We spent our first Christmas in Haiti in Port-au-Prince with the Depps and other friends - although not our Haitian friends, since Christmas is not that big a deal in Haitian culture. On Christmas morning we gave a ride to one of our Haitian partners as we headed to the city:
Bryan: Are you doing anything for Christmas?
Alain: Yes, but not tonight. I'm doing something on the 31st.
But that's New Year's, of course...
Click here for photos.
We're currently in the Dominican Republic, enjoying a few much-needed days at the beach. More when we return!
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Crèche, Haitian style
Because Christmas is nearly invisible in Desarmes (business as usual, endlessly sunny weather), I'm especially glad to have this crèche we picked up at a craft fair a few months ago:
There are lots of things to love about it. The way the wise man's belly shows while his arm steadies the load on his head:
All these other characters:
Who are they? I'm not sure, but to me it seems totally Haitian to have a bunch of people standing around watching whatever is happening. "We can't not look," as Jean-Remy says. And really: where would be a better place to show up and check things out than the infamous stable in Bethlehem?
I love that Joseph is holding a flower:
It seems much more fitting than the lanterns or staffs the Josephs of my childhood always held. It's like he's offering a gift of his own.
And I must admit, I love that Jesus looks like a little cracker-topper. It's probably about as close to a holiday-party canapè as we'll get this year.
There are lots of things to love about it. The way the wise man's belly shows while his arm steadies the load on his head:
All these other characters:
Who are they? I'm not sure, but to me it seems totally Haitian to have a bunch of people standing around watching whatever is happening. "We can't not look," as Jean-Remy says. And really: where would be a better place to show up and check things out than the infamous stable in Bethlehem?I love that Joseph is holding a flower:
It seems much more fitting than the lanterns or staffs the Josephs of my childhood always held. It's like he's offering a gift of his own.And I must admit, I love that Jesus looks like a little cracker-topper. It's probably about as close to a holiday-party canapè as we'll get this year.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
More from the Dominican Republic
Our last post detailed the trials of border crossing, but we thought we should also show you a little of what we did while there:
We spent time visiting the farms of a local community group.
Have you ever seen black pepper growing in a garden? This plot kept turning up new wonders: tangerines, sweet potatoes, spices, and passionfruit.
A mischievous Dominican horse.
Fields of oregano - it was like walking on deliciously-scented clouds.
Looks like even Santa had trouble getting a visa this year.
Sorry, I couldn't resist the cheesy ending!
We spent time visiting the farms of a local community group.
Have you ever seen black pepper growing in a garden? This plot kept turning up new wonders: tangerines, sweet potatoes, spices, and passionfruit.
A mischievous Dominican horse.
Fields of oregano - it was like walking on deliciously-scented clouds.
Looks like even Santa had trouble getting a visa this year.Sorry, I couldn't resist the cheesy ending!
Monday, December 8, 2008
Our weekend in the DR
This past weekend we took a trip to the Dominican Republic (which most people simply call "The D.R."). We had a fairly simple job: drive in, pick up some plastic cones that are used for starting seedlings in our tree nurseries, and return to Haiti with them. We went with Pancha, our friend and co-worker here in Haiti; she speaks Spanish and we hoped that with our combined powers we could accomplish the mission. Easy enough, right?
We left Port-au-Prince all smiles, with hopes and dreams of experiencing the well-developed vacationland on the other side of the border. There were rumors of smooth roads, hot showers, and stores stocked to overflowing. We had planned to leave early in the morning last Friday in order to get the border crossing over with as soon as possible. One problem: the truck went to the shop on Thursday to get a final look-over, and they decided it should get a new clutch. Okay. Truck should be done by 9am. We actually got the truck shortly after 9, miraculously, and departed around 10am.
An hour later, we arrived at the border. There we found a rope across the road and police standing around; as we pulled up to the stop, some people came up to the truck and asked for our passports. A cop comes over and looks at our papers. He told us there was a problem: the paper saying we have permission to drive the truck (on MCC letterhead, signed by our country representative) does not have a stamp. "Not sufficient," the cop snorts at us. "What?!"
"You need a stamp," he says again. "You can't pass."
Another guy now chimes in. "It's not a problem; just park over there."
We do, and he explains we need to pay the cop for this error in our paperwork. Okay, so we give some money for that; are we clear now? No, of course not. This guy now needs money to get our passports through immigration.
We finally got through the Haiti side to arrive at the D.R. border patrol. They say park, we park, they take papers, we stand out in the parking lot waiting for someone to finish eating lunch so he can stamp our passports, and then they ask for money to enter the country.
Well, we bought the necessary tourist cards ahead of time, but they are now missing. Where did they go? The guy that has been handling our passports is also missing. We express our displeasure about the missing cards and finally they reappear in the hands of passport handler: phew. But of course we just paid for new cards, so now those cards are useless for this trip. At least we'll have them for next time.
Are we free to go?
No, now it seems the insurance we have for the truck is not sufficient. Just pay this person some money, of course, and they can take care of that for you. Finally, after almost two hours, we leave the border area a little bit lighter in the pocketbook. We are all smiles again, happy to be away from people preying upon others and the disorder of the border. Everyone knows someone that can solve your problem, as long as you have just a little bit more money.
We arrived at our hotel, and it was amazing. We ate pizza and put our bare feet in grass (yeah for grass!). We got warm showers and slept in a nice bed (ah, the little things). The next morning we easily picked up the cones at a plastics manufacturing company, after which we spent the late morning and afternoon with the director of Floresta, Carlos Disla, and he packed the day with community visits, nursery visits, eating, and picking up a few things at a large store. He was amazing and gave us a lot of his time, energy, and patience.
Unfortunately we had to leave the next day, so we set off for Haiti early Sunday. We had no problem returning to the border: we even had time to stop at a beautiful clear swimming hole with a pool hall/bar next to it (with crazy-loud music, of course).
We arrived at the border again, this time thinking we could do everything on our own and not pay any "helpers" or "fixers." We got pretty far into the process: we paid a $20 exit tax, paid a little more to solve some "problems," and finally left the D.R. side again feeling a little taken advantage of but good that at least we made it through.
After driving a mere ten feet, we realized we had a flat tire. What? It was fine during the whole hour we sat in the parking lot, so why now? Well, we did have a fairly constant stream of demands for money from the kids that inhabit this weird no-country between the borders; we chatted with them a bit but didn't give any money because we were dealing with the frustration of the border "officials." Next time, though, we'll be sure to pay off the kids so they won't mess with our tires. So we fix the flat with no shortage of people wanting to "help," but at this point I'm getting pretty cranky as the offers of help seem to be thinly-disguised attempts to extract money from you.
So we changed the tire and drive the 1/2 mile between customs offices, which is nothing, just a dirt road along the water. We arrived at the Haiti side and quickly got our passports stamped to leave and are about to drive away when a "helper" flags us down and gets an official to look inside the truck. The questions begin about what we have and where we're going: "Well, this is an entirely different matter."
We then need to visit a battery of people, asking each what we need to do in order to leave and what needs to happen. This takes hours....yes hours, until finally they tell us we need to pay them 15,000 Haitian gourdes to enter Haiti with our purchases. That's about $400 U.S.
"How did you come up with that amount? What percentage are you using?"
"You don't work with the government so you don't need to know."
Well, surprisingly, we didn't have $400 in cash with us, so we called the guy that made this run last time. Nope, he never paid anything like that. Okay. So we call our country representative, and he talks to the "director" at the border and asks if we can send a check to them.
"No, of course not."
"Can he go to the customs office in Port-au-Prince and pay there so we can cross?"
"No, you can only pay cash here at this office. You can't pay at the head office in Port-au-Prince, this is a new tax here."
Right. So we plead and argue and beg, with no luck. They say they must take everything and keep it until we return with the money. Even better. So we beg and plead some more, but eventually they tossed everything into a huge steel shipping container. We wanted to take pictures of the whole thing so our supplies wouldn't disappear, but tempers immediately flared. "No! No pictures, we need to protect our workers!"
From what? "So do you even know how many cones you're taking from us?"
"Of course! That man knows!"
We ask that man... blank stare....
" He doesn't even know how many he took!"
"What country are you from?" the man asks.
"America."
"Of course! Americans! *&^ %$#@ #%^*&* !!!"
Of course they kept all our receipts and paperwork in a folder. They tore off a paper stub for us to claim our goods later: no name, no telephone number, just a 1" x 3" piece of paper with a number on it.
This is about 4 hours after arriving at the border. We are now mentally, emotionally, and financially spent. We want to leave, but over comes our "helper," the one who pointed our load out to the officials. He proceeds to ask for money for all of his "help." Of course!
We finally get out of the border area with the sun setting in front of us and an hour or so of driving in the dark in Haiti, which is about as fun as it sounds: it's an obstacle course of goats, cows, children, bikes, and pedestrians all using the road at night. We get back to the office, tired and grumpy, get some food, and try to laugh at the whole situation. We vow to never visit the D.R. again by car. Take a bus, catch a plane, or swim, anything besides driving yourself.
*Update*
The cones were all retrieved at the border two days later. Pancha and Joseph returned with money and the slip of paper but were met with more demands for paperwork and other documents. After talking/discussing/pleading with the officials ,eventually everything was returned.
Today (Dec. 13, 2008) the cones arrived in Desarmes. Finally.
Thanks, Pancha and Joseph!
We left Port-au-Prince all smiles, with hopes and dreams of experiencing the well-developed vacationland on the other side of the border. There were rumors of smooth roads, hot showers, and stores stocked to overflowing. We had planned to leave early in the morning last Friday in order to get the border crossing over with as soon as possible. One problem: the truck went to the shop on Thursday to get a final look-over, and they decided it should get a new clutch. Okay. Truck should be done by 9am. We actually got the truck shortly after 9, miraculously, and departed around 10am.
An hour later, we arrived at the border. There we found a rope across the road and police standing around; as we pulled up to the stop, some people came up to the truck and asked for our passports. A cop comes over and looks at our papers. He told us there was a problem: the paper saying we have permission to drive the truck (on MCC letterhead, signed by our country representative) does not have a stamp. "Not sufficient," the cop snorts at us. "What?!"
"You need a stamp," he says again. "You can't pass."
Another guy now chimes in. "It's not a problem; just park over there."
We do, and he explains we need to pay the cop for this error in our paperwork. Okay, so we give some money for that; are we clear now? No, of course not. This guy now needs money to get our passports through immigration.
We finally got through the Haiti side to arrive at the D.R. border patrol. They say park, we park, they take papers, we stand out in the parking lot waiting for someone to finish eating lunch so he can stamp our passports, and then they ask for money to enter the country.
Well, we bought the necessary tourist cards ahead of time, but they are now missing. Where did they go? The guy that has been handling our passports is also missing. We express our displeasure about the missing cards and finally they reappear in the hands of passport handler: phew. But of course we just paid for new cards, so now those cards are useless for this trip. At least we'll have them for next time.
Are we free to go?
