to ponder

the good the bad and the germy

About a week ago, MINUSTAH (the name of the United Nations mission in Haiti) came out to test our primary well from which we procure water for all things including drinking. Today they returned with the bad news: Our water is not potable nor will this source ever be - it's contaminated. Our "germ" and e. coli levels are above the normal standard.

Our short term solution is to borrow a potable water tank that the UN has generously offered. Our long term solution is yet to be determined but it may involve the expense of moving our well to a new site. Tomorrow I'll meet with MINUSTAH again to discuss other potential solutions and to give them a formal request letter for the tank.

We love working with the MINUSTAH guys and look forward to challenging them in another game of soccer.

volunteer ESPWA!

This is Nick. He’s a photographer and a dern good one at that. Two years ago, he began working with Espwa. He’ll be here for another year at least. This morning, he took a break from Photoshop-editing to get in a little morning stretch.Dan lives out at Castel-Pere with me. He’s been here for one year and will stay on for another two as Vistor and Volunteer Coordinator. If you’re thinking about coming down for a spell, he’s the man to talk to. Here he’s pensively listening to another Espwa employee.
Then there is Andy. He left us on Monday and will be sorely missed. He left some big shoes to fill: seriously awesome grant writing skills, baseball program and English classes. We had a big party for him on Sunday night and here he sits listening to the rap-poem that one of our kids wrote and performed for him. By the end of the month he’ll be in East Timor working with the UN.
And finally, me! I arrived at the end of December… the rest is yet to be written. We (now minus one) make up the core of long-term volunteers at Pwoje Espwa.

secrets

Haiti hides at night. The noises and the smells swell as the sense of sight fades away. In the distance, drums sound a rhythm. The almost palpable smell of nuts roasting drifts over the breeze and mixing with smells of body odor, diesel, and animal feces. Women laugh and men debate; children, hidden away for the evening, stifle giggles as they drift to sleep. Someone turns up a radio and kompa music, with its two-beat rhythm and electronic riffs, joins the mélange of sounds.

Palm trees stick out from marshy rice paddies and stand out like dark shadows against a midnight blue sky, from which stars glare boastfully down. Casiopia and Orion twist uncomfortably in the near-equatorial sky. A few dogs bark and some bitch stuck somewhere whines loudly. The percussion-al sound of roosters calling to one another commences near midnight. Magic becomes comprehensible in the velvet cloak of the Haitian night that hides all the nasty truths of the day.

does the sea call itself salty?

The Sisters of Charity have a compound here in Cayes where they work with the very ill and deformed. They work with the poor all over the world and so have a presence in the District of Columbia and can be spotted attending various urban Masses from time to time. Never before, however, had I the joy of seeing them at work, in their element. Their compound in Cayes is bursting with children and adults who smile and wave despite hunchbacks, handicaps, diseases and the like. We spoke with one of the sisters there; she had a tranquil way about her.

Encounters with people of this sort always leave me curious: Who were they? What were they like before dedicating themselves to a life of service? Who are they? Do they understand the positive impact they have on people's lives? What do they think? And, maybe, what do they think of me, if anything at all?
This morning one of Pwoje Espwa's long-term volunteers left. In a couple weeks he will be installed in East Timur as a UN volunteer. He seemed a bit listless during his last couple of weeks here. The kids will miss him, his friends will miss him, his coworkers will miss him. Hopefully he goes with the understanding that his thoughtfulness and sensible intelligence made an enormously positive impact on everyone he encountered.

One never forgets encounters with people like the Sister of Charity or this volunteer (who might cringe at being in the same category as a nun but should know he belongs there, for though their roles are different they both give selflessly to those in great need). A friend here, who also belongs in this category, shrugged when I called him a "good man" and said, "I can't say that. You can say that. Does the sea call itself salty?"

hell night

I had my first confrontation with a Haitian bug. It was a 24 hour hell. I hope never to experience it again but most likely, before I go, I'll meet another tomato with a bug just for me.

