Episode 1: In Her Shoes; Paulette's Story

A young Haitian family takes charge of their future... or as much as one can during the current socio-political climate in Haiti. Gangs control the capital, the border between Haiti and the Dominican Republic remains closed due to disputes between the two countries, and every day residents of Haiti are applying for visas to leave Haiti, hoping to leave the danger and chaos behind. 

Meanwhile, there are young women like Paulette who have no one to send for them and are taking their chances in the northern city of Cap Haitien. 


Content warning: Infertility, Pregnancy, Labor & Birth, Maternal mortality


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This story is shared with the written permission of those involved.

Transcript

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Hi, and welcome to Haiti Rising, a podcast by Second Mile Haiti, where we take you behind the scenes and into the stories of people like you in a place you might not get to visit very often. If you like learning and adventure, you're in the right place. We need to start this episode with a special shout out. you're awesome thank you for putting on your shoes you did it you're here and we can't wait to do this together now if you're wearing your shirts today be sure to take some pictures even if you're not wearing them take some pictures tag us in your post you can email us your pictures we want to share those so that we can make this a yearly thing Before we get started, we do want to let you know that we will be discussing the story of a woman who had a difficult time conceiving before she gave birth to her daughter, who is now three months old. We will also briefly mention some of the complications that can befall someone who is pregnant and giving birth, especially in Haiti, including the topic of maternal mortality. If you think any of these subjects might be distressing for you to hear today, please feel free to skip this one. Okay, I think we're ready to go. Let's do some introductions. I'll start with myself. I'm Amy, and I wrote this story and was a part of interviewing its featured star. That's me dropping my

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phone,

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which is something I do often. That's Jen, she's the executive director of Second Mile Haiti, and without her, this episode would not exist. The 5K and the accompanying podcast were her idea, which will surprise no one who knows

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Jen.

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That's Luino. Luino has worked at Second Mile Haiti since 2016. He's a psychologist, and he serves as a community liaison for many of Second Mile Haiti This podcast would also not exist without his efforts. He captured a lot of Paulette's story and recorded a lot of the sounds you'll hear as you listen.

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And

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that's the voice of Paulette. Born and raised in Haiti, Paulette is 27 years old. She is many things in addition to a woman nearing the end of her 20s. And she's the reason we invited you here today. To what? in her shoes. In case you're new here, Second Mile Haiti has been working to improve the lives of children and women in Haiti for the past decade. In 2013, Second Mile Haiti opened the first semi-residential malnutrition treatment center. It was the first of its kind in Haiti to be built specifically for the education and empowerment of parents and caregivers. At the time of this recording, Second Mile Haiti has helped thousands of caregivers, mostly women, with skill development, health education, and income generating opportunities, all while ensuring that critically ill children receive the treatment and follow up they need for a full recovery. But we're not going to talk about malnutrition today. We're going to talk about the maternity center that we built in 2017 to address the startling maternal mortality rates in Haiti. It was said at the time that if you looked at the death certificates of Haitian women, as many as 1 in 50 would have a cause of death related to either being pregnant or giving birth. It's also true that 1 in 25 babies in Haiti won't live past the first 40 days of their life. Obviously, since you'll be hearing from Paulette, you know that she was one of the lucky ones. And her baby, being that she is now three months old, has also survived past the first 40 days of her life. So what was that journey like for them? If you're moving right now, we want to say keep up the good work. Keep moving. You're doing great. This was recorded in the fall of 2023. The temperature reads 90 degrees Fahrenheit with 60% humidity. And we can say with almost 100% certainty that no one at sea level in Northern India is wearing a sweater. The sun is bright and is filling our batteries with solar power, and the wall fan is turned on high. We're in a room that's typically used for prenatal consultations, sitting at a table and chairs that were pulled in for the occasion. a massage table from Amazon, which would have been here if it had been a clinic day so that we can listen to fetal heart tones and measure abdomens, has been folded up and moved to the hallway to make room for our meeting. The fall months are always really busy. On a quiet day, we see around 50 clients, and on a busy day, we can see over 75. Most are follow-up visits, but about 20% are women who are coming in for the first time. Another 10% are here for a family plan, and another 10% are postpartum mothers who have come in with their newborns. It's just after 9 a.m. and all of the morning chores have been complete. The leaves have been raked away from the mango trees, the trash cans have been emptied, the rooms have all been swept and mopped, and Nadege, who manages the cleanliness of the maternity center, is doing a deep clean of the supply depot. The afternoon meal, which will be served up for the staff at precisely 12 of noon is already boiling over a charcoal fire. Our routine at the maternity center is pretty much the same all year round. Rarely do we make any adjustments for holidays. After all, babies can be born every day of the year. Prenatal clinics are held on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Fridays. Postpartum visits and family planning visits are also held on these days, which gives our existing clients and the community at large access to a variety of free contraceptive options. Every Thursday is prenatal education, where we squeeze up to 120 women into our covered education pavilion for nearly two hours of education, separated of course by a snack and toilet break at the halfway mark. Wednesdays are the only days that have some variability. The second and fourth Wednesday of every month are some of the noisiest days of the year. It's on these days that we hold an infant immunization clinic, which makes the ambient sounds of any Wednesday that is not an immunization day seem like radio silence. Today is one of those quiet Wednesdays. Total peace. Or as peaceful as a birth center can be. The only people who are here are the midwives and nurses, just two today, and two people who are about to give birth, plus their support people. And it's here that we finally meet Paulette. One of our first questions for Paulette was, when you knew you were expecting, what made you choose Second Mile Haiti? We don't advertise and we don't even have a sign. So everyone who makes their way to us has learned about what we do and how we operate from someone else.

