RALPH'S FIRST HOURS BACK IN THE UNITED STATES

                                        Rodney, Ralph and me!

Ralph’s 12:30 flight on Tuesday, February 8th out of Port-Au-Prince into Miami was delayed 3 times, ultimately cancelled and another flight was scheduled for 6:30 p.m. My flight from New York arrived in Miami at 12:30 that same day; plenty of time to meet his 1:30 original arrival time. I was the 'hand off' person. I met up with LP and Rodney (another relief worker) in the airport. We heard about the delays but because Ralph did not have a phone, we had no way of knowing if he ever made the later flight. The airline is actually prohibited from telling anyone who is on a plane. When the plane from Haiti finally arrived and all the passengers appeared to come through the customs gate, Ralph was nowhere to be found. It was more than an hour after the plane had landed and we had no idea where he was. Not only are customs and immigration agents hard to find, they don’t like to talk to the people waiting. They point and shrug and exhibit tremendous annoyance at anyone who dare ask them a question.

It was almost 9:30 p.m., 9 hours after my plane landed and I still didn't know if Ralph was even in the United States. I was starting to stress which is something I seldom do. I have such confidence in The Universe, I always feel that as long as I do what I need to do and put my best foot forward, whatever is happening is what’s suppose to be happening. My job is to deal with it. OK, I was not dealing with it very well (I was frantic) so I looked around for some assistance; someone I felt I could appeal to in some way. A young uniformed man comes walking out of the customs gate and I’m confident I can work this. “Maybe you can help me – PLEASE”, I say, leaning in, I put my hand on his forearm. “I’ve been waiting here since 12:30. It’s now almost 10:30. I don’t even know if the child I’m waiting for is even here. No one will talk to me. Please, can you just tell me if he is here or not”? The agent looks around, takes out a pen and asks me for the passengers’ name. Ten minutes later the agent reappears, looks at me from a distance, shakes his head yes and points upstairs. I don't know exactly where "upstairs" is but I know it's not in Haiti and that's all I care about. I relax. An hour later, I get a phone call telling me Ralph will be down in ten minutes.

Ralph was interrogated for 3 ½ hours. “Where did you get these papers?” “Did you buy them”? “How long were you in Haiti?” “How long were you in the United States?”  He was asked the same questions over and over. One of the agents told him he would have to pay a $589.00 fine before they let him out. “How can I pay that if you won’t let me make a phone call?” Ralph answered wisely. Basically, it was 3 ½ hours of accusations that he falsified his documents. All they had to do was call me. I could have given them our Embassy contact in Haiti. OR, if they had looked at the document, they would have seen a name and number and made a call. Am I missing something? Are you allowed to hold a minor and deny him a phone call? One agent asked him if he wanted a bag of chips. “You better eat” he said. “You’re gonna be here for a while”. Ralph was told they could hold him for up to 12 hours and that he would have to go before an immigration judge. Thankfully, that never happened. They let him go and that's all that mattered. It was now Wednesday and we had a 1 p.m. flight to catch back to New York - out of Tampa!

That's happiness!!

to be continued......

THE INCREDIBLE JOURNEY OF RALPH SAINTILUS

“I finally got the passport this morning. THANK GOD!!” the email from Ralph came glaring from my Blackberry. It was the final document needed to extricate him from Haiti. Almost a year of jumping through hoops, everything we needed, except the airline ticket, was in place. I called American Airlines and had him scheduled on the 12:30 flight out of Port-Au-Prince the following day. You don’t want to wait too long because you never know what can happen in Haiti one minute to the next. Between the political unrest, the rioting, cholera; the government can shut the airport at any given moment.

Ralph was 9 when his father left his mother, remarried and took him and his new wife to the United States. They started a life in Pompano Beach, Florida and despite the fact that Ralph missed his mom, he loved his dad and was excited about living in a country he had heard so many amazing things about. Although he did not speak a word of English, he quickly assimilated, mastered the language, made friends and was doing well in school. Everything seemed to be perfect until one day his stepmother, using the ruse of going to visit his family, took him back to Haiti. Once there, she handed him $100 dollars, took his passport and Green Card and headed straight back to Florida. After six years of living in Florida, going to school and making a life, at 15 he found himself alone and without any identification in Port-Au-Prince. Even his birth certificate was back in Florida. Haiti is not a country you want to be in without ID. You cannot go to school, get a cell phone or do much of anything for that matter, without ID.

Ralph found his way back to his mom who was barely managing, living in a small, one room hovel with her 5 year old daughter, Ralph’s new half sister. The following day, he called his stepmother's cell phone, "I'm in Miami", she said. "Miami!!" Ralph screamed in disbelief, "How about me??" "You're gonna be there for a while - get use to it", she snapped back and hung up. He cried for weeks. One week later, after continually trying to call home, the numbers were changed. That was the last he heard from them.

Ralph lived with his mom and little sister, scraping together barely enough to sustain themselves. Cramped inside this tiny room, Ralph would occasionally sleep on the roof but the frequent heavy rain made it impossible to make the roof his home. He left within a month because he knew he was a tremendous burden on his mom. From his mom’s roof he went to his aunt’s house and asked if he could stay with her. She was sweet and kind and welcomed him but after three months it became too difficult for her to care for Ralph. She had two children of her own and was struggling to keep them fed. She told him he had to leave.

With no place to go, Ralph found a few pieces of wood and some old sheets and made a shelter for himself in the outskirts of Port-Au-Prince. He lived there, with 2 other street kids, doing odd jobs for pennies or scraps of food. When it rained, he would leave his makeshift tent to find better cover for the night. For almost a year, he lived like this, barley surviving, until January 12th, 2010. The earthquake changed everything. With fluency in English and Creole, Ralph was a valuable commodity to the thousands of relief workers. With inner ambition and a strong desire to help, he dug in. While assisting with transports, search and rescues and working as a translator for doctors, he had access to food. His daily struggle to survive was at least temporarily, over. As a gift for his hard work and translating skills, a doctor gave him a good tent. He parked himself outside of Haitian Community Hospital and his life as a relief worker began.

On April 2nd, 2010, I met Ralph immediately after arriving in Haiti. He was my right hand man: my translator, body guard, and keeper of my backpack. I don’t think I was there 24 hours before I started questioning him about his perfect English and his clearly American way. When he told me what happened, not only was I appalled at the recklessness of his father and stepmother, I was determined to get him home, here, back in the United States where he belongs. Ten months later, he is here. Amen and God Bless America!

A million thanks to Paul Waggoner, Eileen S., David C., Lisa A., and Pius D. Without these people, this doesn’t happen. These are the people who stuck their necks out, giving their time and expertise to see this through. In addition, they put up with me - never easy.

p.s. Although this act of abandonment sounds horrific by our standard of decency, it happens enough to Haitian children to earn them a name; “throw backs”.