They say springtime is the season of renewal, but here at the orphanage, it’s autumn that blends the new into the old. School is about to reopen. Kids rustle with anticipation. And fresh little ones who have joined us over the summer begin to find their footing.
Welcome, then, officially, to two-year-old Janaïca, and her three male companions from the coastal city of Aux (Les) Cayes: Rayanson (2), Djoulens (2) and Leandro (3). Their families were victims of the uprooting and violence caused by Haitian gangs. As a result, these four precious children recently traveled to our mission on a small airplane, as the roads remain too dangerous to drive.
Janaïca & RayansonDjoulens & Leandro
Accompanying them on that 40-minute flight, and taking turns holding them on my lap, I tried to imagine what might be going through their little minds. I remembered that Cat Stevens song, “Oh, Very Young,” and the lyrics, “You’re only dancing on their earth for a short while.” It’s true, they have been here so briefly. And they are unlikely to recall the details of their arrival. Who remembers anything from when they were two?
So if one day they get to read this, they should know that they were brave and strong on their life-changing journey. They boarded the plane holding our hands. They didn’t bristle when the engine started. And while it’s true, once Djoulens started crying, then Rayanson started crying, then Janaïca and Leandro quickly got into the act, and for a few minutes, it was a bad opera inside that fuselage — still, within minutes, they had cried themselves into a nodding sleep.
Janaïca crying on her first airplane trip. Rayanson takes it all in.
And when we landed, they awoke to smiling staff and waiting vehicles, which brought them to a new home, a place of open space, green lawns, clean beds, drinkable water, three healthy meals a day, a sprawling school, and, most important of all, crowds of other excited Haitian children, ready to welcome them in.
“Let’s say their names together,” we exhorted the kids their first night while sitting together in the gazebo. “Ja-na-ica.”
“JA-NA-ICA!”
“Ju-lens.”
“JU-LENS!”
“Ra-yan-son.”
“RA-YAN-SON!”
“Liandaro.”
“LI-AN-DRO.”
It may not be a chorus of trumpets, but it was a pretty royal welcome.
Nurse Miss LaRose provides medical attention to two of our new little ones, Janaïca (left) and Rayanson
As a new group arrives for childhood, another leaves for adulthood
Meanwhile, as this quartet of new faces began blending in, a quintet of teenagers was on a different journey. For the first time, our college bound seniors did not go directly to universities in America, but instead, deferred their admission for 12 months, so they could do a year of service elsewhere in their own country.
Thanks to partnerships we have forged with other amazing non-profits and NGO’s, our five recent graduates, Bianka (18), Bidengy (19), Louvennson (19), Appoloste (20) and J.U. (19), are currently spending their days helping those less fortunate.
From left to right: Louvennson, Appoloste, Bidengy, J.U., and Bianka
In other words, before they go to America to improve their own opportunities, they must improve life for their fellow Haitians. We recently implemented this as policy. I think it is a good one. Only one percent of Haitians ever go to college. It’s critical for our kids to know the needs of the 99 percent who do not.
So Appoloste and J.U. are now volunteering at Haiti Health Foundation in Jérémie, about a 10 hour car ride from our orphanage. So far they’ve done everything from help repair generators to run day camps to deliver medicine to remote villages. They cook their own food, wash their own clothes, learn to live life on their own, and, most importantly, see firsthand the daily struggles of Haitians who don’t have an organization supporting them.
“The other day I saw a man in the street where water was coming out of a sewer,” J.U. told me. “He was gathering the water in a plastic bottle to have something to drink.
“It made me so appreciate just the simple things I have.”
Bianka, Bidengy and Louvennson are working with Haiti Ocean Project, a marine life preservation and education charity located in Nip (Nippes) in southern Haiti. They’ve done everything from tag sea turtles to teach English to local children. They, too, must fend for themselves, even carrying water to their apartment from a nearby well. And they, too, are getting firsthand empathy for the lives of their countrymen.
“Every day I come to work, I see a woman who is wearing the same clothes, every day, the same thing,” Bianka said. “I never thought I had a lot of clothes. But it made me realize how much I do have.”
A group of words that I should never have to write
These are good reports. They show growth. Development. I hope such positive news helps counter some of the shameful negativity currently being heaped upon Haitians in America.
This blatant disrespect for the humanity of others has no place amongst decent people. It also casts a shadow on our nation for those living in Haiti.
Leandro already pitching in with chores!
