Espwa in Need

The difficulties of operating a 600-child orphanage that supports a Haitian staff of nearly 200 and also involves itself in far flung educational and housing projects, as well as some infrastructural and sustainable projects, cannot be underestimated. Pwoje Espwa operates on a yearly budget of about one million dollars (US) and certainly still has the infrastructure, capacity and need to spend a whole lot more. Operating funds contribute to everything from mattresses for the kids, animal feed, salaries, gasoline for vehicles, the occasional medical expense incurred from injury and disease, (600 kids in a tropical climate...), and so much more. Despite the farm, the project is unable to support itself (not even nearly). It relies heavily on charity and some key, larger NGO support.

Last week, I heard from the founder and director, Fr. Marc Boisvert. In response to my request for updates, he informed me that they are so desperately in need of help. They always need help but for him to mention it specifically... that really means it's dire.

At some point I had fantasized about helping create a more substantial or sustainable source of funds for Espwa. Though that project is always at the back of my mind, at this point it seems more realistic to just spread the word that help is needed. Miraculously, before I even had the chance to voice the plea, a friend contacted me and wanted to know where to send his money - out of the blue, just like that. If there are others of you out there who want to help out, go to the online donation site. You can also read about more specific projects at Free the Kids.

Thank you for all those who have helped, will help and who simply pray for and support this orphanage. Good things happen there.

Rough n' Tumble

...the darndest things

Blan: Looked they burned out the tree!

Timoun: Ya.

Blan: Think there're evil spirits in that hole?

Timoun: Hmm...

Blan: I think there are. Would you sleep in there?

Timoun: (silence)

Blan: Evil spirits...

Timoun: There aren't any. (pause) I'm not afraid of the devil!

Blan: Oh no?

Timoun: Nope! (kicking the air) I'd fight'em.

Blan: (looks at kid)

Timoun: Ya! (still shadow boxing) And 'sides, they burned that tree out to kill the evil spirits. So there aren't any any more. They're gone now.

Bebeto - laughing

creepy-crawly things i'm forced to live with

A holy frog, known here as a CRAPO. It's as big as a meaty fist and it's residing in the quad's chapel.

Paige, also known as PAGINA to the Spanish-speaking world or PIDGE to the Creole-speaking world. "Pidge" is my favorite. Say it out loud a few times to yourself.

(guess which one's creepy and which crawly... or is it D, all of the above)

Frankie -- the tiniest artisan

Jackson - one of the coolest kids

Floppy Hats

Paige (right) comes from Arizona. She studied education and will spend a year here with Espwa working on overhauling the English and art programs. It turns out she and I have other things in common aside from an interest in Haiti and Espwa kids.

some changes

On Thursday I'm heading home for a few weeks. Gotta go to a graduation and a wedding and see some friends and family. I'll be back here by mid-June though!

A volunteer and good friend, Nico, took off for a new job this afternoon. A diocese in Connecticut runs a mission house in Port-au-Prince. Nick landed the position of running this house and overseeing the mission's various projects throughout the city.The kids put on a show in his honor. Some of them sang a song they composed about how they will miss him and see him again one day. The talent show (called a spektak here) was the finest I've see yet. There was a comedy skit -- teenagers dressed up and acting like loud, angry old men. And there was a "remix" of Michael Jackson's "Thriller." Not too shabby.Nick lived in Cayes for two and a half years. He's "moving on" now but he's not moving far. We hope to and expect to see him from time to time -- because the bonds created here last a life time and, well, we'll miss him.

the little things in life

practicing flips

life under the mango trees

The sun filters gently through the mango tree leaves. A soft, warm breeze blows from the Caribbean Sea to the south. The wind dislodges a rotten mango, which hits the ground with a splat. In between some branches, large brown spiders have created their perfectly symmetrical webs.

These kids just kept me company, sitting and hanging out after lunch. Claudia, below, goofed off for my camera. She the one who's parents we helped find a new home. She seems happy -- if not a little spastic.

rice paddies

what I see every evening driving back to the farm.

back to Haiti again

Tomorrow I fly back to Haiti and my next post -- look for it on Wednesday morning -- will be written from Espwa's office in Les Cayes.

After the motorcycle accident, I came back to the U.S. to recover. Instead of taking it easy, taking it slow or taking a vacation, I took advantage of being back in the capital. Over the course of several weeks, I have met with a few organizations who want to help Espwa, spoken with some potentially interested individuals and helped organize a successful fundraiser. So I'll be able to hit the ground running as I settle back into life in Haiti...

