Day 2: Acclimation (6/20)

I woke up this morning at the crack of dawn (something you can’t avoid when you stay in a building without a roof) stuck to my sweat-drenched sheets and tangled in the haphazardly set up mosquito net that the previous owner of the bunk left behind. And it was a “cool” night I was told. One thing was certain, I was moving to the roof to pitch my tent.

The HODR base used to be a nightclub (and a happening one, too) before the quake. The ground floor has a wide open center area for recreational activities (like a wood version of bowling meets bocce ball) and then rows of bunks under one of the few covered areas. The bunks are packed in tightly like sardines without much breathing space. Up on the second floor, which is now technically the roof since the actual roof was destroyed in the quake, is the home of most of the tents (except the few lucky people who snagged a piece of the limited covered space next to the bunks.) But, since this floor has now become the roof, there is no covering to protect from the rain. Luckily, I brought two tarps – I’m willing to take my chances of a flood over shoulder-to-shoulder sleeping in a space with no ventilation. And the view is breathtaking. Mountains. And if you look further, more mountains.

The bathrooms have toilets that don’t flush. Buckets that catch the dripping water from the sink are used to flush down whatever needs flushing. Then they are placed back under the sink. The pipes are too small for toilet paper; so after you wipe (#1 or #2) you throw the TP in a little wastebasket to the side of the toilet, where everyone else that day threw their own dirty TP. (Yes, your face should be squished up in an “ewh” look!) The showers are stalls made out of thin slabs of wood and a single tarp for a door. Buckets of water from the tap are used to rinse and clean. It’s frowned upon to use more than half a bucket. I’m still trying to work that one out in my head.

Meals are served twice a day by Haitian women, except Sundays. Sunday there is no work and no food. You fend for yourself. I ate a bowl of cereal with powdered milk. I heaped a spoonful on top of my cereal and thought, “well, I guess it’s better than nothing.” (That meal was later accompanied by an egg sandwich sold on the street for around 75 cents and served with ketchup – like everything in Haiti.) I ate my bowl of cereal without hesitation or groaning. Powdered milk was the meal now and that was that. It’s amazing how quickly you acclimate when you allow yourself to. Amazing how quickly you forget that anything else existed outside of powdered milk. It’s almost scary how normal all of this seems, how easy it was to slip into the routine of flushing my urine down with a dirty bucket of water and sharing space with 119 other humans. It’s almost scary how effortless it has been.

I remember watching Sean White snowboard at the Olympics. So smooth, so effortless, so incredible. There’s a guy who’s doing exactly what he was intended to do. Of course it wasn’t easy for him, but he made it look that way and he excelled at it. Bring that down to a smaller scale – things should feel effortless when it’s where we’re supposed to be. Not easy, just without strife. Every bone in my body knew I was supposed to be in Haiti, and when I arrived it all just came so natural. A true sign that I was indeed right about this choice. When you have peace about something that peace carries through to your thoughts and your actions, and soon you’re winning 4 gold medals at the Olympics.

After breakfast (around 7am) we walked through the dirty streets lined by shacks without roofs and tents without four sides to the marche (market). What an experience. I’ve been to many marches, from Brazil to Tunisia to Serbia, each with their own level of poverty and cultural flair. But this was beyond anything I’ve witnessed before. My favorite part was the raw meat thrown onto dirty slabs of wood, covered in flies and festering in the heat. Yum. I’m not sure I’ll ever be that hungry. Starved chickens ran frantically from the stands, but they wouldn’t get far in the massive crowds and narrow walkways. The market’s made up of, what I can only describe as, tents. Four sticks (let me reiterate STICKS) for each person. The vendor must bring the tarp to cover these posts. Then products sprawled across the floor. Or if you are better off, you may perhaps have a piece of wood raised off the ground, like my chopped chicken friends’ bed.

There's so much I'm anxious to do, to learn, to experience. And I really look forward to my increasing knowledge of the language. An experience abroad is completely shaped by your ability to communicate. I look forward to my increasing knowledge of the language. But for now, I just soak it in. I take it all and tuck it away into a special place deep in my soul. And then run into the open space as the rain comes pouring down.