I’m at the airport in Santo Domingo. Our flight left at 6:05 am. I slept since the moment I got on the plane and woke up noticing we were descending and the ocean was below me. I thought 'interesting'. We’re already descending but San Jose is nowhere close to the ocean. I closed my eyes again. I opened them once we were on the ground and very soon I found out we had just landed back in Santo Domingo. Some airplane problems and we’re in the waiting area... waiting.
They just said on the monitor that the problem is fixed and we will be getting back on the plane soon. At this point, with no real responsibilities waiting for me in Costa Rica, I could be fine staying here a little bit longer. I’d like to share a bit more of my last few moments in Haiti and this moment seems pretty ideal to do so.
Yesterday was my last day and I remember my boss telling me earlier this week that my last day should be left to relax and say good-bye.
That was totally not my case. My last hours in Haiti got really stressful. Between finding out I have a deadline for a photography workshop submission on Friday, having to explain all bullet points of on-going work to Carolina (who will be replacing me), burning back-up DVDs of my photos as well as choosing photographs to give to SOS so that they can use and saying good-bye.. well, let’s just say all that took all of my time. I didn’t have time for blogging and I didn’t want time for blogging because I was getting a little tired of being in front of the computer.. typing away everything that will be left to Carolina so that she can have a printed and through explanation of the work that will be left to her. At one point I felt that it was so much I thought my head was going to explode. There is just too many contacts she must know about because she will keep in touch with them. We didn’t have time to go over everything and we left some bullet points for a phone call for today (or tomorrow… let me relax today). All in her hands now, good luck to her...because sometimes it can feel like a lot of work.
I said good-bye to most people who I don’t want to forget:the national director, a few of the students, including my 16-year-old triplet friends who Louis introduced to me since the beginning (Marie Ange, Ange Marie and Angelo), the people in the family strengthening programme, the people who work at the village, drivers, the cooks and cleaning ladies, translators (good friends), staff from our little camp, other volunteers.
Some people avoid saying good-bye. I think it is the least you can do and I find it necessary to at least attempt to say good-bye the right way, even if it’s fake or if it’s hard or awkward, even if you tell them you want to come back but you don’t know if you’ll actually make it back and you know they want to see you again. It might be difficult but it’s only right to do so.
I did cry a few tears when I saw Fernanda, staff from Mexico who also left with me, crying. I was expecting to cry a little more. It was a very strange day. Difficult, exciting, strange, surreal… that’s what yesterday felt like. Really, a big part of me felt like I had just arrived two days earlier… even though I have learned so much and I have so many new experiences since I arrived in Haiti, time still flew.
A big part of me only felt excitement. My turn finally arrived to leave on a jet plane (the helicopter stopped their services two days ago, so I didn’t have to choose). I remembered all those times I had gone to the UN base to receive people or to drop them off. During the first couple of weeks I couldn’t wait for it to be my turn to leave. Later on, when I stopped counting down the days and when the days just started to pass me by and when I felt content and used to things, I didn’t think about it too much, I knew my day would come.
I left with Fernanda, Mexican staff, 27-year-old, very nice person, a new friend.. also with Carlos, who has been the head of the programme and was leaving for the third time (he’ll be back soon). We arrived in Santo Domingo at around 5 pm.
Everything felt really strange. The road seemed so nice, there were nice cars all around, no trash, electricity everywhere, buildings, decorations in the house, treeees (no trees in Santo), people who looked clean, people who spoke my language, people who looked like me, places where I wanted to go in an eat…. wow. I was in shock.
Later on we toured colonial Santo Domingo. On the way there we passed some really nice areas. I saw so many buildings, so many signs and advertising, so many signs that I was about to be immersed into what I have been used to my whole life except for two months in Haiti.