No, now it seems the insurance we have for the truck is not sufficient. Just pay this person some money, of course, and they can take care of that for you. Finally, after almost two hours, we leave the border area a little bit lighter in the pocketbook. We are all smiles again, happy to be away from people preying upon others and the disorder of the border. Everyone knows someone that can solve your problem, as long as you have just a little bit more money.
We arrived at our hotel, and it was amazing. We ate pizza and put our bare feet in grass (yeah for grass!). We got warm showers and slept in a nice bed (ah, the little things). The next morning we easily picked up the cones at a plastics manufacturing company, after which we spent the late morning and afternoon with the director of Floresta, Carlos Disla, and he packed the day with community visits, nursery visits, eating, and picking up a few things at a large store. He was amazing and gave us a lot of his time, energy, and patience.
Unfortunately we had to leave the next day, so we set off for Haiti early Sunday. We had no problem returning to the border: we even had time to stop at a beautiful clear swimming hole with a pool hall/bar next to it (with crazy-loud music, of course).
We arrived at the border again, this time thinking we could do everything on our own and not pay any "helpers" or "fixers." We got pretty far into the process: we paid a $20 exit tax, paid a little more to solve some "problems," and finally left the D.R. side again feeling a little taken advantage of but good that at least we made it through.
After driving a mere ten feet, we realized we had a flat tire. What? It was fine during the whole hour we sat in the parking lot, so why now? Well, we did have a fairly constant stream of demands for money from the kids that inhabit this weird no-country between the borders; we chatted with them a bit but didn't give any money because we were dealing with the frustration of the border "officials." Next time, though, we'll be sure to pay off the kids so they won't mess with our tires. So we fix the flat with no shortage of people wanting to "help," but at this point I'm getting pretty cranky as the offers of help seem to be thinly-disguised attempts to extract money from you.
So we changed the tire and drive the 1/2 mile between customs offices, which is nothing, just a dirt road along the water. We arrived at the Haiti side and quickly got our passports stamped to leave and are about to drive away when a "helper" flags us down and gets an official to look inside the truck. The questions begin about what we have and where we're going: "Well, this is an entirely different matter."
We then need to visit a battery of people, asking each what we need to do in order to leave and what needs to happen. This takes hours....yes hours, until finally they tell us we need to pay them 15,000 Haitian gourdes to enter Haiti with our purchases. That's about $400 U.S.
"How did you come up with that amount? What percentage are you using?"
"You don't work with the government so you don't need to know."
Well, surprisingly, we didn't have $400 in cash with us, so we called the guy that made this run last time. Nope, he never paid anything like that. Okay. So we call our country representative, and he talks to the "director" at the border and asks if we can send a check to them.
"No, of course not."
"Can he go to the customs office in Port-au-Prince and pay there so we can cross?"
"No, you can only pay cash here at this office. You can't pay at the head office in Port-au-Prince, this is a new tax here."
Right. So we plead and argue and beg, with no luck. They say they must take everything and keep it until we return with the money. Even better. So we beg and plead some more, but eventually they tossed everything into a huge steel shipping container. We wanted to take pictures of the whole thing so our supplies wouldn't disappear, but tempers immediately flared. "No! No pictures, we need to protect our workers!"
From what? "So do you even know how many cones you're taking from us?"
"Of course! That man knows!"
We ask that man... blank stare....
" He doesn't even know how many he took!"
"What country are you from?" the man asks.
"America."
"Of course! Americans! *&^ %$#@ #%^*&* !!!"
Of course they kept all our receipts and paperwork in a folder. They tore off a paper stub for us to claim our goods later: no name, no telephone number, just a 1" x 3" piece of paper with a number on it.
This is about 4 hours after arriving at the border. We are now mentally, emotionally, and financially spent. We want to leave, but over comes our "helper," the one who pointed our load out to the officials. He proceeds to ask for money for all of his "help." Of course!
We finally get out of the border area with the sun setting in front of us and an hour or so of driving in the dark in Haiti, which is about as fun as it sounds: it's an obstacle course of goats, cows, children, bikes, and pedestrians all using the road at night. We get back to the office, tired and grumpy, get some food, and try to laugh at the whole situation. We vow to never visit the D.R. again by car. Take a bus, catch a plane, or swim, anything besides driving yourself.
*Update*
The cones were all retrieved at the border two days later. Pancha and Joseph returned with money and the slip of paper but were met with more demands for paperwork and other documents. After talking/discussing/pleading with the officials ,eventually everything was returned.
Today (Dec. 13, 2008) the cones arrived in Desarmes. Finally.
Thanks, Pancha and Joseph!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
A brief introduction to our house.
Here it is, finally. Our humble little house.
Not much to say, really; after about a month, we still have a love/hate relationship with the house. We love that we have a house to live in - but then comes the actual day-to-day living in a house. Dealing with two sets of neighbors carrying on a conversation over your house; trying to be back in our house before it's too late in the evening because the neighbors will lock the gate from the inside (and the gate is nearly impossible to open without injury from the outside); and the incredible amount of noise four adult turkeys can produce at 5:30 a.m.
On the fun side, we've started a garden on our roof! So far beans and pumpkins have sprouted. We hope they grow like crazy and shade the roof to keep it cooler in the summer (and produce food too, of course).
We have some running water and two electric lights in the house, which may sound pretty rudimentary but it's way more than most people have.
Enjoy!
If you were to look to the right, that would be our neighbor's/landlord's house, with whom we share a lakou (fenced-in yard). Our next gardening step is to plant ornamental bushes along the side of the house.
Fin
Not much to say, really; after about a month, we still have a love/hate relationship with the house. We love that we have a house to live in - but then comes the actual day-to-day living in a house. Dealing with two sets of neighbors carrying on a conversation over your house; trying to be back in our house before it's too late in the evening because the neighbors will lock the gate from the inside (and the gate is nearly impossible to open without injury from the outside); and the incredible amount of noise four adult turkeys can produce at 5:30 a.m.
On the fun side, we've started a garden on our roof! So far beans and pumpkins have sprouted. We hope they grow like crazy and shade the roof to keep it cooler in the summer (and produce food too, of course).
We have some running water and two electric lights in the house, which may sound pretty rudimentary but it's way more than most people have.
Enjoy!
If you were to look to the right, that would be our neighbor's/landlord's house, with whom we share a lakou (fenced-in yard). Our next gardening step is to plant ornamental bushes along the side of the house.
FinFriday, November 28, 2008
Thanksgiving.....in Haiti.
Sometimes you forget which holidays are American and which holidays are worldwide. Thanksgiving is an American holiday (in case you have forgotten - a few people asked us how they celebrate Thanksgiving in Haiti).
We've also made several assumptions about Christmas that turned out to be wrong (e.g., you don't work on Christmas). We almost lost Christmas this week - Sharon and I are supposed to go along on a teacher's outing to another part of Haiti, a trip originally scheduled for December 22-24. On Monday the environmental education team extended the trip to return the morning of the 25th. No one else seemed to mind, though we attempted to change the date:
Sharon: Is Christmas not a big holiday here?
Fritzner, one of our coworkers: Oh yes, it's very big.
Sharon: Then how is it possible to schedule work for that day?
Fritzner: Oh, it's no problem.
Sharon (referencing the biggest holiday in Haiti): So if we were scheduled to come back on December 31, and we extended one day...
Fritzner, chuckling: No, that's impossible. We couldn't do that. January 1 is a big holiday.
What could we do? We're trying to be culturally flexible, so we shrugged our shoulders and had a tinge of resentment as Christmas was canceled for us. But as we sat in our weekly team meeting and discussed the calender for December, our director raised his eyebrows as he heard the new date. He's scheduled to go on this outing as well, but (fortunately!) he's also planning to go to Christmas Eve Mass at 6pm on the 24th and needs to be back before Christmas Day. So, in short, he saved Christmas for us.
Back to Thanksgiving. We started assembling our Haitian vegetarian Thanksgiving menu a few days before the 27th. We went to the market and bought all that we needed: pumpkins, onions, potatoes, meloton, etc. Our menu consisted of pumpkin soup, freshly-baked rolls, green papaya salad, faux-apple pie (with the meloton), fresh pineapple, and fried plantains. Unfortunately, we were so busy cooking we forgot to take photos.
We had a few visitors from the upper echelons of MCC who are here taking a survey of Haiti's disaster management practices, and we were happy to share our dinner with them (there were even 2 other Americans in the group!). We also Skyped with Sharon's family, who were finally able to see us through the magic of a borrowed computer with a working camera. It still wasn't quite the same as being at home, especially because we were the only people in town celebrating and we worked a full day at the office and were all a bit tired, but it was worth the extra time in the kitchen.
This meal was also the unveiling of our new pressure cooker (!) which should help us stretch our tank of gas every month. One thing that I do find amusing is that we have 4 turkeys who live in the yard we share with our landlord. They are funny birds (although terrifying when perched at eye level and you are walking to the outhouse in the dark and don't see them until the last minute) and I laugh every time I see them walk past our door. Whenever people asked if we were going to eat turkey, I told them it wouldn't have been that difficult. As you might have guessed, there isn't yet a market for tofurkey here!
Before eating, we asked each person to name one thing for which they are thankful for this year. Though we are often frustrated with our life here, we found ourselves genuinely grateful for things like being able to eat food from the backyard (papayas, squash). For friends who are becoming good friends. For the chance to experience life in a culture so totally different from ours (who knew that the other side of the world is just off the coast of Florida?). For family and friends at home who are in our thoughts every day.
Well, I hope everyone in the U.S. had a great Thanksgiving (and Black Friday - get that economy going before we get back in 2011, ha ha).
Happy Holidays,
Bryan
We've also made several assumptions about Christmas that turned out to be wrong (e.g., you don't work on Christmas). We almost lost Christmas this week - Sharon and I are supposed to go along on a teacher's outing to another part of Haiti, a trip originally scheduled for December 22-24. On Monday the environmental education team extended the trip to return the morning of the 25th. No one else seemed to mind, though we attempted to change the date:
Sharon: Is Christmas not a big holiday here?
Fritzner, one of our coworkers: Oh yes, it's very big.
Sharon: Then how is it possible to schedule work for that day?
Fritzner: Oh, it's no problem.
Sharon (referencing the biggest holiday in Haiti): So if we were scheduled to come back on December 31, and we extended one day...
Fritzner, chuckling: No, that's impossible. We couldn't do that. January 1 is a big holiday.
What could we do? We're trying to be culturally flexible, so we shrugged our shoulders and had a tinge of resentment as Christmas was canceled for us. But as we sat in our weekly team meeting and discussed the calender for December, our director raised his eyebrows as he heard the new date. He's scheduled to go on this outing as well, but (fortunately!) he's also planning to go to Christmas Eve Mass at 6pm on the 24th and needs to be back before Christmas Day. So, in short, he saved Christmas for us.
Back to Thanksgiving. We started assembling our Haitian vegetarian Thanksgiving menu a few days before the 27th. We went to the market and bought all that we needed: pumpkins, onions, potatoes, meloton, etc. Our menu consisted of pumpkin soup, freshly-baked rolls, green papaya salad, faux-apple pie (with the meloton), fresh pineapple, and fried plantains. Unfortunately, we were so busy cooking we forgot to take photos.