Understand that America is a magical place in the minds of many people here. A place that sends angels to distribute medicine, dig wells, build houses, teach children. Yes, some in Haiti resent the presence of outsiders, but for the most part, U.S citizens are appreciated, and our country hailed as a place that is blessedly devoid of many problems that plague everyday Haitians.
We should not — and cannot — destroy that by jumping on a bandwagon of false accusations against immigrants. I trust those of you who read these dispatches know the truth about the Haitians who come to our country, whether for study, for safety, or for the chance at a better life.
They are not coming to eat pets.
How sad that I even have to write that.
Visiting with some of newest little ones in our new childhood development wing.
The truth is, “a better life” is all that motivates us here at the orphanage. I watch the fresh faces of our newest arrivals, how their airplane tears have been replaced with wild laughter, how their early fears have melted into joyous days and restful nights.
And I listen to the new maturity of our teenage graduates, who speak now of the good they are doing. It warms my heart.
Autumn is here. The school bell rings. We start anew in so many ways, but with an old philosophy — that children are the future and the future deserves our loving attention. Thank you for all you’ve done to make better lives possible for so many.
As we head into a challenging summer in Haiti, I want to share some positive news about our orphanage and our amazing, resilient children and staff.
Under typical conditions, everything in Haiti is a wait. You wait hours at the bank. You wait on long lines for gasoline. You wait days in a hot emergency room to see a single doctor at a hospital.
That’s when life is normal. Lately, the word “wait” has taken on a whole different meaning. With gangs controlling nearly all aspects of Port-au-Prince — where nearly half the population of the country lives — the people of Haiti are all waiting for one desperate thing: help.
An international force of police and soldiers has supposedly been coming since last fall. It is yet to arrive. The force is widely seen in Haiti as the only hope for breaking the chokehold the gangs have on the streets.
In many ways, the population is like hostages being held in a dark room. Their lives are not their own. They can only pray someone will come to their rescue.
In the shadow of this, life has shut down in many corners of the capital city. Ransacked hospitals cannot open. Banks have been boarded. Police stations have been destroyed. Markets run out of goods, their shelves empty.
But in our small little pocket, life — and learning — somehow go on.
Teaching a lesson
Our school remains open. This is a miracle. Near as we can tell, we are the only school in Port-au-Prince that is still operating in person every day. Most have gone to remote learning. Others have closed altogether. Yet our teaching staff braves the streets each day, arriving dutifully at 7:30 a.m. via motorcycle or van or Tap-Tap rides.
I cannot tell you how much courage that takes. It would be easy for them to say “it’s too dangerous. You can’t expect us to come to work.” Instead, we never have to ask. They see it as their obligation to keep the children’s education going.
So we have Joseph Yevgueny, who is in his first year on our teaching staff. He specializes in geography, history, math and Haitian culture. Every day, he makes his way in from his home in Delmas 33, a place that has destabilized into regular shootings and chaotic violence. The streets there are extremely dangerous. Yet Joseph makes it a personal mission to never miss a day.
Mr. Gregory (left); Mr. Joseph (right)
Or Mr. Gregory Saint Jean, who has been with us for three years. He was chased from his red zone home in Fermath 54 due to gang invasion and was forced to move in with his mother. Yet despite needing two Tap-Taps per day, he dutifully arrives to teach French and math to our kids.
Or Miss Nathalienne, a four-year veteran of our school and a beloved instructor. Her journey includes two busses and a motorcycle, which often has to steer around roadblocks and danger zones just to reach our place. Yet there she is, every day, teaching algebra, physics, French and sign language.
Miss Nathalienne
As a result of their efforts, and others on our terrific staff, our kids continue to thrive. Next month we will graduate five more seniors from our high school. Their names are Bianka, Louvenson, Jonathan, Bidengy and Appoloste. Thanks to their incredible teachers, and the brilliant curriculum designed by our academic director Cara Nesser, all five have received college scholarships in the U.S. to attend Calvin University, Hillsdale College, and Lawrence Technological University.
Imagine that. In a nation strangled by violence and choked off from supplies, teachers brave the danger and students keep learning and graduates earn prized scholarships.
Their futures shouldn’t have to wait.
They don’t.
Mr. Widley goes to Washington
Which brings me to one other group of success stories. Our kids already here in college. Normally, during the summers, they return home to Haiti, to enjoy their brothers and sisters and help out at the orphanage.
