Finding Chika

Finding Chika Plot Summary

Introduction

In a world where love knows no boundaries, the story of a little Haitian girl named Chika and her unexpected journey with an American couple unfolds with extraordinary beauty and heartbreak. Born in Haiti just days before the devastating 2010 earthquake, Chika's early life was marked by loss and upheaval. Yet when a grave medical diagnosis brought her to the United States at age five, she would transform the lives of Mitch Albom and his wife Janine in ways they never imagined possible. Chika's story is not merely about illness or tragedy, but about the remarkable resilience of the human spirit and the boundless capacity for love that transcends blood relations. Through her infectious laughter, stubborn determination, and profound wisdom beyond her years, this extraordinary child teaches us what it truly means to live fully despite overwhelming challenges. Her journey illuminates the unexpected ways families can form, the beauty in everyday moments we too often overlook, and how a child's perspective can offer the most profound lessons about what matters most in life. As we follow their path together—from Haiti to Michigan to medical facilities around the world—we witness how one small life can create ripples of change that continue long after they're gone.

Chapter 1: From Haiti to Michigan: A Life-Changing Encounter

Chika Jeune entered this world on January 9, 2010, in a two-room cinder block house beside a breadfruit tree in Haiti. Just three days later, the catastrophic earthquake that devastated the country struck. Though her home collapsed around them, Chika and her mother miraculously survived, spending their nights sleeping in sugarcane fields under the stars. This early brush with disaster seemed to infuse Chika with the remarkable resilience that would define her throughout her short life. Tragedy struck again when Chika was three years old. Her mother died while giving birth to Chika's younger brother. In the aftermath, Chika was taken in by her godmother, who eventually brought her to the Have Faith Haiti Orphanage operated by Mitch Albom. From the moment she arrived, Chika displayed an extraordinary personality. She was bossy, confident, and full of life, directing other children like a tiny drill sergeant despite being among the youngest. She possessed a remarkable self-assurance, often posing with one hand on her jutting hip, wagging a finger in photos. For Albom, the orphanage had been an unexpected calling. After witnessing the devastation of the 2010 earthquake firsthand, what began as a relief mission evolved into a long-term commitment. Each month, he would travel to Haiti, greeted by the children's embraces and their unrestrained joy. As he writes, "It was adults who brought me to Haiti, but it was children that brought me back." The connection between Albom and the orphanage children grew with each visit, but his relationship with Chika would soon take an unexpected turn. In 2015, the orphanage staff noticed something concerning: Chika's face was drooping on one side, and she was walking with difficulty. After a series of medical examinations in Haiti, including an MRI that cost $750 cash—a fortune in the country—the diagnosis came back with devastating finality: "The child has a mass on her brain. We don't know what it is. But whatever it is, there is no one in Haiti who can help her." With those words, Albom and his wife made a decision that would change all their lives. They would bring Chika to America for treatment, the first child they had ever brought from the orphanage. Chika arrived in Michigan that June, experiencing hot water from a faucet for the first time. At Mott Children's Hospital, a more detailed diagnosis followed: diffuse intrinsic pontine glioma (DIPG), a rare and aggressive grade IV brain tumor with essentially no long-term survivors. The doctors gave her four to five months to live. But Albom and his wife refused to accept this prognosis. "She's a fighter," Albom told the doctors, "And if she fights, we're gonna fight."

