The past few blogs have been very long. Today’s will be very short. Not much needs to be said - today speaks for itself.
Six months. It has been six months since a 37 second earthquake destroyed thousands of homes, took far too many lives, and tore apart hearts across the world. It’s hard to believe it’s only been six months. On the other hand, I feel the earth has barely moved around the sun. Time is like that. Memories feels close, almost tangible while in the same breath they appear as an object caught in a glance in your rearview mirror. I guess everything has two sides. A positive and a negative. Haiti has come so far, and yet not far enough. Hearts are still bleeding open but so many are in the process of mending.
I felt very privileged and humbled to be in Leogane on this landmark occasion. I was aware in that moment that I would not know the effect this day would have on me until long after I’m gone. I did realize, however, how deeply time can heal your wounds.
It has been six months since my own heartbreak. And I have found that I, too, have healed more than expected. I didn't realize it until today - looking back. Funny how things have a way of mending when you take your mind off of them. Funny how hearts heal the most when you're trying to heal the heart of someone else.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Day 23: A Beautiful Ending
Sunday morning I stared out at the crashing waves and couldn’t count my blessings enough. They were beyond my grasp. So many ways this trip could have gone badly. So many ways this trip could’ve been just another trip for tourists. But in so many ways we had been blessed over and over. There could never be enough thanks.
We walked to Jean Pierre’s for a breakfast that people from Jacmel eat every Sunday morning: pumpkin soup. It was hot and hearty and something strange to eat for breakfast but surprisingly filling. Jean Pierre and Mimi continually commented on how comfortable they were with us and how much we felt like family. Our thoughts were completely in-line with theirs; our Haitian foster parents.
One of the neighborhood boys climbed a coconut tree barefoot and threw down enough coconuts for each of us. Coconut milk straight from the shell was our morning coffee and it had never tasted better. I couldn’t wrap my head around how natural it all felt. I couldn’t wrap my head around how I would ever be able to leave.
We said very long goodbyes, promised we wouldn’t forget them and that we would check in often and then headed back to the hotel to enjoy the beach. On our way back we ran into a man working for the UN that we had met the previous night at dinner. He drove us to his friend’s house that was right on the beach. We spent the entire afternoon bouncing between the hammock, swimming in the ocean, laying in the sun, and enjoying beers on the deck with a view I’d give anything for you, dear reader, to see. It is easy to forget that you are in the beautiful Caribbeans when you live in Leogane. The closest beaches are covered in garbage and the waves drop more of it on the shore with each lap. But here on this stranger-turned-friend’s little slice of heaven I remembered where we were. The Caribbeans lived up to their name here.
The guy from the UN was heading to Leogane the following morning at 5am. We had planned on leaving Sunday evening, but it was hard to pass up a ride INSIDE a truck with air conditioning and a CD player. His aunt had a little house on the beach that she rents out. Tonight it was empty so she let us stay for free. It was a tiny hut with two small rooms and a double bed from which we pulled the top mattress off so we had enough spots for the 4 of us to sleep. He apologized for not being able to provide more and we thanked him profusely for his unending generosity.
Once again it was another night of not believing our luck. We fell asleep to the ocean’s lullaby.
Living open to the unexpected has yet to disappoint. The unexpected leaves you available for the extraordinary. It’s unstable and its unreliable, this I know. But it is also full of so much faith. Faith in humanity. Faith in the kindness of strangers. Faith in the beauty of the world and what it has to offer. On occasions it works out for the best, other times not so much but it’s always worth the gamble. Sometimes keeping yourself open for the unexpected leaves you on a park bench in the middle of Naples at night, but awakens you with fresh coffee and warm croissants in the morning. And now and then the unexpected drops you in the arms of strangers who will consider you family for the rest of their life.
We walked to Jean Pierre’s for a breakfast that people from Jacmel eat every Sunday morning: pumpkin soup. It was hot and hearty and something strange to eat for breakfast but surprisingly filling. Jean Pierre and Mimi continually commented on how comfortable they were with us and how much we felt like family. Our thoughts were completely in-line with theirs; our Haitian foster parents.
One of the neighborhood boys climbed a coconut tree barefoot and threw down enough coconuts for each of us. Coconut milk straight from the shell was our morning coffee and it had never tasted better. I couldn’t wrap my head around how natural it all felt. I couldn’t wrap my head around how I would ever be able to leave.
We said very long goodbyes, promised we wouldn’t forget them and that we would check in often and then headed back to the hotel to enjoy the beach. On our way back we ran into a man working for the UN that we had met the previous night at dinner. He drove us to his friend’s house that was right on the beach. We spent the entire afternoon bouncing between the hammock, swimming in the ocean, laying in the sun, and enjoying beers on the deck with a view I’d give anything for you, dear reader, to see. It is easy to forget that you are in the beautiful Caribbeans when you live in Leogane. The closest beaches are covered in garbage and the waves drop more of it on the shore with each lap. But here on this stranger-turned-friend’s little slice of heaven I remembered where we were. The Caribbeans lived up to their name here.