I was still in shock. Carlos, Fernanda and Matilde, a new friend from Santo Domingo, could tell. I stared at people and things. It was a strange sensation, something I hadn’t felt before. How can there be a place so different on the same island. How can you get on a little airplane for one hour and land in another world?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Friday, May 21, 2010
May 21st
I was eating my dessert today sitting on a couch on our little “balcony” area of the house. The day of course was hot and I was really enjoying this chocolate-covered cookie (some kind of donation the children received from Dominican Republic) when all of a sudden two of the schoolgirls come up. They were two girls who have probably seen me running around the school, all stressed out (they probably don’t understand if I am ever walking too fast or looking stressed because Haitians in general don’t seem to “rush”). To me, they were just one of the 800 students that I smile to everyday (of course there are some I know by name, but these two girls were not them). I thought how sneaky are they , they are here at the house and not where they are supposed to be. Our little camp area is about a five-minute walk from the school. I wanted to tell them to please go back to school because they really are not supposed to come all the way to where we live, but I thought that if I was their age I would be doing exactly the same thing. So, how can I blame them? I thought they were probably just curious and wanted to see where we lived.
They asked me my name and I was in the middle of eating my cookie so they had to wait a second and during this second I felt so guilty for eating a cookie, which I’m sure looked delicious, in front of them. During this second I almost wanted to offer them one, but I thought I couldn’t offer them anything because I couldn’t offer it to everyone.
I told them my name, in french, of course, and they handed me an envelope. I am now understanding french more everyday and I know they said they wanted me to read it and respond, that they would be waiting for my response.
I read the letter in my room. I could understand most of it. Carolina, the other Costa Rican, translated it later today for me. It said:
“I love you (J t’aime) and I ask you to accept me as your daughter. Mommy and daddy died during the catastrophe on January 12. I can’t live like this. I ask that you accept me as your daughter. I think about you every day, accept me as your daughter, thank you. Patience so that you will tell me if you will be my mom.”
I am not sure if this is a girl that really knows me or a girl who just wanted to hand it to a “blanc” girl. I will find out. I’m going to write her back. I’ll have to get inspired and then Carolina will translate it.
They asked me my name and I was in the middle of eating my cookie so they had to wait a second and during this second I felt so guilty for eating a cookie, which I’m sure looked delicious, in front of them. During this second I almost wanted to offer them one, but I thought I couldn’t offer them anything because I couldn’t offer it to everyone.
I told them my name, in french, of course, and they handed me an envelope. I am now understanding french more everyday and I know they said they wanted me to read it and respond, that they would be waiting for my response.
I read the letter in my room. I could understand most of it. Carolina, the other Costa Rican, translated it later today for me. It said:
“I love you (J t’aime) and I ask you to accept me as your daughter. Mommy and daddy died during the catastrophe on January 12. I can’t live like this. I ask that you accept me as your daughter. I think about you every day, accept me as your daughter, thank you. Patience so that you will tell me if you will be my mom.”
I am not sure if this is a girl that really knows me or a girl who just wanted to hand it to a “blanc” girl. I will find out. I’m going to write her back. I’ll have to get inspired and then Carolina will translate it.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
May 19th
It’s 7:07am and I’m waiting for the office keys so I can begin my last full Wednesday of work. It feels very unreal that I’ll be leaving to Santo Domingo in exactly a week. After having coordinated outgoing flights for everyone it’s also strange that it’ll be my turn to fly away. During my first weeks here I felt jealous of everyone I went to drop off to leave. Lately I haven’t felt anything. I have just reassured myself that one day my turn will come. And it will.. very soon.
Because I put people either on UN flights or Helicopter flights from a German NGO, I’ve been thinking myself how I’d travel to Santo Domingo (helicopter or plane). If someone chose for me, I would adjust to whatever. But, having to choose... I’m unsure. I have to admit that flying on the helicopter seems a little more scary for me than going on a little airplane, but it would be nice to fly out in a helicopter because only God knows when I’ll get another chance.
Yesterday was a national holiday here in Haiti, Flag day. The school was closed, our cooking ladies didn’t come and well, other than that, it felt like a normal day to us. I just didn’t work as much. It’s been reported that two people from an NGO were kidnapped last week and one of them, the Haitian, was found dead recently. I just randomly opened a JOTC forward I get daily and to my surprise it contained information about shootings and gunfire and I was surprised to read about the murder of over 5 people this week (all Haitian) as well as some raping. Sometimes I feel like this whole security thing is just a joke- that I am in more danger even in Costa Rica… other times, like when I read that e-mail, I don’t.
We were warned yesterday by various sources (people, on e-mails, etc) that demonstrations MIGHT turn dangerous. Haven’t heard of anything so far.
I wish I could have seen the party/celebration part of yesterday. I wish I could be invisible to really see how Haitians celebrate the holidays.
