Sighing deeply I locked my gaze on the sizable red dirt hill before me. A gust of dry heat hit me with a cloud of dust that burned my eyes, I cleared my throat with a small cough. Now my head fully fixated on the ground as I trekked up the hill. To trip on the rocky unbalanced road would not only be dangerous, but also thoroughly embarrassing if seen by my eighteen mission trip team members who followed behind me. This trip to Haiti was my third, I had walked this road many times before, but this year my destination was different. Like previous year, we planned to spend the afternoon at an orphanage. However, this year we were going to a different orphanage from years past. This news was like dropping a massive rock onto my stomach, I felt sick. What about all
…show more content…
Even a ten minute walk exhausted me, the temperature was 98 with a heat index of 105 and it didn’t help that we left at noon. I look at the gate of the orphanage with suspicion, it clearly had a fresh coat of black paint, and colorful flowers grew on a vine about the gate, intertwined with the barbed wire that went around the wall of the property. This place does not look like it belongs in Haiti, at least not that part of Haiti that I am in. Michael, our translator, knocked on the gate and yelled over the gate in Creole, the native language in Haiti. The latch of the gate clicked and made a painful creak as it swung open. I nearly lost my breath as I stepped inside, before me stood a literal mansion. The courtyard was huge colorful mosaic, and off in the distance I saw a massive swimming pool. Overcome with confusion, I began to create theories in my head as to how this place existed. All wrong, I later learned the orphanage 's director was from Georgia, and her late husband built her this estate before he passed away. Following his death she felt a burden for the orphans of Haiti and opened her home to them and founded an
Even a ten minute walk exhausted me, the temperature was 98 with a heat index of 105 and it didn’t help that we left at noon. I look at the gate of the orphanage with suspicion, it clearly had a fresh coat of black paint, and colorful flowers grew on a vine about the gate, intertwined with the barbed wire that went around the wall of the property. This place does not look like it belongs in Haiti, at least not that part of Haiti that I am in. Michael, our translator, knocked on the gate and yelled over the gate in Creole, the native language in Haiti. The latch of the gate clicked and made a painful creak as it swung open. I nearly lost my breath as I stepped inside, before me stood a literal mansion. The courtyard was huge colorful mosaic, and off in the distance I saw a massive swimming pool. Overcome with confusion, I began to create theories in my head as to how this place existed. All wrong, I later learned the orphanage 's director was from Georgia, and her late husband built her this estate before he passed away. Following his death she felt a burden for the orphans of Haiti and opened her home to them and founded an