Program for the disabled lost in Haiti's rubble

Despite the odds, Canadian Marika MacRae, head of the charity Pazapa, insists the organization will carry on

Jacmel, Haiti — From Monday's Globe and Mail Published on Sunday, Jan. 24, 2010 9:09PM EST Last updated on Monday, Jan. 25, 2010 3:55AM EST

Marika MacRae is waiting with her two young children at Jacmel's airport, now under Canadian military control, for seats on any flight returning to Canada. Her papers are in order, but not much is available. Maybe she'll get out today; maybe tomorrow.

The head of Pazapa (Haitian Creole for Step-by-Step), a program for disabled children in this earthquake-ravaged town 80 kilometres from Port-au-Prince, insists she will soon return.

“This is home,” Ms. MacRae said earlier outside her damaged and unstable house. “This is me.”

But she needs to get out, to get her children out, at least for a while.

“Everybody is shattered in every way,” she says. “You've lost part of yourself. We are all unstable.”

Ms. MacRae inherited Pazapa from her mother, Jane MacRae, who founded the charity in 1987 after coming to Haiti from her native Canada. Marika MacRae, though born in Canada, has lived most of her life in Haiti. When Janet MacRae died a few years ago, Ms. MacRae took over as executive director.

Mentally or physically disabled children in Haiti face grave challenges. Many parents in this deeply impoverished, deeply religious culture treat the birth of a disabled child as a curse, a punishment from God. They hide their children, pretend they don't exist.

Even the less superstitious see these most vulnerable of children as a liability. They won't be able to work, to contribute to the family income. They receive less food, less care, less love.

Pazapa exists for these children. It offers special education programs for those with mental disabilities. There's a school for the deaf. Volunteer surgeons come in to repair club feet. There are physiotherapy programs, nutrition programs and outreach programs to help parents accept and care for their disabled children. The children are taught skills, such as drying fruit, to prove their utility to the family. About 120 children are receiving assistance at any one time.

“For those who come our way, it's a big difference,” Ms. MacRae says. “Without us, they'd be hidden in a corner with no food.”

The program operated out of two rented buildings in downtown Jacmel. When the earthquake hit, the children had just left for the day, which was a blessing, since the back wall of one building crumbled. Both have been marked with the circle and dot, which means they are condemned. “The deaf children were the luckiest,” Ms. MacRae believes. “They couldn't hear what was happening.”

The first priority was to make sure the children were safe. The centre's 20 permanent staff fanned out to take stock. Good news: All the children are unharmed and safe.

But the good news ends there. With communications down, there's no way to access money to provide food. With both buildings unusable, there's nowhere to get programs back up and running.

With local government, what there is of it, preoccupied with relief, there's no hope for arranging temporary facilities – even a field and a tent.

And with both rented buildings condemned, there is no prospect of any future permanent home for Pazapa.

“The first priority is to get a piece of land,” Ms. MacRae explains. But “there is no entity able to do anything.” Going back to Canada will allow her to regroup, to organize fundraising for a new, permanent home through the charity's American and Canadian fundraising arms (www.stepbystep.ca). And to recover.

Though her voice and eyes are weary, Ms. MacRae insists Pazapa will carry on.

“I have a sense that this will let us be what we want to become,” she maintains. A permanent building that the organization owns, designed for the handicapped. A new start.

Or not. Much of Jacmel is ruined. There are so many needs. And handicapped children are always at the bottom of the list.

During the interview, Ms. MacRae veers from determination to near despair. “I am helpless right now,” she confesses. “We have nowhere to be.”

The children she serves, and their parents, are helpless too.