It’s raining in Kenscoff right now, as it does almost every afternoon around the same time. The clouds roll in from the mountains and make their way along the hour long drive down the hill that commuters take every day into Port au Prince. When the rain starts up here, people generally scatter to stay away from the rain for a few minutes, jogging to their house or the awning of a neighbor. In Port au Prince, life goes straight on through the rain. The boys selling bags of bread continue to walk through the street holding their goods with both hands high in front of car windows. The ladies selling beans, mangos, and oranges out of their big burlap bags cover only their eyes as the water runs through their fares and their over their skin. The only rain jackets are the lime green ponchos on the backs of the Voila cell phone sales reps; 3 or 4 children crowd under an umbrella if there is one available. And from the mountains to the lowest part of the city, people of all ages use the torrent of dust colored water pouring through the gutters of the street and the drops from above to wash themselves.
After five days in Haiti (my flight was delayed in Miami and consequently I arrived here on Wednesday instead of Tuesday), my experience of Haiti resembles the sound of the Kreyol language to the untrained ear: a complete blur. Without picking out a specific imagery, it all washes over, an uncontrollable ebb and flow of contentment, weariness, and wrenching irony. I really can’t imagine what’s to come in the next few months. But before I wear you down with all these new thoughts, let me tell you something about why they have come about.
My first day in Haiti was long and full, and we covered many corners of the city. It is suffice to say that as the land gets lower the people get poorer; the land by the airport therefore is some of the most beat-up. Up we drove in our little jeep to the Tabar neighborhood where St. Damien’s hospital, MINUSTAH (the UN mission), and the US Embassy sit (the embassy is to this point the biggest and most modern looking building I’ve seen in Haiti). After driving through some of the worst poverty I have ever seen, we drove to the Peton Ville neighborhood of the city, where the KCH office is located. Across from a tent city that envelops the park, we entered a restaurant with prices in US dollars for a productive and helpful discussion about our developing micro credit program with World Bank and SOFFIDES representatives. The compromising feeling one gets drinking four dollar orange juices while someone bathes with a bucket outside is one of the wrenching ironies that I’m glad to have experienced the very first day. I think it will only get harder to have that kind of experience.
After 5 days, I have met with close to 70 of the ex-eleves in our program, visited a tent city, toured a few worn out residences, ridden in a mid-sized pickup with 15 other people, driven through the mountains sprinkled everywhere with rows of crops, and been awakened every day by a rooster.
It’s time to stop writing; there is so much more to do tonight and tomorrow. As I wrap this up, four or five children are walking through the dark street outside my house singing rhythmically and someone has just started to play Haitian music out of a speaker far away. The sights and sounds that beg for attention continue at all hours of day and night; for now I will try my best just to keep up.
I’ll try and sign off with a phrase I see painted on a tap-tap (kind of pickup-truck buses). So tonight…
One Love
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