Chapter 2: The Battle Begins: Confronting DIPG

The fight against Chika's brain tumor began with a surgery that would prove both physically and emotionally challenging. Dr. Hugh Garton, an experienced neurosurgeon, attempted to remove the mass entangled within crucial parts of Chika's brain. After hours of painstaking work, he managed to extract only about ten percent before deciding further removal would be too dangerous. For Albom, seeing Chika afterward—small and vulnerable on the gurney, with tubes attached to her body and a large white bandage wrapped around her head—was devastating. It was in this moment that his sense of control was obliterated, replaced by a foreboding realization that this challenge might be bigger than both of them. Following surgery, Chika began a grueling six-week radiation treatment. The steroids prescribed to reduce inflammation in her brain caused dramatic physical changes. Her weight ballooned from forty-eight to seventy-three pounds, her face swelled, and her appearance altered significantly. Yet remarkably, none of this diminished her spirit. Each day, she would slide into a massive machine, her head locked down by a helmet, enduring treatments that would terrify most adults. The radiation oncologists were astonished by her courage and her compliance during these sessions. The treatment appeared to work initially, with scans showing the tumor had shrunk by twenty-five to thirty percent. This success filled the family with cautious optimism. "She is going to beat this," Janine told Mitch. "Why can't she be the first?" But the doctors remained wary, warning about a potential "honeymoon period" where the tumor might appear dormant before potentially returning. Despite these warnings, Chika's walking improved, her facial symmetry returned somewhat, and she ran and danced with renewed energy. As conventional treatments offered limited hope, Albom and his wife sought alternatives. Their search led them to Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York, where Dr. Mark Souweidane was conducting trials of an innovative approach called "convection enhanced delivery" (CED), which placed a tube directly into the brain stem to deliver cancer-killing drugs to the tumor. This experimental treatment was risky—the consent forms listed paralysis and death as potential outcomes—but offered a new avenue of hope. In New York, Chika underwent the CED procedure, having a catheter inserted into her brain to deliver radioactive agents directly to the tumor. The treatment required such precaution that Albom and his wife had to stay behind a lead-lined wall when visiting her, wearing devices to monitor their radiation exposure. Despite its promising science, this approach, too, ultimately failed to defeat the determined cancer. Albom found himself growing defensive against medical pessimism, increasingly driven to explore every possible treatment option, conventional or otherwise. "If she fights, we're gonna fight" became their mantra, a promise that would guide their decisions through the difficult journey ahead.

Chapter 3: Moments of Joy: Living Fully Through Treatment

Despite the gravity of her condition, Chika approached life with an unwavering sense of wonder and joy that transformed ordinary moments into extraordinary experiences. When Albom and Janine took her to Disneyland—a trip planned after her radiation treatments when they realized "what are we waiting for?"—her reaction captured her unique perspective perfectly. Surrounded by the park's famous attractions, with Sleeping Beauty's Castle directly ahead, what captured Chika's attention first was a simple gray duck waddling out of a pond. "Look! A duck!" she exclaimed, chasing after it with wild giggles while the elaborate rides and attractions stood ignored. This ability to find delight in small wonders became one of Chika's greatest gifts to the couple. She drew them down closer to the ground, to her eye level, where the world revealed itself differently. They buried themselves in leaves, studied ants in the driveway, and made her first snowman. When Chika discovered something interesting, she insisted on sharing it: "You smell it," she would say, holding out a fragrant flower, or "You eat it," offering a chocolate candy. Her imagination transformed their swimming pool into an imaginary ocean between Haiti and America, where she would paddle back and forth "bringing rice and beans" between the countries. Music brought Chika particular joy. She had an exceptional singing voice and an uncanny ability to memorize lyrics. Sometimes she would belt out songs like Ethel Merman, throwing back her head as if performing for an adoring audience. Other times, she would sing softly to herself in the evenings. During car rides, she would insist on her own interpretations of classics—when corrected that the line was "female deer" not "email deer" in "Do-Re-Mi," she crossed her arms defiantly and declared, "It's my mouth! I can say what I want!" Food was another source of delight. Chika tried almost everything, from Lebanese dishes to salmon (which she called "pink fish"). Though Janine was strict about limiting sugar and processed foods that might feed cancer, Chika's childish cravings occasionally won out. Once, she hid a bag of Cheetos under a pillow, and another time she secretly devoured an entire basket of Hershey's Kisses during a car ride, later begging Mitch not to "freak out" when Janine tried to tell him about it. Even as her condition worsened, Chika maintained her spirit of adventure and joy. During their trips to Germany for experimental immunotherapy treatments, she viewed the wheelchair not as a limitation but as "a faster way to get places." She sang loudly as Albom pushed her through the streets of Cologne, drawing smiles from passersby. When they visited the massive Kölner Dom cathedral, her response was pure childlike wonder: "Oh, no, I never see something like THAT before." These moments of pure joy amid medical challenges became precious memories that Albom and Janine would later treasure, reminders of how Chika had taught them to find happiness even in the most difficult circumstances.

