Yvrose Telfort Ismael - Becoming Mama: How I Found Hope in Haitis Rubble

Table of Contents

HARVEST HOUSE PUBLISHERS

EUGENE, OREGON

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Published in association with the literary agency of D.C. Jacobson & Associates LLC, an Author Management Company. www.dcjacobson.com; Lauren Yonoassistant; lauren@dcjacobson.com

Becoming Mama

Copyright 2019 by Yvrose Telfort Ismael

Published by Harvest House Publishers

Eugene, Oregon 97408

www.harvesthousepublishers.com

ISBN 978-0-7369-7765-4 (pbk)

ISBN 978-0-7369-7766-1 (eBook)

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

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CONTENTS

I want to thank God for transforming my life from a rebel to a servant.

This book is for my husband, Pierre-Richard, for embracing

me when I was rejected, for sharing and running the race of life

faithfully with me, for being a great father to my children,

and for keeping the faith when I am down.

This book is for my mom and dad, who brought me into this world.

This book is for my 38 children, for bringing

joy and happiness in my life.

This book is for my brother-in-law, Louis Derosier, who encouraged

me and paid my first semester in college.

This book is for Marie Desroses, who taught me how to pray the will

of God, how to listen to God, and how to say yes to Gods call.

This book is for all my sisters and brothers who

encouraged me to stay in school.

This book is for all my friends who have supported me

since I returned to Haiti.

This book is for all those who have supported Hope House Haiti.

And this book is for all the churches who served us

locally and internationally.

Port-au-Prince, Haiti. Tuesday, January 12, 2010. 4:53 p.m.

B reathless, I try to roll from my back to my knees. I get halfway up, but then it happens again. I am thrown into the air. I hang here, just for a beat. Weightless. Then I am hurled down once more onto my back.

Forty-six years I have lived on this earth. Not once has it ever moved beneath my feet. Not once has it ever stirred. But the earth is no longer asleep. The planet is awakeand incensed. It is a violent, raging giant. It wants to be rid of all us parasites that have dared to touch its surface.

Another surge slams me down onto my side. It throws me the way a dog wrestles with a stolen toy, the way a cows back will spasm to dislodge the flies that have settled upon it.

I spend these first seconds of the earthquake in a state of shock. Nothing makes sense. I wonder what is wrong with my hearing, for my ears have been robbed of all the familiar city sounds that had filled the air moments before. Then I realize that the strange feeling in my ears is not deafness but a noise so loud as to be deafening. The sound of the city being torn apart.

With this new realization comes terror, slamming into me with a force even greater than this concrete trampoline beneath me. I can taste the fear in my mouth, feel it all the way down to my stomach. It tastes like stale blood. Jesus, screams the prayer deep within me. Save us!

A series of kicks from the ground and I am thrown across the street, tumbling, twisting, dragged through air and rubble by invisible ropes. Only when I come to a halt do I look back at where I was standingthe familiar street corner not far from my mother-in-laws homeand see it disappear under a cloud of bricks and dust. The sound alone is enough to crush me.

The street is narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass each other. I look up to see the wall of the building above me bulge and billow, like it is trying to hold back an ocean. It starts to crack and break up, and I know exactly what is about to happen. Another peal of thunder comes from the bricks and I see the wall break away and fall toward me. This is it. This is the moment of my death.

Im flying.

The earth sends me first to the left, then to the right, a paper bag caught in a hurricane. I hear the earth explode behind me. Everything happens so fast I do not know whether all of this is real or not. Am I really getting pulled out of the way moments before these buildings come down? And why do I feel no pain? Has death already happened?

I open my eyes. I am 20, maybe even 30 feet from where I was when the earthquake started. The street corner has disappeared. Vanished. The buildings that once stood so tall on both sides are now spread out across the road, nothing but bricks and dust and sky.

I breathe. At last the ground is still.

For a while, the air is quiet. A handful of car horns are bleating, but they are weak and feeble after the chaos of the last 30 seconds. And then, as if on the cue of some invisible conductor, the screaming starts up.

Save us! some call.

Jesus! Jesus! plead others.

Other cries sound more like those of a wounded, terrified animal. No words. Just pain and fear from the lips of men and women, adults and infants. I try to look, but I cant see any of them. The air is misted, a thin cloud of dust that catches in my throat as I try to breathe.

I check my body for cuts and breaks but dont expect to find any. I know that I have been protected, that not a hair on my head has been harmed.

I get to my feet and struggle back toward the corner. A figure approaches, more like a ghost than a man. Hes covered in gray dust, and in his arms he carries a child, a little girl who cant be older than five or six. Shes also painted gray, but theres blood covering most of her face. Her legs and arms hang limp as they pass by.

For the first time in what feels like forever, I exhale. I am alive. I am alive. Thank You, Jesus.

I stand at whats left of the corner, trying but failing, then trying and failing again to reach my husband, Pierre-Richard, on my cell phone. When I finally give up, I notice that the cries have grown louder and a crowd has formed nearby. Some people are helping drag others out of buildings, others can only stand and watch as those who are trapped can barely force an arm out through an impossibly small gap. Bodies lie on the ground; some are alone, others have people beside them, weeping or frantically trying to help.