I used to work on the ambulance on occasion with my exboyfriend down in the islands.

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One night, we got a call that a sloop of Haitian immigrants had been found and they needed us to come down and check on them.

The three of us on duty had just picked up some late dinner. So we threw everything back in the bag, tossed it up front, and moved the poor, out of date ambulance as fast as we could to the destination.

What could we have expected?

Shark bites. Varying degrees of exposure. Sun poisoning. Dehydration. Malnutrition. Even death.

What we encountered?

The most heart-wrenching experience of my life.

It was late when we arrived at the dark cement "dock". It was more like a haphazard slab of concrete that, if you ask me, slid into the water and became a docking location instead of it being put in the water intentionally.

I hopped out of the back.

Sitting about 50 yards from me was a boat packed to the brim with people. They sat stark still as officers with M-15s stood over them. I could hear the soft sound of weeping as I approached, but the smell... the smell was so intense. I will never forget it.

It wasn't disgusting. But if a smell could make you sad... this one was it. Every person there smelled of musty water from being hammered by rain and waves, there was a faint smell of urine, mixing with the sweet of the fruit that they had brought on the boat, and the unmistakable smell of fear. And sweat.

We asked the officers to start bringing the people off the boat in small batches so we could do some basic vitals.

I spoke a little Haitian Creole so I was asking if they were okay while the other co-worker, who spoke a lot more, took over or spoke more in depth.

They only had two things to say.

"Mwen grangou... fret..."

"I'm hungry... cold..."

I felt my heart break a little.

Out of 50-75, only 4 people needed more treatment or at least some saline to recover from a case of really bad dehydration. They were too weak to walk so we half carried them into the ambulance. Three of the younger men made room so a sicker person could lay down on the stretcher and once we closed the doors, they immediately fell asleep in the warmth of the truck.

I turned around to make sure that no one else was needed to be seen. I looked down the line of exhausted people, that risked life and death with nothing but a little hope the current would carry them somewhere better than where they were. That they would have opportunity. Food. Clean water. Shelter.

The island has many Haitian immigrants that live in buildings that were never finished, that have no roof. No windows. It is little more than some concrete walls. And they are so thankful for it.

I thought about all of this while I changed out of my gloves.

That was when I saw something rounding the corner of the unlit road and coming towards us. I was so confused.

A school bus?

A bright yellow school bus usually used to cart enthusiastic (and let's face it, reluctant) kids to school pulled up, kicking up all manner of dirt. It was when the interior lights came on that I realized... that it was reinforced with steel. It had grating and bars on the windows. The hardware sunk into the muted yellow holding it all in place.

It looked like something out of Mad Max. 5 armed guards poured out of the bus and began yelling in Haitian Creole, pushing them about, and began removing everything from them besides their clothing.

Rosaries, shoes, any paper in their pockets.

I watched one old man fight with a younger guard as he ripped something out of his hands and threw it to the ground. It was his bible with a picture of his deceased wife in it. The only thing he brought with him. I started to step toward the guard and my ex put his hand on my shoulder and solemnly shook his head.

That was when I realized that these things were not being labeled. Or noted. Or bagged. They were never going to get these things back. Possibly the only things that they own besides the clothes on their backs.

"But... where are they taking them?"

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Part Two will come tomorrow since it is a bit too long to be made into one post.

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