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That's

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Paulette telling us that if she had another baby, she'd come back to Second Mile Haiti directly. And let's be honest, that's really all Jen wants to know. She tells us that she had come for a consultation once some time ago, thinking that she might be pregnant. And she's been referring everyone she knows ever since, even people she doesn't know. According to Paulette, if you think you're pregnant, the hospital in John Louie is the place to go. Now, we should clarify. Yes, she is talking about our maternity center. And no, we are not a hospital, nor have we ever claimed to be one. But as much as we try to say that we're not a hospital, the fact that we have skilled healthcare professionals in a fairly large facility makes us look more like a hospital than a clinic, and the term birth center hasn't really caught on. While Paulette appreciated the care she received at the center, her experience was not without suffering. She felt the start of her labor on a Thursday. When she arrived at the center at 7.50 a.m. on Friday, she was still in early labor. Then at 4 p.m., the pain intensified. Twelve hours later, her water broke, and another twelve hours after that, she started pushing. She pushed for another two and a half hours before a tiny baby finally squeezed its way into the world. Paulette described the experience as bad, but sang the praises of the midwives who were by her side throughout. Paulette was as prepared as she could be for what she would experience in labor and said that the labor had progressed much like she had been told that it could. From those remarks, it seemed she had attended at least some of the prenatal education classes we offer every Thursday. So I asked her about this. Did you attend the classes? And if so, how many times? There was a question in her voice as she answered. Five, I think. But then she reaches into her purse and pulls out the prenatal education passport that we give to everyone the first time they attend a class. It shows the eight different classes we offer. Each week, we discuss a different topic until all eight classes have been covered, and then we repeat. The classes are led by a midwife, usually the same midwife each week, so that clients at the center can begin to build a trusting relationship with the staff and the center itself by way of this consistency for each education class you attend. You receive a discount towards the small fee you'll pay when it's time to give birth, which is never more than$8, even with no discount whatsoever. On Paulette's card, I count six stamps. The stamps say Femme Faux, which can be translated as both strong woman and smart woman, which is not a coincidence. There are two stamps next to class number two, which is what to expect for prenatal care at Second Mile Haiti, She also has two stamps next to class number five, which is how might my labor and birth progress? I get the sense that this could explain why she was so committed in attending her prenatal appointments. She didn't miss even one and had eight scheduled between 20 weeks and 40 weeks. This might also explain why she so patiently endured such a long labor. The pain in the beginning was tolerable but not in the third stage. This is something Paulette said and she was referring to transition. The last phase of the first stage of labor, the part of the labor where contractions come fast and strong and there's an almost desperate urge to get the baby out. Birthing people in Haiti do not have access to the pain-relieving medications available elsewhere in the world. This means that all births in Haiti are what some call natural or unmedicated, meaning no epidural, no laughing gas, no pain relief coming through an IV. As Paulette speaks about her experience, she must have made a facial expression because Jen, Second Mile Haiti's executive director The director, who was sitting in on the conversation, bursts into

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laughter.

