Today was harder than I ever imagined it would be. Before I Left for this trip I thought that going to home for sick and dying babies would be the hardest part for me, but I was so wrong. Home for sick and dying babies was also heart wrenching but at least they get there basic needs met. They have a bed, food, clean clothes and even diapers. People come to snuggle them and they are protected from the outside world by the home they are in. 

I guess I didn’t know what to expect and didn’t make any assumptions about the water runs we would be doing in Cite Soliel, the poorest slum in the world. When we arrived at our first water run before we were even out of the truck the people had started a line for water and the children were already lined up behind the tap tap waiting to be picked up and loved. The first child to grab my arm was a nine year old girl who asked me my name and then grabbed her little brother and handed him to me. Another girl came up to me and held my hand and with her other hand held on to my upper arm and studied my skin and rubbed and squeezed my arm. She looked up at me and smiled and pointed to my bandana. At first I thought she wanted me to give it to her but realized she just wanted to know how to say “bandana”. I repeated the word to her a few times and she repeated it. She told me her name was Deleda and when I told her mine she repeated it perfectly. She was so beautiful and smart. I guess a lot of the times when you go on water runs the children will ask for things that you have on; headbands, hair binders, bobby pins…ect. Delada never asked for anything. She took out bobby pins from my hair and then would put them back in. She just wanted to play with my hair. I told her she was pretty in Creole and she repeated, “pretty?”, to me and I said “wee, you!” and pointed at her . She smiled and hugged my arm. A few minutes later she looked at me and stroked my hair and told me she thought my hair was beautiful. We took a seat on the side of the road next to Jennifer, another teammate, covered in little ones. We continued to try to communicate, repeating each other’s names and ages. She asked me if the other team member was my mom and then was trying to communicate something to me about her mother. I asked a translator for help and he told me she was telling me that her mother passed away. I held her tightly and tried so hard not to cry. I looked down and saw her tears and cried with her and told her I loved her. Soon after that our team and the kids took a walk out to the “beach”, which is a pier covered in garbage. Pigs and goats are eating the trash and many people are using the bathroom as we walked through. Delada would push and pull me when she saw that I might step on something, which I thought was incredible since she was walking through garbage and glass with no shoes on.  We sang and danced with the children. In the middle of all of that garbage was a beautiful, happy, joy filled few minutes of dancing and laughter. When we had to leave my heart felt so heavy. I hugged Delada one more time and told her I loved her and would see her again someday. I was choking back tears as we got back on to the truck and it hurt my throat not to cry. I couldn’t hold it in for long. I wanted to take Delada home with me. I prayed that God would never let this hurt leave my heart and to not become numb to everything I have seen and heard. I don’t want to forget. I want to make a difference and do whatever I can for the people of Haiti. A piece of me will never leave this place.  My heart is broken for these people and children and it will never be the same. 

-Amanda Jean