In the afternoon, after we took a staff to the UN base to take a flight to Santo Domingo, I suggested to the other three who were in the car with me (Jean Jaques, one of our translators, Carolina, another Costa Rican who arrived two weeks ago, and Ele, a Panamanian working in finance) that we stop at that little tent camp near our village, the one that I went last time with Maribel- the one next to the rising “river”. I also wanted to give the clothes I brought with me because I didn’t get a chance to take them to Obama camp last time.
Nothing was going on and we went for about thirty minutes. I wish I could have stayed longer but it was during work hours and I couldn’t take too much advantage of the the time with the car. A group of boys, ages from aprox. six all the way to nineteen, were in the water- many playing, some jumping from the little hill, many just jumping in the water- all full of energy. They were all speaking to me in creole, joking around. Jean Jaques translated and one said he’d like to marry me. He was eighteen.
We walked a little further and talked to two women who were washing clothes with the water (basically washing clothes with water that might be dirtier than the clothes). They were really nice too. I told Jean Jaques to tell them that we would like to give them clothes. They pointed us to their daughters, a 6-year-old and a 12-year-old and we took them with us to the car. We gave them each a bag of clothes. I also gave a boy a bag of clothes and shoes that Line, the journalist, left for me to give to someone.
Of course we had to do this as discreetly and quickly as possible- giving people things in tent camps is known to be a little bit dangerous, especially if it’s food.
The 18-year-old who said he wanted to marry me came and I could tell he wanted something so I ripped a bag opened and pulled out some shirts that if I am not mistaken, my friend Arturo gave me. I wish I could have photographed the expression of his face (at this point my camera was hidden, I didn’t want to have it out in display so much during this moment). He looked as if he had just received a brand new and expensive shirt that he had chosen in a nice store. It was just a shirt that someone gave to me because it was just sitting in his closet, and to this teenage boy, it might just have changed his life.
Because I put people either on UN flights or Helicopter flights from a German NGO, I’ve been thinking myself how I’d travel to Santo Domingo (helicopter or plane). If someone chose for me, I would adjust to whatever. But, having to choose... I’m unsure. I have to admit that flying on the helicopter seems a little more scary for me than going on a little airplane, but it would be nice to fly out in a helicopter because only God knows when I’ll get another chance.
Yesterday was a national holiday here in Haiti, Flag day. The school was closed, our cooking ladies didn’t come and well, other than that, it felt like a normal day to us. I just didn’t work as much. It’s been reported that two people from an NGO were kidnapped last week and one of them, the Haitian, was found dead recently. I just randomly opened a JOTC forward I get daily and to my surprise it contained information about shootings and gunfire and I was surprised to read about the murder of over 5 people this week (all Haitian) as well as some raping. Sometimes I feel like this whole security thing is just a joke- that I am in more danger even in Costa Rica… other times, like when I read that e-mail, I don’t.
We were warned yesterday by various sources (people, on e-mails, etc) that demonstrations MIGHT turn dangerous. Haven’t heard of anything so far.
I wish I could have seen the party/celebration part of yesterday. I wish I could be invisible to really see how Haitians celebrate the holidays.
In the afternoon, after we took a staff to the UN base to take a flight to Santo Domingo, I suggested to the other three who were in the car with me (Jean Jaques, one of our translators, Carolina, another Costa Rican who arrived two weeks ago, and Ele, a Panamanian working in finance) that we stop at that little tent camp near our village, the one that I went last time with Maribel- the one next to the rising “river”. I also wanted to give the clothes I brought with me because I didn’t get a chance to take them to Obama camp last time.
Nothing was going on and we went for about thirty minutes. I wish I could have stayed longer but it was during work hours and I couldn’t take too much advantage of the the time with the car. A group of boys, ages from aprox. six all the way to nineteen, were in the water- many playing, some jumping from the little hill, many just jumping in the water- all full of energy. They were all speaking to me in creole, joking around. Jean Jaques translated and one said he’d like to marry me. He was eighteen.
We walked a little further and talked to two women who were washing clothes with the water (basically washing clothes with water that might be dirtier than the clothes). They were really nice too. I told Jean Jaques to tell them that we would like to give them clothes. They pointed us to their daughters, a 6-year-old and a 12-year-old and we took them with us to the car. We gave them each a bag of clothes. I also gave a boy a bag of clothes and shoes that Line, the journalist, left for me to give to someone.