We had a few visitors from the upper echelons of MCC who are here taking a survey of Haiti's disaster management practices, and we were happy to share our dinner with them (there were even 2 other Americans in the group!). We also Skyped with Sharon's family, who were finally able to see us through the magic of a borrowed computer with a working camera. It still wasn't quite the same as being at home, especially because we were the only people in town celebrating and we worked a full day at the office and were all a bit tired, but it was worth the extra time in the kitchen.
This meal was also the unveiling of our new pressure cooker (!) which should help us stretch our tank of gas every month. One thing that I do find amusing is that we have 4 turkeys who live in the yard we share with our landlord. They are funny birds (although terrifying when perched at eye level and you are walking to the outhouse in the dark and don't see them until the last minute) and I laugh every time I see them walk past our door. Whenever people asked if we were going to eat turkey, I told them it wouldn't have been that difficult. As you might have guessed, there isn't yet a market for tofurkey here!
Before eating, we asked each person to name one thing for which they are thankful for this year. Though we are often frustrated with our life here, we found ourselves genuinely grateful for things like being able to eat food from the backyard (papayas, squash). For friends who are becoming good friends. For the chance to experience life in a culture so totally different from ours (who knew that the other side of the world is just off the coast of Florida?). For family and friends at home who are in our thoughts every day.
Well, I hope everyone in the U.S. had a great Thanksgiving (and Black Friday - get that economy going before we get back in 2011, ha ha).
Happy Holidays,
Bryan
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Weekend in the Lost Kingdom
A post in two movements: our weekend as we experienced it and a revelation of how little we actually know about Haitian culture.
We had heard that the island of Lagonav was a difficult place to visit, so we weren't that excited when we heard that we would be spending a long weekend there to visit a partner, Lekol Komunite Matenwa Pou Devlopman (LKMPD), or the Matenwa Community School. We've also heard that Lagonav residents are among the poorest in Haiti, that communities are regularly wiped out by flooding, deforestation was almost total, and that traversing the island is so difficult that no accurate map of the interior actually exists.
Despite what we'd heard (and finding out last-minute that we'd be staying not at the school but with a family, which can be quite hit-or-miss), we found at least one corner of the island to be a charmed place. In Matenwa, there's an active reforestation program (Step 1: convince the community), people there seem to be habituated to blans (they made jokes! they didn't ask for money!), and being in the mountains was a cool and refreshing change (long sleeves! easy sleeping!).
Our coworkers wanted to take a fly-boat, so we soared across the 20 miles between the Haitian mainland and Lagonav (despite the one return to the dock because the boat was overloaded by a few people). We also wondered about the setup on the next boat over, a sailboat with a Toyota at the prow, and an engine to assist:
We also got to visit an artisanal collective, where we watched a woman working on a silk painting that will be sold in Boston. There we spied the following note from one demanding Deirdre, who wants details:
And sunsets! Usually the sun sinks quietly behind a mountain in Dezam, a fact we didn't realize until we saw the likes of this:
However, we started to realize that we have only scratched the surface of Creole in the following exchanges:
Me: How many children does your mother have?
Our host: My mother has 8 children. I have 6 sisters.
Me: So you have 1 brother.
Host: No, I have 3 brothers.
Me, adding frantically in my head: ??
Host (to her youngest sister, who looks significantly younger than our host): Go get the the picture of all of us.
The pi ti fi, returning: Here you go.
The photo, taken at a wedding, is of newlyweds, another woman, and three young girls standing in front of the adults.
A pause.
Host: Oh, these kids are actually nieces.
Later:
Host's husband: How long have you been married?
Bryan: About 4 years.
Me: How about you?
Host's husband: I'm 29 years old.
Since you're only getting my translation, which reflects my confusion, you can be sure a major cause of us misunderstanding was our insufficient Creole! However, we also had several awkward moments like these:
Saturday morning, 7:15 a.m.:
Sister of 6-to-9 Siblings: Oh, did you want breakfast before your meeting? Are you leaving now?
Bryan & me, not sure if that's what we should request, but also not knowing where else to buy food: Um... in a little while...
Twenty-Nine: Oh, you're leaving after you eat, right?
Sister of 6-to-9: Okay.
She disappears for about 45 minutes, while we stand around furiously whispering about whether we should wait for food and show up late to our scheduled 8:00 a.m. meeting (and, of course, we had no cell reception on the mountain) or whether we should assume she's not making food for us and we should try to find food somewhere along the way. Around 8:15, though, breakfast was on the table and we were on our way shortly thereafter. (And the people we were meeting were even later than that, so no harm done.)
In reflecting on the weekend, we realized:
1. When we stay in the homes of other Americans, there is a lot of attention to arranging details. "What time will you wake up?" "Will you be eating breakfast here?" When I ask, "Do you have toilet paper?" the American answer isn't usually, "Oh, do you need that? I didn't have time to buy any."
2. In the U.S., a boat driver who felt that the boat was overloaded by 3 people wouldn't let 4 new people board, then return to the dock and make several other people get off.
3. There are probably good and logical reasons for the above.
We realized that we've been taking our own culture for granted: even after being here for over 3 months, we still assume that being American is being part of a neutral culture, that being American is the norm. Seeing ourselves through others' eyes ("Why don't they understand family structures? Why are they so obtuse about mealtimes?") reminds me that American culture, however globalized, is still totally foreign in many parts of the world. Fortunately.
And LKMPD? It actually turned out to be a wonderful school with progressive programming for each grade. We briefly visited classrooms, observed a hands-on lesson about seed germination, and checked out the school's garden. Spending 8 minutes on the following is well worth your time:
We had heard that the island of Lagonav was a difficult place to visit, so we weren't that excited when we heard that we would be spending a long weekend there to visit a partner, Lekol Komunite Matenwa Pou Devlopman (LKMPD), or the Matenwa Community School. We've also heard that Lagonav residents are among the poorest in Haiti, that communities are regularly wiped out by flooding, deforestation was almost total, and that traversing the island is so difficult that no accurate map of the interior actually exists.
Despite what we'd heard (and finding out last-minute that we'd be staying not at the school but with a family, which can be quite hit-or-miss), we found at least one corner of the island to be a charmed place. In Matenwa, there's an active reforestation program (Step 1: convince the community), people there seem to be habituated to blans (they made jokes! they didn't ask for money!), and being in the mountains was a cool and refreshing change (long sleeves! easy sleeping!).
Our coworkers wanted to take a fly-boat, so we soared across the 20 miles between the Haitian mainland and Lagonav (despite the one return to the dock because the boat was overloaded by a few people). We also wondered about the setup on the next boat over, a sailboat with a Toyota at the prow, and an engine to assist:
We also got to visit an artisanal collective, where we watched a woman working on a silk painting that will be sold in Boston. There we spied the following note from one demanding Deirdre, who wants details:
And sunsets! Usually the sun sinks quietly behind a mountain in Dezam, a fact we didn't realize until we saw the likes of this:
However, we started to realize that we have only scratched the surface of Creole in the following exchanges:
Me: How many children does your mother have?
Our host: My mother has 8 children. I have 6 sisters.
Me: So you have 1 brother.
Host: No, I have 3 brothers.
Me, adding frantically in my head: ??
Host (to her youngest sister, who looks significantly younger than our host): Go get the the picture of all of us.
The pi ti fi, returning: Here you go.
The photo, taken at a wedding, is of newlyweds, another woman, and three young girls standing in front of the adults.
A pause.
Host: Oh, these kids are actually nieces.
Later:
Host's husband: How long have you been married?
Bryan: About 4 years.
Me: How about you?
Host's husband: I'm 29 years old.
Since you're only getting my translation, which reflects my confusion, you can be sure a major cause of us misunderstanding was our insufficient Creole! However, we also had several awkward moments like these:
Saturday morning, 7:15 a.m.:
Sister of 6-to-9 Siblings: Oh, did you want breakfast before your meeting? Are you leaving now?
Bryan & me, not sure if that's what we should request, but also not knowing where else to buy food: Um... in a little while...
Twenty-Nine: Oh, you're leaving after you eat, right?
Sister of 6-to-9: Okay.
She disappears for about 45 minutes, while we stand around furiously whispering about whether we should wait for food and show up late to our scheduled 8:00 a.m. meeting (and, of course, we had no cell reception on the mountain) or whether we should assume she's not making food for us and we should try to find food somewhere along the way. Around 8:15, though, breakfast was on the table and we were on our way shortly thereafter. (And the people we were meeting were even later than that, so no harm done.)
In reflecting on the weekend, we realized:
1. When we stay in the homes of other Americans, there is a lot of attention to arranging details. "What time will you wake up?" "Will you be eating breakfast here?" When I ask, "Do you have toilet paper?" the American answer isn't usually, "Oh, do you need that? I didn't have time to buy any."
2. In the U.S., a boat driver who felt that the boat was overloaded by 3 people wouldn't let 4 new people board, then return to the dock and make several other people get off.
3. There are probably good and logical reasons for the above.
We realized that we've been taking our own culture for granted: even after being here for over 3 months, we still assume that being American is being part of a neutral culture, that being American is the norm. Seeing ourselves through others' eyes ("Why don't they understand family structures? Why are they so obtuse about mealtimes?") reminds me that American culture, however globalized, is still totally foreign in many parts of the world. Fortunately.
And LKMPD? It actually turned out to be a wonderful school with progressive programming for each grade. We briefly visited classrooms, observed a hands-on lesson about seed germination, and checked out the school's garden. Spending 8 minutes on the following is well worth your time:
Monday, November 10, 2008
Sad things.
Being in Haiti has its ups and downs, and one of the things I dislike more than most is when you can't be with your family when loved ones die. My grandmother, Lois Thompson, passed away on Saturday after spending her final weeks at home with family and friends. Feelings of guilt creep in pretty easily for me, and I feel as if I should be home for this. Please remember her and my family in your prayers and thoughts.
Also, on Friday a school collapsed in Port-au-Prince. For a country that has ongoing daily problems with food security, unemployment, and the like, this is yet another tragedy. We were in the city this past weekend - market women are talking about it, and people are following the news as the search for survivors continues. Please pray for the families affected by this tragedy. If you want to read more about this, you can do so here.
Also, on Friday a school collapsed in Port-au-Prince. For a country that has ongoing daily problems with food security, unemployment, and the like, this is yet another tragedy. We were in the city this past weekend - market women are talking about it, and people are following the news as the search for survivors continues. Please pray for the families affected by this tragedy. If you want to read more about this, you can do so here.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
The great outdoors
Matt, Esther, and their daughter Gabriela (MCCers formerly working in our positions) are visiting this week, and introduced us to an amazing hike up through a river.
Gorgeous, no?
Hiking to a school in Wopisa this week, Friztner, Esther, and I discovered a pretty waterfall along the trail. This is one of the few places I've ever seen people actually drinking water from the wild.
Esther's pants are well-camouflaged, but you can see her forging ahead. Yep, that's the actual trail.
One of the unsung wonders of Haiti, a mapou tree.What's not to love here?