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There are four of us in the room, but in that moment there are three of us who share an intimate knowing. Even though neither Jen or myself have given birth, we do have some insight into the depths of the pain that birthing people experience. simply by hearing their cries and by occasionally being the person that they are squeezing when the contractions stay cold. Paulette was talking about pain, but the knowing glances that we shared seemed to also speak of the vulnerability of such raw humanness, of the reliance on the strength and guidance of others, the deep strength and sheer force required by all, of the emotional release that comes when it's over, how a baby's cry marks the end of the pain and waiting for of the person giving birth and the end of stress and worry and fatigue for the people on the other side. Paulette's facial expressions and the knowing laughter that followed spoke of the aliveness that can be felt when there's so much sweat and so many hormones and so much humanness swirling around. Another woman we had interviewed just before we spoke with Paulette had, when we asked her about her experience giving birth, turned to Jen and said, well, I remember I held onto your neck. This happens a lot. Birthing people love Jen. She can be walking by someone in labor and suddenly she gets pulled in and relied on for support. There's just something about her that birthing people find calming and comforting. Okay, so that's Paulette's baby's journey. But we were also curious about how far Paulette traveled to get prenatal care. And how did she get to the center? Did she drive a car? Did she come on foot? Was there a bus she could take? The answers to those questions are coming up next. So despite living not too close and not too far from the center, as Paulette described it, she didn't usually walk to the center for prenatal appointments, although she did walk to the center sometimes. On prenatal days, the clients who arrive first are seen first and get to go home first. Paulette liked to arrive early and be one of the first people seen by the midwives. Instead of walking in the dark, which would have taken about an hour, her husband would drive her on the motorcycle he used for his taxi-moto business. She would ride as the other passengers would, but of course, she wouldn't have to pay. If they arrived early enough and there weren't a lot of people, he would wait for her outside and chat with the other partners who were doing the same. But if, when they pulled up to the center, it was already crowded with women who had the very same idea, she would send him on his way. It was on these days that she would walk home, opting to save the 50 goods currently at their She would have had to pay to ride on the back of someone else's motorcycle or a hundred goods, about 75 cents, to sit in the cab of a motorcycle with three wheels. Plus, she knew that walking was good for her, even if it wasn't always comfortable. Mostly, it was on education days that she would make the walk to or from the center. Paulette made friends during her pregnancy. She met people she'd never met before, happened to live in her same neighborhood. When they realized this, they realized they could walk home from the education classes together. If you're up for it, we want to recreate that journey for you. So, if you're walking or running now, you're going to exit that big red gate you see in front of you. Okay, you'll obviously have to use your imagination There's a big red gate and it's wide open and you and all of your friends are leaving the maternity center. The path inside the center is covered with small stones that give way to dirt once you are outside. You hang a quick right and now you'll need to walk single file. The path is narrow with the walls of the maternity center on your left and penguin, a sharp plant from the pineapple family, is on your right. It's used as a natural land barrier and it will definitely hurt you if you get too close. The concrete block wall on your left gives way to a chain link fence and there's bamboo reaching into the pathway from the other side. Okay, it's Amy here and I actually live on this part of the campus as does Jen and we have dogs and they They may bark at you, but only if you're on a bike. I don't know what it is about cyclists, so sorry about that. When you reach the end of the property line, the fence stops. You'll walk a few paces, slightly uphill, and then slightly downhill into a ravine. It hasn't rained recently, so you won't have to take off your shoes, but Paula and her friends would if they arrived at the ravine, only to find water flowing. If they had the means and wanted to pay someone to drive them around the water, they could. There's an alternate road, albeit a little bit longer, that's suitable for pedestrians, vehicles, cyclists, even cows that doesn't cross water. Second Mile Haiti paved this road with gravel a few years back, and there's a bridge that connects the gravel road to the smooth black asphalt of Route National 3, one of Haiti's major highways. But anyways, back to the ravine. Let's all show some gratitude for not having to remove our shoes. It's about 15 paces until you reach the other side of the ravine. It's a small incline up the bank but the motorcycles that also use this pathway have worn it down into a nice even slant so you'll hardly notice the climb okay perfect good you've now reached an open parcel of land it's private property but don't panic the owners are cool with you being there um sort of well sometimes okay so they're actually kind of not cool with it and there have been some times when they've tried to prevent foot and motorcycle traffic on their