404: Not Found{"id":33012,"date":"2014-02-16T08:05:23","date_gmt":"2014-02-15T22:05:23","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/?p=33012"},"modified":"2014-02-16T08:05:23","modified_gmt":"2014-02-15T22:05:23","slug":"child-sponsorship-pros-and-cons","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/articles\/33012.htm","title":{"rendered":"Child Sponsorship: pros and cons…"},"content":{"rendered":"
OUTSIDE ONLINE<\/span><\/header>\n
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FRIDAY, JANUARY 31, 2014<\/div>\n

My 13-Year Effort to Save a Boy in Haiti<\/h1>\n

As a teenager, I began sponsoring a poverty-stricken boy in the Caribbean. Twelve years and thousands of dollars later I flew down to meet him\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dand to learn if my efforts did any good at all.<\/h4>\n
By:<\/em>\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0JONAH OGLES<\/a><\/div>\n
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A young girl runs past boats on the beach on La Tortue, Haiti \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp<\/p>\n

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The cinder-block school has no windows and no doors, just a string of incandescent lightbulbs hanging down the center of the ceiling like the spine of a great whale. It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s hot and humid, and the room throbs with the voices of 200 Haitians who have paused from fishing, gardening, or painting the sides of handmade wooden sailboats to come see the special visitor who has traveled 1,500 miles to \u00c3\u0192\u00c5\u00bdle de la Tortue, an island where the hills are green and lush and the sand is sugar white and the small children play with shells that line the shore by the thousands.<\/p>\n

They have been waiting all day under this tin roof, watching one local man set up his old Casio keyboard and another tune the heads of his bongos, so that they can see the\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0<\/span>blan,<\/em>\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0the white man, the first ever to visit the school on this nearly roadless island five miles north of the Haitian mainland. In short, they have come to see me. And I have come to see one of them: Ervenson, the Haitian boy whom I have been sponsoring for 12 years.<\/span><\/p>\n

Every month since the fall of 2000, I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve sent roughly $35, or about $5,000 in total, through a Christian organization called\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Compassion International<\/a>. Compassion funnels money to children all over the world to pay for things like tuition, schoolbooks, clothes, food, medicine, and sneakers. I sent the money to give him a better life. And I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m here to see if it actually made any difference.<\/p>\n

The only contact Ervenson and I had during that time was through handwritten letters. I wrote the first one when I was 15 and included a photo of myself in a ball-chain necklace, my braces sparkling in the camera\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s flash, a few dozen zits covering my face. With his response, I received multiple copies of the same photo of him, one that I can only barely remember now. He was five, with a shaved head and a baggy, short-sleeved shirt that buttoned up in the front. His lips were pinched tight against a smile.<\/p>\n

Often the letters would pass each other in the mail, so they never became much of a conversation. They were more like questionnaires. How did he like school? What did he do with his friends? What was the weather like? Each letter was translated by someone working for Compassion, and there were times when I felt like I was getting updates about a relative through an aunt. Oh, Ervenson? He\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a soccer star, and he loves the color purple.<\/p>\n

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Children line up in front of their classroom before class at Church of God of Savanne Tapion School. \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

As I sit at the front of the schoolroom, a keyboard amplifier blasting in my ears, I wonder whether we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll have anything to talk about. Will he like me? And then there\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s the larger question: Did the money do any good? Each month I sent a check, trusted that it was being put to good use, and forgot about the transaction entirely.<\/p>\n

At this precise moment, however, I am most worried that I won\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t recognize him. Because for as long as I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve known Ervenson, the only pictures I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve seen of him have been small headshots. He could be any of the teenage boys in the room. So I smile at everyone, just to be safe. And then, in a lull in the dancing and singing, the translator leans over and says, \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cHere is the boy.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d And here he is. Ervenson. Pimply faced and thin. His eyes are wide. His arms are like piano strings, stretched wide to welcome me.<\/p>\n