Thanks to the Dokte Cynthia's medicine and Dino's prayers, it didn't last very long.

art expo

The artisans of Pwoje Espwa worked hard this week. Honel, Chupy, Jonas, Jean-Remy, Gregory, and Mackenson all set up tables of their art – oil drum art, jewelry, paintings, painted canvases and wood carvings – for the visitors to peruse on Wednesday night. Each has his own style, some more attentive to detail than others, some with creative, unique flair. Today they forked over 20 pieces of their art of a board member to resell in the States. I tried to select carefully, some work from each artist. They won’t see money for a couple months, but the return should eventually make it all worth the small sacrifice. These guys have so much talent and practically nowhere to go with it. The local market offers few prospects for sale and our visitors are few and far between. The best they can hope for is some benevolent person to take great interest in their art and help set up an organization to resell. As I work with them, I try to instill a business sense and encourage cooperation. Eventually, perhaps, they'll be ready to sell on a larger scale. Check out some of their stuff…

kitchen personalities

Dino works in the kitchen. He’s between 17 and 19 and claims the latter. He attends school and is currently in the 7th grade. When we have parties, he pours the rum with a heavy hand and makes sure everyone has enough ice. He giggles a lot and always has a smile on his face in spite of everything. His mother is sick and today his father died. Still he smiles. Last night he kicked my butt at checkers.
This is George. He also works in the kitchen and helps Dino prepare breakfast. He is gentle, soft spoken and kind. One day, I walked into the kitchen and saw him sewing two little skirts. I asked if he could sew me a skirt. He said he would make me a blouse and skirt for $10 so I bought the linen in the market. Within a day he had sewn a blouse that fit perfectly. He took no measurements and made no pattern. Today’s he’s watching my puppies for me.
Then there’s Frankel. At 20, he’s in charge of the food at the quad; he runs the kitchen. Eventually he wants to run a restaurant and so he works hard toward independence. As a child, he was trained as a metal worker. He makes all kinds of jewelry. If I buy the gold, he’ll make me a delicate ring set with a ball of gold. He listens to his headphones, drives around in his motorcycle, cooks a mean lasagna and has a delicate but vibrant spirit. He’s very sick with sickle cell anemia.
I see these guys every day. Their efforts sustain my energy and their personalities sustain my spirits.

having "fun" in rural Haiti

If you do what you are meant to, you will always find joy. Life in rural Haiti IS fun. I am at peace here, in a profound way. Despite the poverty, the sickness, the desperation, I find great pleasure in being with and talking to my new friends, playing with the kids and seeing new places.

This will be a great learning experience for me and I feel as though I'll take away more than I can ever give. And even if I give my all, it will never be enough.

I love what I do here and so find happiness.

learning to love

Oreo is the chubby black and white one on the left and Bingo is the skinny spotted boy on the right. Haitian puppies. They are five weeks old (about) and not yet weened. They sleep under a garbage container with their four brothers and sisters and visit our quad daily. They've begun eating very mild "Laughing Cow" cheese from my hands; today was the first day they settled down enough to fall asleep with me. They are plagued with fleas.

Why, you might ask, would one waste their time with raising and training puppies in Haiti? Well, when you see kids (being kids) kicking, throwing rocks at and generally harassing things more helpless than they, you sort of want to change the status quo -- at least by example. So these will be the quad puppies -- kids will (hopefully) learn kindness toward weak creatures and eventually they'll be good guard dogs as well.

Children here tumble up -- if it's a tough life here for them, unimaginably so. Many of the kids at Espwa must learn affection in addition to all their other tough school and life lessons.

a great learning curve

Somewhere, buried deep, I have the strength to throw off this newfound, pressing weight. New friends (young and younger) with terminal illnesses, sick babies, middle-aged women with cancerous lumps, obviously troubled and needy children, a ridiculously bureaucratic and dysfunctional government, stubborn artisans with attitudes, heat, psychotic traffic and biting bugs comprise this weight. My wide-screen TV (the large opening above the quad through which I can see every star in heaven, even some falling ones) provides a some comfort. Yet, with my willing it or no, life continues here at a sometimes plodding and sometimes grueling pace.

Yesterday afternoon, some of us walked over to the new clinic to drop off supplies. A few kids followed us but soon came a small onslaught. Suddenly I found myself sitting outside in the setting sun, surrounded by loud, touchy and pushy boys who wanted to braid my hair, pick my mosquito bites, try on my bracelets and generally maul me. One tough guy decided he wanted to test my French so he handed me a French for beginners reading workbook. So I read allowed some little stories about “Ronaldo” and “Mariam.” Next, they threw an intermediate workbook my way and I read them Cinderella (in French). Finally, the advanced book: the history of slaves, masters and mulattos in the colony of St. Domingo. Oh – and I passed with excellence. Thank you Mme. Spittler!

This weekend I’m invited to play pool and have some beers with a few UN guys. They hail from Uruguay and have, in the past, done some humanitarian work for us. After another friend, also UN staff, helped me wine and dine them last night at the Bay Klub, we determined that there will be another soccer game between their boys and ours and they’ll come out to test our water again. On a purely selfish level, I’m just glad to chat with some Spanish speakers.

