Human Touch

The power of human touch is radically amazing. Human touch speaks of intimacy and connection. As humans we crave this intimacy and, yet, we have unspoken rules about it. We welcome strangers with a handshake or perhaps if we are younger, with a fist bump. We reserve embraces and kisses for those closest to us. This is only natural because in a very real way, the more we touch another, the more we are giving of ourselves. But also, the more we give of ourselves, the more we are hopefully received and blessed in return.

It is because of this reality of the power of human touch that my experience at the Village of Jesus was so life-giving. We spent a mere hour or two with this group of Haitian women. Many of them are probably around my grandma’s age; some of them are closer to my mother’s. All of them speak Creole and I speak barely none. After my weak attempt at, “what’s your name?” and “how are you?” we have basically exhausted our means of communicating verbally, and yet, we are not nearly done speaking to one another.

We begin our visit by passing out our gifts. Each woman receives a bandana, a rosary, lotion, and a new blouse. They are each so excited. The clever ones try to hide their bandana so that they receive two. It makes me laugh to witness their tricks and yet sad to know such tricks come out of a desire for more… for more than two clean shirts or two clean bandanas. I think of my closet at home and am embarrassed to know I have enough t-shirts to clothe each of these women at least once if not more.

After passing out the gifts, we begin the pampering. I follow the lead of others by simply going to one woman, pointing to the lotion, and pointing to her. She nods and immediately rolls up her sleeves. And so I sit and I massage lotion into her arms. I massage past her elbows going as far as I can reach. I take time on her hands; trying to mimic the massages I have received at home, hoping that it feels soothing. I think about the number of people in my life that I have touched this closely and carefully; very few. And yet, here I am, miles and what feels worlds away from home, having this extremely intimate experience. I can’t help but think that this is a sacred moment, an encounter with the divine in a way I have never before experienced.

Slowly, this is how we make our way through the women. Some of them point to their legs and we massage those too. Many of the toes and feet look and feel so broken. Missing nails, scars. Feet that have carried these women through hardship, through poverty, through homelessness. Feet that have carried these women, perhaps barefoot, gracefully through the care of children and families. These feet speak volumes.

After the lotion, we move on to nail painting. I remember a saying that says something like, “if you are to be a street sweeper, be the best street sweeper that you can be.” The point being, whatever you are doing or being, do and be it to the best you know how. That’s how I feel while painting these nails. I cannot do much for these women; I cannot do nearly enough. But, if I am going to paint their nails, I am going to do it perfectly… or at least, as best I can. I am going to do my part to make these women feel beautiful and proud.

That’s why, at one point, I sit cross-legged on the ground so that I can paint one women’s toes carefully. I am sitting on the cement ground in a pair of old capri’s that I brought to Haiti because I didn’t care if they got ruined. And yet, after about two minutes on the ground, a Haitian woman near me starts gesturing to me, clearly upset. Without words that I can comprehend, she is clearly telling me that I am sitting on the ground and the ground is dirty, and so, I need to find a chair.

You see, Haitians are a proud people who take care of themselves and their possessions. Here I am, just trying to paint nails as best as I can, and here these women are, worried about me getting my pants dirty. They are taking care of me as I am trying to take care of them. Another encounter with the divine.

As we finish making sure that each woman has her nails painted and arms massaged, the women start praying the rosary in Creole. This is not the first nor the last time in my week in Haiti that I find myself amidst a group of women spontaneously praying the rosary in Creole. Such faith, and hope, and joy. Yet another sacred moment.

Slowly, we start saying our goodbyes. We kiss their cheeks and say, “bonswa” and “mesi” at least a dozen times.

And then, that’s it. The time is over and we are on our way, perhaps to never see these same women again. Even so, they have changed me. They have changed me because, as I said, the power of human touch is radically amazing.

Human touch speaks of connection. It reminds us that in a very real sense, we are all one.