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When I started sponsoring Ervenson, I was camping at a Christian alt-music festival in rural Illinois, where bands played concerts for sweaty mosh pits of Jesus-loving teens. Between two of the shows, someone from Compassion International got on stage and talked about how difficult it was to be a child in places like Haiti. They described the lack of clean water, the rampant disease, the voodoo ceremonies on every corner. Even then I was vaguely aware of my privilege as a white American male and felt a little guilty about it. Plus, I had a part-time job at a guitar store, which meant that I had enough spending money that I wouldn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t miss thirty-odd dollars out of my monthly paycheck. I signed up as soon as I got home. All I had to do was get online, do a quick search by age, country, or birthday (in case I wanted someone who shared mine), and then click that I agreed to send the checks.<\/p>\n

Almost immediately, Compassion sent an e-mail suggesting that I write to Ervenson. Many child-sponsorship organizations actually support villages, not children\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dthe child that you \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201csponsor\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d actually just lives within that village. Not Compassion. My money went directly to him, less 20 percent for overhead. It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s one of the few organizations in the $3.4 billion child-sponsorship industry where you can exchange letters and develop a relationship.<\/p>\n

Which I tried to do\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009duntil I was a junior in high school. Until that point, I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d been as Christian as you could get. I \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cwitnessed\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d to friends, trying to get them to accept Jesus as their savior. I led praise and worship at\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0See You at the Pole<\/a>, an annual event where Christians gathered in front of their high schools and prayed before classes started. I held a Bible study in my house once a week.<\/p>\n

But at 17, I rejected my faith. Mostly because it stopped making sense to me. Jesus was friends with prostitutes and the poor, he wanted to help the outcasts. But it seemed to me that many churches\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dor at least the ones I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d been to\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dwere missing the point. The larger a church was, the more money it spent on sound systems and video equipment and massive buildings with large water features out front instead of helping people who needed clothes or food or a place to live. It began to feel more like a rock concert or a gala\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009da place people went to be seen or to impress other people.<\/p>\n

So, in the black-and-white thinking of youth, I gave up. I felt like a hypocrite when I sang praise and worship songs in front of other kids, because I didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t believe a word of it. Instead, in 2002, I started smoking pot, became a Democrat, and stopped writing Ervenson. The letters had begun to feel a little fake. When I asked questions, he rarely answered them; when he wrote, it sounded like he was being prompted. I later found out that Compassion makes the kids write three letters a year. Besides, Compassion International is a Christian organization, and though I wasn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t quite clear how, I knew that they were evangelizing to him. I didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t stop sending my monthly 35 bucks, which seemed cruel. But I did stop caring.<\/p>\n

The only time I really thought about him was when I got another letter. They didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t say anything important, but they made me think. About him. About being a Christian. I thought about whether God was being shoved down his throat. I wondered if that was a fair trade-off for getting an education.<\/p>\n

Even though I had my doubts, I kept sending money. It felt good in that pat-yourself-on-the-back, first-world-guilt-assuasion sort of way. It was maybe the one selfless thing I did with regularity, and I believed that being a good person required selflessness. I had started to think that that was what Jesus was really getting at anyway. Don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t judge people. Love others like you would yourself. If you have money or food or clothes and someone else doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t, help them out. I hoped that\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s what I was doing with Ervenson.<\/p>\n

Don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t get me wrong. I still got angry that megachurches built stadium-size sanctuaries when people in their communities were homeless. And I still couldn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t see any reason why Christians would make it into heaven but other good people\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dbe they Buddhist or Muslim or atheist\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dwere doomed to hell. But I realized that I could be a different type of Christian than that. And in my own faith, sending Ervenson money was exactly the type of thing I felt I should do. I started writing to Ervenson again. It was still boilerplate stuff\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dit\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s snowing here, study hard\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dbut it made me feel a little less shame for not being involved.<\/p>\n

It did not, however, help me know him better. When the earthquake hit Haiti in January 2010, I stood in my apartment in front of the TV with a bowl of oatmeal and tried to remember where he lived. Port-au-Prince? La Gonave? I had thrown away each of his letters as I read them, so there was no way of going back to see. And though I worried a little, I didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t take the time to call Compassion to find out.<\/p>\n

