentations around my high school of buildOn and my Trek experience. Haiti taught me many lessons—reality, humanity, and perspective to name a few—but most importantly, Haiti taught me to genuinely see the enduring possibilities of education, from changing the life of one single person to the fate of an entire country.
As our van wove through Port-au-Prince, images of the earthquake’s destruction crowded our car windows, scenes flashing across our vision—a grand cathedral in ruins, the capitol building collapsed, and thousands upon thousands of tents everywhere. A question suddenly formed in my mind, “How can we possibly help such a devastated people?” But we soon left the ruination and sped deep into the lush, exotic countryside.
After arriving in Cherette with a welcome of 200 people, we began the buildOn Trek mission—building a school. As we eighteen, fairly scrawny, American teenagers dug the earthquake-proof foundation, made cement bricks, and carried rocks from the river, I felt myself growing stronger, more resilient. Never having done manual labor of any kind before, I wore my blisters proudly as battle scars.
Our daily lives, seemingly mundane, consisted of washing clothes and employing our greatest language skills in communicating with the Haitians who had opened their homes to us. My host family spoke Creole, while I struggled to express myself in broken French. However, regardless of these difficulties, the fascination in one another, the mutual, burning desire to share and learn bonded us together. As my host family taught me how to wash my clothes in the flowing river—I fell in, several times—I showed them pictures of my life in the U.S. It was refreshing to be in a place so separated from our society. Before we began our journey to Haiti, buildOn hosted training sessions teaching us to keep an open mind and attitude. However, the only thought I had throughout these classes was “Why would we ever judge the Haitians?” It never crossed my mind that we were the first Americans to stay for more than a couple of hours.
As soon as I became comfortable in the village, confidently using the little Creole I learned, something happened that shattered my perfect glass picture—I was asked for my water bottle, and eventually most of my possessions. It may seem like I was being melodramatic, but I truly felt my purpose in Haiti fading then and there. My one thought was, “We are giving you a school, is that not enough?” I quickly became frustrated, but mostly lost. “What was I doing here?” I questioned. Why do the villagers not appreciate the education that we are providing, opting for a mere water bottle instead? I felt trapped a corner, finally realizing that I was judging the Haitians—just what buildOn had prepared us against. I was seeking for an alternate answer when I came to the conclusion that Haiti has for decades suffered from failed governance, death squads, poverty, and natural disasters, making it the poorest country in the Western hemisphere, resulting in an economy entirely dependent on donations—money, supplies, food, water—from other countries. No wonder the people were accustomed to foreigners coming to drop of necessities, and then leaving. This cycle of “help” creates an inevitable dependency. After this epiphany, buildOn’s philosophy of spreading education registered even more deeply, not just within my logic, but also in my heart. I could not blame them for their mindset; it was molded by many years of suffering.
I had, once again, found my motivation to be in Haiti, my motivation to build this school. Now, much more than before, I truly believed that education could bring an entire country out of despair. Although I felt little possibility that I could convey my ideas to my host family so that they could really understand, I saw that we were helping to build the new future where they could. This hope drove me to finish my mission in Haiti and inspired me to spread buildOn’s philosophy, which I had wholly adopted as my own. One could jokingly call me a convert and preacher of sorts as I make presentations around my high school of buildOn and my Trek experience. Haiti taught me many lessons—reality, humanity, and perspective to name a few—but most importantly, Haiti taught me to genuinely see the enduring possibilities of education, from changing the life of one single person to the fate of an entire country.