Monday, October 27, 2008
Still a city gal at heart
I'm still learning to look for nuance in the countryside, to recognize a dirt track as a legitimate thoroughfare, to spot a school in a slightly-larger-than-usual enclosure. (I have similar problems in the U.S. countryside. It's so hard to find things out there!)
In the meantime, one of our favorite things about Haiti is tap-tap decoration. (For those of you who need a refresher, tap-taps are trucks that provide public transportation throughout Haiti. They're often heavily loaded with people and goods--once we saw a woman riding with her refrigerator!--and have fixed routes and generally fixed prices.) For the most part, the tap-taps in the Artibonite Valley look like pickup trucks with extra seating in the back, but many of the ones in Port-au-Prince are one-truck parades.
On our most recent trip to the city, we spotted these beauts:
I'm still trying to figure out what that animal is on the side.
Che seems to be a popular figure: he makes not-infrequent appearances throughout the city.
More popular than Che.
Do those dollar signs count as second mudflaps?
Just amazing.
How can you not love these?
In the meantime, one of our favorite things about Haiti is tap-tap decoration. (For those of you who need a refresher, tap-taps are trucks that provide public transportation throughout Haiti. They're often heavily loaded with people and goods--once we saw a woman riding with her refrigerator!--and have fixed routes and generally fixed prices.) For the most part, the tap-taps in the Artibonite Valley look like pickup trucks with extra seating in the back, but many of the ones in Port-au-Prince are one-truck parades.
On our most recent trip to the city, we spotted these beauts:
I'm still trying to figure out what that animal is on the side.
Che seems to be a popular figure: he makes not-infrequent appearances throughout the city.
More popular than Che.
Do those dollar signs count as second mudflaps?
Just amazing.How can you not love these?
Sunday, October 26, 2008
This is a long one, so go to the bathroom if you need to, and get a drink and a snack
I've been reading a book titled African Friends and Money Matters. A previous MCCer said it helped a lot with her cultural orientation to her work in Africa and Haiti. I've been reading it over the past week.
In the past I thought of culture as the type of art, architecture, food, etc. that a culture produces. In many places we've experienced "culture" by eating the food, visiting museums, walking the streets, and looking at homes, and people-watching. I've thought of myself as a fan of foreign culture. The energy conservation and bicycling culture in the Netherlands intrigues me, narrow cobblestone streets in Lyon draw me in, and open markets in China are great fun.
This new book has opened up a whole new world to the word culture. Haiti has a distinct art culture, architecture, and cuisine. The underlying pressure on each of these is that there is not a lot of support in the way of money or government infrastructure. That being said, it seems many cultural traditions evolved from this reality and colonialism (of course).
In Haiti there are almost no governmental services or infrastructure. For example: If you have a bad road that is in need of repair, you don't wait for the township to fix it. Instead, you gather everyone together in the morning by walking the streets with a megaphone; as you work on the street, you extract tolls from those who want to pass by. (Sharon experienced this firsthand Friday morning.) In the U.S. we pay taxes so the roads are taken care of, trash picked up, poor given food, police walk the streets, etc. If you have never known of these services - and think they will never work effectively - you live in a different economic reality.
At some point in life, everyone everywhere needs or wants more than they have. In the U.S., we use credit cards, buy cars on loan, finance our houses or lawn tractors, get TVs on a 0% interest credit card at Best Buy, pay for college with student loans, etc. You then owe all of these institutions a monthly payment for...forever. Here none of that exists: you may be able to get a loan from a bank, but it's not common.
So what is the normal Haitian to do? They borrow from whoever they think has more than they do. Friends, family, and wealthy strangers are all viable options. They borrow from others as we borrow from lending institutions in the U.S. (present economic conditions aside). They generally have no qualms in asking someone for money. If a stranger on the street asked me for money in the U.S., most likely I would say no and be on my way. Here they see me and see Wealthy American That Most Definitely Has More Money Than He Needs so they feel just fine asking. It seems that anyone that has money is almost obliged to give it to others.
Being asked for money in Port-au-Prince is very common, and as in most other cities in the world, people keep on walking and going about their business. Where we live in Desarmes, the people that ask for money are your neighbors, co-workers, and business associates. You will see them almost every day for the next few years.
This is my current struggle and culture clash. My knee-jerk reaction to being asked for money is NO, but their knee-jerk reaction is to ask for money. In the U.S. if you lend a friend money, the friendship becomes very fragile, and it just may be ruined if everything is not paid back. Here, it seems that friendships are made by lending money and helping out; it's seen as standing in solidarity with that person. As the book notes, when you lend money, the recipient is then somewhat obliged to come and visit, possibly pay some of the money back, and when you are in greater need than he/she in the future, come to your aid. Friends are your savings account to help you in the future.
Sound easy? Well, reading this book has been helpful. Before this, when I was asked for money I quickly bristled and wondered if I had BANK stamped on my forehead. Now at least I can see it as a valuable quality of the culture. The difficultly now is piloting this foreign financial reality without offending too many people and without destroying relationships along the way.
Some things we have been asked:
Bonjour, Give me five dollars.
Bonjour, What do you have to give me?
Blan, give me ten dollars.
I know Haiti has its own unique culture and is not simply a small African country in the Caribbean. But it does seem there are many things in Haitian culture that can be directly attributed to its African roots, and many things in this book seem to be reflected in Haitian life.
In the past I thought of culture as the type of art, architecture, food, etc. that a culture produces. In many places we've experienced "culture" by eating the food, visiting museums, walking the streets, and looking at homes, and people-watching. I've thought of myself as a fan of foreign culture. The energy conservation and bicycling culture in the Netherlands intrigues me, narrow cobblestone streets in Lyon draw me in, and open markets in China are great fun.
This new book has opened up a whole new world to the word culture. Haiti has a distinct art culture, architecture, and cuisine. The underlying pressure on each of these is that there is not a lot of support in the way of money or government infrastructure. That being said, it seems many cultural traditions evolved from this reality and colonialism (of course).
In Haiti there are almost no governmental services or infrastructure. For example: If you have a bad road that is in need of repair, you don't wait for the township to fix it. Instead, you gather everyone together in the morning by walking the streets with a megaphone; as you work on the street, you extract tolls from those who want to pass by. (Sharon experienced this firsthand Friday morning.) In the U.S. we pay taxes so the roads are taken care of, trash picked up, poor given food, police walk the streets, etc. If you have never known of these services - and think they will never work effectively - you live in a different economic reality.
At some point in life, everyone everywhere needs or wants more than they have. In the U.S., we use credit cards, buy cars on loan, finance our houses or lawn tractors, get TVs on a 0% interest credit card at Best Buy, pay for college with student loans, etc. You then owe all of these institutions a monthly payment for...forever. Here none of that exists: you may be able to get a loan from a bank, but it's not common.
So what is the normal Haitian to do? They borrow from whoever they think has more than they do. Friends, family, and wealthy strangers are all viable options. They borrow from others as we borrow from lending institutions in the U.S. (present economic conditions aside). They generally have no qualms in asking someone for money. If a stranger on the street asked me for money in the U.S., most likely I would say no and be on my way. Here they see me and see Wealthy American That Most Definitely Has More Money Than He Needs so they feel just fine asking. It seems that anyone that has money is almost obliged to give it to others.
Being asked for money in Port-au-Prince is very common, and as in most other cities in the world, people keep on walking and going about their business. Where we live in Desarmes, the people that ask for money are your neighbors, co-workers, and business associates. You will see them almost every day for the next few years.
This is my current struggle and culture clash. My knee-jerk reaction to being asked for money is NO, but their knee-jerk reaction is to ask for money. In the U.S. if you lend a friend money, the friendship becomes very fragile, and it just may be ruined if everything is not paid back. Here, it seems that friendships are made by lending money and helping out; it's seen as standing in solidarity with that person. As the book notes, when you lend money, the recipient is then somewhat obliged to come and visit, possibly pay some of the money back, and when you are in greater need than he/she in the future, come to your aid. Friends are your savings account to help you in the future.
Sound easy? Well, reading this book has been helpful. Before this, when I was asked for money I quickly bristled and wondered if I had BANK stamped on my forehead. Now at least I can see it as a valuable quality of the culture. The difficultly now is piloting this foreign financial reality without offending too many people and without destroying relationships along the way.
Some things we have been asked:
Bonjour, Give me five dollars.
Bonjour, What do you have to give me?
Blan, give me ten dollars.
I know Haiti has its own unique culture and is not simply a small African country in the Caribbean. But it does seem there are many things in Haitian culture that can be directly attributed to its African roots, and many things in this book seem to be reflected in Haitian life.
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Some things to love
...about Haitian Creole.
Yes, language acquisition has been slow-going and difficult. This is despite the many times we heard that we could just "pick up Creole," which makes it sound as easy as buying a loaf of bread on the way home from work. Not so. However, I'm developing a fondness for the following:
The Bonjou Effect.
So there you are, walking along the road, and along comes a tough-looking fella on the left. He's muscular, wearing work clothes, and carrying a big machete over one shoulder. Face as impassable as the Schuylkill at rush hour. He's getting closer, still stoic, and you can almost see a fierce glint in his eyes. Just when you're about to pass each other, you say "Bonjou!" -- and he cracks the biggest smile you can image. "Bonjou, blan!" Totally transformed from Big Scary Guy to Guy Commuting to Work.
Bon.
Literally, "good." However, many Haitians use this as a transitional word, as in:
Me: Do you think we'll be back in time to go to the market?
Haitian: Bon. I think we might be able to go today.
I know it's roughly equivalent to "um," but I like to think of it as someone cheering me on. "You made sense in Creole! Good for you!"
M Renmen W.
"I love you." (Or "I like you," but let's not split hairs.) What I primarily like about this is the beautiful symmetry of the letters, and the fact that Creole lets you use single letters for all the pronouns. I suppose it's similar to writing "u" for "you" in English:
M: I
W: you
L: he, she, it
Y: they
N: we
It definitely livens up the alphabet! Speaking of which:
Alphabetization.
This is the word for literacy and literacy education. However, where this word is graffitied I like to read it as a person's fervent plea to arrange everything in alphabetical order. Forgive my inner librarian, but think of what a wonderful world that would be.
The Refrigerator is Walking.
In English, we say that things are running. The car. The fridge. The washer. (Although not the Internet, for whatever reason. That works but doesn't run.) In Creole, you can't say that machines kouri, run, but you can say that they mache, or walk. I don't know why, but walking sounds so much more physically specific to me. All these machines, getting around on their own two feet.
Ongoing Narration in Real Time.
When greeting someone, it's common to follow "hello" with a brief statement about what that person is doing.
Haitian: You're walking uphill!
Me: You're walking downhill!
And somehow it's much, much less annoying than reading billboards out loud on road trips.
Some Words That are so Useful, I Want to Bring Them Home With Me.
Degaje: Make it up as you go along.
Tet chaje: Total headache. What a hassle.
Nenpòt: It doesn't matter. Whatever's easiest. Not important.
Okay, back to degaje-ing just about everything...