The guy from the UN was heading to Leogane the following morning at 5am. We had planned on leaving Sunday evening, but it was hard to pass up a ride INSIDE a truck with air conditioning and a CD player. His aunt had a little house on the beach that she rents out. Tonight it was empty so she let us stay for free. It was a tiny hut with two small rooms and a double bed from which we pulled the top mattress off so we had enough spots for the 4 of us to sleep. He apologized for not being able to provide more and we thanked him profusely for his unending generosity.
Once again it was another night of not believing our luck. We fell asleep to the ocean’s lullaby.
Living open to the unexpected has yet to disappoint. The unexpected leaves you available for the extraordinary. It’s unstable and its unreliable, this I know. But it is also full of so much faith. Faith in humanity. Faith in the kindness of strangers. Faith in the beauty of the world and what it has to offer. On occasions it works out for the best, other times not so much but it’s always worth the gamble. Sometimes keeping yourself open for the unexpected leaves you on a park bench in the middle of Naples at night, but awakens you with fresh coffee and warm croissants in the morning. And now and then the unexpected drops you in the arms of strangers who will consider you family for the rest of their life.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Day 22: Jump in Feet First
This morning we awoke to coffee and breakfast. Crackers and real butter and this fish mess that was surprisingly good - even for breakfast. Jean Pierre and Mimi arranged for two young men they knew and trusted to drive us around all day on their moto-taxis. These two guys acted as part taxi – part bodyguards who checked in almost hourly with Jean-Pierre. The guys took us to the busy market that lined the tiny city streets. Produce spilling over curbs, women with baskets on their heads selling everything from clothes to packaged cheese, people dodging in between moto-taxis and chickens – it was all so picture-perfect Haiti. They never left our sides, certain not to lose us and face the wrath of Jean-Pierre.
After stocking up on some food and drinks we headed to the base of the mountain for our trek to Basin Blue – a spot in the mountain with three separate water falls that pictures could never do justice and large swimming holes with cold, fresh water. To get to the mountain leading to the waterfalls you have to cross three rivers. These rivers range anywhere from ankle to knee deep. There is absolutely no other way to get from Jacmel to the village on the other mountain except through these rivers. What a sight. Muddy brown water full of Haitians bathing to the east and moto-taxis trying to skid through without tipping over to the west. Women holding their goods securely on their head and skirts in their fists to keep from getting wet. Men pulling crying goats by a leash across water they can’t even stand in. I’ve never seen anything like it. We took off our shoes and walked across, trying not to think about what we were walking on or through.
Caitlyn and I decided to rough it and make the trek up the mountain by foot. 5k up hill sounded like quite an adventure. The scenery itself made the climb worth it. A local man from the village adjacent to the tiny path leading to the waterfalls asked if we needed a guide. We assured him we did not, until we made it halfway up a narrow path on a steep incline and heard “Mesdames, that is not right path you are on” echo through the trees. From far below he was calling out to us over and over until we responded. Ooops. Apparently we did need a guide. He took us back down, around some smaller falls, through little crevices to an opening that held a picturesque waterfall falling into a pool surrounded by mountains on almost every side. We had made it.
You have to use a rope to climb down the side of a large rock, swim against the current through a little pool before making it into the largest pool of water. A giant rock sits in the middle as a resting place for those who climb up the waterfall and jump off. I saw that downpour of water and knew I had to climb it. One slow step at a time through splashing water I found a little crevice in the rocks and pulled myself to the first flat rock landing. “You can jump from here,” our guide said. It wasn’t that far up. Maybe 50 feet. I looked down at the slope of the mountain and wondered just how certain he was about jumping. The thought was trashed a few seconds later because I knew either was I was going to jump. I didn't come this far to just stand on the edge. In so many ways I realized I had not come this far to just stand on the edge looking out. Sometimes life calls for a leap of faith. Sometimes you just have to jump in feet first without worrying about the trip down. Sometimes you just have to jump. You just have to jump. So I did.
After I found my way back to the surface of the water, I saw a boy do a back flip off the highest rock, a good 100 feet up. A back flip I wouldn’t do, but I had to jump from higher. I climbed up to the top, the other 3 women I traveled with looking on from below. And there I stood for about 15 minutes, all the courage drained out of me. Two girls no more than 16 years, cheered me on from the side, reminding me they had already jumped several times. It was the first time I felt my age. 5 years ago I wouldn’t have hesitated at the edge. I couldn’t get my legs to jump. To my credit, it wasn’t the height but the rocks and my uncertainty that I could actually clear them if I jumped. “Oh my mom is going to kill me when she hears this story,” was all I kept thinking.
Being an absurdly competitive person, mostly with myself, I knew there was no turning around. I realized I just couldn’t think about it. When you stare at anything long enough all you start to see is the negative. You imagine problems that may not even exist. Like most things, its best not to over analyze the situation. I walked back from the edge, breathed in deeply, and then took two steps before leaping off the edge into the body of water below. That is a feeling I’d like to remember for a long time – the thrill of falling and the excitement at being able to swim up for air unscathed.
