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:

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...

Gwo Jean

So, we are still here in Gwo Jan. We are near Port au Prince but it feels very rural, with pigs, chickens, goats, etc. all roaming about. This past weekend we hiked to the top of a mountain--and we now know Haiti is all mountains. So going "up" the mountain mean going up and down almost equally to finally go....up. We relaxed at a guest house at the top and hung out with our new MCC co-workers playing a made-up version of Apples to Apples with our own words. The hike itself took about 4 hours each way and we were chased by storm clouds both up and down, and were finally caught in a downpour on our way "down" (read: going up mostly). We saw a nice forested area at the top with streams and waterfalls; overall, it was a really pretty place. (And we had a great time in all, despite the fact that Sharon was sick all night long on Saturday...there's nothing like trying to sleep in a tent with a dozen people around and having to get up every hour to vomit. Fun. She's better now, though.)

Since Monday we've been back at Gwo Jan with daily trips to Port au Prince. Today we wandered around a bit to see fair trade woodworkers and a supplier for 10,000 Villages. The day was exhausting even though we did nothing but sit and listen mostly, but I guess it is "trying" to listen and understand that is exhausting. For me personally (Bryan) the language training is difficult. I feel like I've been given the keys to drive after never seeing a car before and getting only a Cliff Notes version of drivers ed. I get really frustrated and just need to calm down and not be so hard on myself, but I feel like I should be learning faster, which makes it hard to calm down.

We are also having a "homestay" which means sleeping and eating with a family in the village. We've only been there for one night so far, so I can't give an average day's account as of yet, but maybe in the next post I will. Our schedule is mostly unknown to us, but I do know we are going to Cap Haitian on the 14th--so pull out your maps and check it out.