land, but then there are other times where they seem to take pride in their role as an access point to maternal health care. In any case, each time they've decided to close their land to pedestrian traffic, a new path emerges a few meters away. If you turn around now, you'll see faint evidence of previously trodden paths fanning out from where you stand at the edge of the main road. Now careful where you stand on this road with all of its asphalt glory. Sometimes the big trucks and buses come by pretty fast. Now we hope you acknowledged all of the goats you passed while walking through this field. It's pretty common for goats and cows to be put out to graze on land that isn't presently being used to grow crops. But you have to get permission from the landowner, of course, unless they don't currently live in Haiti, which is a different story. The babies are pretty cute, don't you think? So we'll leave that mama goat here. Be sure to tell her she's doing great and continue our journey. there's something that I completely forgot to mention. I didn't tell you what Paulette named her baby. The baby's name is Shalika. It's a name with a lot of significance, especially for Paulette. And you'll get to find out why she chose this name when we check back in with Paulette at her house. But first, we have to get there. Don't stop now, you're doing great. While we're hanging out by the side of the road, let's rest a minute, care for a Coke? There's a woman just there who sells ice-cold beverages from an old refrigerator that's been turned on its side. There's a 25-pound block of ice keeping everything cold inside. There are small pouches of water that you have to tear open with your teeth, various juices in plastic bottles, a few Gatorades with their large orange caps, and tall, slender glass bottles filled with your choice of Coca-Cola 7-Up or Caron, the sweet orange flavored soda that tastes so good after a plate of perfectly spiced Haitian food. I should probably stop talking about food. If you're walking or running, you probably don't want to hear about it, but if you haven't tried Haitian food, I recommend a quick Google search to find out whether or not there's a Haitian restaurant in your area. It's a fantastic way to support a Haitian-run business near you. So now that we're waiting by the side of the road, if you're feeling tired, we can take a tap tap if you want. A tap tap is what people in Haiti call a vehicle that you can wave down from the side of the road and board by paying a small fee. The name came from the sound of rapping, tap tap, against the truck's metal frame, a signal to the driver that you'd arrived at your stop. But this form of transportation is kind of fading out of style. Remember, Haiti is one of two countries, the other being the Dominican Republic, that share the island of Quisqueya, which later became known as Hispaniola. And well, on an island, aging pickup trucks like the ones used as top tops are becoming kind of difficult and expensive to fix. You may also remember that Haiti had a pretty serious fuel situation recently. For six months, there was no fuel in gas stations. This was super difficult for everyone as so much of life and livelihood comes from being able to move around and without fuel, the options for transportation become very limited. Now, truck tap taps are the cheapest option because they hold the most people. But the alternatives are motorcycles with two wheels, which can legally carry just one passenger. But if you've been to Haiti, there's a good chance you've seen up to four. And there's also a motorcycle with three wheels, which is a newer method of transportation in Haiti. These are also painted bright colors and given bold names emblazoned across their metal frames. Names like Bonje Bon, Goddess Good, and jesila jesus is here they're they're a sort of motorcycle powered buggy with space for two passengers behind the driver three if you're lucky in some models one more person beside the driver from the sky i imagine they look like eccentric beetles playing frogger okay trivia time did you know that havey has a population of 10 million people one-fifth of those people live in cape That's the sound of Luino asking Paulette for more detailed directions to her house. Basically, we're going to stay on the highway for about 30 more minutes of walking. You're doing great. I know I keep saying this, but if you're walking or running, keep going. Thank you. And we hope you're having fun. Here we are on Route National 3, and it's one of Haiti's main transportation arteries. It runs north-south from Cap-Haitien, Haiti's second-largest city, and the town of Milot, home to the Citadelle. And then it continues from Milot up to Dondon and Saint-Raphael, where we have a second Second Mile Haiti campus, and on through the central cities of Haiti until it reaches Port-au-Prince in the south. Just north of where we stand now, Route National 3 connects with another national highway, which runs from Capetian to the northeastern border town of Wannamette. Luino has just arrived to where Paulette directed him. He's on Route National 3, but he's on the wrong side of the road. Paulette told him that she lived facing the Gaguerre, which can be translated as the place for cockfighting, which is totally legal in Haiti, but not as profitable or popular as it once was. So this Gaguerre is actually deserted with a for rent sign. I hope this means there are some roosters that have been retired from rooster fighting that are just really living their best lives now. So Paulette had actually meant that she lives across the road from La Gaguerre. So we're just going to wait for a second. Let traffic pass. And now we can cross the road to where Paulette is standing.