Yes, language acquisition has been slow-going and difficult. This is despite the many times we heard that we could just "pick up Creole," which makes it sound as easy as buying a loaf of bread on the way home from work. Not so. However, I'm developing a fondness for the following:
The Bonjou Effect.
So there you are, walking along the road, and along comes a tough-looking fella on the left. He's muscular, wearing work clothes, and carrying a big machete over one shoulder. Face as impassable as the Schuylkill at rush hour. He's getting closer, still stoic, and you can almost see a fierce glint in his eyes. Just when you're about to pass each other, you say "Bonjou!" -- and he cracks the biggest smile you can image. "Bonjou, blan!" Totally transformed from Big Scary Guy to Guy Commuting to Work.
Bon.
Literally, "good." However, many Haitians use this as a transitional word, as in:
Me: Do you think we'll be back in time to go to the market?
Haitian: Bon. I think we might be able to go today.
I know it's roughly equivalent to "um," but I like to think of it as someone cheering me on. "You made sense in Creole! Good for you!"
M Renmen W.
"I love you." (Or "I like you," but let's not split hairs.) What I primarily like about this is the beautiful symmetry of the letters, and the fact that Creole lets you use single letters for all the pronouns. I suppose it's similar to writing "u" for "you" in English:
M: I
W: you
L: he, she, it
Y: they
N: we
It definitely livens up the alphabet! Speaking of which:
Alphabetization.
This is the word for literacy and literacy education. However, where this word is graffitied I like to read it as a person's fervent plea to arrange everything in alphabetical order. Forgive my inner librarian, but think of what a wonderful world that would be.
The Refrigerator is Walking.
In English, we say that things are running. The car. The fridge. The washer. (Although not the Internet, for whatever reason. That works but doesn't run.) In Creole, you can't say that machines kouri, run, but you can say that they mache, or walk. I don't know why, but walking sounds so much more physically specific to me. All these machines, getting around on their own two feet.
Ongoing Narration in Real Time.
When greeting someone, it's common to follow "hello" with a brief statement about what that person is doing.
Haitian: You're walking uphill!
Me: You're walking downhill!
And somehow it's much, much less annoying than reading billboards out loud on road trips.
Some Words That are so Useful, I Want to Bring Them Home With Me.
Degaje: Make it up as you go along.
Tet chaje: Total headache. What a hassle.
Nenpòt: It doesn't matter. Whatever's easiest. Not important.
Okay, back to degaje-ing just about everything...
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Looking around
Okay, in response to those who want more pictures, here are a few. (As a side note, loading these photos reminds me of my childhood when my brother and I would saddle up to the Commodore 64, throw in the 5" floppy disk of our favorite game, and hit the LOAD key. The gears would start grinding and we would usually play a game outside while we waiting for the computer game to load. Today, I hit "Upload Photos" and walked away, checking in every 5 minutes to see how it was progressing; after 20 or 30 minutes it finally succeeded in this gargantuan task. So, be thankful for your DSL or other high-speed connection.) Enjoy!
These little guys come hopping in whenever there is a lot of rain -- apparently, we've been getting too much rain for them.
This sleepy-eyed frog was napping in the clothespin bag when he was disturbed by me and my laundry duties.
If you remember the tank of a truck I get to drive, this is our loaner as the other truck gets fixed (it's apparently not a flawless tank). I have yet to bathe with this truck. ;-)
Sharon spotted this moth last night when she was on the computer. (Get it?)
These are the shoes that everyone here wears when they know they will be walking in mud, puddles, etc. One guy calls them doublè, which is the word for 4x4s: very fitting. They are completely rubber/plastic except for the laces.
These little guys come hopping in whenever there is a lot of rain -- apparently, we've been getting too much rain for them.
This sleepy-eyed frog was napping in the clothespin bag when he was disturbed by me and my laundry duties.
If you remember the tank of a truck I get to drive, this is our loaner as the other truck gets fixed (it's apparently not a flawless tank). I have yet to bathe with this truck. ;-)
Sharon spotted this moth last night when she was on the computer. (Get it?)
These are the shoes that everyone here wears when they know they will be walking in mud, puddles, etc. One guy calls them doublè, which is the word for 4x4s: very fitting. They are completely rubber/plastic except for the laces.
Friday, October 10, 2008
I really didn't want to see that.....
Last week, Sharon and I and a few members of our Desarmes team headed to Port-au-Prince for a few days of appointments and errands.
Desarmes and Port-au-Prince are only about 135 km (84 miles) apart but the trip takes about three hours. Some sections of the road are fine and you can clip along at 50-60 mph, then all of a sudden you slow and limp through in 1st gear going through potholes 4ft long and 1ft deep. As we approached Mouri (the town where an important bridge was destroyed in the hurricanes), we slowed because there was an accident: a smashed truck, a motorcycle in pieces, and a crowd of people.
We pull over and park. The crowd of people are looking at a body lying on the shoulder: the motorcycle driver, who is clearly dead. Our teammates hopped out; they explain to us that the dead man is from Desarmes and is on the Executive Committee of ODD (the committee that just had the elections). They asked, "Aren't you coming to look?!" I respond, "No, I don't want to, thanks."
As I sit and watch from the back of our truck for the next 45 minutes, pickup trucks full of people come racing to the scene to look at the body; tap-taps (public transportation) stop so people can look; everyone stops to look. One man hopped out to sell snacks and drinks to the growing crowd.
One of our team members came running back to the truck to get the camera so he could take close-up pictures of the body. We waited until the police showed up to remove the body, and then because we knew the man, we went to the local police station to give an accident report.
I'm still processing the whole event. Travelling on the road here is dangerous no matter how you go: trucks are always swerving to avoid potholes, goats, children, people, etc.; buses travel as fast as they want wherever they want no matter what's in their way. I guess it's sort of a stereotypical North-Americans-in-a-foreign-country story, but it's unavoidably startling to deal with a sudden, tragic death. Especially when our culture does not deal with bodies - when someone dies, we call Someone Else to come and deal with it. If someone dies in an accident, we cover the body with a sheet or a jacket or whatever we have.
And it's not that human life isn't valued here; death is definitely not taken lightly. However, it seems that Haitians are more up-front about death than Americans. Maybe it's too light to say that death is more a part of life here, but accepting death and grieving within one's community is an important part of processing loss.
On the other hand, the fact that over 700 people died in the floods in Gonaives seems to make people feel angry and wonder why more help wasn't given. Accepting death doesn't mean accepting the factors that contribute to people dying, or excusing those who may share responsibility. And maybe a crowd of people stopping to look at a body is an effective and sad reminder to drive safely and (for a totally cheesy ending) treasure relationships while we have them.
Desarmes and Port-au-Prince are only about 135 km (84 miles) apart but the trip takes about three hours. Some sections of the road are fine and you can clip along at 50-60 mph, then all of a sudden you slow and limp through in 1st gear going through potholes 4ft long and 1ft deep. As we approached Mouri (the town where an important bridge was destroyed in the hurricanes), we slowed because there was an accident: a smashed truck, a motorcycle in pieces, and a crowd of people.
We pull over and park. The crowd of people are looking at a body lying on the shoulder: the motorcycle driver, who is clearly dead. Our teammates hopped out; they explain to us that the dead man is from Desarmes and is on the Executive Committee of ODD (the committee that just had the elections). They asked, "Aren't you coming to look?!" I respond, "No, I don't want to, thanks."
As I sit and watch from the back of our truck for the next 45 minutes, pickup trucks full of people come racing to the scene to look at the body; tap-taps (public transportation) stop so people can look; everyone stops to look. One man hopped out to sell snacks and drinks to the growing crowd.
One of our team members came running back to the truck to get the camera so he could take close-up pictures of the body. We waited until the police showed up to remove the body, and then because we knew the man, we went to the local police station to give an accident report.
I'm still processing the whole event. Travelling on the road here is dangerous no matter how you go: trucks are always swerving to avoid potholes, goats, children, people, etc.; buses travel as fast as they want wherever they want no matter what's in their way. I guess it's sort of a stereotypical North-Americans-in-a-foreign-country story, but it's unavoidably startling to deal with a sudden, tragic death. Especially when our culture does not deal with bodies - when someone dies, we call Someone Else to come and deal with it. If someone dies in an accident, we cover the body with a sheet or a jacket or whatever we have.
And it's not that human life isn't valued here; death is definitely not taken lightly. However, it seems that Haitians are more up-front about death than Americans. Maybe it's too light to say that death is more a part of life here, but accepting death and grieving within one's community is an important part of processing loss.
On the other hand, the fact that over 700 people died in the floods in Gonaives seems to make people feel angry and wonder why more help wasn't given. Accepting death doesn't mean accepting the factors that contribute to people dying, or excusing those who may share responsibility. And maybe a crowd of people stopping to look at a body is an effective and sad reminder to drive safely and (for a totally cheesy ending) treasure relationships while we have them.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Mo' money
Okay, forgive me if I wax a little financial here.
On Thursday, MCC Dezam's Pwogram Edukasyon Anviwonmental (PEA) hosted a first-annual student conference to get them pumped about all things environmental. I think the conference went relatively well, but the thing that most impressed me was the food preparation. We were serving a morning snack and gwo manje for about 150 people, so there was quite a to-do.
We spent an entire day at the Dezam market securing provisions, which is always an expedition in and of itself. By the way, here's a brief explanation of Haitian money:
The current exchange rate of gourdes to U.S. dollars is currently about 39 to 1. However, back when the U.S. Marines were openly occupying Haiti in the first part of the 20th century, the exchange rate was 5 to 1. The 5-gourde note became known as the Haitian Dollar, and - you guessed it - things are still sold in Haitian dolas. So a fairly straightforward answer to my "How much is this?" - "37 dola" - produces a long pause from me as I frantically try to run the numbers. Thirty-seven times five divided by 39... So is that a good price? I can't ever tell.
Anyway, back to the konferans. They slaughtered three goats [hey, meat-eaters: is slaughter the technical term, or is there a more neutral word?] and prepared steaming vats of coffee and rice and bean sauce and a pickled-cabbage relish and juice.
I peeled shallots and washed dishes and tried to generally help out, but the whole time I was nearly bursting open, I was so impressed. In my brief Summer of Food Service, I discovered that cooking mass quantities of food in the U.S. generally involves opening a lot of cans. Here, it involved:
- Buying, roasting, and grinding coffee beans
- Shaving heads and heads of cabbage by hand, with a knife
- Sorting out tiny stones in the rice and then winnowing it
- As mentioned, preparing three goats from the ultimate scratch
- Making peanut butter
- Picking pecks of citrus fruit and hand-squeezing each and every one
That level of freshness qualifies this as gourmet, right?
Now imagine doing all of this at a primitive campsite without running water or electricity and over an open wood fire. Wow.
Here's where the money comes in. Maybe I'm coming into my honeymoon with Haitian culture a little later than expected, but I feel like I'm so impressed by their hard work and used-to-it-ness that I don't think of this lifestyle as a poverty situation. Like:
- You're more well-off if you have a concrete house than a tin-and-wood house.
- Having access to a faucet is pretty lux.
- Being able to take a bucket bath is better than having to bathe in public in the river.
