I can’t exactly remember how or when I met Britney Gengel. But there are distinct memories that stand out when I think about our childhood friendship - the smiley face on the blue carpet of her bedroom, jumping on Cherylann’s bed to the Spice Girls or MTV (sorry, CA), rocking oh-so-glamorous green satin skirts over leotards in a community theatre production of “The Wiz” in elementary school and making up dances to “Sugar Sugar” in the yard at one of the Gengel’s trademark huge family parties. Our middle school friend group had a Secret Santa swap each year, and when Brit got me, she went WAY over budget (I believe the justification was “but Mum, it’s Kate!”... again, sorry CA!); one time when she was heartbroken over a boy, I came over for a sleepover and Brit & I got pampered to the nines - mani/pedi, hair & makeup, the works - for Lenny to take us out to dinner at the Grand Slam, the family’s restaurant in town. I remember him telling us in the kitchen before we left: “Girls, filet mignon is harder to get than hamburger. It’s harder to find a good one and it’s more expensive to buy. But nobody’s gonna go out and get a hamburger when you’ve got filet mignon at home. And you girls are filet mignon!”

These were the memories that flashed through my mind even more vividly when the horrible news about the Hotel Montana rocked Rutland in 2010. Though Brit and I had drifted during high school - the natural effects of growing up, taking different classes, spending more time on our chosen extracurriculars - we were always still friendly, sharing a smile in the hall or at lunch, chatting every once in a while in study hall, and yes, a few times still lamenting boy problems. In the 33 days the Gengels and our entire community held their breath for good news, I thought often about how much I wanted to relive those memories with her, thank her for her friendship, be better about keeping in touch. So when the time came that I, and so many of us who got to share in some piece of Brit’s light, could only reminisce together, only give that love to the Gengel family, I knew that whatever happened next, I would want to be a part of it somehow.

I followed the growth of BLB from day one, hanging each ornament on my Christmas tree, excitedly showing my mom pictures of each new child that came to Brit’s Home, reading the blog entries and feeling like I already knew people like Johnathan and Gama and Francky. I’d wanted to be a Britsionary since the day trips were announced, but knew that between my crazy schedule and the financial, physical, and emotional preparation it would take, I would have to be patient for the right time to come along. I felt that “right time” calling me this past fall, and I texted my college roommate, Caroline, to ask her if she would ever consider coming to Haiti with me.

“I’m already going!” she replied. 

“What?!”

“I’m going with Holy Cross in June! They’re doing an alumni trip! Led by Father Hayes!”

As far as “right times” go, this was a pretty obvious one. Caroline knew all about Brit, all about me, all about my desires to travel; our time living together and as friends since has always been filled with conversations about social justice, seeing the world, learning people’s stories. I knew that Holy Cross, my alma mater, had been taking trips to BLB for a few years through the chaplain’s office, but this was the first opportunity for alumni - and Father Hayes, the trip’s leader, was my spiritual director in college, the first person to encourage me to explore spirituality and service work through life-changing retreats and immersion trips. I signed up the next day, not having a clue how I would make it work, but knowing I had to.

Caroline & I on our trip up the Mountain

Father Hayes getting a “massage” on the worksite from our amazing head carpenter LaPorte 

Somehow, despite all the fundraising, preparations, and excitement leading up to our departure (including a beautiful 2-day mini-retreat to bond and learn about Haiti at Holy Cross’ Contemplative Center), the day we left still felt like it crept up on me. I’d been more emotional than I’d expected preparing for the trip - I’d been waiting 8 years to go to BLB, so you’d think I’d be ready - but was I? Our group left for the airport at 3am; I wasn’t really able to sleep on my flight and the Port-au-Prince airport was overwhelming even with the expert help of our immediately beloved leaders/sherpas Francky and Joenelson. It felt a little like I was in a daze, stepping into the humidity and watching the crew of BLB day workers tie our suitcases on top of vans, driving through Port-au-Prince and the bordering towns seeing tap-taps (trucks, usually colorfully painted, with benches and a cover over the bed to be used as a sort of Haitian taxi) overflowing with passengers, men and women selling wares from baskets on their heads, goats and cows on the side of the road and each business building painted in beautiful, colorful writing and murals (shops featured hand-painted logos for various sodas; at barber shops & beauty stores, many boasted large portraits of celebrities like Rihanna and Ludacris, which gave me a giggle). Francky sat next to me on the ride in - as we spent many a meal, trip, and excursion in the following week together - and I asked him questions about all the shops I saw, the towns between Port-au-Prince and Grand Goave, and the terrifying traffic patterns (spoiler alert: there aren’t any). I wasn’t shocked by the poverty or the cinder block remains of houses, and though I took a long moment to look up towards the site of the Hotel Montana and say a prayer, I wasn’t particularly sad - I just felt like a sponge, soaking in as much as I could of this place that had become both fascinating and sacred to me before ever setting foot in it.