Standing outside this morning after breakfast, enjoying the warm breeze in the shade gave me a great sense of peace. Haiti’s beauty, with all its flaws, still tugs my heartstrings. Though I knew that somewhere around the next tree or corner laid the next great challenge, I felt momentary comfort.

Teaching Questions and Learning Life

(POST FROM JANUARY 11, 2007 -- INTERNET DIDN'T WORK YESTERDAY)

Today, the students learned (I hope) question words and phrases: who, what, when, why, where, how.

Today, I learned that teaching kids to question can be very, very dangerous (as in Pandora’s Box).

To eliminate the noise factor, one of the Haitian teachers stood “on guard” at the window of the classroom. The kids sat in relative quiet for the duration of the class. The challenge, then, became coming up with plausible and understandable practice examples. I had a sketchy lesson plan but of course wanted the kids to come up with their own examples too. There’s the rub!
After going over the meaning of each question word (French ESSENTIAL here), I laid out some basic examples of each. I wrote out and asked several questions and then had the kids to try making some questions up themselves. For each question I posed, there came a smattering of responses from the logical to the illogical, from the poorly structured phrase to the relatively eloquent but poorly pronounced phrase. Finally, they practiced a little themselves.

Here is basically how it went and followed by the resulting profound realizations:

“When do you have class?” – my question
“At 8 o’clock.” – good response

“When do you leave Haiti?” – their question
“I leave Haiti in 6 months.” – my response
Sociological analysis: kids here often want to know when people are leaving because they are accustomed to abandonment.
Lesson learned: Mean what you say.

“Why are you sad?” – my (stupid) question
“Because my mother is dead.” – response 1
“Because I have no money.” – response 2
Sociological analysis: The teacher, not yet in a “Haitian” frame of mind, asked a profound question only to find the kids surprisingly honest in their responses to a heartbreaking degree.
Lesson learned: The American manner of obfuscating conversational responses for the purpose of social appeasement does is not in style here in Haiti.

“Why do you love Haiti?” – student question
“Why do you love the boy?” – student question
“Why do you love the Haitian boy? – student question
Sociological analysis: Why is a dangerous line of questioning in any language and adolescent boys only think about one thing. As for the first question, “why do you love Haiti?” well, that’s a common question Haitians ask of visitors. One can only begin to understand why.
Lesson learned: Uhhh, change the subject.

“How are you doing?” – my question
“I am fine.” – student response
“How do you _____?” – my unfinished question, which I quickly filled in…
“How do you dance kompa?” – my brilliant epiphany
a boy near the front stands up and begins dancing, to show me, then asks me if I’ll dance with him.
Sociological analysis: How is a dangerous line of questioning in any language and adolescent boys only think about one thing.
Lesson learned: Uhhh, change the subject.

Overall lesson learned: I am so painfully under-qualified to do this.

Teaching a class of Haitian eighth-graders becomes a greater learning experience for the teacher than the students. While I struggle to find new and better ways to make my instruction clearer, my mind works in overdrive to simultaneously take in the little lessons my students will teach me. If only I, like my spanking brand new MacBook Pro, had a dual core processor. Instead, I will have to make time for reflection some time this week… Maybe after the shrimp feast tonight.

the road travelled

Haitians pack into cars and trucks. They also overload dump trucks used for hauling rocks, bottles, wood and people. Rarely does a car make it far down a road without friends and acquaintances hailing a “lib” (free ride). The roads mostly suck too; except for the one that the Taiwanese helped build. This makes for rather precarious situations, as one would imagine. Today, on the rocky dirt road leading to our property (shown above during a dry spell so imagine it now, after a night of torrential rain), a large dump truck tipped over trying to carry a heavy load of cement and rocks. The debacle blocked the cars coming out to the farm from town. Since no one could see what happened at first, rumor had it that the surrounding villagers had dug a trench in the road in protest (they want Pwoje Espwa to fix the road and show their annoyance rather aggressively at times).After breakfast, we made it out of the farm slowly because we got stuck behind an enormous dump truck filled sky high with people and stuff (picture not possible, unfortunately). It looked, at every rut, as though it might tip over, spilling Haitians off the top and into the roadside canals. This happens at times, but when you see the state of even the paved roads and the bridges, one must marvel that it doesn’t happen far more.

This picture shows an unfinished bridge on the Taiwan-Haitian road.
This picture shows a slow attempt to improve another bridge.