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greet one another, and Luino asks about the baby. Then they start walking. It's this way, Paulette says. The area is mostly full of people like Paulette and her husband, younger people who have moved here to establish a life, to buy land, build a home, and start a family. Luino asks about everything he sees as they walk. They pass a soccer field that local community health agents used as a vaccination outpost for childhood immunizations like polio and pertussis and rubella. They pass several businesses. They pass an enclosure with sheets hanging like curtains. From the road, Luino can see that there are benches inside and speakers. Paulette tells him that it's a cinema. The family that owns the home shows movies there a few times a week. It's their family business. You can hear kids playing. And Luino asks about schools in the area. But Paula isn't really sure because she hasn't really had to think about that yet. But she thinks there are at least two.

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We're

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here, she says suddenly. See, I told you you couldn't get lost. This is true. You can still see Route National 3 from where they are standing. And it's the placement of this road that is arguably one of the area's most attractive features. Paulette and her husband live in Mazère. It's a growing community, yet it is sparsely populated in contrast to the heavily populated city of Cap-Haitien. It isn't all hustle and bustle though. Yes, you can witness the passage of fuel tankers coming from Port-au-Prince or trucks stacked high with people and mattresses and livestock to supply the residents of Cap-Haitien with provisions from the countryside. But just beyond this community, on either side of the road, there are no tap taps and very few vehicles at all. People travel by bicycle, motorcycle, or on foot. These are farming communities, and as residents of Mazere, you just might be able to have your foot in both worlds, with a place to grow food not far from your front door and access to the more commercial side of Haiti, just minutes from reach. Speaking of walking, how are you doing? Do we need a water break, a rest break? Should we stop and stretch? Speaking of stretching, it turns out that the area we just described, a vast valley of farmlands, is a great place for exercise. Some of the local soccer teams from Cap-Haitien get bussed into the area so that the players can run for miles on the country roads. So, if you need some motivation, just imagine you're running alongside a bunch of 20-something athletes. Helpful, right? Let's get back to Paulette. Paulette likes both of her homes, Ranquit where she grew up and lived until the age of 25, and Mazere, where she lives now. She admits that life in Mazere is more convenient. Being just a 20-minute ride from Cap-Haitien, Mazere is much closer to a big city than her home in Ranquit. She doesn't have to travel as far for water and other essentials. But living in Mazere, far from her family, means that she doesn't get to see them very often. Paulette comes from a family of farmers. She is the second youngest in a family of six children and one of only two of her siblings to leave her hometown. I want to see them, Paulette says. I plan to see them. But something always comes up with the road. I hear that the road is bad and I cancel my trip. We didn't ask her to clarify. It didn't seem necessary. She said that the road is bad and whether she meant bad because it's flooded or dry and dusty, washed out and slick with mud, or whether she meant bad as in closed off with barricades or blocked by bandits. We knew what she meant. We knew she meant bad, as in dangerous. Okay, time to check in. Remember, we have people listening to this while doing a 5K. How are you doing? Are you staying hydrated? I'm technically not the best with time, but I think you're almost done. We're at least halfway there. Okay, Paulette has invited us inside, so we shouldn't keep her waiting much longer. But I've been dying to tell you how she found love. It'll be quick, I promise. Paulette met her husband in Ronquide. He was someone she knew of, a taxi-moto driver who frequented the area, and was the cousin of her brother-in-law. As Paulette tells it, he made excuses to drop by her house. He befriended her sister and made a point of creating elaborate running jokes so that his frequent stops seemed less conspicuous. He managed to acquire Paulette's number in a very clever way. Once when he was at her home, joking with her sister, Paulette needed to reach another sibling who had borrowed her phone for the day. Lachempsey, as Paulette's husband is called, jumped at the chance to offer his phone for the call, and in doing so, secured her phone number in his call log. When he finally confessed his love and his desire to marry, Paulette remembers she left him wondering for quite some time. I didn't respond right away, she said. But when she realized that she couldn't get Lachempsey off her mind, she decided to give him the green light. She told him, okay, you can talk to my parents. They spent the next several years earning all that they could and preparing for their life together. Okay, it's pretty impressive that at 23 years old, Paulette and her fiance were saving enough money to buy land and build a house. Here's how she did it. In earlier years, while still living in Nantucket, Paulette would take a bus to Port-au-Prince every Sunday to buy products. She would arrive in the evening and spend the night waking up early to make her purchases before catching a bus back