The girls followed me back up and we jumped one more time. Then we headed back down to Jacmel. It was a very fulfilling day.
We had decided to stay at a hotel that night and found a room at a place called JaClef that had a pool almost as neon green as the running club shirts and as thick as mud. Not a good sign. It was a tiny room with two flimsy double beds, a black-light and moldy smell in the bathroom, and AC (the only saving grace that kept us from walking away.) The room was insanely expensive, especially for Haiti. It was 75 Amercian dollars per night (split 4 ways.) I don’t spend that much on a hotel in the US! Never in a million years did I think I’d spend that much in a 3rd world country. Inflation has caused many things in Haiti to be incredibly expensive. A lot of that is do to years of NGO’s moving into town and then leaving. Bad for the economy on many levels.
We came back to the hotel to find that the water still wasn’t working and the toilet didn’t flush. After 2 hours of arguing, negotiating, and then pleading the manager finally gave us our money back. The girls were less adamant about leaving than I was, especially if the water came back on. I’m not a sucker and I knew we were already being taken advantage of – not one room in that hotel was worth more than 20 dollars a night. There was no way I was spending that much money on a room that didn’t have running water. I would not budge on that. I have learned through the years to be more compromising, to be more lenient, but there are some things I just cannot budge on for various reasons, but mainly because of principle.
We flagged down another free ride and got dropped off at the nicest hotel I’ve seen in Haiti. All white, directly across from the ocean with a working pool and bar, ran by a blan from Germany. All of the rooms were filled except for the top floor of the villa he rents for 220 American dollars a night. I pleaded our case, pulled the volunteer card, and explained all the trouble at the other hotel. He couldn’t turn us away. For 100 dollars total he let us stay in a house with enough beds for each of us to have our own, a bathroom with a working shower and separate tub, a front porch with a hot tub (not working) and beautiful view of the ocean. The place was huge and gorgeous and clean and we were each only paying 5 dollars more than the atrocious hotel we just came from.
We met Jean Pierre and Mimi for dinner. They took us to a beautiful restaurant tucked away in the mountains which you would never know about without knowing a local. It was thatched roofed with an upscale Caribbean feel and ceiling fans. We enjoyed another delicious meal, but this time they allowed us to treat – the least we could do. After dinner they drove us back to the hotel, reminded us to walk over for breakfast the following morning, and we headed to bed in awe of how blessed we had been the past two days.
After stocking up on some food and drinks we headed to the base of the mountain for our trek to Basin Blue – a spot in the mountain with three separate water falls that pictures could never do justice and large swimming holes with cold, fresh water. To get to the mountain leading to the waterfalls you have to cross three rivers. These rivers range anywhere from ankle to knee deep. There is absolutely no other way to get from Jacmel to the village on the other mountain except through these rivers. What a sight. Muddy brown water full of Haitians bathing to the east and moto-taxis trying to skid through without tipping over to the west. Women holding their goods securely on their head and skirts in their fists to keep from getting wet. Men pulling crying goats by a leash across water they can’t even stand in. I’ve never seen anything like it. We took off our shoes and walked across, trying not to think about what we were walking on or through.
Caitlyn and I decided to rough it and make the trek up the mountain by foot. 5k up hill sounded like quite an adventure. The scenery itself made the climb worth it. A local man from the village adjacent to the tiny path leading to the waterfalls asked if we needed a guide. We assured him we did not, until we made it halfway up a narrow path on a steep incline and heard “Mesdames, that is not right path you are on” echo through the trees. From far below he was calling out to us over and over until we responded. Ooops. Apparently we did need a guide. He took us back down, around some smaller falls, through little crevices to an opening that held a picturesque waterfall falling into a pool surrounded by mountains on almost every side. We had made it.
You have to use a rope to climb down the side of a large rock, swim against the current through a little pool before making it into the largest pool of water. A giant rock sits in the middle as a resting place for those who climb up the waterfall and jump off. I saw that downpour of water and knew I had to climb it. One slow step at a time through splashing water I found a little crevice in the rocks and pulled myself to the first flat rock landing. “You can jump from here,” our guide said. It wasn’t that far up. Maybe 50 feet. I looked down at the slope of the mountain and wondered just how certain he was about jumping. The thought was trashed a few seconds later because I knew either was I was going to jump. I didn't come this far to just stand on the edge. In so many ways I realized I had not come this far to just stand on the edge looking out. Sometimes life calls for a leap of faith. Sometimes you just have to jump in feet first without worrying about the trip down. Sometimes you just have to jump. You just have to jump. So I did.
After I found my way back to the surface of the water, I saw a boy do a back flip off the highest rock, a good 100 feet up. A back flip I wouldn’t do, but I had to jump from higher. I climbed up to the top, the other 3 women I traveled with looking on from below. And there I stood for about 15 minutes, all the courage drained out of me. Two girls no more than 16 years, cheered me on from the side, reminding me they had already jumped several times. It was the first time I felt my age. 5 years ago I wouldn’t have hesitated at the edge. I couldn’t get my legs to jump. To my credit, it wasn’t the height but the rocks and my uncertainty that I could actually clear them if I jumped. “Oh my mom is going to kill me when she hears this story,” was all I kept thinking.