Struggling Through

In the directors office of the secondary school sit three good-looking men wearing white pressed shirts and ties – “all tied up,” Andy says. The second class of the day ends at 9am and they take a break before stirring to supervise kids at the beginning of the next class. They are each good-looking, in their own way – one has angled features and a muscular frame, one has creamy skin and large, long-lashed eyes, one has a healthy physique, freckles and bright hazel eyes. Happily, one sacrifices a chair. From this perspective, teaching does not seem too daunting.

Then the 9am bell rings. Andy and I walk into a rowdy class of kids. The lesson plan: I introduce myself and then the kids take turns telling their names, where they are from and what they did for Christmas. This took an hour. Between one boy making kissy faces at me, another listening to music, another refusing to speak anything but Kreyol and others shouting across the classroom, not too much was accomplished. Andy and I talked with the good-looking guys in the office. They’re going to take turns bodyguarding me during class once Andy leaves. The kids listen to Haitian professors.

When I got back to the quad, I decided to clean my room and do some laundry. Such simple things… But now I have a newfound and profound respect for washerwomen. First, I add two little handfuls of detergent to a big bucket, then some water. After frothing it up with my hands, I add the first “load” of dirty laundry. The laundry must be soaked, scrubbed by hand and wrung. The dirty water goes down the drain and then come two rinses, the last one with “Mistolin,” which makes things smell like they might be clean and apparently kills little germies. All the clothes and sheets are hung on the railings of the quad – “like an Italian ghetto,” Fr. Marc says.

I had a hard time picking up my fork at lunch; my hands were cramped so badly.
The artisans occupy most of my worry time. One disrespects me, the other is nice but refuses to listen to what I say and the other two just smile or don’t and ignore me. We’re going to buy some of their work to decorate the quad. That way they can have an easier time selling (or, for us, reselling) to visitors when they come out to Castel Pere. Then, they’ll only have to lug the jewelry over – so it makes a lot of sense… one would think. There’s also the concern of keeping them to a microloan system, which essentially requires trying to change ingrained cultural qualities, a fete as easy as moving mountains.

hope and beauty in Haiti

Imagine a little boy with HIV. Imagine he lives in a country where no clinic will treat him without extensive tests. He has no family and no means to pay for treatment. He is loveable, sweet – with an adoring smile and laughing eyes, easy to love. He helps when asked and enjoys a place of relative favoritism with those who care for him. He is sick and, yet, he is loved. Because love means trying despite everything and sometimes when all that remains is hope. Haiti is a devastatingly beautiful country, especially the southern regions. Camp Perrin is in the mountains just north of Les Cayes. Drive out of Les Cayes and into the hills. Tobacco farms and pastures line the bumpy dirt road and mountains rise in the close distance. Children wander about, curling their fingers at passers-by. A woman ambles amongst the cows and sheep in a field; old men guide goats and donkeys along the roadside.A right turn toward Camp Perrin and the path grows steeper. Country gives way to town and houses spring up one after the other, some with tin roofs and others thatched. The truck turns onto a narrow path, strewn with rocks and emerges onto a riverbed, dry until the rainy season. Across the white-hot river lie a series of houses, tucked away and clinging to the mountainside. The inhabitants are mirthful, surprisingly so, and proud of their tiny corners.Back in the town of Camp Perrin, a market bustles with vendors selling seasonable vegetables and fruits, dried herring and trinkets. One woman slices into fresh ginger bread from which roots peek out and steam rises. Higher in the hills, the noises of town fade and give way to a wealthier area; the roads are paved. An Oblate school and mission covers a good amount of acreage where coffee plants, orchids, hibiscus and poinsettias flourish. To the back of the property reside pigs, chickens and rabbits.Camp Perrin is also home to the first Ecole Espwa. An old warehouse turned schoolhouse struggles to stave off rain. But children still come to learn and from this land originate many of the first kids taken in by Fr. Marc and Pwoje Espwa. Many of these now live, study, and work down in the coastal planes of Castel Pere at the Pwoje Espwa farm.

To the east of Castel Pere, down a long paved road built by the Haitian government in conjunction with the Taiwanese government, sits Port Salut. This paradise, unimaginable until witnessed, lies at the bottom of a winding mountain road, lined with colonial ruins and breathtaking views of tropical valleys and seascapes. The sandy beaches stretch along an aqua blue coastline where cars and people congregate to enjoy the day. Men sit weaving fishing nets while others slowly paddle the length of the shore.To know Haiti is to love it. No amount of writing or photographs can portray this. The Haitians say “Haiti Cherie” and are fiercely and justly proud of this land. But the people are so poor and the poverty so devastating. A Haitian man who taught a friend of ours stopped to talk to us on the way to market one day. He wanted to know how we, as Americans, could find his country beautiful. We tried to explain that between the natural beauty and the beauty of the people, it was impossible not to love Haiti. He replied, “ah, yes, the beauty of the people…”

The kids at Pwoje Espwa are, like the country in which they were born, impossible not to love. Their carefree laughter in the face of situations American children could rarely fathom, their smiles, love, intelligence, talent, dancing, patience and, above all, their hope make them endearing.

