Tuesday, January 4, 2011

Day one in Haiti

This morning has been something else. First, Ali and I got up at 3:45am (after spending most of yesterday flying) to prepare to board a shuttle to the airport at 4:30am. Shuttle came on time (thank you, Lord!) and I was impressed at the driver’s skill at maneuvering through the traffic mess that faced him when dropping us off at the airport (I now have a whole new appreciation for the orderly scene at the Minneapolis airport)…and we hadn’t even left the country yet! Directions in the airport itself were a smidge confusing, but navigable. Ali and I discovered that wearing a skirt through TSA security checkpoints can apparently arouse suspicion amongst impatient TSA employees. Ali and I were both thoroughly checked for anything that we might be hiding in our skirts (note to self, wear shorts when in airports going home). I can’t blame the TSA employees for being impatient—it was very early and passengers were tending towards a flock mentality more than they were listening to directions being bellowed above the din. Well, we eventually got to the gate and sat down. I’m sure we were quite a sight—two young women pacing around, wide awake despite the desperately early hour, anxious for the journey to just be done and to just BE THERE!

On the plane, I sat between Ali and a Haitian woman who was obviously on her way home. This woman saw me looking out the window beside her, and she opened up the shade and sat up taller while making sure I was looking out her window. She seemed proud to show off the country that I probably had just as obviously never been to before. It was a little unreal to realize that we traveled less time today than yesterday, but this time the plane touched down in a completely different country/world. Literally less than a two hour plane ride from Florida, a state in the richest country in the entire world, exists Haiti--the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.

Travelers are immersed in Haiti almost as soon as they get off the plane. Announcements on the plane are in English and Creole. A band was playing lively tropical music at the end of the walkway as we exited the aircraft. The heat and mugginess in the air was evident as soon as the plane doors opened (let’s just say the Alaskan in me is more than a little melting right now—January 4th and 89 degrees outside…as much as I love Haiti, I'd probably have to think twice before coming down in the summer!). Suddenly I could only understand one or two words for every thousand that were spoken around me. I have a whole new respect for people who immigrate to a new country and start a new life—being somewhere where you can barely communicate about the basics is just plain unnerving. But I digress…

After we got through immigration and customs, Ali and I needed to claim luggage. As our plane was the only plane of any major size landing at that time, we knew the bags coming in had to have come with us from Ft. Lauderdale. There was only one carousel, and men were lining baggage up in a roped off area. Dahmon (my husband) once told me that when he was on a trip to Europe, the tour guide told him “You Americans are too polite, push and shove as necessary!” That was kind of how I felt when collecting bags. If you stepped back and waited for someone to go by, you would be waiting forever because people do not stop going by. Being assertive was the key, but that only goes so far when you do not speak the language. Luckily for us, most of the airport employees speak some English, so we were okay. We gathered our mountain of luggage (we had brought every piece of luggage the airline would allow--no, we didn't need that much stuff for the time we were in Haiti, but we were also bringing in supplies for students in the schools that WWV administers), put it on a cart, and trucked our way outside.

That is where things got really interesting! Apparently Ali and I missed the memo that people flying in with WWV are not supposed to leave the baggage area until Alexi, a gentleman who works for WWV comes and finds them. We just shoved our luggage mountain out the doors, squinting against the very bright sun light, and immediately a crowd of men started hanging onto our luggage and insisting we needed help. We kept repeating "we are fine, we have a ride" as we walked towards the parking lot. Alexi found us, hollered something at the rest of the men around us (I really wish I could understand Creole just to know what he was yelling!) and led us to where Randy and Pat were waiting.

Speed limits? Forget them. Road laws? Don’t hit someone, avoid getting hit, and stay out of the potholes *cough* caverns. Traffic in Haiti is something else—people walk in the road much closer to moving vehicles than I would be comfortable with. Cars get extremely close to each other. Public transportation is in the form of “tap taps”—gaily painted vehicles that can always hold “one more”. People zoom around on “motos” (motocycles), weaving through traffic conducting traffic tricks that would make movie makers proud. To drive through downtown Port au Prince is to see open air markets lining the streets, people bustling about. Peter said that people collect and sell whatever they can—nothing goes to waste.

