Do You Feel Like Volunteering in Crisis Situations? That’s Not Enough
- creative-therapies
- Aug 26
- 6 min read
Updated: 7 days ago
by Isabella Cassina, MA, TPS, PhD Candidate
The events described in this crisis situation are true. Sensitive information has been intentionally omitted.
We left for Haiti one year after the earthquake of January 12, 2010. It was seven o’clock on a summer morning. We were volunteers eager to contribute to the recovery and well-being of that distant country, to feel useful and competent, to live an intense experience worth sharing with friends and family. None of us admitted it aloud, but each, setting aside humility for just a moment, believed we might make a difference in what we perceived as an unjust and cruel reality.
We landed in Santo Domingo and, the following day at 5:45 a.m., set off again toward Port-au-Prince, Haiti’s capital. After several hours of travel, we reached the border between the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Inside the bus, the air-conditioning was freezing; outside, the heat was suffocating. We got off for passport and baggage checks. Some people eyed us with suspicion, or perhaps simply with drowsiness. Just beyond the border lay a market: a jumble of colors and crowds, men repairing old motorcycles next to women selling anything and everything, some lying half-asleep in the heat among goods that seemed unattended.
Not long after, we entered the capital, stunned by what we saw. What was ordinary for the locals appeared to us as chaos and destruction: endless filth, burning fires, pungent unfamiliar smells, people with unreadable expressions. Everything gave the impression of a boundless shantytown. Darkness fell, and we were still on the road. Car headlights revealed silhouettes here and there in this corner of the world which the Père (the local priest) described as “forgotten by men but not by God.” Some believed him, others less so. Rain began to fall. The river was flooding, making it too dangerous to cross, so we spent the night in a makeshift shelter. We arrived the following morning, hungry and exhausted but eager to feel useful.
The countryside was different from the capital: still vast, but less chaotic. We had potable water, food, tables and chairs, bathrooms, a mattress on a classroom floor, and above all, countless ideas.
It was Sunday, so we went to mass; some out of faith, others simply because it seemed a good way to start building trust. In the days that followed, our activities began: visiting the sick and the imprisoned, delivering medicine and eyeglasses, helping to build the chapel, repairing the school bathrooms, distributing food, and observing the activities of the Haitian Youth Volunteers (hereafter, “the Youth”) with the children. I, along with others, wanted to focus particularly on this area.
“Sant’Egidio my looove… Sant’Egidio ma viiie…” The refrain of a song that had been echoing in my head for days. During activities with the Youth, the children sang the same songs endlessly, danced in circles, colored, and played with whatever they found in the streets. Math was memorized rather than understood; forgetfulness meant humiliation and corporal punishment. I was struck by how the Youth played with the children: not guiding them but almost competing with them.
After a couple of days of observing and joining their activities, we decided to propose something new designed to foster learning. After all, wasn’t that why we were there?
At our very first attempt, the session was cut short by a dance class held in the same room; children and Youth disappeared instantly. We tried again the next day, but no one seemed interested. The children would follow us for a few minutes before returning to what they knew best: singing the same songs on repeat and dancing in circles. The Youth encouraged them, and seemed to enjoy themselves even more than the kids.
Before departure from Europe, we had been told we could choose areas of activity based on our skills and interests, and that we would had the chance to exchange ideas constructively with colleagues working with the children. But something was off. Did they not know what we were doing there? Did they not share our perspective or simply not care enough? Did they feel threatened, displaced in their educational role? What did they actually expect from us—if anything?
We requested another meeting with the Youth, hoping to explain our concerns and perspectives, to discuss the children’s psychoeducational needs, the importance of tailored objectives in every classroom, and developmentally appropriate ways of interacting. Instead, what emerged was an outpouring of their personal problems and a repeated request for school supplies and salaries.
And there it was what they felt were their true needs. The truth is, we were offering something they had never asked for.
We were addressing needs we had defined ignoring theirs. We told them supplies would arrive in the coming days; they replied it would be insufficient, as there were far too many children. As for the other requests, we had no way to respond. They were disappointed and we realized they had no idea why we had come.
Few days later, we visited the waterfalls surrounded by breathtaking nature. Pilgrims came here seeking liberation from curses. Haitians believe in spells, in witchcraft, in zombies. A girl who had suffered excruciating headaches for months was said to “have the devil inside”, so no treatment was sought. A boy collapsed from exhaustion on the hot road, wrapped in a black cloth, was considered a zombie. He was abandoned to die, his illness and poverty deemed his own fault.
By mid-July, my companions organized a street-cleaning campaign because “clean places are healthier and more beautiful” they explained. They set up colorful containers for waste sorting. Few adults and adolescents joined them. Some children mocked them, pretending to collect trash only to toss it back around the corner.
A few days later, we visited the local prison during an annual commemoration. Women from the Parish House had prepared meals, and we helped distribute them. A dozen cells, arranged in a circle, held dozens of inmates each; arms and legs stuck out through the bars for lack of space. A single basin served as a toilet. We also distributed supplies: toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, sanitary pads, board games. Enough for everyone, but within months, all would be gone, and the cycle would repeat.
The end of our journey approached. The volunteer group reviewed the activities and, together with the Père, decided how to allocate the funds collected before departure.
By late July, we packed our belongings, said our goodbyes, and left. My mind, however, was full of questions. Unlike others, I did not feel at peace.
I thought of the man who, two days before Sunday mass, painted the church ceiling without covering pews or floors and then asked for help to scrape off the drips. Who was going to explain to him that there might be another way? But perhaps, it wasn’t essential to do so.
We had wanted to make quick, meaningful contact with the local colleagues, to have constructive exchanges right away, to solve some of their problems (how immature and presumptuous is this?). We did not succeed.
Acting only with your heart, leaving for the sake of “doing something, anything” in crisis situations is noble, but not always appropriate or effective.
On the contrary, some interventions can potentially do more harm than good. When you smile at a child and he smiles back, it feels like you’re in the right place at the right time. But the real question is: what do you actually give that child? When you return home, what remains for him?
We want to see crisis situations with our own eyes, to boast of our courage in traveling to a faraway place, to appreciate how lucky we are in comparison, to capture images for social media. But doesn’t this have a taste of selfishness? Some philosophers and thinkers say volunteering doesn’t truly exist, that it is simply an irrepressible need to satisfy one’s own desires. Maybe there is nothing wrong with that, but we must be honest with ourselves and others about what we are really doing and why.
Volunteers want to “improve the world”, even just a small part of it. But every change, however small, requires time, specific skills and competencies and, above all, the willingness and involvement of those directly concerned. The desire to volunteer in crisis situations, on its own, is not enough.
Isabella Cassina, MA, TPS, CAGS, is the Director of Project Management at the International Academy for Play Therapy (INA) based in Switzerland, Editor-in-chief of APTI's Play Therapy magazine and Founding Member of the International Consortium of Play Therapy Associations (IC-PTA). She is a Social Worker, registered Therapeutic Play Specialist, University lecturer, pursuing a PhD in Expressive Arts Therapy. She is an author and expert in International Cooperation and Project Development with 15 years of experience in contexts of crisis and high vulnerability in South America, Africa, East Europe, and Asia..
©2025 INA Play Therapy Press. Article n. 2 in the Series: Play is the Future
You’re welcome to share excerpts of this work with proper credit and a link back. Reproduction of the full content without written permission of the author is prohibited. This article was originally published by the online newspaper Radio Bullets on June 21, 2016. Translated by INA Play Therapy Press with permission for the Article Series: Play is the Future. www.radiobullets.com/rubriche/viaggio-ad-haiti-prima-parte
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