Making a Way in Haiti

Hi, my name is Johnna, and I’m fundraising money for women in Haiti who I’ve had the privilege of living alongside. Our full story is posted below, but for now, this money will be used to help them begin their next step. Haiti is currently desperate for help, desperate for change. Their cities are overrun with gang crime, a second earthquake just struck them, and tropical storms have been ripping through their little island. We are fundraising for the women in Haiti, knowing this mission could grow in time.

These ladies need food, shelter, and basic living necessities. Their home is in the mountains, but they currently have no electricity, and no way of obtaining an income to move forward in daily life. We are determined to help them make a way, and this will be the jump start they need. Thank you so, so much.

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The women.

Martine. Mika. All the girls they will care for.

There are so many more, but I will start with these two.

 

First, Martine. I met her my second week living in Haiti. I was 19 years old, alone, and on the brink of something much bigger than myself. I was sitting outside our hut, at the top of a mountain that sat above a river, swinging in a hammock someone had packed for us. Martine was confident, bold. She walked up to me, sat down against a tree, and asked me if I had a boyfriend. I barely spoke Creole, and her English was limited to questions about love, so we stumbled through that first conversation. She was patient, kind. She forgot to slow down her words for me, and to this day speaks fast and hasty when telling me things, ignoring any limitations I may have in understanding her. She had been asked to come and cook for the missionaries, and from that very first day I met her, she became a rock for me.

Sometime during that first month of living in Haiti I had found myself really struggling to learn the language. Kristin and Sam picked it up quickly, Sam’s vocabulary growing wildly each day, and Kristin being conversational within weeks of being there. I was closing up, angry at myself, believing lies that I was stupid, incapable of ever learning.

We had been driving around the city all day, collecting items to go back to the village with us; wood, blankets, eggs, spices, all sorts of things. We stopped to pick up some of the older ladies who would come back with us, and one of them sauntered over to me, asked me where I had just come from.

“Kotew soti?” She asked me.

I froze. Two words. She said them again, slowly. “Kotew soti? Soti?” I had no idea what the word was, my mind having gone completely blank. She tsked at me, shaking her head, and walked over to Kristin, who answered her without hesitation or confusion.

 

Tears burned my eyes, and I longed so much for my home, for familiarity, for comfort.

 

Martine saw my tears and aggressively rubbed them off my face. She firmly told me, “you’re ok. You’re ok.” She became a protector, a best friend. Fifteen years later and we are still navigating life together, dreaming big dreams, watching God work us back together in only a way He could.

 

Mika. Mika’s story is one that I hold closely to my heart, only really sharing it with people who truly want to hear it. But this is what I can tell you about Mika- she is sacred to me. I met her when she was 15, when her sister was brought to us in the orphanage. She taught me how to blend spices, and peel beans the correct way. She consistently laughed at me, for anything I did- my speech, my walk, my outfits. She was opinionated and independent, and she became my little sister. She lived with us for years, helping out in the kitchen, or with the kids. We’d stay up late and sing songs in creole while everyone else was asleep. She’d go on runs with me, in leopard print shirts and sandals, laughing the whole time at the concept of running on purpose. When it would rain, we’d run to the river and do cannonballs into the water, holding hands. She told me I was more a sister to her than her own sisters. I knew what she meant, because she was that to me too. She taught me to wash my clothes the right way in the river, and how to carry heavy things on my head. When she couldn’t sleep, she’d crawl into bed with me, and ask me to sing her songs about Jesus in my language.

 

She struggled. She got older and had dreams, but often Haiti will swallow your dreams whole, remind you that they live in the belly of those mountains. She left for a job making bread in the city, and her life spiraled. She’s too thin now, always sick, struggling to raise her son. She sings me songs still, and never forgets to ask about my dad. She rejoices in my good news, and mourns my sorrows with me. She is a true friend, a true sister.

 

So this is just the beginning. When I lived in Haiti, I met so many incredible, hard working women. I can see their purpose so clearly, but because of the state of Haiti, it is nearly impossible for them to pave a way for themselves. We will help them do that. Our mission is to get them the supplies they need to make beautiful, unique bracelets, and sell them here. Their dignity will be honored and protected.  

Martine has begun helping kids with the outreach. She calls me and we laugh and cry. All of a sudden her life has exploded with purpose, and when God asked her to step up and into the role, she didn’t hesitate. She is 38 and never met anyone, never had children. She tells me she has kids now, and it’s better than she ever dreamed. 

Mika is on her way to them, to help in any way she can.

And I am writing to ask you to help, too. My amazing friend Rachel and I are setting up a website where the proceeds of items purchased will go to them, as they navigate what comes next in their lives. There are basic needs- food, solar panels for electricity, school uniforms and books, daily living costs. But eventually- formation, retreats, their livelihood. We are hashing out the details of how we are going to financially cover this journey, but until then, if you’d be willing to donate $10 to these girls and this moment in their lives, I’d be forever grateful. And if contributing financially isn’t possible, please pray for them. Pray for them by name. It is just as important, if not more.

 

Martine. Mika.

 

We thank you.