But with Haiti’s airports closed due to gang violence and no way to get in or out, they didn’t wait. They found jobs at school. Some of our kids at Hope College have joined the cleaning crew, others work at the bookstore or in offices. Our Madonna student is taking summer classes en route to medical school application. Our Hillsdale students will be working at a summer camp in Wisconsin.
And for the last 10 days, Widley, who has earned Dean’s List grades as a freshman at Hillsdale, has been job shadowing Rep. Lisa McClain in Washington, D.C. This was a monumentally generous offer from Rep. McClain and it has opened Widley’s eyes to a whole new world of government and fueled his passion to make a change.
Over the weekend, Widley took it on his own to learn D.C.’s Metro and nearly wore a hole in his shoes walking to every monument, museum and historic site in the city.
He didn’t wait for someone to hold his hand. He faced the challenge and ran towards it.
Sometimes, all we hear about Haiti is terrible news, and it can seem like the people there are cowered and resigned to suffering. They are not. And our kids and teachers are not. Their spirit is the reason we work so hard there, and the reason those of blessed with not having to worry about being killed on the way to work can — and must — help them.
Waiting is normal in Haiti. But it doesn’t have to paralyze. With your help, our orphanage family keeps going, with their bodies in motion and their minds soaring to wondrous places.
We are blessed to be home after a harrowing last trip to our beloved orphanage. There has been a great deal of media attention to the evacuation of 10 of our staff and visitors, including my wife and myself. Understandably so. The situation in Haiti is beyond dire, people are trapped in the violence there, the airports, ports, road and borders are shut, and the world is becoming acutely aware of the constant inhumanity inflicted by the gangs.
So when a small group manages to exit in the dead of night in a helicopter rescue, it’s going to make some noise. It’s likely you’ve read or watched the story by now. If not, I’ve detailed it here.
But I can tell you, even as we huddled on the floor of that helicopter, when Janine and I heard the words, “We’re out of Haitian airspace,” our hearts were heavy, because our thoughts were with the children and staff still at our facility. And I know, from your correspondence, that many of you feel the same.
So let me address the questions that may be running through your head; they are likely the ones we grapple with every day.
What happens to the children?
This is all we focus on. Their safety. Their health. Their mental well-being. Right now they are safe, healthy, watched over and loved.
Understand that there is no legal way to evacuate them from Haiti. Even if we could have created a helicopter big enough for 60 kids, the sad truth is, had they landed in the Dominican Republic, they would have been immediately sent back. They would not be permitted into the U.S. Other nearby island nations would not accept them.
All doors are closed.
The world does not welcome Haitians. It’s a terrible injustice to our kids, our staff, their loved ones, and all the innocent citizens of this current situation. Until that changes, we have to deal with the situation within the nation’s borders.
Is Have Faith Haiti closing?
Absolutely not. We are needed more than ever now. We are not going anywhere.
How are supplies getting in? Do you have food?
Yes. For better or worse, we are used to situations like this. My wife and I were at the orphanage when former President Jovenel Moïse was assassinated in 2021. The country shut down then as well, and we quickly learned how to adjust under such circumstances.
As soon as the gang violence surged during our last trip, we began stocking up on food, water and fuel. This remains our focus. The costs shoot up quickly, as demand soars and vendors gouge buyers. Your donations continue to allow us to feed and comfort our children.
Fuel, in particular, is a dire necessity. Over the last 10 days, we have had virtually no electricity from the city. We usually only get 4-5 hours a day, but we are not even getting that. This means the only way to light the dark or power the refrigerators is to run a generator, requiring constant gas to do so. Again, your donations in this area are precious.
What is happening with the kids?
We do everything possible to permit the children to live normal, daily lives — even in such an abnormal environment. Meals continue as usual. Nightly prayers. Church. Play time. Music. Art. Soccer.
When we had to close our school for two weeks, our oldest kids got together and asked if they could serve as teachers. I cannot describe the feeling in my heart watching our 17 and 18-year-olds step up and become instructors to their younger brothers and sisters, standing by the whiteboards and reviewing lessons in English and math. It was a symbol of resilience that gives me goose bumps even as I write it.
All during our 10-day visit, we worked on a huge mural project. A third of a football field long, the two blank walls provided a canvas for shared activity and a respite from worry. Every day our volunteers joined alongside the kids in painting the colorful symbols of our values: family, faith, love, sharing, culture, education. The finished result is a testament to beauty in the face of grim reality. It is inspiring, and our kids love it.