Of course we had to do this as discreetly and quickly as possible- giving people things in tent camps is known to be a little bit dangerous, especially if it’s food.
The 18-year-old who said he wanted to marry me came and I could tell he wanted something so I ripped a bag opened and pulled out some shirts that if I am not mistaken, my friend Arturo gave me. I wish I could have photographed the expression of his face (at this point my camera was hidden, I didn’t want to have it out in display so much during this moment). He looked as if he had just received a brand new and expensive shirt that he had chosen in a nice store. It was just a shirt that someone gave to me because it was just sitting in his closet, and to this teenage boy, it might just have changed his life.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
May 17th
A good friend asked me today why I have abandoned my blog. For all of those who follow, I’m sorry. I’ve started to write many times, I just never get around to finish entries. I’m determined to write something tonight, Monday night, ten minutes away from the electricity going away, knowing that if I write longer than past ten many mosquitoes will come and visit me, sticking to my laptop screen.
Last week I didn’t feel very well - physically and mentally. On Sunday or around then I began to get symptoms of a sore throat- it never really turned into one, fortunately, but I was left even voiceless for some days and feeling like I was seconds away from getting the flu. My immune system felt weak and I had little energy to work. I felt guilty because I didn’t spend my whole days working; instead I took a couple of afternoons off to lay down or read. I even watched movies. To add to not feeling well, I began to get really stressed here with my job. I don’t want to get into it on this blog, but let’s just say that the work here started to wear me down I began to feel stressed out like I hadn’t felt in years. Since my life lately has been pretty stress-free I began to think that maybe this environment is too much for me now and I began to change my mind about staying longer. I’ve struggled with making the decision of whether or not to stay longer but I’ve finally come to a sort of weak decision (which has grown a bit stronger every day) to just leave the day I have my plane ticket for, May 27th.
This means that in ten days, during the end of my next week, I will be back in my comfort zone, eating healthy, enjoying the company of many who I haven’t seen in over two months, back in a place which has no point of comparison to what I have lived here everyday. It will probably be really strange.
I feel like these next few days will fly by and the next thing I know is I’ll be gone. I’m trying to make the best of my last few days, but at the same time it is difficult. The days are long and hot and sometimes I wish I could have more energy to talk to children and do other things besides work. I feel like a part of me will feel somehow regretful for not doing certain things (starting with photography).. then again, I know I have tried my hardest- in all senses. This trip was probably not what I expected- I expected to have more free time, to be able to photograph more, etc. I don’t really care though because I have learned more than I could have ever imagined and met people I never thought I’d meet. Maybe it will be the first of other trips to Haiti, a trip to get to know a little bit of the country, of the culture, to get used to a place where I am surrounded by extreme poverty, to get used to the slow motion of things and to get to know myself better.. to know that I take precautions and don’t really feel safe in many places.
On Saturday morning I helped Eli, a volunteer nurse from Spain, with a hygiene project in the village. She gathered all 430 children and one by one spread anti-scabies lotion or something similar on their bodies. I helped on this and really enjoyed it, being able to be with the children. Usually I’m not with the children. At one point I opened the lotion lil bottle and it squirted all over my face- all of the children were cracking up.
At around 1030am a helicopter came to pick up two people who are going away to our other village in Cap-Haitien and I noticed how beautiful the blue sky was behind all the children watching the helicopter land.. and then fly away. I took many photos.
Last week I didn’t feel very well - physically and mentally. On Sunday or around then I began to get symptoms of a sore throat- it never really turned into one, fortunately, but I was left even voiceless for some days and feeling like I was seconds away from getting the flu. My immune system felt weak and I had little energy to work. I felt guilty because I didn’t spend my whole days working; instead I took a couple of afternoons off to lay down or read. I even watched movies. To add to not feeling well, I began to get really stressed here with my job. I don’t want to get into it on this blog, but let’s just say that the work here started to wear me down I began to feel stressed out like I hadn’t felt in years. Since my life lately has been pretty stress-free I began to think that maybe this environment is too much for me now and I began to change my mind about staying longer. I’ve struggled with making the decision of whether or not to stay longer but I’ve finally come to a sort of weak decision (which has grown a bit stronger every day) to just leave the day I have my plane ticket for, May 27th.