...more to come soon!

video from the helicopter

check out the video from our UN helicopter ride to Port-au-Prince from Cayes!

on youtube.

degrees of separation

The Haitian diaspora numbers 1 in ever 5 or 6 Haitians living abroad. Between cities like Miami, New York and even DC and Boston, one expects to bump into a Creole-speaker every now and again. What about Americans who speak Creole or who can rattle off favorite haunts in several of the island country's major cities?

Since my return to this freezing land I call home, I have discovered friends and friends of friends are intimately acquainted with Haiti in some capacity. Perhaps it is that I hail from Washington, DC but almost everyone I speak with seems to have a spouse, friend or relative who works or worked in Haiti.

The other day I sent an email to one of these "friends of a friend." The reply came swiftly: "Proving Haiti really is a small place, I had heard about Portia’s accident from my friend at the ---- Mission House. I have also visited Proje Lespwa in Cayes and in Torbeck and have met Fr Marc..." So not only does this guy work in Haiti, he's heard of me and knows my friends. Fantastic!

After lunch yesterday, I learned that some fellow Cornellians, some friends of friends, operate major, million-dollar non-profits that work actively in Haiti. Then, in the afternoon, I stopped by my old high school. Low and behold, my former choir director has taken groups to Haiti, an administrator's husband worked in the U.S. Embassy during the transition government, and a former teacher can introduce me to a buddy who knows the guy who runs another big organization's Haitian office.

Once again, I marvel that the world is such a small place.

For those of you who have been holding back and can think of someone or some group that would be interested in what we do at Pwoje Espwa, please let me know. Since I am in the DC area for a couple more weeks, I am in a good position to call people, meet people, have lunch, hang out... whatever.

another crash

The timing is both perfect and imperfect: my beloved Apple computer just crashed. Though I'm in the States and able to get it repaired promptly, I'm in the States and only able to work with Espwa by writing and researching on my computer. I feel torn between crying and laughing -- so I am doing both. Let's just hope the backup saves all my photographs, new documents and contacts...

please say a prayer for my poor laptop.

new bearings

After the accident, we could not walk (or hobble) literally one step in Haiti without people staring and someone spontaneously exclaiming:

“Are you ok?”
“What happened?”
“Motorcycle accident?”
“God protected you!”
“It hurts me that you’re hurt.”
“I heard what happened, are you OK?”

While telling the story over and again and straightening out rumors got a bit tiresome, it certainly beat the alternative. Friends and strangers in Haiti really seemed to care about our wellbeing and had no qualms expressing it. While my American friends and family have been wonderfully supportive and sweet – I must remark on a profound cultural difference between Haiti and the more developed Western World:

From the moment I left the Toussant Louverture Airport, the questions stopped. On the plane back to Miami, I sat unmolested by fellow passengers who neither took great notice of me nor thought to say anything when they did. In Miami, I learned what it must feel like (on some small level) to be confined to a wheelchair; I was completely at the mercy of a kind Dominican lady who worked for American Airlines and served as my assistant for about an hour. I got bumped and almost knocked over a couple times but was otherwise invisible to fellow travelers.

On the plane to DC, one man asked me, “I saw you on the plane from Port au Prince. What happened, are you OK?” Aside from him, one other man, recognizing the injuries, asked, “motorcycle accident?” Two major airports, two 737s, hundreds of passengers and a packed restaurant downtown last night only two comments – pretty amazing, eh?

I am home and recovering and FREEZING but continuing my work. Washington D.C. is THE place to go to find tons of NGOs and non-profits. I’m hoping to take advantage of this recovery time for the benefit of Pwoje Espwa and some specific projects. More details to come of the specifics of these projects…

as an expat, friend of the UN and more...

Last night in Les Cayes, Haiti, four Haitians, one Nigerian MINUSTAH guy, one Ethiopian MINUSTAH guy and three Americans sat in the dark to watch the Bears lose to the Colts. Thankfully, the satellite box was working, though EDH (Haitian electricity company) failed on the power end so beers were warm and trips to any other part of the house beside the fluorescent sitting room were treacherous. The inverter kicked enough power in for the TV and satellite box to last all through pre-game, game and post-game.