Then, in late 2011, I got an e-mail. Ervenson would like to meet you, it said. It was a form e-mail, something every sponsor gets on occasion, but it was the first time I had received it. If I wanted to, I could pay Compassion to join a handful of other sponsors to meet our respective kids. By then, Ervenson was 17, and I was 26. In a year, he\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d be an adult and I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d no longer support him. This was my last chance to see him. I decided: Yes, I did want to meet him.<\/p>\n


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I expect Haiti to look poor. I expect vast tent cities sprawled out on the hillsides and buildings half demolished by the quake and people picking through garbage for food. I do not expect it to be beautiful. When I arrive in Port-au-Prince in April 2012, one of a dozen Compassion sponsors here to meet their kids, the Caribbean is the sort of blue I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve rarely seen. The mountains seem to cover the length of the island. People are everywhere, dressed in bright purples and oranges and yellows. Tap-tap truck taxis painted in pseudo-psychedelic patterns careen through the streets, bouncing over potholes, the people inside swaying in unison like a choir.<\/p>\n

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We see our first tent city as the road curves north around the bay. A patch of sea blue tents and tarps appears on a denuded hillside. Beyond the tents, stones are arranged in acre-large squares. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cAre those fields?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask, thinking that perhaps Haitians have used the after-earthquake chaos to start new agricultural ventures.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThose are mass graves from the earthquake,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Ben Depp, an American-born photographer who has spent the past five years in Haiti.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThere were so many dead, we had to burn some of them,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d adds Jeannot, our Haitian translator, who was himself trapped for two days in the rubble.<\/p>\n

After the earthquake, money poured into every NGO working in Haiti, including Compassion. The organization sponsors more than 75,000 children here. There are programs for babies, kids in school, and college students, but they all work roughly the same. Donors send a check, Compassion routes it to its in-country offices (staffed almost entirely by Haitians), and they in turn give 80 percent of the cash to the kids to spend on various specific things: food, health care, books, supplies, tuition at Christian schools, things like that.<\/p>\n

Thankfully, I learn that kids do not have to accept Jesus in order to attend school, though they do have to attend a weekly meeting called Club, where they learn about Jesus and how to be a moral person. But I appear to be alone in my concern about evangelism.<\/p>\n

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Ervenson, left, and Jonah Ogles look at a photo of the author at age 15. \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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On that first night, all of the visiting sponsors gather at the hotel for a quick talk. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cOK,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Yvonne, our wispy tour leader, who wears a permanent smile. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cWhat did you see today?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

The group is quiet for a minute before one woman finally speaks up. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThere\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a spiritual darkness here,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d she says. Heads nod in agreement throughout the circle.<\/p>\n

Ben and I look sideways at each other, my eyes trying to say, Can you believe this? Granted, it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s been only one day, but I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve seen more churches than public-service buildings.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cVoodoo has such a stronghold,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d she adds. (In the mind of most evangelicals, voodoo is pure evil, though it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s really an amalgamation of West African animism and Roman Catholicism.) And so the group prays that Compassion\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s programs will help lead people out of voodoo and into Christianity.<\/p>\n

Thankfully, I have Ben as a roommate. Like me, he grew up in a conservative Christian home in the States and moved strongly to the left in college. And like me, he was a little uncomfortable with the meeting. So we sneak away after the prayer and step onto our third-floor balcony overlooking the Caribbean.<\/p>\n

While working as a photographer for outlets like\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0The New York Times<\/em>\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0and\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Newsweek,<\/em>Ben\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s been present at some of Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s most pivotal moments in recent history. When the earthquake hit, he and his wife were at home in Petionville, a leafy neighborhood in the hills outside Port-au-Prince. Dressers, tables, and chairs fell over; pots and pans hit the floor. The three-story hotel behind them crumbled, but their house stood. Much of the poorer parts of the city weren\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t so lucky. He said there was dust in his teeth, throat, and eyelashes. Once the ground stopped shaking, Ben grabbed a pickax and helped dig through the rubble looking for bodies. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIt was like the apocalypse. The dead and the injured were everywhere,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cEverybody was helping dig strangers out from under collapsed houses and caring for the injured.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