- Who really needs constant electricity anyway?
- Gas stoves are almost over-the-top compared to charcoal and wood fires.
I know that poverty can be defined in relative terms, but I do feel like my perception about what qualifies a person as "poor" will change, courtesy of Dezam.
In fact, I am often uncomfortable with the idea of The Poor or Serving the Poor, because in a way it's an objectification that can dehumanize (or deify) individuals just as much as anything else. And I can even confess that, as far as Serving the Poor goes, it was easier for me to come to Haiti than to really engage with poor people in Philadelphia. Maybe that extra layer of cultural differences makes it easier for me to relativize poverty and see it less as something to which I - as part of the dominant culture - am personally connected.
Even here, it's easier for me to play peasant ("Washing clothes by hand! How fun!") than to own up to the fact that I still have far more resources than many people around me. In Philadelphia I was conditioned to not give money to people on the street (perpetuating dependency, there are so many social systems in place, enabling drug abuse, etc.), even though it seems like an easy fix, an easy way to feel better about having resources and sharing them.
The drawback is that giving money to people who ask for handouts does not feel good at all. I'm not opposed to sharing or helping people in need, but it feels ten times more awkward and self-demeaning to do that than to give money to someone in need who doesn't just ask for money because of my skin color.
On the other hand: given the legacy of colonialism that has long-favored people of European descent, should I just count mandatory giving as a white-privilege tax?
I still believe that one important way to responsibly use money is to seek out locally-grown and handmade items as a way to support the people around me who are part of our local economy. And of course, to make responsible choices about consumption.
On Thursday, MCC Dezam's Pwogram Edukasyon Anviwonmental (PEA) hosted a first-annual student conference to get them pumped about all things environmental. I think the conference went relatively well, but the thing that most impressed me was the food preparation. We were serving a morning snack and gwo manje for about 150 people, so there was quite a to-do.
We spent an entire day at the Dezam market securing provisions, which is always an expedition in and of itself. By the way, here's a brief explanation of Haitian money:
The current exchange rate of gourdes to U.S. dollars is currently about 39 to 1. However, back when the U.S. Marines were openly occupying Haiti in the first part of the 20th century, the exchange rate was 5 to 1. The 5-gourde note became known as the Haitian Dollar, and - you guessed it - things are still sold in Haitian dolas. So a fairly straightforward answer to my "How much is this?" - "37 dola" - produces a long pause from me as I frantically try to run the numbers. Thirty-seven times five divided by 39... So is that a good price? I can't ever tell.
Anyway, back to the konferans. They slaughtered three goats [hey, meat-eaters: is slaughter the technical term, or is there a more neutral word?] and prepared steaming vats of coffee and rice and bean sauce and a pickled-cabbage relish and juice.
I peeled shallots and washed dishes and tried to generally help out, but the whole time I was nearly bursting open, I was so impressed. In my brief Summer of Food Service, I discovered that cooking mass quantities of food in the U.S. generally involves opening a lot of cans. Here, it involved:
- Buying, roasting, and grinding coffee beans
- Shaving heads and heads of cabbage by hand, with a knife
- Sorting out tiny stones in the rice and then winnowing it
- As mentioned, preparing three goats from the ultimate scratch
- Making peanut butter
- Picking pecks of citrus fruit and hand-squeezing each and every one
That level of freshness qualifies this as gourmet, right?
Now imagine doing all of this at a primitive campsite without running water or electricity and over an open wood fire. Wow.
Here's where the money comes in. Maybe I'm coming into my honeymoon with Haitian culture a little later than expected, but I feel like I'm so impressed by their hard work and used-to-it-ness that I don't think of this lifestyle as a poverty situation. Like:
- You're more well-off if you have a concrete house than a tin-and-wood house.
- Having access to a faucet is pretty lux.
- Being able to take a bucket bath is better than having to bathe in public in the river.
- Who really needs constant electricity anyway?
- Gas stoves are almost over-the-top compared to charcoal and wood fires.
I know that poverty can be defined in relative terms, but I do feel like my perception about what qualifies a person as "poor" will change, courtesy of Dezam.
In fact, I am often uncomfortable with the idea of The Poor or Serving the Poor, because in a way it's an objectification that can dehumanize (or deify) individuals just as much as anything else. And I can even confess that, as far as Serving the Poor goes, it was easier for me to come to Haiti than to really engage with poor people in Philadelphia. Maybe that extra layer of cultural differences makes it easier for me to relativize poverty and see it less as something to which I - as part of the dominant culture - am personally connected.
Even here, it's easier for me to play peasant ("Washing clothes by hand! How fun!") than to own up to the fact that I still have far more resources than many people around me. In Philadelphia I was conditioned to not give money to people on the street (perpetuating dependency, there are so many social systems in place, enabling drug abuse, etc.), even though it seems like an easy fix, an easy way to feel better about having resources and sharing them.
The drawback is that giving money to people who ask for handouts does not feel good at all. I'm not opposed to sharing or helping people in need, but it feels ten times more awkward and self-demeaning to do that than to give money to someone in need who doesn't just ask for money because of my skin color.
On the other hand: given the legacy of colonialism that has long-favored people of European descent, should I just count mandatory giving as a white-privilege tax?
I still believe that one important way to responsibly use money is to seek out locally-grown and handmade items as a way to support the people around me who are part of our local economy. And of course, to make responsible choices about consumption.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
The truck.
Okay, so the boy in me is still impressed by large vehicles.
Aside from Jean Remy, I think Sharon and I are the only other people on our team that know how to drive vehicles other than motorcycles. Lately I've been doing a lot of driving--maybe Jean is tired of driving, or he thinks it's the one thing I can do, so he lets me do it.
Here's the machine, as it's called in kreyol. This thing really is a tank.
Aside from Jean Remy, I think Sharon and I are the only other people on our team that know how to drive vehicles other than motorcycles. Lately I've been doing a lot of driving--maybe Jean is tired of driving, or he thinks it's the one thing I can do, so he lets me do it.
Here's the machine, as it's called in kreyol. This thing really is a tank.
 |
| From Bryan & Sharon in Haiti |
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Animals
Okay, I like animals, so being here is one big search for wildlife for me. I've seen Red-tailed Hawks, American Kestrels, Black Vultures, Cattle Egrets, Snowy Egrets, Antillean mango and Hispaniolan Emerald hummingbirds, Hispaniolan woodpeckers, and a little bird called a Kolobri (pictured above) which is thought to be the prettiest of birds in Haiti.
Birding is somewhat difficult. When you ask someone the name of a bird they say "zwazo" which means "bird." On top of that, our bird guide for Haiti--unlike every other field guide in the world--is alphabetical. If I see a hawk, I need to already know the name of the bird or I have to page through the whole book looking for the correct picture. It's somewhat frustrating, but at least there is a guide.
Little-known fact: John James Audubon was born in Haiti.
Other animals I've seen but don't know species names for yet are:
lizards, snakes, spiders (including tarantulas), starfish, sea urchins, and lots of insects, including fireflies, dragonflies, mosquitoes, and--Sharon's favorite--ants. I have yet to be bitten and she, on the other hand, knows their bite all too well.
On the lookout--
Posted by Bryan, from Joy's account
The Vote is In
Yesterday we attended the annual meeting for ODD (Organization for the Development of Desarmes). They're one of MCC's partners here; they also plant trees, work with irrigation, and are trying to get a trade school off the ground.
At this meeting, they needed to vote in some new board members and new members for the oversight committee. After a long period of people nominating others (or themselves), we eventually had 7 candidates, 5 men and 2 women, for 3 open positions. Each candidate had three minutes to promote themselves before the election. Following the speeches, there is a brief silence and all heads look to us. I must have missed the announcement that they needed voting monitors. They thought we would do just fine.
A stack of notecards was produced, and I thought, "oh, those are the ballots and you write in the name of the person you like and that's that" -- nope, not quite that simple. The notecards were indeed for the candidates, but there was no writing in. Four candidates were represented by colored cards, one by bottlecaps, one by pebbles, and one by cardboard.
So into a dark hallway we went, with a basket at our feet. Each person came in to cast up to three votes, once for each open position. Theoretically, a person could toss in 1 pink notecard, 1 bottlecap, and 1 piece of cardboard. We were there to make sure they put in no more than three votes. We asked if someone could use all three of their votes for the same person, and one of the ODD officials said, surprisingly, "yes, that's not a problem." Well, it turns out that someone did cast three votes for one candidate -- it actually was Mr. Bottlecap, the candidate himself!
We emerged from the dark hallway with the basket of votes and hoped no rocks fell through the cracks as we carried it over. After we sat down, we asked Jean-Remy if it really was OK for one person to vote for the same candidate three times. His eyes widened, he clarified our butchered Kreyol and said "no, that is not allowed" -- paused and said, "We'll wait and see how the vote turns out. If there's a problem will address it later."
So the votes come in: 49 votes for Pink Notecard, 47 votes for Blue Notecard, and 29 votes for Bottlecap (ah! He's in 3rd place!), 4 votes for Cardboard, 17 for Pebble, 19 for White Notecard and...22, 23, 24, 25....votes for Green Notecard. So close! Mr. Bottlecap only wins by a hair if you take away his two illegal votes. Thrilling.
We thought it was a pretty ingenious way to allow people who may be illiterate to participate local politics, and we were impressed that they took it so seriously.
At this meeting, they needed to vote in some new board members and new members for the oversight committee. After a long period of people nominating others (or themselves), we eventually had 7 candidates, 5 men and 2 women, for 3 open positions. Each candidate had three minutes to promote themselves before the election. Following the speeches, there is a brief silence and all heads look to us. I must have missed the announcement that they needed voting monitors. They thought we would do just fine.
A stack of notecards was produced, and I thought, "oh, those are the ballots and you write in the name of the person you like and that's that" -- nope, not quite that simple. The notecards were indeed for the candidates, but there was no writing in. Four candidates were represented by colored cards, one by bottlecaps, one by pebbles, and one by cardboard.
So into a dark hallway we went, with a basket at our feet. Each person came in to cast up to three votes, once for each open position. Theoretically, a person could toss in 1 pink notecard, 1 bottlecap, and 1 piece of cardboard. We were there to make sure they put in no more than three votes. We asked if someone could use all three of their votes for the same person, and one of the ODD officials said, surprisingly, "yes, that's not a problem." Well, it turns out that someone did cast three votes for one candidate -- it actually was Mr. Bottlecap, the candidate himself!
We emerged from the dark hallway with the basket of votes and hoped no rocks fell through the cracks as we carried it over. After we sat down, we asked Jean-Remy if it really was OK for one person to vote for the same candidate three times. His eyes widened, he clarified our butchered Kreyol and said "no, that is not allowed" -- paused and said, "We'll wait and see how the vote turns out. If there's a problem will address it later."
So the votes come in: 49 votes for Pink Notecard, 47 votes for Blue Notecard, and 29 votes for Bottlecap (ah! He's in 3rd place!), 4 votes for Cardboard, 17 for Pebble, 19 for White Notecard and...22, 23, 24, 25....votes for Green Notecard. So close! Mr. Bottlecap only wins by a hair if you take away his two illegal votes. Thrilling.
