Kids, Port au Prince, and an unfortunate goat

I am officially in love with Haitian food…well, that which I’ve eaten so far. Surret is an amazing cook, but from what I hear she cooks much like my mother does—a pinch of this and a dash of that, pinches and dashes only measurable with lots of experience. An amazing cooking style but one hard to teach. J For dinner last night there was beet salad (which, and this will surprise some, I actually really liked—traditionally I hate, no—abhor, beets), fried chicken, fried goat meat, fried plaintains, fried okra dough stuff (can’t remember what it was called), rice and beans, and picallys (a spicy cabbage dish). I tried and loved everything but the chicken—I have chicken all of the time in the States and wanted to eat anything but that which I have all the time. Goat is awesome—I loved it! Surret then gave us a banana bread/cake that she had made—also very delicious. Group discussion followed, then Bible study and sleep. I was asleep pretty quickly. Lack of sleep from the night before and the comforting sound of the generator knocked me out (I grew up with a generator running, so I like that sound). The dog that sounded like it kept getting stuck in a trap near the house, however, was not as comforting—apparently it barks by yelping. Oh well.

I know many people in MN who would be surprised at how much animals are a part of the daily life of Haitians. It isn’t like our tendency to have a few pets and hide them in our abodes, being shocked at seeing a deer in town. In Haiti there are goats, pigs, chickens, ducks, and cows running all over the place--every single one of which has an owner. Goats return to their homes at night, and there are quite severe penalties for goat/cattle theft. There appears to be one kind of dog, a general mutt that runs around all over Port au Prince. Oh, and the pigeons and MN state bird—the mosquito. I hate mosquitoes. Oh, and bugs that look like leafs--those are pretty nifty -->

After breakfast, most of the vision team currently in Haiti went to the clinic where they were working yesterday. Fleura, the woman mentioned yesterday, was seen by the doctors—she appears to have made a miraculous recovery. Suspicion exists that her ailments are caused by dehydration. Next time you are a little thirsty, think about the Haitian people whose only water option is potentially filled with cholera bacteria. The choice is don’t drink and therefore die, or drink and risk getting an illness that may kill you anyways. What hard decisions have you made today?

A team of builders from “Engineers Without Borders”, a group from the University of Minnesota made up of civil engineers, arrived early this morning to build a bio-digester. From what I understand, they are going to spend the next week constructing a “concrete stomach” that human waste will go into (they are also constructing an outhouse) for the initial stages of decomposition. The waste, or "effluent" will then be moved into a cooker that will heat the material enough to make it release naturally occurring methane gas, gas which can then be harnessed to power the cookstoves in the Luly school. This is certainly a much better option for cooking food over charcoal. Don't get me wrong, charcoal cooks well, but the smoke from charcoal fires does horrendous things to peoples' lungs, and the coal is made from cut-down trees. Cutting down trees least to looser soil integrity, a definite problem in this country. Looser soil leads to aggravated soil erosion, less land that is available for farmers, and more devastating damage when those darned hurricanes and/or monsoon rains sweep through the area. But I digress....Once the methane from the effluent has been harnessed, the remaining material will be spread out of the cooker onto a concrete platform where it can dry. At that point, it is sterile due to having been heated, and can be used as fertilizer in a community garden. This is a sustainable project that has a very promising future!

Shortly after the engineers arrived, it was off to downtown Port au Prince to the World Wide Village warehouse. There was not enough room inside the cab of the pickup to hold all six of us (Peter, Pat, Ali, Dan, Bob, Nate, and I), so Dan, Bob, and I opted to ride in the bed of the pickup. Always one up for adventure, I loved the ride—though people were nervous the way I was bouncing around taking pictures. Yesterday I was really shy about taking pictures and was convinced the people would be offended by my action and it was culturally looked down upon…and I didn’t want to look like another dumb tourist. Pat assured me that if the people objected to their pictures being taken, they would indicate such and it is perfectly fine to take pictures of anything. Well, today I took over 250. J

It is a totally different experience riding in the back of a truck as opposed to being in the cab. The sounds of the city can really reach you. I mentioned this yesterday but will mention it again—traffic here is crazy! People walk across the street so close to cars you wouldn’t even have to reach out to shake hands. Cars are continually cutting people off. Traffic lights, what few exist, are a suggestion. Tap-taps, very brightly colored vehicles that serve as one form of public transportation, are everywhere. People are constantly shouting, and honking at other drivers (though I have been told that honking in Haiti has developed into a kind of language, where so many taps mean something, while a different number of taps means something else, while a blaring, obnoxious horn may mean the same thing as it means in the US). If a car breaks down in the middle of the road, people start working on it right then and there. We saw more than a few cars having their engines tweaked in the middle of the commotion or just plain being shoved out of the way. When stopped in traffic, it is common for street kids to come up, clean the car, and expect monetary compensation. Two such street kids came up and were wiping off our pickup—one team member handed them some granola bars.

Anyways, we made it to the warehouse, where Pat skillfully installed a phone and the engineers examined some kind of wall making materials that are being stored in the warehouse. Apparently it is just what they need in the size they need it, so that is good. They just need to get some tools from someone here they know and will be good to go! In fact, I can hear them discussing the plan of action with Randy right now. Then it was off to “the Haitian version of Home Depot”, which we were unable to see because it was closed. We picked up a rental car, kept an eye on one of our guests as he drove it (record: Bob drove a car through downtown Port au Prince on his first day here!) through the gnarled mess of traffic, and got back to our abode.