to her on keep. On Monday evening, she would take stock of her purchases, setting prices in her head and coming up with a strategy to move the goods as quickly as possible. She bought things seasonally, school supplies in August, flowers and chocolates in February, gifts in December. Then each day of the week, she would go to a different town, on that town's dedicated market day. She usually rented a wheelbarrow, deconstructing the cardboard boxes that held her goods and using them to extend the sides of the wheelbarrow and display her products in an appealing way. She'd walk up and down the streets calling out the contents of her wheelbarrows to pique people's interests. Lunch boxes, backpacks, Christmas presents. She pushed her goods past other vendors who occupied tarps or stalls more regularly as they were some of her biggest customers. She found this method to work best, going to different towns on the day that these towns would be packed with people buying and selling, and to go to her customers instead of waiting for them to come to her. Okay, we've been standing outside of Paulette's house for quite some time now. Let's go inside. Inside, Luino meets Paulette's baby, Xelica, and her husband's cousin, who sometimes stays with them to help with the baby and the household chores. Since the baby is napping, she steps away to start a fire and begins preparing an evening meal, while Paulette and Lino sit down to finish their conversation. We wanted to talk to Paulette more about her life before pregnancy, before coming to Mazere, before she was a client at Second Mile Haiti. Paulette and Lakempsy begin trying for a baby just as soon as they said, I do, but months passed and still no sign of pregnancy. Everyone she knew seemed to have a different opinion about what to do to increase her chances. There was a tea she could drink. According to friends, the leaves of the zamaret plant were especially potent. There were rituals she could perform. Paulette felt it was worth tapping into the spiritual realm to make sure there weren't any spiritual factors blocking her path. But first they decided to try a local hospital where she was told that ovarian cysts were the cause of her problems. She did the tests and purchased the medications and she took them for several months. Meanwhile, she went to mass religiously and to prayer services that lasted long into the night. She didn't care which denomination was hosting the service. But since nothing changed, she decided to try a two-handed doctor, someone who is a medical doctor by day and a plant doctor by night. These doctors may prescribe plants to be ingested or rituals as is customary in Haitian Vodou practice to appease jealous spirits that may be trying trying to get in her way. I went to as many as four of these plant doctors and voodoo priests but the rituals were miserable for me. After a ritual in a river that was especially unpleasant, Paulette decided she'd circle back to her earlier methods. She'd go back to the doctor that had diagnosed the cysts. This is probably a good place to say that Haitian Voodoo is not the same as other Voodoo spiritual practices, which may bring to mind images of Voodoo dolls. In fact, Voodoo dolls are not a part of Haitian Voodoo practice. Haitian Voodoo is also different from Hoodoo, a spirituality practiced in many of the southern US states. All right, let's get back to where we left off. Paulette had decided that she would go back to the doctor who had diagnosed the cysts, but ultimately she didn't have to. Paulette remembers that she was suddenly not feeling very well. She didn't feel herself, and it seems like it could be the symptoms of pregnancy. And sure enough, she was pregnant. Paulette, like so many parents around the world, made many sacrifices in order to bring a child into the world. And these sacrifices are reflected in her baby's name. Okay, I promised we'd find out why Paulette named her baby Shalika. It's time. When we asked about the name, Paulette said... that the shay in shaylika was quite literal. The word shay, directly translated, may be used to describe something that is expensive. You can say that something is shay if it costs a lot of money. And also, shay is the root behind share or sharee, the nickname and term of endearment that lovers use for one another or that adults use for the beloved children in their life. When said, it connotates certain preciousness. Something that is Shea will invariably be valued and treasured. In Haiti it's customary for a mother or a father to choose the baby's name and sometimes the naming privilege is given to someone else like a godparent or a grandparent or somebody in the child's life who has done something especially meaningful for her parents. Sometimes a baby may be named after a saint, a popular celebrity, or the baby may be given a name that says something about the circumstances surrounding their birth. Take Paulette's own name for example. Her father chose the name after hearing a song by his favorite artist, Gamsie Paulette. This Haitian singer touched Paulette's father's heart at just the right time and Paulette will forever have her name to show for it. Many people in Paulette's family offered suggestions for naming the baby, but Paulette was not interested in any of the names. Paulette spent a great deal of money trying to conceive, and not just money, but time and energy, mental, physical, and spiritual. The name Cheylika borrows its second syllable from her father, Lykemsi, but the Che definitely comes from her mother. This baby had cost her something, so she would be called Cheylika. Now there's one person you haven't met yet.