This means that in ten days, during the end of my next week, I will be back in my comfort zone, eating healthy, enjoying the company of many who I haven’t seen in over two months, back in a place which has no point of comparison to what I have lived here everyday. It will probably be really strange.
I feel like these next few days will fly by and the next thing I know is I’ll be gone. I’m trying to make the best of my last few days, but at the same time it is difficult. The days are long and hot and sometimes I wish I could have more energy to talk to children and do other things besides work. I feel like a part of me will feel somehow regretful for not doing certain things (starting with photography).. then again, I know I have tried my hardest- in all senses. This trip was probably not what I expected- I expected to have more free time, to be able to photograph more, etc. I don’t really care though because I have learned more than I could have ever imagined and met people I never thought I’d meet. Maybe it will be the first of other trips to Haiti, a trip to get to know a little bit of the country, of the culture, to get used to a place where I am surrounded by extreme poverty, to get used to the slow motion of things and to get to know myself better.. to know that I take precautions and don’t really feel safe in many places.
On Saturday morning I helped Eli, a volunteer nurse from Spain, with a hygiene project in the village. She gathered all 430 children and one by one spread anti-scabies lotion or something similar on their bodies. I helped on this and really enjoyed it, being able to be with the children. Usually I’m not with the children. At one point I opened the lotion lil bottle and it squirted all over my face- all of the children were cracking up.
At around 1030am a helicopter came to pick up two people who are going away to our other village in Cap-Haitien and I noticed how beautiful the blue sky was behind all the children watching the helicopter land.. and then fly away. I took many photos.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Saturday, May 8th
Since I arrived over six weeks ago so many people have left and so many things have changed because of this. Right now there are the least amount of people since I arrived and the journalist, Line, and I are the ones who have been here the longest. It’s been quieter the past few days.
It’s Saturday and it’s around 930pm. Tonight is probably the quietest Saturday night we’ve had since I arrived. Usually we go to a bar nearby - when we first arrived I didn’t think it was safe but we’ve been so many times that we’ve gotten used to it and now consider it safe. Even if we don’t go to the bar, there’s always a group of volunteers outside talking on benches, under the moonlight.
Tonight it seems as if everyone is doing their own thing- some are watching movies on their computers, others are reading, others are at the office chatting or making phone calls.
The advantage of having a few people is that we’ve had more of different things.. such as water. We have cleaning and cooking ladies during the week but not on Saturdays. Today I washed a few dishes with water from the faucet (usually they wash in a bucket) and while I scrubbed the plates, the water was left running for a few seconds I couldn’t help but remember that group of people under those showerheads in Jacmel- how they would hold their water bottle up and fight for the little water that was coming out. And here I was, in their country, washing the dishes like a tourist, as if I didn’t know. I felt guilty.
It might be a surprise to some, but I am considering extending my stay. Now that I got the hang of what my job consists of and since I am supposed to leave during the next three weeks, it should be time that we find someone to replace me. They have asked others to stay before, and I think that might be my case. If I stay longer it’ll probably just be two weeks. I don’t want to make it longer than that. I haven’t really been that homesick, probably because since I’ve only been living in Costa Rica for about 10 months then I am not even used to the idea that that’s my home (but when I think about it, I get really happy that that’s my home).
Tomorrow the few of us are going to Obama beach. I told everyone we need to stop at Obama tent camp. I brought a suitcase full of clothes that people from my family and friends donated for my trip. I’ve given some to people on the streets, from the car… but I still have a lot left. I am tempted to give it to people around here…like the girls who clean, etc - but at the same time, I know there’s people who need it more, like those at Obama tent camp. Either way, it will go into hands of people and children who need it, no matter what. Nothing can go to waste here. It seems that people live off of what many of us consider dirty, old or trash.
