Bald Head Island, North Carolina, 2007
It's been pouring and unseasonably cold in DC for the last few days. This photograph is like a breath of fresh, warm air. I need one! So I thought I'd share it with you too.
Showing posts with label sea. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sea. Show all posts
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Francesa, sea breeze child
It's been pouring and unseasonably cold in DC for the last few days. This photograph is like a breath of fresh, warm air. I need one! So I thought I'd share it with you too.
Friday, July 27, 2007
Tortured Contrasts
An old woman sits on a hill situated slightly west of Port Salut. A crop of dying sugar cane surrounds her and her rusty tin hut, which is no larger than a spacious outhouse. She sits facing away from this scenery, toward the road. She has a panoramic view of the southern Caribbean but not desire or ability to enjoy it. Only a few other thatched-roof huts speckle the landscape; each has a stunning coastal view and a resident blinded by poverty and structural violence. 
Haiti has stretches of coast with little or no development. The few beaches near more populated, waterfront towns are usually destroyed or literally covered with trash. With recent improvements to infrastructure (better bridges, paved roads, electricity) and slow but steady economic growth, the facts about this devastated Caribbean island could change. Miles of empty, turquoise water do not promise change any time soon, though. 
Even with some real achievements in national monetary policies and with GDP growth creeping ever higher, the government must still face major socioeconomic challenges. Human rights violations remain Haiti's greatest plague. This lingering and gruesome quality of a long-unstable government is painfully visible everywhere in the country and creates a stark contrast to the dazzling colors and uninterrupted panoramas. 
Haiti has stretches of coast with little or no development. The few beaches near more populated, waterfront towns are usually destroyed or literally covered with trash. With recent improvements to infrastructure (better bridges, paved roads, electricity) and slow but steady economic growth, the facts about this devastated Caribbean island could change. Miles of empty, turquoise water do not promise change any time soon, though. 
Even with some real achievements in national monetary policies and with GDP growth creeping ever higher, the government must still face major socioeconomic challenges. Human rights violations remain Haiti's greatest plague. This lingering and gruesome quality of a long-unstable government is painfully visible everywhere in the country and creates a stark contrast to the dazzling colors and uninterrupted panoramas. 
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
strange beach creatures
A storm brews around the shores of North Carolina's Bald Head Island (satellite image, Google Earth).
Along the shore, riddled with rip currents, lie strange and displaced sea creatures.
Along the shore, riddled with rip currents, lie strange and displaced sea creatures.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Monday, January 08, 2007
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.”
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.”
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