Being an absurdly competitive person, mostly with myself, I knew there was no turning around. I realized I just couldn’t think about it. When you stare at anything long enough all you start to see is the negative. You imagine problems that may not even exist. Like most things, its best not to over analyze the situation. I walked back from the edge, breathed in deeply, and then took two steps before leaping off the edge into the body of water below. That is a feeling I’d like to remember for a long time – the thrill of falling and the excitement at being able to swim up for air unscathed.
The girls followed me back up and we jumped one more time. Then we headed back down to Jacmel. It was a very fulfilling day.
We had decided to stay at a hotel that night and found a room at a place called JaClef that had a pool almost as neon green as the running club shirts and as thick as mud. Not a good sign. It was a tiny room with two flimsy double beds, a black-light and moldy smell in the bathroom, and AC (the only saving grace that kept us from walking away.) The room was insanely expensive, especially for Haiti. It was 75 Amercian dollars per night (split 4 ways.) I don’t spend that much on a hotel in the US! Never in a million years did I think I’d spend that much in a 3rd world country. Inflation has caused many things in Haiti to be incredibly expensive. A lot of that is do to years of NGO’s moving into town and then leaving. Bad for the economy on many levels.
We came back to the hotel to find that the water still wasn’t working and the toilet didn’t flush. After 2 hours of arguing, negotiating, and then pleading the manager finally gave us our money back. The girls were less adamant about leaving than I was, especially if the water came back on. I’m not a sucker and I knew we were already being taken advantage of – not one room in that hotel was worth more than 20 dollars a night. There was no way I was spending that much money on a room that didn’t have running water. I would not budge on that. I have learned through the years to be more compromising, to be more lenient, but there are some things I just cannot budge on for various reasons, but mainly because of principle.
We flagged down another free ride and got dropped off at the nicest hotel I’ve seen in Haiti. All white, directly across from the ocean with a working pool and bar, ran by a blan from Germany. All of the rooms were filled except for the top floor of the villa he rents for 220 American dollars a night. I pleaded our case, pulled the volunteer card, and explained all the trouble at the other hotel. He couldn’t turn us away. For 100 dollars total he let us stay in a house with enough beds for each of us to have our own, a bathroom with a working shower and separate tub, a front porch with a hot tub (not working) and beautiful view of the ocean. The place was huge and gorgeous and clean and we were each only paying 5 dollars more than the atrocious hotel we just came from.
We met Jean Pierre and Mimi for dinner. They took us to a beautiful restaurant tucked away in the mountains which you would never know about without knowing a local. It was thatched roofed with an upscale Caribbean feel and ceiling fans. We enjoyed another delicious meal, but this time they allowed us to treat – the least we could do. After dinner they drove us back to the hotel, reminded us to walk over for breakfast the following morning, and we headed to bed in awe of how blessed we had been the past two days.
Day 21: Leave Room for the Unexpected
There are not words for this weekend. No matter what I say it will never express the generosity, kindness and beauty we experienced. I will try anyways.
I am a firm believer in keeping yourself open to the unexpected. Extraordinary things can happen when you don’t spend your entire life planning, pretending like you know what the future holds. When it comes to traveling, I particularly hold tight to this belief. Today was a reminder why.
Myself and 3 other women jumped off the taptap full of 25 people in the bed, 3 on top of the roof, and three in the front seat (remember taptaps are about the size of a Ford Ranger) to hitch our way to Jacmel. Within 10 minutes we were in the bed of a large truck, fresh air blowing through our hair, and vast mountainside before us. A friend had recommended hitching a way to Jacmel, preferably in the back of a pickup truck, because the drive through the mountains is breathtaking. “After all,” he reminded me, “you are 4 women. You will get picked up in a heartbeat.” I also preferred the idea of an airy truck bed to a covered, over-filled “bus” that costs 100 goud (a little over 2 dollars.)
I remembered every time my dad brought home a truck from work we wanted to ride in the back. We were only ever allowed to sit in the bed if we sat smack dab next to the cab of the truck and went no more than 5 or 6 blocks, never reaching more than 20 mph. Now here we sat each in a corner, arms and legs sprawled out, going well over 60 mph up a mountain, around treacherous curves on one lane roads with two directions of traffic. Sorry, Mom.
The countryside was beautiful. Green and rolling. Yet, even with the ocean kissing its border, it all still seemed so dry. Less than 10% of Haiti’s forests remain. Looking down from so far up, this fact was incredibly evident. Nonetheless, each curve in the road brought another “ooh” from my lips.
The couple we hitched a ride with were in their early 60’s and instantly took us in like family. It in fact felt as if we had planned our trip to come see them, our family. By the end of the weekend they introduced us as their daughters and their neighbors would ask each morning how their blan daughters were.
