On the ground in Haiti

By Tamara Palinka
Special to the Eagle

Haiti embeds itself further into my soul as each day passes.

I can no longer imagine life without Sonson being the centre of it. I have grown accustomed to the rank smells of rot in the markets, the horns going all day long, the chaos of driving here, seeing army tanks and uniforms every where.

I am no longer surprised or overwhelmed, well at least not most of the time.

Last week a child died and there is something about the loss of a baby that strikes the heart.

The mother of the child was wailing in agony. I have been fighting to hold on emotionally from day one. I’ve been pushing everything back so I could move forward and do what I came to do, but  throughout the day I find tears surfacing with an ambition of their own.

By mid-afternoon, for the first time since I arrived, I hung my head and let it all out.

I cried for the orphans we found on the street that day. I cried for all the little babies that died. I cried for the hope that the people of Haiti carry in their hearts. I cried for the amputated parents that could no longer care for their children.

I cried for all the homeless in the streets, for all the patients we release who have nothing to go back to, and for all the people that only have a sheet for protection. I cried for the future that is upon us — the rainy season.

Rainy season is slowly making its way and constantly reminding us, with previews almost nightly, of what is coming.

I fear that with this will be a new rush of sickness and death. How can people live through the rains and hurricanes with no shelter?

The tents couldn’t possibly survive a category hurricane. I have no answers. There are just more problems than solutions and it’s difficult to accept.

A few days ago a team of us went to an area not far from our hospital.

They still had not received aid.

A three-year-old child with an amputation came to me. He is living in the street with his family of  about 25, and he is sick.

We made our way through the area and came upon a small community of people who had lost everything.

Tamara Palinka holds a malnourished baby in the front seat of this aid vehicle. Photo submitted

Their new homes were dangerously located below what was left of their old homes — just waiting for another aftershock to finish what the earthquake did not.

I watched from a hill as they bathed, cleaned, ate and did laundry in water filled with human waste. It was grey and they are drinking it. A man with a bull horn explains  they need assistance. We listen but there is nothing we can do.

The medics drain puss from the three-year-old’s arm stump, give him a shot and clean his wounds. We have done what we can for today.

Sometimes at night I like to walk through the adult tent and hand out lollipops. It is a high point for me to see how each face lights up as they graciously accept this small token.

Even the hard working doctors  accept this gift with a smile. The work the doctors  have done here is nothing short of amazing.

Back in the early days when they had to amputate without anaesthesia one doctor sobbed deeply as he sawed  through the leg of a child. This child tried to comfort the doctor while he was losing his limb.

I would never have believed that this kind of strength existed anywhere if I didn’t experience it every day.

Our hospital is changing. We are looking to renovate due to the coming storms and it is necessary if we want to survive.

We still have a lot of work to do before we are prepared for the rain. I consider myself very lucky as I have maneuvred my way into an abandoned trailer on our grounds.

It leaks a little, but it offers better protection for Sonson and I.

I dream of the day Sonson and I can go home together, and hope that time comes soon.

Tamara Palinka, a former area resident whose mother, Kate Millar, lives in Cochrane, has been on the ground in Haiti since Jan. 25 with the University of Miami’s Project Medishare and has agreed to send updates on the chaos caused by the 7.0 earthquake Jan. 12 and following aftershocks.

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