After we got back to the guesthouse, we had enough time to refill on water, go buy bread from the breadshop that is across from the Livesay’s house, and pack back into a car to head to Luly. Along the way Randy told us statistics. There were very few displaced Haitians before the earthquake—now 15% of the nation’s population is displaced and living in tent cities. We drove by hills where no tent city existed at this time last year—now the hillsides are peppered with thousands of tents. Wires are strung between tents and hold up very clean laundry (I am very impressed at how clean most of the clothing is here compared to how dusty and dirty everything seems to be).

Something like 300,000 people are living in thousands of tent cities scattered across the country side but mostly located around PaP. Slash and burn agriculture is still practiced (note: this does NOT help contain the soil erosion problem) and we saw several fields burning. Fire makes me nervous…especially when it causes a plume of smoke that goes across the road and is so thick that we cannot see through it to the other side. Haitians do not mind their side of the road at all times, so it was a little nerve wracking going through that plume, but Randy knows what he is doing and all was well.

Luly is a small mountain village on the edge of the ocean. Approximately 3,000 people live there, many of them young children. We parked the car and walked up to the school where Pastor Lyons officiates. Ali and I were very popular amongst the children and spent time with them while the engineers went with Randy to examine the land where the bio digester will go (don’t worry—they were only a few hundred yards away from us). Ali had some hair clips and other d0o-dads for the kids. One little boy broke my heart—he just seemed so sad. While the rest of the kids were energetic and excited, he was just standing there looking up at me with sad little eyes that would make a hardened criminal’s heart break. Of course I don’t speak Creole (though Peter was happy with the progress on a phrase I have made), and could not ask what was wrong. More frustrating for me, however, was that I could not even offer words of encouragement in his own language. AARGH!!

The kids got a huge kick out of seeing their pictures. I’m borrowing a camera from my friend Paula, and was taking pictures of the kids. They definitely understood what I was trying to do, and would cluster together, pulling each other in closer so that all of them might be photographed. After each photo was taken, I would lower the camera and put it in review mode so the kids could see themselves. They laughed with hilarity that displayed the hope in their eyes and the overwhelming strength of the Haitian people, and would poke each other and point when they saw their friend in a picture.

One little girl in a pink dress came over and leaned on my shoulder, eventually making her way to sitting in my lap. An adult who I think is one of the teachers at Luly school set another child right next to me, who also sat down in my lap. Kids are kids everywhere—they all like positive attention from an adult and the kids settled right in as if they had been sitting there their entire lives. When Randy came over and said it was time to go, I hesitated. These kids were adorable and seemed to be having a grand laugh at the American who was horribly mispronouncing their names. We had only been there for what seemed like just a few minutes…not nearly long enough.

I was, however, horrified by the signs of malnutrition evident all over some of these kids. Not only were all of them thin, some of them were frighteningly thin and had the little pouched bellies that indicate lack of proper nutrition. I just wanted to plant a garden right there, train the people in the neighborhood how to tend it, and watch these kids’ muscles fill in. Good news: there are plans to use the material produced from the biodigester as fertilizer for a community garden.

There was a starving man sitting on the side of the road today. I’ve only ever seen people that thin in pictures of Holocaust victims and anorexia patients—this man just simply did not have enough to eat and it was not by his choice. Talk about feeling guilty about every cheeseburger I’ve ever eaten. Yet guilt is not the answer here. Action is, but action that empowers the Haitian people to work for themselves. I’ve heard of the “gimme gimme gimme” mentality that is so prevalent in this country—largely resulting from the huge amount of foreign aid that has flooded the country, money that was just doled out in a way that did little more than to foster an overwhelming sense of dependency. Everywhere you hear "dollar, dollar". Yesterday, several boys were hollering at us "hey you, give me my money." They were only kids and thought they were being absolutely hilarious, but it really showed how dependent many people are on aid, and how entitled they feel to that aid. Good intentions and aid must be handled carefully in order to not worsen the problem. The people must be taught how to fish, so that they might fish for themselves and see the worth in their own work and brains.

My prayer for this trip is that every foreigner in Haiti right now, especially those here to “help”, have eyes that see as God sees, ears that hear as God hears, and hearts that love as God loves. The Haitian people have a rough life, there is no getting around this fact. Yet it is just as much of a fact that the Haitian people are the strongest people I have ever met—constitutionally and physically. I have been examining the faces of people we pass by and only one or two have seemed completely hopeless. Keeping in mind the trauma the country has experienced in the past year and the many people we have seen, this is a miracle. Difficulty exists, but so does hope. Devastation exists (there are still piles of rubble everywhere), but the people have not allowed that to cease their lives or their hope for the future. Can we as Americans truthfully say we are that resilient? I think not.

Among the things I saw today:

--culverts full of water with children bathing in them

--a tap-tap so full of people and things balanced on top of it that I was worried it might just tip over

--puppies

--men and women carrying HUGE loads of stuff on their heads (I’ve seen two women so far carrying full five-gallon buckets of water balanced on their noggins)

--police driving by with automatic weapons sticking out of their cars and gate guards with rifles

--a live goat hanging upside down by its feet from the back of a truck; after all, there is no point in buying a dead animal in Haiti, the more alive it is upon purchase the more fresh it is upon consumption

--people not blinking twice when the power goes out…it goes out all of the time

--people sitting in their living spaces on the side of a river that floods during rainy season

--one of the fields where mass graves for earthquake victims are located (just like the site at Wounded Knee, that area is painful to be near)

--chickens with their brood of chicks (DON’T LAUGH, I’ve never seen a mother chicken with her chicks before—it is always momma hen in one place and baby chicks/eggs in another)

--children in Luly wearing the dresses that Carol Harwood and her ladies sewed for them

--HOPE EVERYWHERE

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 4^th 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…