I think that when people leave Haiti they leave full of mixed emotions; at least this is what I am partly expecting from my departure. Not that I know what it will be exactly, but I think I have an idea. Just like I think I have an idea of what many other volunteers and NGO staff feel after being here for three, seven, ten or thirteen weeks. I’m sure they hear local music (compa) and they can’t help but feel nostalgia thinking of what they find beautiful in the culture. Haitians, of course, have things to admire…. I -for example- admire how they are able to wake up every morning, get up with pride and dignity and walk and work under the sun and in the crowded streets, as if they didn’t lose not only their little material things, but the person they might have loved the most in their life. They are able to tell the story about how they lived the earthquake as if they were telling a story about how they sold a house and met someone (at least these are the kind of reactions I have received from a few who have told me how they lived the earthquake... by the way, just to add a fact, since Haiti hadn’t had an earthquake in over 200 years, many didn’t recognize what was happening and thought their house was just falling apart because it was in bad shape).
Haitians keep on going. At least this is what it seems like. It’s a very colorful country (what I’ve seen)… the tap-taps are very artistic and always colorful. Walking around, it’s very difficult to find someone who won’t smile. If you smile, it’s guaranteed you’ll get a smile back. Another beautiful thing that I have learned and have no doubts about is that Haitians share- even if they have little, they share with those they like.. and if you're nice, they like you... they invite whenever they can (as I saw last weekend in Jacmel)... they buy whatever they can afford.. for example, many times when some volunteers/staff who were very much loved and respected here left, the Haitian workers took the little they had and bought souvenirs for them. It’s also impressing that, despite the little education and the fact that only half of children go to school, it’s not hard to find someone who speaks English and/ or Spanish.
So there must be a feeling that they will miss being as much as they were immersed in the culture.
Then there must be the personal feeling of missing whatever was uncomfortable because of living conditions.. missing the simplicity of how they had to live in Haiti because they were left with this choice and nothing else. Most likely, these people have a bit of difficulty adapting back into their country- yes, the first big and good meal must taste like heaven… just like just taking a hot shower and being only around those who look like them ( I’m getting really tired of all these children calling me “blanc” every morning “ blanc! Blanc! Blanc! “ is what they innocently say as I pass by..) must feel very nice.
But what might be the strongest feeling is not a positive one. It doesn’t have to do with the nice Haitian music or the smiles that they encounter. It’s a feeling of frustration. Because maybe they’d wish that the Haitians had received more than them during the time they were in the country. Maybe they’d wish that it wasn’t them who were leaving on an airplane, (looking down at the misery) with a very valuable experience, with so much more knowledge. Maybe they wish they could give up this experience and knowledge for a much better result into their too short of a time. Maybe they’d wish the number of kids in Haiti wasn’t endless so that those who were here to help could actually help all, not a few. Maybe they’d wish that the energy they woke up with every morning, with hopes that their efforts would be able to turn into someone having food on their plate that day, was worth a lot more than food in a plate.
Because really, it’s not about food or clothes or water here. It goes beyond that, just like it goes beyond the earthquake. The people here are used to eating very little, taking short and little showers, and wearing shoes that are too big or have holes. We, from the outside, suffer more looking at them than they actually do eating little, drinking little, showering very little and having nothing to wear.
The frustration doesn’t have to do with shoes or water or clothes or tents. It has to do with the overall picture- with the fact that there’s too much. There’s too much for one person, for one NGO, for the whole United Nations (who seem to be taking the role of the government right now… where is the Haitian government?) too much for those who seem to want to change in Haiti (then there’s the whole issue that we shouldn’t change their identify) …..and unfortunately, it is SO much that when these people leave I can imagine that they are frustrated and even worried.
The people that come here have their reasons including the selfish ones like the desire to want to tell others they were helping out in Haiti, right after the earthquake (what brought me here is the pure passion I have for photography, even though I am hardly photographing). But there people also are humanitarian people.. there are no doubts about that… it’s people who want to see a better world, many who have way more experience than me in relief/emergency response and who have many times left a country with this feeling of frustration.. and since these people would want Haiti to rise than they leave with no other feeling other than..
Pure frustration.
Because even others like me, working in logistics, being inside of the process that will eventually feed over 10,000 children, think…. it’s not about the feeding. It’s about changing their perspective so that their future is actually different from where they are now.
People go back to their countries, their people, their customs and to feeling comfortable- they add this experience to their life- two long months, many long nights and a lot of hot days turn into a valuable memory, maybe to some it turns into the most valuable memory of their lifetime. They continue with their life and whatever it is they do which has nothing or very little to do with this Caribbean country called Haiti. Every once in a while they hear a song, they see a little innocent child, they smell a special food, and they remember what that time period turned into- they remember as much as they can, but it will always be very little. They wonder how Haiti is doing as a whole, and they think of the whole country, even though they only went to see Port au Prince. They get a feeling of guilt and frustration because they are not there- they know others are there and many people are doing what they once did- all to try to lift Haiti up.