Ben\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s most haunting photos came from the cholera epidemic, introduced, tragically, by UN peacekeeping troops who came to the country after the earthquake. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cI was on my motorcycle, trying to see what the situation was like,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he tells me. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cPeople were literally dropping dead in the streets.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Cholera causes rapid fluid loss. To date, more than 8,000 Haitians\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dmen, women, and many, many children\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dhave died of it. Victims look like corpses even before they die. Ben once found the body of a dead ten-year-old on a rubble-strewn stretch of road. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cHis mother hadn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t understood how quickly cholera could kill him,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he said. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cShe didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t have money to do anything with the body, so she put him in the road for the government body collectors to find.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n


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The earthquake and the resulting cholera epidemic are only the most recent disasters here. Haiti has suffered through 200 years of brutal dictatorships, military invasions, and natural disasters. The chaos doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t stop people from trying to understand and fix it. Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s streets are full of young, white do-gooders in shiny Land Rovers, many from NGOs, governments, or other secular outfits. But every day another group of Christians in matching T-shirts arrives to spend a week building churches or playing with kids. Ben says he hasn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t seen them make a real impact.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cA lot of Christian organizations send groups here for quick trips,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Ben says. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThey build a latrine or a school and then head home.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Their efforts may provide some relief in the short term, but they don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t create jobs or a lasting infrastructure\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dthings Haitians desperately need.<\/p>\n

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It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s not just Christian organizations that come up short, though. Haiti has been called the NGO Republic. As many as 10,000 of them operate in the country, and they\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re often criticized for making the situation worse. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIt\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s one thing to provide water for six months,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Jake Johnston, who studies aid in Haiti for the Center for Economic and Policy Research. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cBut they\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re not going to provide a public water system for the future of the country.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/span><\/div>\n<\/section>\n<\/div>\n

NGOs don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t have to coordinate with the government and often start projects without consulting a community. Once construction is under way, much of the money never makes it into Haitian hands. Of the $450 million USAID has spent here since the earthquake, more than 70 percent has gone to U.S. contractors. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIt\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s hard to have a strong state when NGOs are doing much of the work,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Johnston.<\/p>\n

Remarkably, no one had ever really looked at whether child sponsorship helped or hurt the people it supported until three years ago, when Bruce Wydick, a developmental economist at the University of San Francisco and a Compassion sponsor himself, decided to study the organization. He found that sponsored kids are nearly 27 percent more likely to graduate from high school, have a better chance at getting a white-collar job, and make an average of $14 to $19 more each month. When nearly two-thirds of the country lives on less than a $1.25 a day, as they do in Haiti, that\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a substantial improvement.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIt\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a pretty cost-intensive way of addressing poverty,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Wydick says. It costs more than buying a mosquito net or building a water pipe, for example. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cBut it works.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"
Students in adjacent classrooms at the Church of God of Savanne Tapion school. \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

 <\/p>\n

Yet, Wydick\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s research hit upon another important aspect of sponsorship. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cCompassion does a good job of addressing the internal issues, which we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re finding to be just as important as external.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d In other words, self-confidence may be just as crucial to finishing school (and overcoming poverty) as infrastructure. And a big part of addressing those internal issues, Wydick says, is the letters the kids get from their sponsors.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThey have these people telling them, \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00cb\u0153Study hard and you can be successful,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Wydick. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cAnd they believe it.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n


\n

Ervenson and his family live in a seaside shack on \u00c3\u0192\u00c5\u00bdle de la Tortue (Turtle Island), Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s northernmost island, a 69-square-mile speck five miles north of the mainland. Three hundred and fifty years ago, its primary occupants were a band of European pirates called the Brethren of the Coast. The Brethren are gone, but the island doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t look much different today. There are few cars and even fewer roads; the only way to get there is by boat. But first Ben, Jeannot, and I must get to Saint-Louis-du-Nord, on the north shore of the mainland.<\/p>\n