Chapter 4: Family Bonds: When Love Transcends Blood

The arrival of Chika in their lives forced Mitch and Janine to confront deep questions about what truly constitutes a family. In their late fifties, with no biological children of their own after twenty-seven years of marriage, they found themselves suddenly responsible for a five-year-old Haitian girl with a life-threatening illness. The transition was jarring—after decades of established routines, they now adjusted their lives to accommodate Chika's unhurried pace, her endless questions, her bath times and bedtimes, and her medical appointments. Their connection with Chika deepened in unexpected ways. When checking in at the children's hospital, Mitch was handed a visitor sticker with one simple word: "Parent." Though technically Chika's legal guardian, this label gave him pause, making him acutely aware of the complex relationship forming between them. Everywhere they went, people naturally assumed they were Chika's parents—at restaurants, in waiting rooms, at doctor's offices. The three of them became a unit, expanding from a couple to a trio, with Chika in the center of their newly formed constellation. This familial bond was tested when Albom visited Chika's biological father in Haiti. Fedner Jeune lived in a small one-room house with no door, drawing water from a pump, with no bathroom facilities. When asked about Chika's medical condition and treatment decisions, he repeatedly deferred: "Whatever you think is best, you do." Even when Albom asked the painful question about burial preferences should the worst happen, her father responded, "It doesn't matter. Whatever you think." The meeting left Albom feeling simultaneously like a substitute and yet profoundly responsible for Chika's wellbeing. This experience crystallized an important lesson: "I wonder if anyone has blind claim over a child, save for God," Albom writes. "Love determines our bonds. It always comes down to that." Though he and Janine had not brought Chika into the world, their devotion to her was absolute. When Chika once asked Janine who would help her out of her wedding dress if she needed to use the bathroom after getting married, Janine simply responded, "I will." It wasn't about blood relations or legal definitions but about being there, completely and without reservation. As Chika's condition worsened, these family bonds only strengthened. On difficult nights in the hospital, when Chika would cry out, both Mitch and Janine would be there, soothing her fears and assuring her of their love. They balanced medical vigilance with nurturing her spirit, refusing to let her illness define her childhood. When disagreements arose between them about treatment decisions—as inevitably happens when parents face a child's serious illness—Chika would intervene, shouting "OK-OK-OK-OK!" and waving her hands like a referee, demanding harmony. In one particularly poignant moment, as Mitch expressed frustration about a medical setback, Chika looked up with tears and whispered, "I don't know how to make you happy now." It was a heartbreaking reminder that even as they cared for her, she felt responsible for their happiness too—the essence of family reciprocity. Through these experiences, they realized that family isn't defined by paperwork or biology but by who shows up day after day, who carries you when you cannot walk, who stays through the hardest moments, and who loves without condition.

Chapter 5: Medical Journeys: From America to Germany

The quest to save Chika led Albom and his wife on a global odyssey of medical treatments, each new approach offering a flicker of hope against increasingly dire odds. After conventional treatments in America showed limited success, their research led them to Dr. Stefaan Van Gool, a Belgian immunology expert working in Germany who specialized in DIPG cases. His approach was novel—creating a vaccine from the patient's own white blood cells and tumor antigens to stimulate the immune system to attack the cancer. Though American doctors were unfamiliar with his practice, they encouraged the desperate effort: "If you think it will help, you should go." In autumn of 2016, they traveled to Cologne, Germany, renting a small apartment four thousand miles from home. The flat was modest—a small kitchen, sitting room, bedroom, and bathroom—with nineteen steps that Albom had to carry Chika up and down multiple times daily. The clinic itself was unassuming, located on the fifth floor of a multipurpose office building, with narrow hallways and thin walls. Yet Dr. Van Gool, with his straw-colored hair, ruddy cheeks, and horizontal smile, immediately won Chika's trust. The immunotherapy process was complex: first drawing blood, then infusing Chika with Newcastle virus (harmless to humans but deadly to chickens) to provoke an immune response. After five days, they would remove cells, modify them in the lab, and re-inject them as a vaccine. During infusions, they used modulated electro-hyperthermia, pressing a round pad against her head to transmit an electric field to the tumor area. Throughout these treatments, Chika remained stoic, watching movies on an iPad without complaint. Despite the medical focus of their trips, Chika found joy in exploring Cologne. Albom would push her wheelchair through the city streets as she sang loudly enough to turn heads. They visited the magnificent Kölner Dom cathedral, where Chika marveled at its towering spires. These moments of wonder punctuated the clinical routine, creating a strange juxtaposition of medical urgency and childlike discovery that characterized their time in Germany. They made three separate trips to Cologne for treatments. During one visit, Dr. Van Gool showed Albom and his wife statistics from his studies—graphs with black and green lines representing patient outcomes. Near the end of the black line, Albom noticed a string of red markings. "What are those Xs?" he asked. "Those are crosses," Janine whispered. "It means they died." The gravity of their situation became increasingly apparent. After their final trip to Germany in December 2016, Chika's condition deteriorated rapidly. An MRI at Mott Hospital confirmed "significant progression" of the disease. As Christmas approached, with a decorated tree and presents already appearing, her speech slowed, her eyes lost focus, and her sentences trailed off into whispers. The hopeful trips to Germany had not yielded the miracle they sought. In their final months together, they tried everything—resuming Avastin infusions, exploring peryllil alcohol inhaled through a nebulizer, valproic acid injected through her PICC line, and even a PMK inhibitor not designed for her condition. The medical file noted her deteriorating condition but added, "Nevertheless, her guardians continue to want to pursue active treatment..." That word—nevertheless—perfectly captured their determination in the face of overwhelming odds. Though the global medical journey ultimately could not save Chika, it demonstrated the lengths to which love will go in search of hope.