This morning, my last morning in Haiti for a couple of weeks, Nick removed most of my bandages. As the doctor in town was very busy and the UN doctor was in Port-au-Prince, Nick and the nurse out at Castel-Pere teamed up for an hour and a half to peel various sized gauze patches off of my scabs and scars. As we worked in the back room of Klinik Espwa, Fr. Marc came by with an Uruguayan MINUSTAH guy. He didn’t speak any French or English so Marc wanted me to figure out what the guy was saying.

Turns out that MINUSTAH showed up with the potable water tank for our kids. They said they don’t have enough to supply endless amounts for all the kids so the guy I spoke with wanted to convey that we should ration carefully. They will be replacing it again later this week so I cautioned him to bring a translator for English or French, as I would be out of the country for a bit.

We are still plagued with a long-term water source issue but the UN has been great in helping us out with the short term. We look forward to getting them back on the soccer field and challenging them to a rematch, as our last game was tied 1-1. Nick and I also owe a personal debt of gratitude to our UN friends, since they were instrumental in getting us out of Cayes and to better medical care last week.

Life outside the U.S. continues to fascinate me and I already look forward to my return.
Thank you for all your prayers, attention, love and kindness. I can’t wait to see some of you later this week and to chat with others on the phone for less than $1.50 a minute.

The Crack Cocaine of the Caribbean

At the small airport in Port-au-Prince from which one catches an in-country flight on the Caribintair, Tortug’air, or Samaritan airlines, my friend Rob and I ran into Dr. Cool Dad (here to fore, Dr. CD). To be fair, this guy has been coming to Haiti since his father built a clinic here in the ‘70s, which is how, he says, he discovered his impetus to minister to the ailments of the poor, but he’s truly the quintessential “cool dad.” We met him when he inquired, as many are wont, about the nature of our visit to this lovely (but admittedly dangerous) isle.

Dr. CD, Rob and I stood in the bright sunshine outside the airport, sucking down a tall Pepsi Cola and cold bottles of water, respectively. He explained to us how he had been coming here since the 1970s with his dad and now, in turn, brings his own children along with him. On this trip, he explained, a vacation to Cap-Haitien, his son had brought his all-American, Colorado girlfriend who, before this, had never been out of the country. A vacation in Cap-Haitien, eh… My family thinks I’m slightly daft for wanting to volunteer here; what would they say to this tall, blond American fellow in his faded pink Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts, heading off to the north for a little R&R?

If visitors in Haiti have two things in common, it’s an (slight to extreme) eccentric personality and an inability to forget the first time they ever came to the west side of Hispaniola. Dr. CD helps diagnose this phenomenon by calling Haiti the “crack cocaine of the Caribbean islands. After you see Haiti, everything else seems too sterile; Haiti’s so pure and real.” Once you experience the intense smells, clear, bright colors, vivid sunshine, warmth of the people and everything else that is Haiti Cheri, there really is no going back.

So here I am, back getting my fix of Haiti. And as a nod to Dr. CD, who is by now enjoying Cap-Haitien with his two lackadaisical children and young Haitian girlfriend (who explains away their vacation to the dry north-country), I was up at 3:45am, buzzing with thoughts and ideas. My room desperately needs organizing, another chapter of D. H. Lawrence beckons me, thoughts in my head scream to escape onto paper; so I acquiesce to the self-nagging and get out of bed. Why not? We all retired by 9:00pm.

While I have to pinch myself on this sunny, breezy, 88º F, December day, the dream is somewhat funk-i-fied (for lack of a better term) by certain realities. For one, my little room in the visitor’s quad where I will reside for the duration of my time with Pwoje Espwa desperately for attention (something it’ll get a lot of this week). The lack of hangars, shelves, and table space would drive any anal-retentive personality into a fit of madness. Fortunately, for me, in addition to being quite anal, I can be quite innovative. My suitcase, coupled with a sarong, may prove to be the ideal bedside table.

From my outpost on day one, the work ahead looms a bit daunting; there is so much that I would like to accomplish here. Still, nothing will quell a feeling that began to grow from the moment I stepped foot onto Haitian soil. Perhaps it is the feeling of my soul expanding or my spirit celebrating or my body relaxing, perhaps a combination of all these things. Whatever the cause, the sensation is at once wonderful, exciting, spiritual and addictive. Neither will it be ignored nor forgotten.