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That's

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Lakempsi. He's Paulette's husband and Chalika's father. Lakempsi works as a driver and sometimes as a money changer. Much like Paulette, what he does to earn money at any given time depends on what is happening in the country as a whole. Jobs are really hard to come by. People like Lakemse without a specific degree or vocational training have to be really smart about what they choose to do to earn a living. If there's a gas shortage, you really can't make money as a driver. And when the value of Haitian currency drops, it's very difficult to make a profit exchanging money. Since it's still daylight and people are still moving about town, Luino plans to meet up with Lakemsi in a few hours. After his meeting with Paulette, Luino went back to the Second Mile Haiti campus in Jean Louis. The malnutrition treatment center and maternity center sit on two separate parcels of land about a 10-minute walk from one another. During the gas crisis earlier this year, we bought several bicycles and people like Luino who spend time at both of the centers would take a bicycle back and forth. Whether you're walking or riding, you pretty much get the same experience. You might wave to a few of the local farmers, you might have to dodge a few of their cows, and you will certainly pass fields thick with corn and beans, plantain trees, and sweet potatoes or sugar cane. The area is known for its sugarcane production. Within a mile of our centers, there are at least six different rum distilleries. The families that run these distilleries sell Clairin, Haiti's version of moonshine, or they sell their products to one of the major rum manufacturers in Haiti. Luino plans to meet up with Paulette and Lakemse back at their house at 6 p.m. At a quarter till, he and Verde take off from the center.

SPEAKER_03: 42:25

That's

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Verde. I simply could not end this podcast without introducing you to this smiling man. He has been working at Second Mile Hades since 2013. He works on the operations team and one of his main responsibilities is taking caregivers and children from the malnutrition treatment center to the hospital. About a 15 minute ride in the direction of the mountains you can see from our centers. He loves this job. How do I know? He gives a speech about it every year at the staff Christmas party. His 2021 speech was especially enthusiastic. We love him for his jubilance and his passion in doing what he does every day. And if you were to see the condition of some of the children when they first arrive at our center, you would know that in driving them quickly and safely to the hospital, he really is saving lives. Well, that was quick. Not because Verdi is a super fast driver. He's very safe. It's just that by moto, Paulette's home really isn't that far from the Second Mile campus. Lachempsey and Paulette are one of many families in Haiti who live in a house that is in various states of construction. The idea is that if you wait, it will never get done. Better to do little by little as much as you can when you can. Better to buy some supplies and pay for work to be done whenever you have the money, rather than wait to do something only when you have all of the funds you would need to complete it. Lakemsi and Paulette, like so many in Haiti, didn't let finances stop them from starting to work towards their dream. Lakemsi and Paulette worked on the house for four years before they moved in in 2021. In that time, they finished the foundation and concrete slab and the perimeter of the house, and the concrete roof covering two of four rooms. Since moving in, they haven't done anything more to complete the home. By now you know that they've had other priorities. We were also curious about Lakemse's experience during Paulette's labor. Lakemse wasn't inside the room when Paulette gave birth, and it's pretty common for male partners in Haiti to relinquish that privilege to someone with more experience. Paulette was accompanied by her aunt. Luino asks him what he remembers about the time between knowing his wife was in labor and when she finally gave birth. I saw that she suffered a lot with the pain. The pain was really getting to her. But I saw that the nurses were really patient. They were giving her great service. She spent a night and then a day with the pain. And then the next night, that's when she gave birth. Luino's next question is a little more personal. He asks, and what was that experience like for you? What were you thinking and doing while you waited? Here's what he said. You know, when you're in that situation, you're never really going to feel calm. You're only going to be okay after your person has made it through, after they're delivered. In that situation, you're thinking about all kinds of things that could happen. Like all the way to death. Everything. Every possible outcome. Louina wanted to be sure he understood Lachempsey correctly and said, so you felt afraid? Yeah, of course. When you're going through something like that, there's no way to be 100% worry-free. Especially in this country. And we went through so much to get to this point. You know? Luino says he does. He's now been a father three times. His wife had complications with all three pregnancies and spent time in the hospital on more than one occasion. And he knows what it's like to have a child be hospitalized. So where does a parent-to-be like Lakemse spend his time while his partner is in labor? What kind of space is available for families? Are they even allowed inside? The answer to that question is yes. Every birthing person can have at least one support person with them and sometimes more than one. As Flemcy mentioned before, Paulette wanted her aunt with her during the labor. So he was on call in case they needed anything. He was there to go and get food or water. This meant Lachempsi had a lot of time to pace back and forth. Sound familiar? Louina wanted specifics, like where exactly did you spend your time? Well, at times I was waiting in the big space, the space where they do vaccines for the pregnant women, I think. Lachempsi is talking about the education pavilion that we mentioned towards the beginning of this episode. The walls are a pale mint color. The floor is covered with a soothing red brick. And though the roof is a wood and sheet metal structure, there is space between where the walls end and the roof peaks where you can see the stars. And in the evenings, you have the lovely aroma of night jasmine wafting about. It's