We learned, last night, of an expression often employed by Haitian children when faced with a departing friend or caretaker: “do not forget me.” They expect abandonment. The response is easy, “pa capab” (not possible) or simply “you are in my heart.”

more on living

When the shit hits the fan, make sure you have these two guys at your back. Last night was a full moon. Below is the view from the Bay Klub where we dined and where we'll have our shrimp feast on Saturday. The moon makes seeing at night incredibly easy so last night we sat up on the roof and admired the land scape at the farm. The roof is the coolest place around and there are very few bugs. If only we had a tent... we could rest very easy on the warm summer nights....Below is a picture of me, Eddie and Andy. Andy's leaving to go work as a UN volunteer in East Timor. Everyone thinks he should stay. He will be missed and I'll have some large shoes to fill in taking over some of the programs he has been running. Perhaps he should listen to what the voices say and rest longer en Haïti.
And today Charlotte and I walked to the open market in Les Cayes with Johnny. Johnny acted as guide, escort and insurance that we wouldn't get over charged. We bought a bunch of banannas, 2 large papaya, and 6 oranges for 150 gourdes. That's about $4 American. Not too bad for first timers, I'd say.

gettin' around and hangin' around

This is my friend Charlotte. Getting from one place to another in Haiti means catching a "lib" (pronounced LEEB) with whoever you know whenever you can. Here, we were on our way to town. It's a fifteen minute drive down a rocky road and then a nice paved road, courtesy the Taiwanese government.

Since I'm here, I figured I should learn to drive every kind of vehicle available. After about an hour of practicing, I mastered the motorcycle. Motorcross Haiti 2007 here I come!On Saturday we're going to have a party at the Bay Klub with grilled and steamed shrimp. We met the owners last night. They're both guys who studied in the states and know everyone. They're good guys to know.

learning kreyol and how to live...

Mal-fini: There is a bird. He flies higher and faster than the rest. But he eats little ones. He is mal-fini. Badly finished. He is a hawk. Kreyol, created of three African languages with French influence, is charming and logical in odd ways. I learned this word while sitting beneath some mango trees with Eddie, Charlotte and some kids.

In the afternoon, we picked up Raymond from the airport. He looked as ecstatic as I felt at my return to Les Cayes. The weather that evening only reinforced a general sense of elation. The air was clear, breezy and the sunset dazzling. Last night we took a stroll outside the property. It was a clear night and the full moon lit our way. At the intersection down the road, someone blasted kompa music. People milled and sat about, chatting, drinking plastic cups of rum, frying plantains. We purchased a few beers from one woman and ambled back. Once back at the quad, we played Breakfast Club and added French subtitles so Frankel, the resident cook, could join us.

This morning I fixed up my room a bit. I have a desk now but still need some shelves. Eventually I’ll hang my really hot poster of Marine heroes and some other things. This morning we began working, as well. Charlotte and Rob started moving supplies to the new clinic while the artisans accosted me for money.

So, with a couple kids keeping us company, we looked at the list that Onell had created. The grand total sum he wanted in order to buy new tools and materials came to about $500 American. He tried to explain to me that Pere Marc and Eddie said I should sign the request but I felt like someone was trying to snowball me. Sure enough, I was right! Andy and Eddie and I all sat down to talk about what Onell wanted and why.

The artisans already have tools. Onell wanted to get some of the older kids to do a class with him so he wanted more tools and more supplies. He wanted us to buy them and later he would probably sell them at profit himself. The other thing is, the artisans supposedly work on a microloan system. Because I’m new, they thought they could get me to revert to the old system. It’s easier for them and more expensive for us.
We told Onell (above on the far left, Andy on the far right) that if he wanted to have art classes, he should start with simple pencil and paper drawing. He was not happy. Andy assures me that this particular job will become a headache; not only do I have to control some of the logistical aspects of this art program but I have to instill a sense of responsibility and business sense. Yikes!

This is a picture of our last soiree at the Bay Club. From left to right, Eddie, Yves and Johnny. Eddie and Yves speak English really well and are both intelligent guys. In addition to acting head principal, Eddie runs a store next to La Madonne. Hanging out with them has been fun. Tonight, we'll all get a chance to hang out at the Bay Club, once again. This time, our new friend, Alex, will join us.