We thought it was a pretty ingenious way to allow people who may be illiterate to participate local politics, and we were impressed that they took it so seriously.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Notable quotes
In church, last Sunday, the priest, introducing us:
"See these blan [white people]--do you know them already? No? See, they don't all look alike."
In a meeting, last Thursday, our coworker Frantzo, about me:
"She's a foreigner, so she expects meetings to start on time."
(Apparently my reputation has not preceded me!)
This morning, our day off, 6:10 a.m., Frantzo again, at the door:
"I called before I got here. Oh, are you sleeping?"
In a meeting, in front of 75 people, our coworker Jean-Remy, whispering:
"Can you say a little something now? Just tell them how much we like working with them."
This afternoon, the only other foreigner we've seen all week, shouting from his truck:
"Look! Two blan walking in the rain!"
Love. it.
"See these blan [white people]--do you know them already? No? See, they don't all look alike."
In a meeting, last Thursday, our coworker Frantzo, about me:
"She's a foreigner, so she expects meetings to start on time."
(Apparently my reputation has not preceded me!)
This morning, our day off, 6:10 a.m., Frantzo again, at the door:
"I called before I got here. Oh, are you sleeping?"
In a meeting, in front of 75 people, our coworker Jean-Remy, whispering:
"Can you say a little something now? Just tell them how much we like working with them."
This afternoon, the only other foreigner we've seen all week, shouting from his truck:
"Look! Two blan walking in the rain!"
Love. it.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Robot spaghetti vs. river
When you were younger, did you love going through the car wash? I did. I loved the spraying of water, the huge "spaghetti" slapping the windows, more spraying of water and the huge blower, and a huge robot eye that looks at you and apparently drives your car for you. Pretty cool.
Well, Haiti tops that by a mile. Today after hiking, working, and attending a funeral I was asked to drive down a little road next to the nearby river. We pulled alongside it, and I was then directed to drive into the river. We parked in about two feet of flowing water. We all hopped out of the truck, my co-workers and I stripped down to our skivvies, and we washed the truck in the river. We washed all the mud off, and when finished someone produced a bar of soap--we lathered ourselves up, scrubbed up a bit, and jumped in to rinse off. We put our clothes back on, drove out of the river and back to the office clean as a whistle.
I think any kid would enjoy this car wash a bit more than the dancing spaghetti robot. I did.
Well, Haiti tops that by a mile. Today after hiking, working, and attending a funeral I was asked to drive down a little road next to the nearby river. We pulled alongside it, and I was then directed to drive into the river. We parked in about two feet of flowing water. We all hopped out of the truck, my co-workers and I stripped down to our skivvies, and we washed the truck in the river. We washed all the mud off, and when finished someone produced a bar of soap--we lathered ourselves up, scrubbed up a bit, and jumped in to rinse off. We put our clothes back on, drove out of the river and back to the office clean as a whistle.
I think any kid would enjoy this car wash a bit more than the dancing spaghetti robot. I did.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
True confessions
There is a home church currently in session next door, which means:
1. A microphone
2. Huge speakers of typically low quality
3. A keyboard
4. Full volume.
So imagine church karaoke and that's what I am currently listening to.
But that's not what I need to confess. There's something else.
We used to listen to NPR programs most days--after work, or after church, or before work, or on weekends. Since arriving in Haiti we haven't listened to any of them. So today we sat ourselves down, cozied up to the fast internet connection, and listened to This American Life, Marketplace (you folks have got to work out those problems with the dollar), Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, and we tried to listen to Cartalk but that didn't work out. We continued our audio fest with Skyping family (yes, Mom and Dad...you were not home. Next time, though).
The true confession is that it was great. No one was looming behind us waiting to use the computer, and because we were all alone we could yell at full force into the tiny pinhole next to the monitor that Mac calls a microphone....yea!
And true confession #2:
We have installed a wonder-gadget on this blog to tell us who visits and from where and for how long they hang out on our blog. It's sort of scary what's available out there to track people on the internet, but it has proven to be interesting. Now I can say hello to those of you in Washington state, Texas, and the Netherlands, hola to the Colombians, and 你好 to those in China. It doesn't tell us exactly who you are, just the name of your town. Right now Norfolk, VA, and Philadelphia, PA, are neck-and-neck for 1st place at 26 and 25 visits.
Well, I actually have real work to do before it gets dark. Tomorrow I leave at 5am for a visit to a tree nursery, so I better get to bed soon.
One more small note of interest: the bridge between us and Port-au-Prince is still out, but when I asked Jean-Remy (my boss) how it was today he told me that he followed a few other trucks around the bridge and down to the river--where they then drove through the river. He said there was at least 3 feet of water moving pretty quickly. Haiti: where the impossible is possible, I guess. Who needs bridges to cross rivers?
Since Ben and Alexis were catching a ride with Jean Remy today, they may post some pics of this event. If we're in luck.
1. A microphone
2. Huge speakers of typically low quality
3. A keyboard
4. Full volume.
So imagine church karaoke and that's what I am currently listening to.
But that's not what I need to confess. There's something else.
We used to listen to NPR programs most days--after work, or after church, or before work, or on weekends. Since arriving in Haiti we haven't listened to any of them. So today we sat ourselves down, cozied up to the fast internet connection, and listened to This American Life, Marketplace (you folks have got to work out those problems with the dollar), Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me, and we tried to listen to Cartalk but that didn't work out. We continued our audio fest with Skyping family (yes, Mom and Dad...you were not home. Next time, though).
The true confession is that it was great. No one was looming behind us waiting to use the computer, and because we were all alone we could yell at full force into the tiny pinhole next to the monitor that Mac calls a microphone....yea!
And true confession #2:
We have installed a wonder-gadget on this blog to tell us who visits and from where and for how long they hang out on our blog. It's sort of scary what's available out there to track people on the internet, but it has proven to be interesting. Now I can say hello to those of you in Washington state, Texas, and the Netherlands, hola to the Colombians, and 你好 to those in China. It doesn't tell us exactly who you are, just the name of your town. Right now Norfolk, VA, and Philadelphia, PA, are neck-and-neck for 1st place at 26 and 25 visits.
Well, I actually have real work to do before it gets dark. Tomorrow I leave at 5am for a visit to a tree nursery, so I better get to bed soon.
One more small note of interest: the bridge between us and Port-au-Prince is still out, but when I asked Jean-Remy (my boss) how it was today he told me that he followed a few other trucks around the bridge and down to the river--where they then drove through the river. He said there was at least 3 feet of water moving pretty quickly. Haiti: where the impossible is possible, I guess. Who needs bridges to cross rivers?
Since Ben and Alexis were catching a ride with Jean Remy today, they may post some pics of this event. If we're in luck.
Friday, September 19, 2008
Our first day of work (!)
After about two months of getting oriented to Haiti (and wildly disoriented), learning Creole, and meeting new people, we were finally able to put in an honest day's work.
We rose around 6:00 to meet with the administrative committee for one of the local tree nurseries. Alexis, Pancha (MCC's Connecting People Coordinator), Bryan, and I split up to visit three nurseries. Bryan and I actually went together with Michelet, a Haitian MCCer, on motorcycles and moto-taxis. He dropped us off in front of a school and took off, leaving us standing there with a few men from the committee. I tried to inquire about where he was headed, but instead of asking "Where is Michelet going?" I accidentally asked "Where is Michelet from?" --and got the appropriate response.
He eventually returned and the meeting commenced. I feel like our Creole is definitely improving: we were able to follow most of what was being said, although certainly not all. Little by little...
Because we waited around in the morning, I thought it would be wise to take my book along on the afternoon trip to see a ti foret, a little forest or tree garden. We again hopped on motorcycles and headed up a nearby mountain. However, the motorized portion of our trip ended in a hike down a ravine to a river and up the hillside before we reached the forest.
Franklin, one of the staunch members of the reforestation team, helped us cross the river, which was higher than normal and moving pretty fast. Pancha had a great time crossing:
You wouldn't know it to look at them, but these kids were having the time of their lives splashing around in the river. "Photo mwen! Photo me!" It seems that Haitians do not smile for photos if they can help it. Happens every time.
The hike was absolutely gorgeous, despite the bruise developing on my shoulder from carrying a 600-page book along...
Michelet showed us the little nursery he has:
And last but not least, here's the cheesy photo taken of the new Dezam MCCers for the environmental education newsletter, going out next week. Hopefully we don't scare away any potential friends.
We rose around 6:00 to meet with the administrative committee for one of the local tree nurseries. Alexis, Pancha (MCC's Connecting People Coordinator), Bryan, and I split up to visit three nurseries. Bryan and I actually went together with Michelet, a Haitian MCCer, on motorcycles and moto-taxis. He dropped us off in front of a school and took off, leaving us standing there with a few men from the committee. I tried to inquire about where he was headed, but instead of asking "Where is Michelet going?" I accidentally asked "Where is Michelet from?" --and got the appropriate response.
He eventually returned and the meeting commenced. I feel like our Creole is definitely improving: we were able to follow most of what was being said, although certainly not all. Little by little...
Because we waited around in the morning, I thought it would be wise to take my book along on the afternoon trip to see a ti foret, a little forest or tree garden. We again hopped on motorcycles and headed up a nearby mountain. However, the motorized portion of our trip ended in a hike down a ravine to a river and up the hillside before we reached the forest.
Franklin, one of the staunch members of the reforestation team, helped us cross the river, which was higher than normal and moving pretty fast. Pancha had a great time crossing:
You wouldn't know it to look at them, but these kids were having the time of their lives splashing around in the river. "Photo mwen! Photo me!" It seems that Haitians do not smile for photos if they can help it. Happens every time.
The hike was absolutely gorgeous, despite the bruise developing on my shoulder from carrying a 600-page book along...
Michelet showed us the little nursery he has:
And last but not least, here's the cheesy photo taken of the new Dezam MCCers for the environmental education newsletter, going out next week. Hopefully we don't scare away any potential friends.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Off we go....
After much anticipation, we are finally scheduled to go to Desarmes (Dezam) tomorrow. Even though a bridge is still out at about the halfway point, we'll be met on the other side of the bridge by our Desarmes MCC team. The bridge is still passable by foot, motorbike and bicycle - just not vehicle. So today we tried to finish up loose ends here in Port-au-Prince (getting drivers' licenses, buying essentials, finishing laundry, etc.) so we can leave without too much unfinished business lingering around. Tomorrow we have to wake up early to try to finish up the last few tasks and be on the road by 11am. I'm a little skeptical that we will actually leave by 11:00, as we have a meeting with the bank early to see if our account is set up, have to meet with a partner organization, and then head back to the Drivers' License office for round #2 of getting the licenses.
Some people have asked us how hard things have been here since the flooding and hurricanes -and honestly, we ourselves have not been affected at all. We haven't even heard much of the news, as everything we hear is in Creole or French; even though we have been studying for a while, the most I can get is "flood, money, hungry, Gonaives, bad roads." (This is actually not too bad, as the DJs rapid-fire their Creole.)