Like any worrying parents, Jean Pierre and Mimi refused to leave us until we found a hotel. The search was a futile attempt so we pitched a tent in their front yard. They had offered us the tent right off the bat (I immediately jumped on board) but one of the woman traveling with us was determined to sleep in a bed - a foolish request in my opinion when a local family offered to take us in. When given the chance to stay as a tourist or visit as a local – always give in to the unexpected and choose the ordinary local life over that of a tourist. I promise, dear reader, you will never regret it.
They live across the street from a beach that stretches on for miles lined with palm trees and bordering bright blue waves crashing on the shore. A little hike up the mountain, through all the fruit trees we came to their tiny house with a front yard that actually had grass, and lush grass at that. After we settled in they took us to dinner at a restaurant on the beach. It was the best meal I’ve had yet in Haiti. We started with a salad that consisted of more than just ONE tomato and ONE piece of lettuce (like on the HODR base) and actually had dressing on it. This was accompanied by a piece of warm bread and butter. It felt lavish. It tasted so good. It's amazing how sick of rice and beans you can be when you have rice and beans for lunch and dinner for 4 weeks straight. The entrée of fish was so fresh and delicious I felt guilty for such indulgences. We chatted the whole time, getting to know their family and feeling more like kin. Then they paid for the bill without a single consideration of our request to treat.
We headed back to the house, climbed in the tent under a blanket of stars and just smiled. What a lucky day. Transportation, room, and meal considered we spent a total of one American dollar. More than that, we were in the company of truly special people, and that is worth more than any amount.
...
I feel I should take a moment to describe a conversation we had with Jean Pierre. While we were in the middle of scrambling to find a hotel and I was in the middle of profusely apologizing for all the inconvenience, he remained incredibly calm and pleasant. He said he had realized that you just have to learn to be happy. In Haiti you never know what tomorrow will bring so you learn to be happy right now. He had spent 24 years in the US where he said he always planned for the future. But Haiti is not like that. "You can’t plan for anything because nothing is stable. So you live one day at a time," he explained. This is something I have noticed a lot in Haiti; for better or worse, people don’t think about the future. For example, there are many reasons why Haiti is almost completely de-forested, one of which being that they use the trees to make coal which they can sell for a living. A short-run living, but a living none the same. Yet, if they left the trees for longer they could sell the fruits for years and make money continuously. But making coal is something you can do in the present- it has immediate effects and gratification. They are not worried about how they will survive in the future so it doesn’t occur to them to save things for the future. In America all we ever think about is the future. We have social security and retirement funds and a hundred different options for making ourselves feel stable about the years to come. And that allows us to sleep “better” at night. But maybe that isn’t the way. I don’t think we should disregard the future completely but there has to be a happy medium, some sort of compromise. Maybe we are meant to live more by the day. To enjoy life now. To find that middle ground where we keep an eye on the future while remembering to treat each day like it’s all we have, because let’s face it – one day it will be.
It never ceases to amaze me how much I learn from Haitians. I learned so much from Jean Pierre and Mimi after only a few hours. Always generosity. And now a reminder to enjoy our days, no matter how rough they may be. Because if anyone has learned how to find joy in tribulation it is the Haitians.
I am a firm believer in keeping yourself open to the unexpected. Extraordinary things can happen when you don’t spend your entire life planning, pretending like you know what the future holds. When it comes to traveling, I particularly hold tight to this belief. Today was a reminder why.
Myself and 3 other women jumped off the taptap full of 25 people in the bed, 3 on top of the roof, and three in the front seat (remember taptaps are about the size of a Ford Ranger) to hitch our way to Jacmel. Within 10 minutes we were in the bed of a large truck, fresh air blowing through our hair, and vast mountainside before us. A friend had recommended hitching a way to Jacmel, preferably in the back of a pickup truck, because the drive through the mountains is breathtaking. “After all,” he reminded me, “you are 4 women. You will get picked up in a heartbeat.” I also preferred the idea of an airy truck bed to a covered, over-filled “bus” that costs 100 goud (a little over 2 dollars.)
I remembered every time my dad brought home a truck from work we wanted to ride in the back. We were only ever allowed to sit in the bed if we sat smack dab next to the cab of the truck and went no more than 5 or 6 blocks, never reaching more than 20 mph. Now here we sat each in a corner, arms and legs sprawled out, going well over 60 mph up a mountain, around treacherous curves on one lane roads with two directions of traffic. Sorry, Mom.
The countryside was beautiful. Green and rolling. Yet, even with the ocean kissing its border, it all still seemed so dry. Less than 10% of Haiti’s forests remain. Looking down from so far up, this fact was incredibly evident. Nonetheless, each curve in the road brought another “ooh” from my lips.
The couple we hitched a ride with were in their early 60’s and instantly took us in like family. It in fact felt as if we had planned our trip to come see them, our family. By the end of the weekend they introduced us as their daughters and their neighbors would ask each morning how their blan daughters were.
Like any worrying parents, Jean Pierre and Mimi refused to leave us until we found a hotel. The search was a futile attempt so we pitched a tent in their front yard. They had offered us the tent right off the bat (I immediately jumped on board) but one of the woman traveling with us was determined to sleep in a bed - a foolish request in my opinion when a local family offered to take us in. When given the chance to stay as a tourist or visit as a local – always give in to the unexpected and choose the ordinary local life over that of a tourist. I promise, dear reader, you will never regret it.
