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Haiti survivors ache for family, friends
Tristan Taylor, Baptist Press
January 29, 2010
6 MIN READ TIME

Haiti survivors ache for family, friends

Haiti survivors ache for family, friends
Tristan Taylor, Baptist Press
January 29, 2010

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — In

certain places on the northern outskirts of Port-au-Prince, cars are stuck in

traffic jams, street vendors are selling vegetables and people are filling

restaurants.

BP photo

Enso Jean Louis, 22, lost his parents and five of his siblings during the Haiti earthquake. Enso, who is a believer, clings to his faith as he lies in a hospital bed, recovering from an injured right leg. He has not seen his surviving sister since he was admitted to the hospital and does not know where she is.

Despite these pockets of activity on the outskirts, the effects of

the earthquake that claimed more than 150,000 Haitian lives two weeks ago

continue to echo loudly throughout the city and surrounding areas.

In hospitals, volunteers offer medical care for broken bones and missionaries

deliver supplies to help rebuild broken lives. But the catastrophe also has

broken apart countless families.

Enso Jean Louis is alone in L’Hopital de Fermathe. He was brought there nearly

two weeks after the quake. But unlike many of his fellow patients, the

22-year-old wasn’t accompanied by any family.

With bolts protruding from both sides of his injured right leg, he lies on a

bed in a far corner of the ward. The bolts are attached to a brace that holds

his bone in place. Filled with the noise of scrubs-clad medics rushing to treat

the injured, the room is overflowing with patients and visiting family members.

But there is no one at Enso’s bedside.

“My parents were taking care of us,” he says in Haitian Creole. “I relied on

them. I do not know what can be done now.”

When the earthquake hit, Enso and his sister were watching television on the

second story of his family’s house. His parents were downstairs with his other

five siblings. Enso was knocked into the yard, where a block of concrete fell

on his leg. The second story of the house collapsed onto the first, taking the

lives of those downstairs.

The sister who was with him upstairs survived, but the two were soon separated

when Enso was taken for medical care.

“I do not know where she is,” he says. “Today is 15 days without seeing (anyone

I know). I feel that I am alone. There are no people coming here. They are not

looking for me.”

But Enso, who is a believer, clings to his faith. As he stares at the ceiling

through hazy eyes, his fingers wrap tighter around a blue Creole-language New

Testament.

In the Dominican Republic

In Barahona, Dominican Republic, a farmhouse on the outskirts of town has been

converted into a patient-care ward.

BP photo

Florence Jean Baptiste’s friend, Merison Aristide, left, and her brother, Rodrigue Arius, help her walk to a car following treatment at a hospital outside of Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Baptiste underwent surgery on her femur to treat injuries suffered during the Jan. 12 earthquake.

Inside, makeshift beds line the walls of what was once the living room. There

is no volunteer medical staff, only caregivers who keep vigil in plastic chairs

beside their patients.

Behind a wall of curtains dividing the room, 22-year-old Johnny Francois sits

at the foot of his sister’s bed. Dieula has a row of stitches on her left side

that stretch from her thigh to her ribs. Johnny has a small bandage around his

right foot. While his sister sleeps, he gazes listlessly at the floor.

Johnny is the oldest of 12 siblings. When Dieula was sent to the Dominican

Republic for medical care, Johnny went along to look after her. He has not seen

his other family members since. All he can do is stay with his sister and wait.

He passes each day, a healthy man in a room full of injured people, hoping for

some sign their situation will soon change.

“My father — I don’t know where is him,” he says in broken English. “I don’t

know this country.”

He looks around the room where he has spent the past two weeks and shakes his

head.

“I have no person come to see me. No person come to help me,” he says. “I do

not have a friend.”

The quake separated loved ones as some were trapped under rubble and others

were rushed away for medical care. The situation was made worse when hundreds

of unidentified bodies were buried in mass graves. Haitians may search for

loved ones for months to come, wondering who might still be alive.

But for now, many feel the added ache of loneliness — a pain sometimes not

immediately visible to volunteers or treatable by doctors. They long for a

listening ear, an encouraging smile and a friend with whom to share hope.

(EDITOR’S NOTE — Taylor is a writer for the International Mission Board in

the Americas.)

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