Chapter 6: The Lessons of Childhood: What Chika Taught Us

Through her brief but profound presence, Chika offered Albom and his wife lessons that transformed their understanding of life, love, and what truly matters. Perhaps the most fundamental shift came in how they experienced time. Before Chika, Albom had been driven by ambition and productivity, hoarding time for work and career advancement. With her arrival, everything slowed to match her unhurried pace—the way she examined her entire wardrobe before choosing clothes, her lingering breakfasts, her endless fascination with everyday objects. "The most precious thing you can give someone is your time," Albom reflects, "because you can never get it back. When you don't think about getting it back, you've given it in love." This realization came from watching Chika marvel at squirrels darting up trees, studying clouds from the window, or singing to herself in the evenings. Her presence forced them to decelerate, to be present in ways they had forgotten how to be. Chika also taught them about protection and vulnerability. As a journalist accustomed to controlling narratives, Albom had approached the orphanage believing his resources and determination could solve any problem. Chika's diagnosis shattered that illusion. Standing over her hospital bed after surgery, with tubes and monitors attached to her tiny body, he confronted a humbling truth: "You were smaller than me, yes. But what if this challenge was bigger than both of us?" This lesson in vulnerability—that some things cannot be fixed by will alone—was painful but necessary. Perhaps most powerfully, Chika revealed what "kid tough" really means. Unlike adults who might dwell on their limitations, Chika adapted with remarkable resilience. When her walking deteriorated, she crawled with determination. When her left eye could no longer close properly, she accepted the nightly ritual of eye drops and tape without complaint. During medical procedures that made grown-ups wince, she would simply ask afterward, "Can we do something fun now?" Her toughness offered a profound perspective: children don't categorize hardships as adults do; they simply move forward with whatever abilities remain. Chika also illuminated the nature of wonder. One morning, when Albom was pointing out red socks for her to wear, she considered them carefully before deciding, "I think I want the green ones... No, wait, wait. The blue." This deliberation over seemingly small choices reflected her complete engagement with life. She approached everything—from catching fireflies to unearthing a penny "treasure"—with full attention and delight. "Look!" became her constant refrain, pulling adults down to witness the world through her eyes. Most fundamentally, Chika taught them about love that transcends conventional boundaries. "Yours, not yours" became a meaningless distinction in the face of their connection. When asked why he had undertaken such extraordinary efforts for a child who wasn't "his," Albom realized he had never seen it as a choice. In one poignant moment, Chika looked at her arm next to his in a mirror. Rather than noticing their different skin colors, she simply pointed to a mole near his wrist and asked, "Mister Mitch, why do you have that bump?" The question captured her innocent perspective—differences existed, but they weren't barriers to belonging. Through these lessons and countless others, Chika gave Albom and his wife a precious gift: the chance to see the world through a child's eyes, where joy is found in small wonders, resilience comes naturally, and love knows no boundaries.