They live across the street from a beach that stretches on for miles lined with palm trees and bordering bright blue waves crashing on the shore. A little hike up the mountain, through all the fruit trees we came to their tiny house with a front yard that actually had grass, and lush grass at that. After we settled in they took us to dinner at a restaurant on the beach. It was the best meal I’ve had yet in Haiti. We started with a salad that consisted of more than just ONE tomato and ONE piece of lettuce (like on the HODR base) and actually had dressing on it. This was accompanied by a piece of warm bread and butter. It felt lavish. It tasted so good. It's amazing how sick of rice and beans you can be when you have rice and beans for lunch and dinner for 4 weeks straight. The entrée of fish was so fresh and delicious I felt guilty for such indulgences. We chatted the whole time, getting to know their family and feeling more like kin. Then they paid for the bill without a single consideration of our request to treat.
We headed back to the house, climbed in the tent under a blanket of stars and just smiled. What a lucky day. Transportation, room, and meal considered we spent a total of one American dollar. More than that, we were in the company of truly special people, and that is worth more than any amount.
...
I feel I should take a moment to describe a conversation we had with Jean Pierre. While we were in the middle of scrambling to find a hotel and I was in the middle of profusely apologizing for all the inconvenience, he remained incredibly calm and pleasant. He said he had realized that you just have to learn to be happy. In Haiti you never know what tomorrow will bring so you learn to be happy right now. He had spent 24 years in the US where he said he always planned for the future. But Haiti is not like that. "You can’t plan for anything because nothing is stable. So you live one day at a time," he explained. This is something I have noticed a lot in Haiti; for better or worse, people don’t think about the future. For example, there are many reasons why Haiti is almost completely de-forested, one of which being that they use the trees to make coal which they can sell for a living. A short-run living, but a living none the same. Yet, if they left the trees for longer they could sell the fruits for years and make money continuously. But making coal is something you can do in the present- it has immediate effects and gratification. They are not worried about how they will survive in the future so it doesn’t occur to them to save things for the future. In America all we ever think about is the future. We have social security and retirement funds and a hundred different options for making ourselves feel stable about the years to come. And that allows us to sleep “better” at night. But maybe that isn’t the way. I don’t think we should disregard the future completely but there has to be a happy medium, some sort of compromise. Maybe we are meant to live more by the day. To enjoy life now. To find that middle ground where we keep an eye on the future while remembering to treat each day like it’s all we have, because let’s face it – one day it will be.
It never ceases to amaze me how much I learn from Haitians. I learned so much from Jean Pierre and Mimi after only a few hours. Always generosity. And now a reminder to enjoy our days, no matter how rough they may be. Because if anyone has learned how to find joy in tribulation it is the Haitians.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Day 20: Run
At the field hospital behind our base there is a volunteer who started a running club for the local children. Everyday at 430pm they meet to run for about 45 minutes – 1 hour. In bright green shirts that read “Leogane Track Club” on the front and “Vini Kouri” (come run) on the back, they run for 5-10 minutes, then walk for 5-10 minutes through the fields of Leogane. I have been itching to run with them since I heard about the program a couple of weeks ago. I have yet to run since arriving in Haiti. Though there is much to occupy my mind, and less to stress me out, I have been feeling that familiar itch in my legs to get up and just go.
After a long day of work and a tiring but fulfilling afternoon at the orphanage, I dropped my backpack and bolted out of the base to catch the tail end of the group. 20-30 neon green shirts lit the way like a beacon in the night. What a sight it was to see. Imagine the scene: dirt “roads” full of rubble and rocks you have to dodge in order not to fall, houses half destroyed or made of sticks, Haitians standing and sitting and grouping everywhere like bystanders at a marathon, and then along comes a group of runners composed of 5 blans surrounded by 30 Haitian children in matching shirts. The people of Leogane are not used to runners darting down the streets, especially in the middle of the hot season in the blazing sun. Everyone stared. We ran.
I stayed to the back next to a girl running barefoot and a boy in ripped Crocs. Only two of the older girls actually had running shoes, and I wondered if the group leader had provided them. The rest ran on the rough terrain in shoes that should have been tossed months ago. But the kids ran anyway. And of course they ran without complaining. Some held onto my shirt, some tried to link onto my arms and hold my hands. So much extra baggage made running even more difficult, especially after 3 weeks of not running, but I didn't have the heart to tell any of them "no."
Slowly my group fell behind. One of the girls tripped on the rocks and scraped her knee, causing the last of the team to slip out of view as I scooped her up into my arms to dry her tears. We decided to walk for a bit, my small group of 6. It didn’t take long to realize I had no idea where I was and the rest of the runners were too far ahead to catch up with. We kept walking, figuring we’d find our way sooner or later. We turned right down a little path between fields of sugar cane and corn and discussed the names of animals in Creole and English. They laughed at my accent and asked to know more. I smiled, feeling like I was in a dream.