Port-au-Prince hasn't skipped a beat, and it's hard to know what is really happening. It seems most people in the U.S. are getting more news than we are - today I got two e-mails about Matt Damon, and some internet searching revealed that he and Wyclef Jean were here on Sunday. It seems we are about one day behind the U.S. in news from Haiti.
Check out Ben and Alexis's blog for photos of the flooding in Gonaives. Ben drove up there on a fact-finding mission on Friday and was able to document some of what's happening. MCC is helping out with relief through some of its partner organizations here in Haiti, but I'm not quite sure exactly when they are doing what.
It's strange to feel that we are close to so much tragedy, but it still feels so far away. At the moment it feels like we can't really do anything directly, but we're open to suggestions.
Some people have asked us how hard things have been here since the flooding and hurricanes -and honestly, we ourselves have not been affected at all. We haven't even heard much of the news, as everything we hear is in Creole or French; even though we have been studying for a while, the most I can get is "flood, money, hungry, Gonaives, bad roads." (This is actually not too bad, as the DJs rapid-fire their Creole.)
Port-au-Prince hasn't skipped a beat, and it's hard to know what is really happening. It seems most people in the U.S. are getting more news than we are - today I got two e-mails about Matt Damon, and some internet searching revealed that he and Wyclef Jean were here on Sunday. It seems we are about one day behind the U.S. in news from Haiti.
Check out Ben and Alexis's blog for photos of the flooding in Gonaives. Ben drove up there on a fact-finding mission on Friday and was able to document some of what's happening. MCC is helping out with relief through some of its partner organizations here in Haiti, but I'm not quite sure exactly when they are doing what.
It's strange to feel that we are close to so much tragedy, but it still feels so far away. At the moment it feels like we can't really do anything directly, but we're open to suggestions.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Any Port-au-Prince in a storm
We've been trying to head out to Desarmes for the last week or so, but the recent hurricanes damaged roads and delayed our move until this coming Tuesday (si dye vle, if God wants). It's been nice to have a little more time to explore this complex city.
Some highlights:
-Wall murals of uplifting sayings by a somewhat mysterious organization.
-Paintings, and copies of paintings, for sale everywhere.
-Goats grazing on a little strip of grass at the gas station.
-Two amazing things that I haven't yet photographed: the ultracolorful tap-taps, the truck-taxis that are public transportation, and the painted portraits advertising hair salons throughout the city. Stay tuned.
-Frequent electricity. Frequent internet access.
-The fact that I think about Celine Dion every day, because the water trucks (think ice cream trucks) play the theme from Titanic loudly and often, on ice-cream-truck-quality speakers.
-Creole lessons with a professional tutor. Seriously. He wrote our textbook.
-Swimming pools at fancy hotels.
The following:
So, moving to Desarmes. The current plan is for us to drive to the river on Tuesday, cross a bridge on foot with all our stuff, and meet the reforestation team and their truck on the other side. Because we've heard that the market in Desarmes is still closed because of flooding, we're planning to take food for several weeks with us. It's unclear whether Ben and Alexis will come with us for a week or whether they'll postpone their visit even further.
The Artibonite Valley was definitely affected by the hurricanes, but definitely not as severely as Gonaives and other cities in Haiti. MCC is currently raising support for material aid: you can read their official press release here.
Some highlights:
-Wall murals of uplifting sayings by a somewhat mysterious organization.
-Paintings, and copies of paintings, for sale everywhere.
-Goats grazing on a little strip of grass at the gas station.
-Two amazing things that I haven't yet photographed: the ultracolorful tap-taps, the truck-taxis that are public transportation, and the painted portraits advertising hair salons throughout the city. Stay tuned.
-Frequent electricity. Frequent internet access.
-The fact that I think about Celine Dion every day, because the water trucks (think ice cream trucks) play the theme from Titanic loudly and often, on ice-cream-truck-quality speakers.
-Creole lessons with a professional tutor. Seriously. He wrote our textbook.
-Swimming pools at fancy hotels.
The following:
So, moving to Desarmes. The current plan is for us to drive to the river on Tuesday, cross a bridge on foot with all our stuff, and meet the reforestation team and their truck on the other side. Because we've heard that the market in Desarmes is still closed because of flooding, we're planning to take food for several weeks with us. It's unclear whether Ben and Alexis will come with us for a week or whether they'll postpone their visit even further.
The Artibonite Valley was definitely affected by the hurricanes, but definitely not as severely as Gonaives and other cities in Haiti. MCC is currently raising support for material aid: you can read their official press release here.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Jesus and Jay-Z
Once again I am here to write about things that are not earth-shattering but occupy some of my time here. With all of our newfound study time here in Port-au-Prince, our Creole teacher has been giving us fun and interesting homework assignments. Most recently he has asked us to pick Bible stories and re-tell the stories in our own words (our own Creole words). Imagine a six-year-old trying to retell the story of Jesus walking on water.
Well, the best part is that "Jesus" in Creole is spelled "Jezi" and is pronounced "Jay-Z." Jay-Z happens to be the name of a fairly well-know rap artist that I secretly listen to. The funny part is that I can't seem to shake the imagery; every time I hear someone say Jezi I only hear Jay-Z and picture Jay-Z the rapper in Bible times walking on water, feeding the 5,000, and speaking in parables.
This has not been all bad. Haiti is about 99% black, but most people here imagine Jesus as a white man with a beard. I think that in the 6 weeks we've been here I've been told at least a dozen times that I look like Jesus (I've had men shout it from passing cars, kids, teenagers.... almost everyone thinks I look like Jesus). I've been asked why all the images of Jesus are of a white man, and I have no answer.
So in my mind Jesus is a fairly large black man that raps in parables and had a hard-knock life. It works for me and I'm not trying to shake the image yet.
On another, more serious, note, some members of our team are going to some hurricane- damaged areas tomorrow and next week. They'll be distributing food, water, medicine and other essentials. Please pray for them as they will see a lot of devastation and only have supplies to help a handful of people. (MCC is currently raising funds to help more flood victims.) Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts during these past several hurricanes, and please continue to remember the flood victims here in Haiti.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Still in Port-au-Prince
Well, we wrote a few weeks ago that after a week in Port-au-Prince we would head to Desarmes to visit our new home. Well, as you have read or seen on the news, Hurricanes Gustav and Hanna hit Haiti. In PAP we didn't get much more than rain and some strong winds, not much to write about, but everywhere else got hit really hard, especially the low-lying areas north of us (Gonaives and St. Mark). Enough rain fell that both cities were totally flooded, and on top of this a dam in the mountains close to the Dominican Republic had to open up because it could no longer hold the rainwater. Needless to say, all of this water destroyed a lot of the Artibonite River Valley crops, which include: rice, bananas, plantains, corn and thousands of families' subsistence gardens. To make matters even worse, bridges have been destroyed so vehicles cannot get into these areas.
What does this mean for us? We cannot get to Desarmes yet, and for now we need to wait in PAP until the bridges are rebuilt and roads are passable again.
I've was expecting Desarmes to be different from PAP. Now with most gardens destroyed, it will certainly add to the severity of any problem that previously existed. But, as our Creole teacher just pointed out to me, Haiti is a place where the possible can be impossible--but the impossible is always possible.
What does this mean for us? We cannot get to Desarmes yet, and for now we need to wait in PAP until the bridges are rebuilt and roads are passable again.
I've was expecting Desarmes to be different from PAP. Now with most gardens destroyed, it will certainly add to the severity of any problem that previously existed. But, as our Creole teacher just pointed out to me, Haiti is a place where the possible can be impossible--but the impossible is always possible.
Sainte Trinite
Last Sunday we had the opportunity to visit the Cathedral Sainte Trinite, a remarkable church vibrant with murals interpreting Biblical stories in a uniquely Haitian way. Commissioned in the 1950s, this project "helped spark a renaissance of all the arts in Haiti" (Bessinger 1995).
The lighting was pretty low in the church, but these photos should give you some sense of the color and detail of the paintings.
(It reminded me of the Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, which those of you in the U.S. should visit if you're looking for a similar experience that's closer to home.)
The lighting was pretty low in the church, but these photos should give you some sense of the color and detail of the paintings.
(It reminded me of the Church of the Advocate in Philadelphia, which those of you in the U.S. should visit if you're looking for a similar experience that's closer to home.)
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Hanna
Rainy days are pleasant enough--until your house gets flooded.
Unfortunately, we've had hurricanes a-plenty this season. Port-au-Prince has been relatively undamaged by Hanna, but the storm is destroying homes and the countryside not too far north of here. Our MCC coworkers in the Artibonite Valley are okay, but that hasn't lessened our concern for the people of Gonaives, St. Marc, and elsewhere that the storm has been severe.
On Tuesday we ran a sort of fool's errand--one of our coworkers needed to pick up a package at the Baptist Mission, which is located halfway up a local mountain. Six of us piled into the truck and headed upward. It quickly became apparent that while the city was relatively becalmed, a full-on hurricane was happening just above our heads. Power lines were down, trees were sliding down the mountainside roots first, and the wind was definitely howling.
Several men took advantage of a downed power pole to create a little road block, asking for money in exchange for moving the pole (they did this as kindly as is possible while wielding machetes). We noticed that not every vehicle was receiving this treatment, so we decided to put our heads down, pretend we're not blan, and follow closely behind a big truck that had a free pass. That was a little unnerving, but more so was the downed power line that wasn't quite down--we squeezed the truck under wires dangling not far above our roof.
We made it safely down and back, and the experience was both exhiliarating and sobering. We're concerned about the people experiencing storms without safe retreats, and realize that things will probably get worse if Hurricanes Ike and Josephine both head through.
Our move to Desarmes has been postponed by at least two days because of the storms, so we're planning to head out on Monday instead.
Unfortunately, we've had hurricanes a-plenty this season. Port-au-Prince has been relatively undamaged by Hanna, but the storm is destroying homes and the countryside not too far north of here. Our MCC coworkers in the Artibonite Valley are okay, but that hasn't lessened our concern for the people of Gonaives, St. Marc, and elsewhere that the storm has been severe.
On Tuesday we ran a sort of fool's errand--one of our coworkers needed to pick up a package at the Baptist Mission, which is located halfway up a local mountain. Six of us piled into the truck and headed upward. It quickly became apparent that while the city was relatively becalmed, a full-on hurricane was happening just above our heads. Power lines were down, trees were sliding down the mountainside roots first, and the wind was definitely howling.
Several men took advantage of a downed power pole to create a little road block, asking for money in exchange for moving the pole (they did this as kindly as is possible while wielding machetes). We noticed that not every vehicle was receiving this treatment, so we decided to put our heads down, pretend we're not blan, and follow closely behind a big truck that had a free pass. That was a little unnerving, but more so was the downed power line that wasn't quite down--we squeezed the truck under wires dangling not far above our roof.
We made it safely down and back, and the experience was both exhiliarating and sobering. We're concerned about the people experiencing storms without safe retreats, and realize that things will probably get worse if Hurricanes Ike and Josephine both head through.
Our move to Desarmes has been postponed by at least two days because of the storms, so we're planning to head out on Monday instead.
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