The World Wide Village guesthouse is in a gated community that is much quieter than downtown—well, except for the roosters. Roosters are everywhere and they sure do announce their presence! We dropped off our bags, met some people, did some office work, and then it was back to the car to go visit the clinic in Rosembert. Randy is an excellent driver and maneuvered the traffic with the skill of someone well practiced in the art of driving on Haitian roadways. I peppered Peter, Randy, and Pat with questions about what I was seeing. Why is there smoke coming from the river bank? The people are burning trash to get rid of it. Were all of these buildings standing before the quake? Most of them. Were there any tent cities before the quake? Nope. We drove past buildings with crumpled walls, past fencing walls that have mangled rebar sticking out at bizarre angles (Peter later told me that was a sign of earthquake damage), past buildings with earthquake cracks in the walls that had been sealed with plaster. Past people who have far too many years behind their eyes.

We arrived at the clinic, and went inside to look around. There is a vision team with WWV at the clinic right now, so they were in treating patients alongside a Haitian doctor. There were children with runny noses, one baby they are pretty sure has pneumonia and as such needs to go to the hospital, a man who is so dehydrated that no one is entirely sure what is wrong with him, a woman who was walking around with an IV coming out of her hand, etc. The house that the Builder's Association of the Twin Cities group built was very close to the clinic, so we walked over there and looked at it (I just have to say—it is a wonderful house, bigger than the cabin I grew up in). On the way, Ali and I apparently became curiosities (I assume that Randy and Pat are here enough that they are recognized whereas Ali and I stick out like new, sore thumbs). Between Ali’s blond hair and my tattooed foot/ankle, we were garnering quite the stares. In Haiti, staring is not rude and people do so unabashedly.

After walking around for a bit and returning to the clinic Randy and Pat started looking around for Peter, who was nowhere to be seen. Randy called his cell phone, and found that he had been walking around in the community and found a woman who was bedridden…or in this case mat ridden….due to illness. We found Peter and the woman, spoke with her for a bit and found that she has been ill for a long time. Her name is Fleura, and she had been going to the doctor, was on medications, and then had to stop both due to lack of money. Fleura is dehydrated due to lack of drinkable water. There was a ditch filled with grubby water next to the tin shack she is living in, and we were told it is highly likely that this grubby ditch was her water source. I cringed, and quite literally was choking back tears, when looking at the trash floating in this water source—the fish swimming around in it, goats wading in its shallows, ducks taking baths, etc. I thought of the water purification systems that donors have allowed World Wide Village to purchase for various Haitian communities—Randy said he would drink the water out of that ditch after it has been treated by one of these systems, they are that effective. But Fleura does not have one and is too weak to travel any great distances. We laid hands on and prayed for her—but no amount of good intention will do anything without action. God takes action unseen, Randy and Peter arranged for her to be seen at the clinic tomorrow morning. After leaving her side, we heard an ice cream truck version of the "My Heart Will Go On" song from “Titanic” start playing at the far end of the road. Hark! A water truck was coming! A mini-semi looking thing appeared with big smiley faces painted on the side. We waved it down and purchased a five-gallon bucket of water for Fleura. The cost of providing a woman with enough clean drinking water for one day? Approximately 60 cents USD.

We walked around the neighborhood a bit, looking at destroyed houses, goats that run all over the place but return home at night, and talking to people we walked past. I asked Pat if Peter knew all of the people he was talking to, but apparently that is part of Haitian culture—everyone talks to everyone and has no bubble whatsoever. We drove out to glance at some land that WWV is trying to purchase (having to swerve around a rather obnoxious bull that jumped onto the road)—and I saw there is cactus here too! Hot weather and prickly plants, good grief. J

Driving home, we got a lesson on how to say “Tomorrow, if God wills”…or something like that. I’ll have to ask Peter again. For now, the smells of Surret’s amazing cooking coming from the kitchen is sufficiently distracting enough for me to close this post. Type later…

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