The same surrealness lingered when we pulled up Be Like Brit’s Way. This was it? I was here? I saw the mango tree, I heard singing voices, and I turned to the door - Brit’s Home. And the tears hit. Okay - SOBS. As I promised multiple times to Caroline, Father Hayes, Francky, and my “buddy” Brian (who was/is the best and enveloped me in a big hug anyways), they were sobs of joy - but stepping inside that yellow B and seeing the faces of 66 gorgeous children I had been waiting literal years to meet made something in my heart whole. I had been referring to this journey as a pilgrimage of sorts, but I didn’t expect to feel so fulfilled after under four hours in Haiti. The kids came to give us all hugs, and I started to put names and faces together, much to their surprise. (As part of my fundraising for this trip, I put on a benefit concert, with one song - performed primarily by my own former students - adapted to feature Brit’s kids’ names and pictures. It was gorgeous and moving, with each performer inevitably picking a “favorite” and asking me upon my return what Dave, Shilove, Doodlie & Doodmie, John Jeffrey, etc. were like in real life, a few taking their pictures home with them. A next generation of Britsionarys awaits! 

But because of the success of BLB itself, our time wasn’t primarily focused on the kids. (Though don’t get me wrong, I LOVED when we made it downstairs for the nightly dance party. The kids were shocked to see that we could keep up with their choreography; don’t underestimate someone who grew up in the era of Britney Spears and boy bands!) The children at BLB are incredibly cared for by an amazing staff; they go to great schools, learn English, have a room full of musical instruments to rock out on, write in cursive better than most American adults, choose from a room of gorgeous dresses and dapper suits to wear on church Sundays and birthdays celebrated with giant sheet cakes (though there wasn’t a birthday during our trip, I can only imagine from the deliciousness of the homemade bread at our meals how good it is). As many of you know, most Britsionarys now spend the mornings of their trips building homes for members of the Grand Goâve community. Our group was fortunate enough to work on a beautiful shady patch of land building a home for a family of five with a charismatic patriarch named, so appropriately, Mr. Loucki (pronounced Lucky). Mr. Lucky took a liking to me immediately (and I to him!), so much so that upon gifting the family with a goat at the house blessing, the group… well, inspired by Joenelson… had decided to name the goat Mrs. Kate!

Selfie with Mrs. Kate

I will be honest- I wasn’t great at the manual labor part of things. Even in my college theatre days, when building and taking down sets was required, I was frequently sent off to the costume room to clean up or, if I had to stay around power tools, was given the magnetic wand to pick up stray nails rather than be entrusted with sharp/dangerous/heavy objects. And to be equally honest, sometimes that stressed me out. I wanted to be helpful, to be a part of this wonderful endeavor for BLB and Mr. Loucki, magically discover a talent for concrete mixing or looking warrior-chic in work gloves, dripping with sweat. Spoiler alert part two: I didn’t. But in the spirit of “being like Brit”, I worked with what I had - a friendly smile, a loving heart, and as much fabulous energy as I could spread around. I busted my butt to learn every bit of Creole I could, probably driving Francky, Joenelson, Manmi Love, Laporte, Dave, Pierre Noel (the list goes on) crazy asking how to say more and more words, making sure I knew every name at the worksite, from the carpenters to the boys living next door to the neighborhood kids (Mesi, Obenson, Ivenson, and David) grabbing the empty bags of concrete to line a hole we’d dug, turning it into a fort.