After a two-hour wait for the six-seater plane, a one-hour flight, a stop for chicken and rice (Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s national dish), and an hour in the car, we finally reach the dock in Saint-Louis. Live goats hang upside on the sides of pickup trucks, and small tin-sided shacks sell lottery tickets linked to numbers drawn in the States or Venezuela. The sun washes out the colors, making everything look Instagrammed. A small motorboat with a suspect Yamaha engine is waiting for us. But there are two problems: it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s already late afternoon, and our hotel is here in Saint-Louis. Meaning we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll have to turn right back around from La Tortue\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009d90 minutes away\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dif we want to make it back before sunset.<\/p>\n

Jeannot doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t think we should go. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cWe won\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t have time to see him,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cWe should go in the morning.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cHow much time would we have on the island tomorrow?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cA couple hours,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says.<\/p>\n

After 12 years, I want more than two hours. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cCan we stay on the island?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask him.<\/p>\n

Jeannot and the pastor and the boat captain and a committee of men whose roles I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m not sure of converse in Creole. Ben whispers a translation to me.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThere\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s no hotel on the island,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThey don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t know where we can sleep.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m prepared to sleep on the boat if I have to. Eventually, their desire to please the foreigner outweighs their concerns. We go tonight.<\/p>\n

Shirtless men with sea salt dried on their backs carry us on their shoulders like children, 30 yards through the water to the boat. After nearly a week in Port-au-Prince\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s dust-choked streets and the endless mud of everywhere else, the water here is shockingly blue and clear. The captain spears a bit of meat with a hook and trails it off the boat, searching for fish. A dolphin briefly swims alongside us, weaving in and out of our wake.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"
Ervenson, 17, at his home. \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

 <\/p>\n

After 90 minutes, we reach La Tortue. Lush hills rise up from the sea. Giant trees line the shore. Boats bounce through the waves, their sails made of tarps, billboard scraps, old sheets, anything they can use. On shore, a small crowd waits for us. Pastor Eustache, a short bald man in glasses who runs the school and church here, shakes my hand. I am the first sponsor to visit this Compassion-supported school, and the community has prepared a welcome ceremony, he says.<\/p>\n

We walk through sandy paths lined with bamboo, until we reach the long, gray school. It feels like the whole village is here. I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m starting to get nervous about giving a speech when Jeannot says, \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cHere is the boy.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Ervenson walks in. I start to speak, but before I can say anything, his arms are around me. Everyone cheers, like we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re long-lost relatives on a daytime talk show. It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s exciting to see him\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dbut also awkward. He barely speaks English; I know only a few words of Creole. So every so often I reach over and pat his shoulder.\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0I am your friend, I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m sorry that I haven\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t written as much as I should have, and I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m really happy that you look healthy.<\/em><\/p>\n

In his last letter, Ervenson said that he recently bought a new pair of shoes with the money I sent. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cHey!\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I say, pointing to his white Dexter-brand shoes. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cCool shoes!\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d But he covers them up, pulling his jeans over them, like I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve made fun of them. Then he gets up and walks out.<\/p>\n

Where is he going? I think. Memories of the way kids made fun of my fake Doc Martens in middle school come flooding back. Or maybe he\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s embarrassed because his shoes are nicer than those on the other kids I see.<\/p>\n

When he finally reappears minutes later, he has changed shoes, though I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll never figure out why. He doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t make eye contact as he sits down next to me, so I put an arm around him.\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Hey man, cultural misunderstanding there. But we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re OK, right?<\/em>He half-smiles, like he has no clue what I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m saying but wants to be accommodating.<\/p>\n

After the ceremony\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009da half-dozen speeches, another song, an impressive breakdance performance by Ervenson and his friends\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dhe takes me to his home. We pass shacks with thatch roofs, fishing rafts made of bundled logs, and wood-beam ships in various stages of decay. The house\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s frame used to be covered in a plaster-like material, but it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s gone now, rotted away by time, sun, and seawater. Tin pieces cover gaping holes to keep out the wind, rain, and sand. The metal roof is rusted through in several places. The cement floor crumbles away. The family lives maybe 20 yards from the ocean, and the tide sometimes washes over the floor, forcing them to wait it out with neighbors until the water recedes.<\/p>\n