After a bit we ran into a small group of Haitians. Straight from a scene from a movie – perhaps follow that bird - they stared at us with minimal confusion and then motioned us forward; waving their hands and pointing. We didn’t have to ask for directions, one white woman with a group of neon green was pretty obvious – they knew who we were with. For the next half hour, every little bit we’d hit a bend or fork in the road and momentarily question which way to head. But without fail there was always someone standing off in the fields or pulling a cow pointing us in the same direction of our predecessors. Cheering us on. Showing the way.
It’s amazing how identical rubble houses look. A half dozen times I thought I knew where we were only to find that we turned the opposite direction than I had expected, and I was more confused than before. It was starting to get late and I had to be at the nightly meeting by 7pm, so we picked up the pace to run again. Just as we started up I heard “Angie!” ring through the air. Angie is not a very common name in Haiti, so I assumed it was directed at me. There standing on the front porch with a smile from ear to ear and waving with enthusiasm was the woman who lives across from the orphanage where we work each week. She allows us to use the back of her house to lock up the 4 tables we keep for the children. I told her my name once and she has called me by it ever since. Of all the beautiful moments I have experienced in Haiti, this by far took the cake. There I was running in HAITI through the incredible countryside with children who were part of track club, far from the base, and a local Haitian woman not only recognized me but also called out to me by name. It brought a tear to my eye right there and I swelled with excitement. I waved back just as enthusiastically, jumping with each step I ran forward. For the first time I really felt a part of Leogane, of Haiti. In that moment I did not feel like a volunteer; I felt like a neighbor - like a local. And I beamed with pride at being a part of their community.
I now knew my surroundings and we were able to navigate our way back to the market next to the base rather quickly. The children took a short cut through an IDP tent camp I had never seen before and would’ve gotten lost in immediately if they hadn’t took it upon themselves to form a sort of protective bubble around me. Then one by one they fell off as we passed through the market where their tents were sporadically placed. One girl stayed with me, still holding my hand, refusing to leave until I walked through the gates of the base. We waved goodbye and I headed to the meeting 15 minutes late. A small price to pay for an evening I would never forget.
This, dear readers, is the beauty in running. My cabin-fever, my gradual fall back into taking on too many responsibilities at once, and all my thoughts over the upcoming weeks and months disappeared with each step I ran. I could hear my mom’s voice: “I told you you’d feel better after you ran.” I always do.
After a long day of work and a tiring but fulfilling afternoon at the orphanage, I dropped my backpack and bolted out of the base to catch the tail end of the group. 20-30 neon green shirts lit the way like a beacon in the night. What a sight it was to see. Imagine the scene: dirt “roads” full of rubble and rocks you have to dodge in order not to fall, houses half destroyed or made of sticks, Haitians standing and sitting and grouping everywhere like bystanders at a marathon, and then along comes a group of runners composed of 5 blans surrounded by 30 Haitian children in matching shirts. The people of Leogane are not used to runners darting down the streets, especially in the middle of the hot season in the blazing sun. Everyone stared. We ran.
I stayed to the back next to a girl running barefoot and a boy in ripped Crocs. Only two of the older girls actually had running shoes, and I wondered if the group leader had provided them. The rest ran on the rough terrain in shoes that should have been tossed months ago. But the kids ran anyway. And of course they ran without complaining. Some held onto my shirt, some tried to link onto my arms and hold my hands. So much extra baggage made running even more difficult, especially after 3 weeks of not running, but I didn't have the heart to tell any of them "no."
Slowly my group fell behind. One of the girls tripped on the rocks and scraped her knee, causing the last of the team to slip out of view as I scooped her up into my arms to dry her tears. We decided to walk for a bit, my small group of 6. It didn’t take long to realize I had no idea where I was and the rest of the runners were too far ahead to catch up with. We kept walking, figuring we’d find our way sooner or later. We turned right down a little path between fields of sugar cane and corn and discussed the names of animals in Creole and English. They laughed at my accent and asked to know more. I smiled, feeling like I was in a dream.
After a bit we ran into a small group of Haitians. Straight from a scene from a movie – perhaps follow that bird - they stared at us with minimal confusion and then motioned us forward; waving their hands and pointing. We didn’t have to ask for directions, one white woman with a group of neon green was pretty obvious – they knew who we were with. For the next half hour, every little bit we’d hit a bend or fork in the road and momentarily question which way to head. But without fail there was always someone standing off in the fields or pulling a cow pointing us in the same direction of our predecessors. Cheering us on. Showing the way.
It’s amazing how identical rubble houses look. A half dozen times I thought I knew where we were only to find that we turned the opposite direction than I had expected, and I was more confused than before. It was starting to get late and I had to be at the nightly meeting by 7pm, so we picked up the pace to run again. Just as we started up I heard “Angie!” ring through the air. Angie is not a very common name in Haiti, so I assumed it was directed at me. There standing on the front porch with a smile from ear to ear and waving with enthusiasm was the woman who lives across from the orphanage where we work each week. She allows us to use the back of her house to lock up the 4 tables we keep for the children. I told her my name once and she has called me by it ever since. Of all the beautiful moments I have experienced in Haiti, this by far took the cake. There I was running in HAITI through the incredible countryside with children who were part of track club, far from the base, and a local Haitian woman not only recognized me but also called out to me by name. It brought a tear to my eye right there and I swelled with excitement. I waved back just as enthusiastically, jumping with each step I ran forward. For the first time I really felt a part of Leogane, of Haiti. In that moment I did not feel like a volunteer; I felt like a neighbor - like a local. And I beamed with pride at being a part of their community.