 I was lucky enough to be invited into said fort for a photo op

I chatted as much as I could, through my “piti-piti” (tiny) Creole vocabulary, sometimes calling over Joenelson to translate for something more important, pointing to my friend Erin (who’d studied abroad in France for a year) when someone we met spoke French, and finding a halfway point for conversation with a few people who spoke as mediocre Spanish as I do. If there wasn’t work for me to do (or do well), I’d be the first one to dance along to the Haitian rap music blasting on repeat next door, usually to make the kids giggle, but eventually with everyone joining in. Head carpenter Laporte mimicked playing guitar and told me not only about his music career, but the artistic talents of BIJOU! Bijou, the Britsionarys' security guard and built in paparazzo, remains, understandably, mostly stone-faced and silent while accompanying us, but when I asked him about music he gave a brief “oui” and, by the end of the week, he was even coerced into busting out a few dance moves on his own on a hike - success!

We didn’t get to say goodbye to Bijou the night before, so Francky literally called him on our way out of BLB - and he ran down to give us goodbye high-fives/selfies!

Much of our reflection time was spent examining the ways our experience in Haiti was different than what we were used to at home, or the ways that interacting with the people and culture of BLB and Grand Goave had changed us. And, of course, Haiti is different. Looking out at the ocean, it could feel like I was in “Moana”; up in the mountains, it felt like “Jumanji” - while down in the village, especially the hectic marketplace, there were times I just felt like a big white sore thumb. But for the most part, I was surprised at how NOT different things felt. Francky and Joenelson and yes, even strong silent Bijou, felt so immediately like family - Francky, in particular (after a FaceTime call with Papi Len) was constantly looking out for me, and while I feel so blessed to call him a friend of my own, I couldn’t help but think how much Brit would have loved him. We were lucky enough to be at BLB for the celebration of International Children’s Day, where somewhere around 300 children from the area (village children, classmates of the BLB kids, and children from other organizations) were invited to a giant party in the courtyard, full of performances (beautifully emceed by Macson and Daphney), games, singalongs and snacks for all. In each dance, song, and three-legged race, I felt like I was back in little old Rutland, MA, watching the 4th of July lip-sync or an elementary school field day, those happy memories of Brit and our childhood friends flashing in my memory again.

And then there’s the kids - oh the kids. In their energy and kindness, exuberance and friendliness (and yes, devotion to dance), they are 1000% where Brit’s spirit lives on. It is my memories with them that now come most vividly - dancing wildly to my new favorite song (Little Mix’s “Hair”) with dance floor devotees Love-Na, Valentina, Delienne and Kathiana, somehow running into Alexander each time I’d go downstairs and sharing a big smile, having a funny face contest with Christlove, throwing Dotchley and Devidson and Kervins into the water at the beach. Fredo sat with our group during lunch at the beach and told me about how he wants to be a doctor; when all the kids signed my white t-shirt on our last night, Michel (Wisely) was very concerned that their signatures would stay forever (I promised they would), Shilove signed twice, drew four different pictures, and fell asleep on my shoulder. I cried that night in reflection - again, happy tears - because it felt less like Haiti had changed me, and more that it had fulfilled me. I made my pilgrimage, and ended up finding another home - one I can’t wait to return to.

Sunset from the balcony at Brit's Home

Among the things I noticed most on our first drive through Port-au-Prince was how many tap-taps were decorated with religious sayings, most frequently “Merci Jesus” - thank you God. And in leaving, it is one of the only things I can say to a beautiful island, organization, and home. Merci Jesus for BLB, it’s children and it’s people, forever imprinted on my heart; Merci Jesus for beautiful Haiti, in mountains and beaches and markets and impish neighborhood children who let me hang in their fort. Merci Jesus for Mr. Loucki and his family, for the workers who were so patient with our house-building skills (or lack thereof), for Mrs. Kate the goat, for Bijou’s dancing. Merci Jesus for Father Hayes, Holy Cross, and my wonderful, diverse group of men and women for and with others; Merci Jesus for singing and dancing and homemade Haitian bread. And finally, Merci Jesus to the Gengel family, for all of the love I was lucky enough to experience even a part of personally, and all the ways they have taken that love and spread it, literally, across the world. Brit, your home is truly fabulous. Merci, merci, merci Jesus.

 -Kate