SPEAKER_05: 48:21

peaceful. Were

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you with anyone? I was by myself, but I got up and walked around. I went outside. I walked everywhere really. I covered the whole center. There isn't a place I didn't walk.

SPEAKER_04: 48:42

That's

SPEAKER_02: 48:44

Verde. We introduced him earlier. He's just a little bit excited. He doesn't normally get to come on these types of outings. This is the first time he's hearing anyone talk about what it's like to be a client at the maternity center. And he seems to be very happy with how they're talking about the organization that he loves so much. When he chimes in just there, he's agreeing with Lachempsey saying that, of course, if you have a family member who's in labor, you really can't stand still. And then we asked Lachempsey this question. Anne, what did you think How did you feel when you saw your baby for the first time? I think Lakemse thought that was maybe too obvious of a question based on his answer.

SPEAKER_06: 49:35

You

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can't be a dad and see your baby for the first time and not feel nothing but joy. Lakemse remembers that he said thank you to God and then he said thank you to his wife because she brought their baby here. And finally, we wanted to know what has changed in your life? What's different about your life now that you have a three month old baby? Well, he contemplates, I have a family now. He stops and reconsiders, remembering his wife and says, well, we had a family before. I mean, I've had a family since I was married, of course, but you know, like a family family, this baby is everything and I'm here to do whatever it takes to protect it. Now I feel like there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect her. And finally, we wanted to get Lakemsey's take on the baby's name. He said he likes the name, but he would have been okay with whatever his wife had picked. LaChemse agrees that the name just makes sense based on all the monte de son they had to do in an effort to meet her. The phrase LaChemse used in Haitian Creole means to go up. and to come down, monte desan. Monte, which means to climb or go up, mon means mountain, and desan, which means to come down. He was referring to the actual physical movements of going to and from a hospital, going to and from church, to and from these ritual ceremonies, to and from friends' houses, and to and from fields where she could find the leaves to make the teas that would increase her chances of fertility. She went up and down over and over and over again without giving up. People use the phrase to describe putting in a lot of effort or anything you have to do that takes a lot of time. And when you hear the phrase, it's the physical trips that come to mind. But I couldn't help think about how the direct translation is also so applicable to their situation and their story and the story of so many others who have decided to take some kind of big leap. For Paulette and Lkempsi, this big leap was having a baby. But there are peaks and valleys in so many of life's biggest risks. And it would seem that in life, we come to treasure the things we had to work hardest for. So what's next for Paulette and Lkempsi? Paulette hopes to see her mom and her sisters soon, but that depends on the state of Haiti and whether or not the situation in Port-au-Prince stays localized and whether or not the gangs can be stopped from continuing to wreak havoc on the area. They'll be working to finish their house. Paulette is especially excited about this because just opposite the bedroom where she typically sleeps, their building a bridge and she hates the dust that comes in from the construction. When their house is finished, she'll be able to move into a room on the opposite side. Lachempsey and Paulette will both have their senses peeled for opportunities that will help them improve their livelihoods and bring in a more stable stream of income. She doesn't know if she'll ever go back to selling in the market, but if she could go back to purchasing goods in Port-au-Prince, she would jump on it. Before they know it, they'll be choosing a preschool. In the meantime, Paulette wants to get Shalika's ears pierced and have her baptized at their Catholic church. it for today's episode we hope you enjoyed listening thank you so much for taking this walk in paulette's shoes and we'll see you next time if you enjoyed listening to havey rising tales from the second mile you can follow us on instagram at second mile havey O-N-D M-I-L-E H-A-I-T-I