On March 29, 2010, I witnessed something extraordinary. A little boy named Alexander, with his shiny new saddle shoes and adorable pinstriped jacket, sparkling eyes and infectious grin, stood next to a very deserving set of parents–Ross Haskell and Jean Griffith–as the judge officially made him their son. And right in front of me, a family was created.
It was an unforgettable moment. And one that I feel incredibly privileged to have been a part of.
Alex first came into my life through photos. Ross and I worked together at a small software company in Wichita, Kansas. As he and Jean navigated the lengthy and often challenging journey of adopting a child from Haiti, Ross would provide updates to our team and share photos after each of their trips. We learned about Haitian culture, the people, the food, the travel, the government and the orphanage where Alex lived. We learned about Jamie and Ali McMutrie, two American women dedicated to the children at the orphanage and to the families going through the adoption process.
On January 12, 2010, the unthinkable happened. As news of the earthquake in Haiti spread across the internet, I was paralyzed at my desk. I remember Ross making phone call after phone call, waiting for news. We were all barely holding it together. Until Alex, Haiti was just a faraway place to me. But now, it was a little boy. It was an orphanage full of children. It was a country full of people in utter devastation. And the tears began to fall.
The worst part was the feeling of helplessness. If only I could fly down there, I thought, racking my brain for a way to DO SOMETHING. I’m not very good at being idle. So I did what I knew how to do. I took to the Internet.
I blogged about the earthquake and shared the story of the orphanage online. And then I took that message to Twitter. It started small, but soon I was a part of a large community of people using social media to spread the word about what was happening in Haiti. Led by Pittsburgh journalist Virginia Montanez, whose blog became our main source of information, we were loud and difficult to ignore and we were committed to using technology at a time when we couldn’t physically provide aid. It was our collective noise that eventually led to a CNN crew bringing water and supplies to the orphanage. It was that noise that helped drive the rescue mission that brought the kids to the U.S., where they received care and, for many, the chance to be reunited with their adoptive families. And it’s that noise that continues to champion for the people of Haiti and provide support to Jamie and Ali.
My experience that January proved that even behind my keyboard, I could still make a difference.
When I sat in that courtroom a few months later and watched Alex with his new parents, my heart swelled. It still does every time I see a new set of photos of him on Facebook, laughing and playing, dressing up for Halloween or digging into a birthday cake. His life is so full and so rich and he is so very loved.
Now, when I hear about Haiti and I read about the work of Haitian Families First, I don’t see a faraway island. I see a little boy. And I see hope.
–Shea Sylvia is a Senior Social Media Strategist for MMGY Global. You can read more about Shea at her blog, That’s What Shea Said.
HFF volunteer Ross Haskell describes his recent visit to Jamie:
Just after I boarded the plane in Miami bound for Port-au-Prince, I began thinking about how I got there. I stared out the window watching the conveyor belt jerking it’s cargo ever upwards and was suddenly overwhelmed. I started to get a bit choked up until someone sat next to me. It had been two years since I’d been to Haiti and I knew that I wasn’t going back to a place I’d known. I was going someplace I’d never been. The night before, I’d texted my wife about it:
Ross: I’m nervous about going tomorrow. Nothing will stop me from doing it, but I expect it to be pretty emotional. Also, my iPhone keeps changing color while texting. It’s some kind of international thing. I think it believes it’s smarter than me.
Jean: Don’t be nervous. Jamie will be with you and she really needs you to see stuff. I’m really jealous I can’t go!
Ross: I’m just nervous to see it. If it’s still debated, I’m going to lose it.
Jean: Debated?
Ross: Devastated–stupid iPhone! If the drive from the airport is filled with tents and rubble and, “we can’t go that way anymore,” I’m going to lose it.
Jean: Just remember this is the first chance you’ve ever had to really hear people. Listen. I hope you get to meet Junia–she is so awesome!
Ross: Ok, you’re right. I need to see the strength and not the stone.
Jean: They’re the same thing in Haiti.
I wiped my eyes, realizing that what had brought me there was the simple complicated truth of 40 years of choices. Every choice I’d ever made had been what brought me to seat 14A on American Airlines flight 575. It was freeing in a way and sad too. I was about to land in a country where people had to make a different set of choices. I expected that to put my own choices in perspective, but it was Jamie who really did that.
We were having a drink at a restaurant in Port-au-Prince and talking about the future of Haitian Families First. We’re worried about money because, even though Jamie is perhaps the most frugal person I’ve ever met (next to my 96 year-old grandmother), we still need money to help the families that we do. I, wearing an ill-fitting “Chief Finance” hat, told Jamie that she might need to make some hard choices–she might have to turn away families in need in order to ensure continued support for the ones already being assisted. Jamie’s answer wasn’t stern, but it was full of conviction. “Then you come down here and tell a mother or father that their child must die.”
Jamie, thankfully, chose not to listen to me.
I chose to learn something about the importance and reality of what this organization does.
Even though my trip was just a day or so, it was filled with examples like this one. Perhaps you’ve seen the “Roads Jamie Travels” video on this blog. What you didn’t see was the conversation we had after my terror subsided.
Ross: Jamie, even though you nearly killed me back there, I’m glad I know you. You are an inspiring person to me. I can’t believe you do this. I can’t believe you don’t want what everyone else wants: a beautiful house, a new car, nice clothes . . .
Jamie: But, I do want those things. I just want to do this too.
Choices.