As I look around his house, my first instinct is guilt. Right now I have $200 tucked into various pockets and my shoes. I briefly consider giving it all to him. But we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve been cautioned by Compassion to avoid giving money on this trip. And part of me thinks, I gave $5,000\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dhow do they not have a decent house? Did they never get the money? Or is the rusted tin an improvement over a thatch roof? Did I not send enough?<\/p>\n

I set my backpack down on the floor and bring out a gift for him. A picture of my family.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThis is my mom, my sister, my brother, and my dad,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I say. Now that I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m here, the picture looks like exhibit A in First World wealth, with our electric lights and aluminum siding and a front door with a holiday wreath on it. So I quickly show him a picture of me and my girlfriend instead.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cDo you have a girlfriend?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cNo.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cNever?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cNo.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIs there any girl you want to be your girlfriend?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d The crowd giggles as Jeannot translates.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cI have seen some,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says, lowering his head and almost, just almost, breaking a smile.<\/p>\n


\n

As Ervenson and I talk through Ben and Jeannot\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s translations, I start to piece together a picture of his life. His father\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s only job is selling green wood to be made into charcoal on the mainland. The family mostly live on rice and beans, but sometimes they buy a chicken when they can afford it. They don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t have mosquito nets, so when the family\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dall 11 of them\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dsleep on the floor of this 150-square-foot house, they are sometimes bitten and contract malaria. Then they have to go to the mainland to get treatment. The pastor says that they\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re able to do that because of the money I sent, but I can\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t be sure he\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s not buttering me up.<\/p>\n

The insects already cover my arms and legs when the pastor says we have to leave, that we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll be staying at his house tonight. It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s only a five-minute walk from Ervenson\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s, but it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s as if I walked into a house in America. He has glass windows. There\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a large cinder-block wall surrounding his acre-plus property. His bedroom, which he graciously offers to Ben, Jeannot, and I, has a queen bed with a headboard, footboard, and mattress. There are two dressers, like you\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d see in any American home. His wife has maybe five dozen porcelain figurines spread on every flat surface available. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThis is the nicest house I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ve seen here,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Ben says.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

The next morning, Ervenson gives me a tour of the island. We see his school, with the broken tables and the benches made of planks set atop cinder blocks. We see the soccer field that floods in the rainy season, where Ervenson tells me he scored a goal from the opposite end of the field last year. We see the natural spring where Ervenson bathes before school, after school, and before bed. Through Ben\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s translations, we talk about his family\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s garden, an hour\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s walk deeper into the island, where they grow breadfruit, mango, spinach, beans, and potatoes.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIt\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s beautiful,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Ervenson says of his island. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cA beautiful little spot.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

Does he think he\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll have to leave this place if he wants to work? I ask.<\/p>\n

Maybe, he says. For a job. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cI would really like to work in an office,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d Ben translates. Then Ervenson says he has a question for me. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cCan I come visit you?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

It catches me by total surprise. I try to imagine Ervenson showing up in my tiny studio apartment back in the U.S. Sleeping on my couch. Trying to cook something on the stove while I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m at work. Deciding to stay permanently while he goes to college. It\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s selfish and un-Christian, but I can\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t imagine myself enjoying that.<\/p>\n

I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m pretty comfortable with the current arrangement of sending money, occasionally writing a letter, and keeping my distance. Which may be the problem with the NGO-donor relationship in general. When disaster strikes, it feels good to send money, whether it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s a tweet to the Red Cross or through an organization like Compassion. But most of us don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t want to go beyond that.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cWhat do I say?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask Ben in English, worried that Ervenson is picking up on my hesitation.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cI can say it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s difficult,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d says Ben. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cThat there are visas and documents that have to be signed. That it\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s not an easy thing.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cDo that,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I tell Ben. So he does.<\/p>\n


\n

Before I leave Ervenson, he walks me to the dock, carrying my backpack from his home, past the village market, and over the beaches so thick with shells, we have to watch where we\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2re walking.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cDo you think you\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2ll have a good life?\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d I ask. He takes a moment.<\/p>\n

