ROSI, MY YOUNG HAITIAN FRIEND
I first met Rosi, a beautiful little 4 year-old girl, as her father carried her into our medical camp on the morning of Wednesday, January 20, a week after the earthquake. This was my first day in Port-au-Prince, where I was volunteering as an interpreter with CDRS (Comprehensive Disaster Response Services), a non-profit organization participating in the Haiti relief effort.
Andrea Shiffman, founder of AKtive Learning, traveled to Haiti less than a week after the earthquake to work with a nonprofit organization, CDRS (Comprehensive Disaster Response Services.) CDRS has been recognized for its relief work in Pakistan following the earthquakes in 2005 and 2010.
In January of this year, CDRS established one of the largest and most respected medical field camps in Port-au-Prince, in collaboration with Aimer Haiti, their local field partner. Founder and director of CDRS, Todd Shea, also worked with Sean Penn to build housing for thousands of families before the start of the rainy season. Below is Andrea's account of Rosi, a young Haitian girl who was treated at the medical camp while Andrea was there.
PHOTOS OF HAITI
Sadly, on Saturday, January 31, the day before I left Haiti, Rosi reappeared at our camp with her parents. Apparently, she hadn't been taken to the hospital, as she now had cellulites encompassing her entire left leg and was in constant, severe pain.
Early Saturday morning, a four-member team of our doctors and nurses departed for their daily outreach mission, where they would tour villages near Port-au-Prince, treating minor injuries on site, or transporting patients with severe wounds back to our camp. Miraculously, they came across Rosi, who was at home with her parents. She hadn't been taken to the hospital. The team tried without success to persuade Rosi's parents to bring her outside and let them check her foot. Their neighbors, however, were finally able to convince Rosi's father to bring her back to the medical camp for more treatment. To my chagrin, Rosi arrived at the camp with the wound now severely infected and ulcerated.
The doctors announced that Rosi’s foot required a more thorough cleaning, surgery - and possibly amputation. A Haitian volunteer flagged down a ‘tap-tap’, a shared taxi consisting of a small pickup truck with narrow benches along either side of the back. We sat Rosi, her parents, and several other patients in the tap-tap and instructed Rosi’s parents to take her to a hospital. Her mother was dead set against it, as she didn’t want Rosi to lose her foot. I implored the mother to go; if she didn’t, Rosi WOULD lose her foot, whereas if they sought treatment, there might be hope. The tap-tap drove off, and we didn’t see Rosi again for several days.
A deep, gaping and untreated wound covered the front of Rosi’s left ankle and foot, the result of a slab of concrete that had fallen on her during the earthquake. We motioned to Rosie’s father to set her down on one of our examination tables - a converted fussball table with no legs and with rods protruding on both sides, but a flat surface, nonetheless. At this early stage, our camp had only a minimum of antibiotics and medical equipment, and no pain medication beyond Tylenol and a few topical anesthetics. The doctors examined and cleaned the wound as best they could with their limited supplies, as Rosi screamed and cried in pain and terror. Her father kneeled beside her, holding on to both of her arms as she struggled to get free. Rosi’s young mother was sitting several feet away, despondent and inconsolable, unable to watch, her face streaming with tears.
By this time, our camp was staffed with over a dozen highly-trained physicians, nurses and medics, and stocked with a more ample supply of medicine and equipment. The doctors treated and redressed the foot of the crying and distraught Rosi, then kept her at the camp overnight for observation. She and her mother shared a mattress on the floor of the "surgery gazebo", and I was comforted by the thought that Rosi was, at least for tonight, in good hands.
HAITI EARTHQUAKE 2010
The next day, Rosi and her parents left the camp, and we again pleaded with the parents to take her to a hospital. The Israeli 'hospital' was a medical camp only a few miles away, near the airport, a true oasis in a land of chaos. Organized, efficient, clean, fully medically-equipped and extraordinarily well-staffed; the hospital had been set up in a soccer field only three days after the earthquake and was providing medical care far superior to any other facility in Port-au-Prince. I hugged Rosi and her parents as they left, and prayed that they wouldn’t head straight back to their village.
Rosi, my little friend, life is so unfair. You are 4 years old; you should be playing, laughing, running around. Instead, you can’t smile or stand up, and will probably lose your left leg. Your parents mean well, they really do, but they just don’t understand the urgency of leaving you in the care of others, so that you will feel better. I met you the day I arrived in Haiti, and I cried for you the day I left. You’ll always be in my thoughts. Feel better, Rosi.
