From February 24, 2021 On Monday evening I was seated in the back of the compound with Walencia. It had been a long, stressful day dealing with disciplinary problems with two of the staff. I was lost in thought when Wally said to me, “Dad you go to the sisters tomorrow?”
From February 23, 2021 On Tuesday February 16th I wrote a two-page memo to the staff which began with this ominous lead sentence: “The Santa Chiara Children’s Center is on a downward road quickly taking us to our extinction.” Ouch.
From February 22, 2021 Lovna turned 14 on Saturday. She was one of the first kids who lived with us in the apartment in the midst of a small slum in Peguyville back in May 2016. She was only 8 years old.
From February 21, 2021 When I lifted Tamysha out of her crib yesterday morning, I was horrified by what I saw…
From February 20, 2021 Last night as I was falling asleep, I realized I had not written a Journal for today. Yesterday was a good day. Actually, it has been a great week. So great in fat that it has filled me with new hope, a deep joy.
From February 19, 2021 To land in Haiti is to arrive at the doorstep of hell. As soon as you leave the airport, you know you’ve entered a tortured, chaotic world. Piles of burning garbage. Roads littered with potholes. Dilapidated trucks spewing thick clouds of black exhaust.
From February 18, 2021 Jarline’s mother lives in Cité Soleil. On Tuesday evening she was attacked by a man. He beat her with his gun. Details are sketchy. We know she was hurt. We learned of this yesterday morning.
From February 17, 2021 This Journal was written in Florida on August 28, 2018. When I read it last week, it really rattled me.
From February 16, 2021 Sunday the protestors disrupted life in Pétionville with widespread demonstrations. Someone wanted to show me a video of a protestor picking up a tire that had just been set on fire and tried to put the burning tire on a policeman. I elected not to view the video, so I’m not sure exactly what happened.
From February 15, 2021 On Saturday morning of my last weekend in Florida, I spoke with a dear friend in California. Word came from my former parish, Holy Family Church in South Pasadena, that her husband was in the hospital with pneumonia