This past week, we have actually been able to re-open our school, something very few schools in Port-au-Prince have done. This is a credit to our amazing dedicated teachers, who brave the journey each day. We are immensely proud of them, and again, your donations allow us to pay them, which provides their families with food and shelter.
Remember that in addition to our children, we have around 80 full and part-time employees, from teachers to nannies to maintenance to security workers, all of whom rely on their paychecks to feed and shelter their loved ones. Thus, the ripple effect of our orphanage extends far beyond the precious children inside it.
Can we adopt a child from Have Faith Haiti in order to provide them a safe life in America?
While this is such a kind sentiment, it simply isn’t feasible. Our orphanage is not licensed to make adoptions, and even if it were, the process is extremely lengthy — usually four or more years — and families wishing to adopt in Haiti cannot identify a particular child.
My family member is stuck in Haiti. Can Mitch get them out?
We did not initiate or organize our recent evacuation. It was done by others, in particular Rep. Cory Mills from Florida. It may be possible to contact his office, as well as a group called Project Dynamo, which has also conducted some extractions. In addition, as of this writing, there seems to be a little movement by the U.S. State department to possibly organize some charter flights out of Haiti (they already did one from Cap Haitien.) Those inside Haiti should be in constant contact with the embassy websites.
What happens next?
We wish we knew what the future holds for the country. For now, for us, we must shelter in place, and try to keep daily life for our children as worry free as possible. We do have armed security forces, which cost a great deal, but are, in our opinion, an absolute necessity. Again, your donations in this area make a huge difference.
Because faith is an underpinning of all we do at Have Faith Haiti, prayer — constant prayer — is encouraged. We believe in tomorrow, and in hope. We search constantly for the crack of light under the door. We are confident in God’s love and encourage our children to embrace that feeling every day.
Despite the horror you see on television, there are smiles and laughter and hand-holding and comfort at our home and school. As for Janine and me, our bodies may currently be in the U.S., but our hearts remain there in Haiti, and we look forward to our soonest return. Thank you for all you do to support our kids, and to provide the healing patina of hope for them every day.
It may seem late to be talking about the new year, but it’s pretty normal when it comes to January at Have Faith Haiti. The change in the calendar settles like a long, soft rain on our little piece of this island, and much happens and there is much to tell.
Each December/January turnover brings with it not only New Year’s Eve (a favorite at our place) and New Year’s Day (with all its resolutions) but also the anniversary of the earthquake that brought me here (January 12) and the annual marking of Chika’s birthday (January 9). She would have been 14, and I wouldn’t have a prayer of lifting her into my arms the way I always did. The thought of that makes me wistful.
But let me catch you up. Let’s begin with New Year’s Eve, which has become an anticipated event at the orphanage exceeded only by Christmas.
Our celebration begins with tables set outside, and chairs and paper plates and, of course, pizza. We need so much, we have to order it the day before from one of several places we have tried over the years. I remember the days when 12 pizzas covered it. Now, with 60-plus kids, and another 12 back from college, and the dozens of nannies, staff, maintenance and security personnel, we are closer to 40 pies. It’s the one night of the year that we not only offer seconds, but thirds. Maybe that’s why the kids get so excited.
There is juice and cake and ice cream as well. But the big moment comes when we trek to a large pile of dirt and give each child a sparkler. Our tradition is to light the sparkler and place it in the earth while making a wish for the next year. Of course, some of our youngest kids are too small (or too afraid) to handle sparklers and so we do it for them. But everyone is fascinated by the tiny star-like flames that sizzle off the stick. They stare as if watching their wishes join the wind and fly up to heaven.
When the last of the sparklers goes out, we all scream “Happy New Year!”, jump up and down, hug one another, and sing “Auld Lang Syne”, which mostly comes out in “la-da-da-da’s” since who really knows the words to the whole thing?
Not long after, we put the kids to bed, having rung in the New Year in our small but cherished style.
It is not yet 9 p.m.
Two reasons to celebrate
New Year’s Day has its own identity. In Haiti, it is a special holiday, the anniversary of the nation’s independence from France. If the world were a fairer place, people in other countries would know about this holiday, because it commemorates the only time slaves successfully overthrew their masters and took their nation back. When it happened, the outside world was shocked, and most of it subsequently avoided trade with Haiti, not wanting their own slaves to get any ideas.
Meanwhile the French demanded reparations for the blow to their economy, and stunningly — fearing the French would return — Haiti complied, a move that crippled their own finances for decades to come. All this happened in 1804. Haiti has never stopped paying the price for freedom.
