We know their faces. We know their names.
My greatest joy in the last two years hasn’t been at Kay Timoun or CCS. My great joy has been behind the walls of CERMICOL.
I've watched the video “Working for the Gangs” over and over again.
While the world talks about prison breaks in Haiti, my prayers this week have been with those incarcerated at CERMICOL, those whose names we know, those whose faces I hold dear.
This young man's story is the story of so many.
This teenager was 11 years old when he started working for a gang. He was homeless and hungry, he told CNN, and the gang offered him food.
Now, when other members of the gang kill people, they make him burn the bodies, says the teen, who is now 14.
He would like to get out – but he doesn’t know how. His mother lives outside of Port-au-Prince; he’s not sure how to reach her and couldn’t afford such a trip anyway.
“I wish she could come get me,” he told CNN. “I’d like her to take me out of this place.”
Haiti isn't 11.5 million people. Haiti is individual people with individual stories.
From the comfort of our US existence, it's impossible to comprehend living in conditions where one truly does not see a way out, one does not believe there are choices, one is only looking to survive.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
And he’s only 8 years old
How does one who has never lived a life of extreme poverty even begin to comprehend all of the moments that together brought him to this place?
I wish you could see his face. He is the cutest little boy. He has the sweetest smile and the brightest eyes. Whenever Steeve is around, this little boy is right by his side, wanting to show him something, wanting to tell him something, just wanting his time and attention.
And he’s a prisoner at CERMICOL.
He is not in the Friday English class, but he wandered in recently, watching from the back, a bit shy.
And I asked him if he wanted to participate, to do a Find A Word puzzle like the big boys were doing. And he timidly nodded yes.
Watching him do that puzzle, I saw that he’s not only a handsome little man, he’s also a very bright one. The Find A Word was in English, but he had no problem finding the words and marking them.
And he wanted me to look - he needed me to look - each time he found another word. He smiled broadly, proud of his effort. I let him know I was proud of him, too.
How does an 8-year-old child end up in prison? How does one who has never lived a life of extreme poverty even begin to comprehend all of the moments that together brought him to this place?
And how do we explain that perhaps being a prisoner is possibly a better life than this child would find on the streets?
We at Haiti Awake know him by name, and so does Jesus, even if we’re not free to share his name with the rest of the world.
