The Soul of Solidarity, Seth Donnelly
“COCKADOODLEDOO!” 7AM. 19 degrees North of the equator. Sunny. Hot. Humid. We all tiredly groan in our beds. The sound we dreaded every morning echoed through the halls of the house. It wasn’t a rooster. It was Seth Donnelly, our delegation leader, our “Chefla”. “Wakey wakey!” he bellowed as he walked by, heading for the boys’ room next to wake them up too. This was one of the many recurring rituals of Mr. Donnelly’s we learned to love while my delegation was in Haiti. I wiped the morning sweat off my brow as I forced myself off the rock hard cot. I groggily grabbed for my now warm water bottle and tiptoed over two of the other five sleeping girls in the room. After using the toilet, I silently prayed to myself in hopes we would have running water that day before pushing the lever on the toilet. Flush. Thank God. I thought about what Mr. Donnelly might have planned for us today as I brushed my teeth with the warm water from my bottle. The running water from the faucets wasn’t entirely safe. Every day he had something planned for us. Whether it was visiting a school or a grassroots organization, he never ceased to surprise us. We would drive at least thirty minutes to each meeting in a van and a tap-tap (decorated Haitian trucks). I had never had motion sickness before until I rode on the unpaved, rocky roads of Haiti.