Very unfortunately, they try to think realistically and they imagine that things are very similar and possibly exactly the same... that even a year after the earthquake there are still dead bodies underneath the gravel and that the piles of trash have actually gotten bigger. But once they get to this level of thoughts, they only feel uncomfortable, so they rather change their thoughts immediately and go back to their reality.
It’s Saturday and it’s around 930pm. Tonight is probably the quietest Saturday night we’ve had since I arrived. Usually we go to a bar nearby - when we first arrived I didn’t think it was safe but we’ve been so many times that we’ve gotten used to it and now consider it safe. Even if we don’t go to the bar, there’s always a group of volunteers outside talking on benches, under the moonlight.
Tonight it seems as if everyone is doing their own thing- some are watching movies on their computers, others are reading, others are at the office chatting or making phone calls.
The advantage of having a few people is that we’ve had more of different things.. such as water. We have cleaning and cooking ladies during the week but not on Saturdays. Today I washed a few dishes with water from the faucet (usually they wash in a bucket) and while I scrubbed the plates, the water was left running for a few seconds I couldn’t help but remember that group of people under those showerheads in Jacmel- how they would hold their water bottle up and fight for the little water that was coming out. And here I was, in their country, washing the dishes like a tourist, as if I didn’t know. I felt guilty.
It might be a surprise to some, but I am considering extending my stay. Now that I got the hang of what my job consists of and since I am supposed to leave during the next three weeks, it should be time that we find someone to replace me. They have asked others to stay before, and I think that might be my case. If I stay longer it’ll probably just be two weeks. I don’t want to make it longer than that. I haven’t really been that homesick, probably because since I’ve only been living in Costa Rica for about 10 months then I am not even used to the idea that that’s my home (but when I think about it, I get really happy that that’s my home).
Tomorrow the few of us are going to Obama beach. I told everyone we need to stop at Obama tent camp. I brought a suitcase full of clothes that people from my family and friends donated for my trip. I’ve given some to people on the streets, from the car… but I still have a lot left. I am tempted to give it to people around here…like the girls who clean, etc - but at the same time, I know there’s people who need it more, like those at Obama tent camp. Either way, it will go into hands of people and children who need it, no matter what. Nothing can go to waste here. It seems that people live off of what many of us consider dirty, old or trash.
I think that when people leave Haiti they leave full of mixed emotions; at least this is what I am partly expecting from my departure. Not that I know what it will be exactly, but I think I have an idea. Just like I think I have an idea of what many other volunteers and NGO staff feel after being here for three, seven, ten or thirteen weeks. I’m sure they hear local music (compa) and they can’t help but feel nostalgia thinking of what they find beautiful in the culture. Haitians, of course, have things to admire…. I -for example- admire how they are able to wake up every morning, get up with pride and dignity and walk and work under the sun and in the crowded streets, as if they didn’t lose not only their little material things, but the person they might have loved the most in their life. They are able to tell the story about how they lived the earthquake as if they were telling a story about how they sold a house and met someone (at least these are the kind of reactions I have received from a few who have told me how they lived the earthquake... by the way, just to add a fact, since Haiti hadn’t had an earthquake in over 200 years, many didn’t recognize what was happening and thought their house was just falling apart because it was in bad shape).
Haitians keep on going. At least this is what it seems like. It’s a very colorful country (what I’ve seen)… the tap-taps are very artistic and always colorful. Walking around, it’s very difficult to find someone who won’t smile. If you smile, it’s guaranteed you’ll get a smile back. Another beautiful thing that I have learned and have no doubts about is that Haitians share- even if they have little, they share with those they like.. and if you're nice, they like you... they invite whenever they can (as I saw last weekend in Jacmel)... they buy whatever they can afford.. for example, many times when some volunteers/staff who were very much loved and respected here left, the Haitian workers took the little they had and bought souvenirs for them. It’s also impressing that, despite the little education and the fact that only half of children go to school, it’s not hard to find someone who speaks English and/ or Spanish.