I now knew my surroundings and we were able to navigate our way back to the market next to the base rather quickly. The children took a short cut through an IDP tent camp I had never seen before and would’ve gotten lost in immediately if they hadn’t took it upon themselves to form a sort of protective bubble around me. Then one by one they fell off as we passed through the market where their tents were sporadically placed. One girl stayed with me, still holding my hand, refusing to leave until I walked through the gates of the base. We waved goodbye and I headed to the meeting 15 minutes late. A small price to pay for an evening I would never forget.
This, dear readers, is the beauty in running. My cabin-fever, my gradual fall back into taking on too many responsibilities at once, and all my thoughts over the upcoming weeks and months disappeared with each step I ran. I could hear my mom’s voice: “I told you you’d feel better after you ran.” I always do.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Mini Get Away
Dear readers, I'm heading on a mini vacation w/a few other volunteers (Friday afternoon - Sunday afternoon.) Need a little time away from base and away from all the blans. Also, need to get in as much of Haiti as I can in the next week. No posts until Sunday. Check back in two days. Enjoy your weekend and thanks for your continual support!
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Day 19: Cabin Fever
I haven’t been rubbling all week (who knew you could make that into a verb?!) Quite truthfully, I’m trying to do everything I can but rubble for many reasons including a hurt shoulder and not limited to a need for variety. The upside to this is I’ve been able to create all week and do planning for the orphanage. The downside is that I’ve been on base for far too many hours. I’m starting to get cabin fever – badly. I also feel I’m starting to go a bit numb. I feel very far from Haiti, from Leogane, right now. I feel I am surrounded by far too many blans. I’ve made a point of eating my lunch outside with the local volunteers (even in the heat) instead of inside the base with most of the international volunteers. I need a little perspective - a reminder of why I’m here, because sometimes stuck inside the base, surrounded by a little too much drama for my own liking (a natural thing to occur when you have 130 people living in one communal space) you start to forget what it’s all about.
I also find that when I’m around base all day I’m easy to find. I’m accessible. I have a terrible problem of not being able to say “no” to almost anyone. My mom constantly reminds me that I’m wearing myself thin obliging myself to an exuberant number of commitments. Saying “no” had been something I had been trying to work on in the few weeks leading up to my trip. Somehow, that terrible habit followed me down here and has crawled back on my shoulder. Though I like the feeling of people wanting my services and skills, I remember how worn it makes me to be pulled in far too many opposing directions. I am now remembering how exhausted I become. I miss the people of Leogane. I miss the little free time I finally found after leaving NYC. I miss not having to say “no” because no one was asking. Because let’s face it, old habits die hard. I also just now realize how much I miss being able to blog about things that really matter – like life in Leogane. Inside 4 cement walls with no roof, you miss so much.
…
I wanted to take a quick minute to thank everyone for reading and sharing my blog. I appreciate your time more than words. I also thoroughly enjoy and treasure your comments, even if I have not replied to them. Internet is dodgy enough – it takes almost a half hour each night just to post one blog – I rarely have the energy to do much more online. Do know, though, that not only am I reading your comments but I would love more. So please, leave a message or send an email with your remarks, questions, concerns, and thoughts on absolutely anything! It’s great to hear from you. Thanks again for staying with me. The end is in sight.
I also find that when I’m around base all day I’m easy to find. I’m accessible. I have a terrible problem of not being able to say “no” to almost anyone. My mom constantly reminds me that I’m wearing myself thin obliging myself to an exuberant number of commitments. Saying “no” had been something I had been trying to work on in the few weeks leading up to my trip. Somehow, that terrible habit followed me down here and has crawled back on my shoulder. Though I like the feeling of people wanting my services and skills, I remember how worn it makes me to be pulled in far too many opposing directions. I am now remembering how exhausted I become. I miss the people of Leogane. I miss the little free time I finally found after leaving NYC. I miss not having to say “no” because no one was asking. Because let’s face it, old habits die hard. I also just now realize how much I miss being able to blog about things that really matter – like life in Leogane. Inside 4 cement walls with no roof, you miss so much.
…
I wanted to take a quick minute to thank everyone for reading and sharing my blog. I appreciate your time more than words. I also thoroughly enjoy and treasure your comments, even if I have not replied to them. Internet is dodgy enough – it takes almost a half hour each night just to post one blog – I rarely have the energy to do much more online. Do know, though, that not only am I reading your comments but I would love more. So please, leave a message or send an email with your remarks, questions, concerns, and thoughts on absolutely anything! It’s great to hear from you. Thanks again for staying with me. The end is in sight.
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