 St. Francois de Sales, 2008-09 school year |
April 3, 2010
How do you tell the story of a school that once was, when the classrooms you’d describe no longer exist? Where do you begin to fill in the pieces? Among the rubble, between the bodies – where can we find a narrative that helps destruction make sense?
Spending the past week visiting schools in Haiti’s capital, I struggled immensely with these questions. The closest I came to clarity was at St. Francois de Sales in the neighborhood of Rivière Froide, commune of Carrefour, Port au Prince.
At the epicenter of the quake, Carrefour saw horrible destruction. The private school run by nuns had kindergarten, primary, and secondary levels. Over 1,350 students. Upwards of 50 teachers. Dozens of other nuns running crosscutting healthcare and social programs. A community of care on a hill, overlooking one of the most notoriously neglected areas of the capital.
Now, this is what’s left of that hill. Where the school stood, primary and secondary, each several stories high, the rubble has finally been cleared. Eight of the Sister’s 11 main buildings came down. Fortunately, the lack of rubble leaves space for tents under which school can continue and life can move on. But so far only three tents have come, and heartbreaking loss turns “moving on” into wishful thinking.
 St. Francois de Sales, April 2010 |
 A notebook in the rubble |
 Sr. Mary Jeanne, a Little Sister of St. Therese |
The Sisters ran a primary school program for very poor children, many in “restavek” situations who are forced to work or do chores in the mornings and attend school in the afternoon. Class gets out around 5:00 pm, to accommodate the children’s unjust reality. The earthquake struck at 4:50 pm. St. Francois de Sales is down to 1,200 students.
 Boy after poking around in rubble |
I imagine 150 bodies are never easy to extract. When they’re children, the task to me is incomprehensible. Somehow the Sisters did it, and continue onwards ever stronger. Adapting. Regrouping. Growing where they must, in whatever space they can.
My attention is diverted from the Sister I’m interviewing by a collection of green plants, potted delicately in a row to my left. They start to move, new and fragile but strong enough to hold firm as a group of children scurry to pick them up.
“To decorate the Church under the tent,” the Sister tells me. A weak smile breaking below distant eyes. “We’ll hold mass in the yard. The children, they can help.”
I don’t quite know how to make sense of the school situation in Port-au-Prince, but I know when I see people who do. The Little Sisters of Saint Therese, Haitian nuns and one of Hope for Haiti’s partners for the last 10 years, will continue moving forward with learning amidst reconstruction. And Hope for Haiti will be there, at their side. After all, 1,200 is still a number worth fighting for.
Patrick Eucalitto, Program Director