To commemorate the day, Haitians enjoy Soup Joumou, a pumpkin-based delicacy that the French colonizers savored but never permitted Haitians to eat. We make a massive pot and everyone partakes. Then our kids draw up New Year’s resolutions, at least two per child, which they draw with fancy designs and crayon art, then put into an envelope to save for the following year.
Later in the day, I get out the previous year’s envelope and, gathered in the shade of the gazebo, we read last year’s resolutions child by child. The other kids get to decide whether the resolution was kept or broken by yelling “Yes!” or “No!” There are huge laughs, especially when the resolution was “Help clean up the room” or “Never complain to the nannies.” But it gets the kids to think about their previous year, and how they can be better. We have been doing this a long time, and I smile when the same kid who once scribbled “I promise to eat my rice” is now writing “My resolution is to learn Portuguese before I leave for college.”
Reading last year’s resolutions at our most precious gathering place: the gazebo
Honoring what was lost, and found
I mentioned the earthquake. Not a January passes without remembering the chain of events that led to my arrival in Haiti, and how I knew nothing about the country and only came down to help a pastor who said his orphanage had been destroyed. I think on how my life has been so changed by a single event, and how our children’s lives were changed even more dramatically. Many of our kids who are now teenagers and making college applications came to us as a direct result of that earthquake, which destroyed so many homes, killed so many fathers and mothers, crippled the economy, and left nearly a tenth of the population without a place to live.
There were countless refugee tent villages where thousands of people lived, and every time we went to visit one we could have returned with two or three children whose guardians said they had no food for them to eat, and no chance at getting them educated. Although those tent villages are gone now, the impact of that time continues to reverberate, through the country and through the fabric of our little orphanage.
Finally, I mentioned Chika. She loved her January birthday. She anticipated it months in advance.
She only had seven of birthdays on this earth. Her fifth was at the mission, where she wore the birthday crown and had the kids sing to her around a sheet cake.
Her sixth was in America with us, at the Rain Forest Café, with more than 50 people whom she had charmed in her brief time in America.
Her seventh was in our house, and she was in a wheelchair, and we had two “princesses” come and sing songs from Frozen, which she watched with a dazed expression, wearing the yellow Belle dress that she so adored.
She never got an eighth birthday. Not here anyhow. But every year on that day we remember everything and we tell stories and play videos and celebrate her incredible spirit.
And in some way, I’m not sure I can explain it, I believe that spirit has infused the latest ball of fire to bless our home in Michigan, little Nadie, who has Chika’s independence, her fighting spirit, and her love of singing Christmas songs.
Not long before I sat down to write this, Nadie, who just turned two, was belting out her version of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town”, which, for her goes “You better watch out, you better watch out, you better watch out…” And I thought of Chika, and I watched Nadie, and I was so flushed with grief and joy it’s as if they were swirled in a bowl until you couldn’t tell one from the other.
NadieWalking with Nadie as I did with Chika
Ah, well. The new year is truly here, off and running, with the kids back in our school and scurrying through their daily routines. And despite the violence, the gangs, the demonstrations and the endless poverty that sits over this country like a blanket, our blessed children, thanks in large part to your generosity, are thriving, learning, growing and surprising us every day with their wisdom, perseverance and talents.
You better watch out. That could be our slogan. Because every day is some kind of surprise that moves you and inspires you and touches your heart. Happy new year, indeed.
One of the happiest moments for me at Have Faith Haiti is my arrival each month. That’s because the kids spill out of classrooms or the dorm or come running from the field just to give me hello hugs.
But over this past weekend, I had a different sensation. A different set of hugs. It was Thanksgiving, a break from college, and here came the “little kids” I remembered, exiting cars and making their way up the porch in the November cold.
Here came Djouna and Junie-Anna, who used to hug my knees, now in their first year at college, dressed in sweatpants, their hair braided beautifully.
Here came J.J. and Kiki and Edney, who used to chase each other all over our concrete yard with a half-inflated soccer ball, now muscular and sporting whiskers, bounding up the steps.
Here came Manno, who used to study under the light of a single bulb, swatting mosquitos with a dull pencil, now wiping his feet and carrying his computer, which contained his work as a medical school student.
All told, eight young men and four young women — all of whom I used to refer to as “kids” at the orphanage — were walking through the doors of my home in Michigan, ready for a Thanksgiving meal.