Chapter 7: Carrying Her Forward: The Legacy of a Child

In April 2017, after nearly two years of battling an illness that doctors had initially given her only four months to survive, Chika's journey on earth came to an end. On a fine spring morning, with Haitian music playing softly and photos of happier times displayed on a television screen, Mitch and Janine lay on either side of her in bed, holding her as her breathing gradually slowed. "We love you, Chika," Mitch repeated softly. "We love you so much..." In her final moments, Janine whispered through tears, "It's all right now, Chika... You can go be with your mommy in heaven." Chika was buried in Haiti on April 15, 2017. Her grave marker bore the words "MWEN SE PITIT BONDYE"—"I am a child of God"—a line from a song she had sung by herself one night in bed. At her funeral, the orphanage children gathered to share their favorite memories of her, including the simple observation that "she really liked to eat." They released three dozen pink balloons that drifted over the streets of Port-au-Prince, a vibrant farewell to a vibrant child. In a remarkable twist that spoke to life's cyclical nature, Chika's younger brother Moïse, then three years old—the same age Chika was when she first came to the orphanage—was brought to Albom by his guardian. The man explained that he had taken Moïse after Chika's mother died but could no longer provide for him adequately. Would the orphanage take him in? They did, and Moïse lives there to this day, along with Chika's sister Mirlanda, continuing the family connection in unexpected ways. Chika's impact extended far beyond her immediate circle. Emmanuel, one of the oldest children at the orphanage, decided to become a doctor after witnessing her illness, hoping to help other children facing similar challenges. When he and another orphanage graduate moved to American colleges on scholarships, they placed Chika's picture on their desk, carrying her memory into their new lives. The children at the orphanage still sing her favorite song during evening devotions, ending with a collective "One—two—three, good night, Chika!" For Mitch and Janine, Chika's legacy lives on in profound ways. "What you carry is what defines you," Albom reflects. "It can be the burden of feeding your family, the responsibility of caring for patients, the good that you feel you must do for others... Whatever it is, we all carry something, every day." His job, as Chika once plainly stated, was "carrying me"—a role that evolved into carrying all the children at the orphanage, a responsibility he describes as "the most wonderful weight to bear." Perhaps Chika's most enduring legacy is the redefinition of family she catalyzed. "Families are like pieces of art," Albom writes, "they can be made from many materials. Sometimes they are from birth, sometimes they are melded, sometimes they are merely time and circumstance mixing together, like eggs being scrambled in a Michigan kitchen." Through Chika, Mitch and Janine discovered that the conventional boundaries of parenthood—age, biology, nationality—matter far less than presence, commitment, and love.

Summary

At its heart, Chika's story illuminates a profound truth: love creates family, not the other way around. Through her seven brief years, this remarkable child demonstrated that the most meaningful connections in life often arrive unexpectedly, transforming us in ways we could never anticipate. Her journey from a Haitian orphanage to the Alboms' home in Michigan opened doorways of understanding about resilience, wonder, and unconditional love that continue to resonate long after her passing. From Chika, we learn to approach life with genuine curiosity and appreciation for even the smallest wonders—to notice the duck in the pond before the castle in the distance. Her unwavering resilience reminds us that human strength often manifests most powerfully in those facing the greatest challenges. Perhaps most importantly, her story teaches us that what we carry for others—the burdens we willingly shoulder, the responsibilities we embrace, the love we extend without conditions—ultimately defines who we are. As Albom concludes, "No matter how a family comes together, and no matter how it comes apart, this is true and will always be true: you cannot lose a child. And we did not lose a child. We were given one. And she was glorious."

About Author

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Mitch Albom

Author, screenwriter, philanthropist, journalist, and broadcaster Mitch Albom is an inspiration around the world. Albom is the author of numerous books of fiction and nonfiction, which have collectively sold more than forty million copies in forty-eight languages worldwide. He has written eight number-one New York Times bestsellers — including Tuesdays with Morrie, the bestselling memoir of all time, which topped the list for four straight years and celebrated its 25th anniversary in 2022. He has also written award-winning TV films, stage plays, screenplays, a nationally syndicated newspaper column, and a musical. He appeared for more than 20 years on ESPN, and was a fixture on The Sports Reporters. Through his work at the Detroit Free Press, he was inducted into both the National Sports Media Association and Michigan Sports halls of fame and was the recipient of the Red Smith Award for lifetime achievement.Following his bestselling memoir Finding Chika, and Human Touch, a weekly serial written and published online which raised nearly $1 million for pandemic relief, he returned to fiction with The Stranger in the Lifeboat, which debuted at #1 on the New York Times Bestsellers List after being #1 on Amazon. His much-anticipated new novel, set during the Holocaust, is coming in the fall of 2023.Albom now spends the majority of his time in philanthropic work. Since 2006, he has operated nine charitable programs in southeast Michigan under his SAY Detroit umbrella, including the nation's first medical clinic for homeless children. He also created a dessert shop and popcorn line to fund programs for Detroit’s most underserved citizens. Since 2010, Albom has operated Have Faith Haiti in Port-au-Prince, a home and school to more than 60 children, which he visits every month without exception.

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