\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cI have some hope for myself with my education,\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d he says. \u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c5\u201cIf I can finish this education and continue high school, I think that things can be good.\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00c2\u009d<\/p>\n

The trouble is, he doesn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t finish high school. For the next 17 months, I write him once a month, encouraging him to study hard, trying to do what Bruce Wydick, the developmental economist, says effective sponsors do. Then, in October 2013, I get an e-mail that says:<\/p>\n

Ervenson has left Compassion\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s program because [of] unjustified absence from program activities for two consecutive months. This means he is no longer able to be sponsored. Please know that your sponsorship made a difference in the life of this child, and even though he is no longer in the program, the love you have shown will continue to have a great impact.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"\"
Ervenson (purple shirt) and his family pose with the author in front of their family home. \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0Photo<\/em>: Ben Depp\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Despite the reassurance, I don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t know that it did have a great impact. I knew that high school was a stretch for him\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dhis teacher told me he was an average student. But the point of donating the money was to give him a better life. Ervenson got roughly $28 of my money each month. That\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s far more than the majority of his fellow Haitians make in a month. Some of that (roughly $6.25 per month) went to pay for school, and some went to books and school uniforms. Those things are relatively cheap in Haiti. What I don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t get is, how did the money not improve his life more than that?<\/p>\n

Maybe most of it went to higher tuition, which in turn put a new roof on the church or created jobs for teachers. And really, I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2d be OK with either of those. But when I look at Ervenson\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s home, at his father\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s life, at Ervenson\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s own future, it feels like the money failed. I believe Wydick when he says that, over time and a large enough sample size, Compassion helps people move into the middle class. Indeed, one former Compassion child is now in Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s Parliament.<\/p>\n

\n
\n
But I also know that this island is far removed from many of Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s most pressing problems, such as cholera, the earthquake, and deforestation. And still, the money did not lift him out of poverty. Maybe it takes time. Maybe it takes more money. I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m not an economist. I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m just a kid who\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dperhaps naively\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dbelieved that I could make a difference.<\/span><\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n

The money did what Jesus asked when he told his followers to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the sick, etc. But, as with most aid to Haiti, I don\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t think it will have a long-term impact, at least not in this particular case. His life will probably resemble his father\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s: he will work in the fields, he will collect wood, he will build a small house on his beautiful little island with views of the sea, and over time it will slowly, inevitably fall apart.<\/p>\n

When Ervenson left Compassion, I debated whether I would sponsor again. On the one hand, I\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2m still not comfortable with the evangelism, and I worry about contributing to Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s aid problem; on the other, I believe that the money\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0can\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0<\/em>make a difference, though there\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s no guarantee that it will. And then, less than two months after Ervenson left, Compassion sent me a letter from another boy named Widny. I didn\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2t request it, but it was sent all the same. Widny is nine years old. He lives on Haiti\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u201e\u00a2s southern coast, about 130 miles from La Tortue. He likes math and soccer and the color yellow. I grabbed a pen, and I wrote him back.<\/p>\n

Jonah Ogles<\/a>\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0is an associate editor at\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0<\/em>Outside.<\/p>\n

http:\/\/www.outsideonline.com\/adventure-travel\/caribbean\/haiti\/Does-Foreign-Aid-to-Haiti-Do-Any-Good.html<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n<\/article>\n<\/section>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

OUTSIDE ONLINE FRIDAY, JANUARY 31, 2014 My 13-Year Effort to Save a Boy in Haiti As a teenager, I began sponsoring a poverty-stricken boy in the Caribbean. Twelve years and thousands of dollars later I flew down to meet him\u00c3\u00a2\u00e2\u201a\u00ac\u00e2\u20ac\u009dand to learn if my efforts did any good at all. By:\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0JONAH OGLES \u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0\u00c3\u201a\u00c2\u00a0 A young […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[2,25],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-33012","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-apologetics_social_issues","category-ex_pastors"],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p2YMpS-8As","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"jetpack-related-posts":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33012"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=33012"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33012\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":33014,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33012\/revisions\/33014"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=33012"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=33012"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.jmm.org.au\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=33012"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}