Haiti North.
Coming home for the holidays
For our four newest students, the weekend was an overwhelming experience. Their first Thanksgiving. We do it pretty large in our family, hosting all my relatives and my wife Janine’s relatives, plus friends from all over the country. This year, counting our Haitian guests, the count reached 81.
So, amidst the noise of that many people, we had to do some explaining about what stuffing was, why the sweet potatoes were mashed up, and why we called a certain dessert of chocolate chip cookies and whipped cream “Motown Mash.”
We had to introduce them to this uncle, this cousin, that longtime friend. We had to explain to Nahoum and Widley, two freshmen, that helping themselves to seconds — or thirds — was perfectly fine.
The first year we had any of our kids up for Thanksgiving, I worried about the abundance of it all. From a nation where hunger is a daily issue, where clean water is luxury, and where the violence and gang warfare make every day about survival, a feast like Thanksgiving, for the average Haitian, might seem incongruous.
But the idea behind the day is gratitude, and that is something our kids understand very well. So when Janine and I stood before our guests and talked about the countless things we have to be grateful for, and how much we miss the loved ones who no longer fill seats at the table, I saw the kids nodding slightly in recognition.
And when, on Friday, we took everybody bowling, and I watched the kids shriek as they knocked down the pins, I knew they were having fun.
And when we sat around watching a movie Saturday night, the kids flopped over the couch, the pillows, or the floor, I knew they felt at home.
Djouna and Esterline make work on breakfast
And when we gathered for breakfast Sunday morning, and they helped me make two dozen eggs, and they asked if they could have them “Haitian style,” which is code for very dry and overcooked, I knew they brought Haiti with them, as they do wherever they go.
And when we sat around the table afterwards, all 12 of them, and they spoke about their challenges at college, the good, the difficult, the people who have embraced them and those few who have made them feel uncomfortable, it was honest and real. And in its way, was no different than the countless talks we had at the orphanage after nightly devotions, or on Saturday afternoons, or just sitting on a balcony in the humid Haitian evenings.
At one point we took an old photo from nearly 10 years ago and recreated it, subbing in our friends Jim and Jane McElya with Janine and myself. When I looked at how much the kids had changed, I felt a lump in my throat.
Before and after by 10 years (with Janine and I subbing in for Jim and Jane McElya)
Going back home for good, to do good
My father used to sing a song called “Sunrise, Sunset.” I’ve mentioned this before. He sang this song at family events (he had a great voice, operatic, really, and was always being asked to perform) and I used to watch my older relatives cry at the lyrics, which I have mentioned in this space:
Is this the little boy I carriedIs this the little child at play? I don’t remember growing olderWhen did they?
I’m beginning to know why it made them tear up. I had that same sensation watching our kids make the eggs at Thanksgiving, or cracking jokes in Creole while eating around the table, or playfully shoving each other the way brothers and sisters do when they are happy.
All of these young men and women are heading back to Haiti when college is over. All of them will work at the orphanage for two years, as a way of giving back to the place that gave them wings.
And all of them look forward to it. Which may be the truest sign that they are growing up.
Nahoum and Widley at the skating rink
It is a privilege to watch. A joy to behold. I remember telling Nahoum, when he was six years old, that one day he could come with me to America, but only after he finished high school.
That night, I found him under the covers with a flashlight, reading the Bible. I asked what he was doing and he said “I want to finish high school by Wednesday, so I can go home with you.”
Well, it took longer than Wednesday. But he finished. He’s here. More importantly, he has a future.
He has a future, because, thanks to all of you, he is getting educated. He is part of the one percent of Haitians who ever go to college, and even less than half of one percent who get to do it in America, and come home for Thanksgiving break.
When we said finally goodbye Sunday afternoon, it was snowing outside. We were about as far from Haiti as you can get. But it many ways, we were all still there, exchanging hugs, grateful for the day, and filled with hope.
Make your check payable to “Have Faith Haiti Mission” and send to
Have Faith Haiti Mission
c/o A Hole in the Roof Foundation
29836 Telegraph Road
Southfield, MI 48034
Have Faith Haiti is operated by the A Hole in the Roof Foundation, a 501(c)(3) org (TAX ID# 27-0609504). Donations are tax deductible.
About the Mission
The Have Faith Haiti Mission is a special place of love and caring, dedicated to the safety, education, health and spiritual development of Haiti’s impoverished children and orphans. You can learn more here.