So there must be a feeling that they will miss being as much as they were immersed in the culture.
Then there must be the personal feeling of missing whatever was uncomfortable because of living conditions.. missing the simplicity of how they had to live in Haiti because they were left with this choice and nothing else. Most likely, these people have a bit of difficulty adapting back into their country- yes, the first big and good meal must taste like heaven… just like just taking a hot shower and being only around those who look like them ( I’m getting really tired of all these children calling me “blanc” every morning “ blanc! Blanc! Blanc! “ is what they innocently say as I pass by..) must feel very nice.
But what might be the strongest feeling is not a positive one. It doesn’t have to do with the nice Haitian music or the smiles that they encounter. It’s a feeling of frustration. Because maybe they’d wish that the Haitians had received more than them during the time they were in the country. Maybe they’d wish that it wasn’t them who were leaving on an airplane, (looking down at the misery) with a very valuable experience, with so much more knowledge. Maybe they wish they could give up this experience and knowledge for a much better result into their too short of a time. Maybe they’d wish the number of kids in Haiti wasn’t endless so that those who were here to help could actually help all, not a few. Maybe they’d wish that the energy they woke up with every morning, with hopes that their efforts would be able to turn into someone having food on their plate that day, was worth a lot more than food in a plate.
Because really, it’s not about food or clothes or water here. It goes beyond that, just like it goes beyond the earthquake. The people here are used to eating very little, taking short and little showers, and wearing shoes that are too big or have holes. We, from the outside, suffer more looking at them than they actually do eating little, drinking little, showering very little and having nothing to wear.
The frustration doesn’t have to do with shoes or water or clothes or tents. It has to do with the overall picture- with the fact that there’s too much. There’s too much for one person, for one NGO, for the whole United Nations (who seem to be taking the role of the government right now… where is the Haitian government?) too much for those who seem to want to change in Haiti (then there’s the whole issue that we shouldn’t change their identify) …..and unfortunately, it is SO much that when these people leave I can imagine that they are frustrated and even worried.
The people that come here have their reasons including the selfish ones like the desire to want to tell others they were helping out in Haiti, right after the earthquake (what brought me here is the pure passion I have for photography, even though I am hardly photographing). But there people also are humanitarian people.. there are no doubts about that… it’s people who want to see a better world, many who have way more experience than me in relief/emergency response and who have many times left a country with this feeling of frustration.. and since these people would want Haiti to rise than they leave with no other feeling other than..
Pure frustration.
Because even others like me, working in logistics, being inside of the process that will eventually feed over 10,000 children, think…. it’s not about the feeding. It’s about changing their perspective so that their future is actually different from where they are now.
People go back to their countries, their people, their customs and to feeling comfortable- they add this experience to their life- two long months, many long nights and a lot of hot days turn into a valuable memory, maybe to some it turns into the most valuable memory of their lifetime. They continue with their life and whatever it is they do which has nothing or very little to do with this Caribbean country called Haiti. Every once in a while they hear a song, they see a little innocent child, they smell a special food, and they remember what that time period turned into- they remember as much as they can, but it will always be very little. They wonder how Haiti is doing as a whole, and they think of the whole country, even though they only went to see Port au Prince. They get a feeling of guilt and frustration because they are not there- they know others are there and many people are doing what they once did- all to try to lift Haiti up.
Very unfortunately, they try to think realistically and they imagine that things are very similar and possibly exactly the same... that even a year after the earthquake there are still dead bodies underneath the gravel and that the piles of trash have actually gotten bigger. But once they get to this level of thoughts, they only feel uncomfortable, so they rather change their thoughts immediately and go back to their reality.
Friday, May 7th
It’s almost lunch time and I am at the house getting some rest, laying on my bed. Soon the rest will come and we will eat lunch. Probably more than fifteen people have left in the past week- we have had a lot of empty beds and mattresses and as usual, it’s been hard to say good-bye. It’s been about eight of us during the past few days - of course we’ve had our nice moments too.
I didn’t finish writing about Jacmel.. I began writing with details, but the story started to get long. Let me talk a little bit more about the end of the trip- we went to a music show on Saturday night after the festival at the beach. I can’t really categorize the type of music it was,…. I just know that I liked it very much. The group was called Loray- they don’t have a CD or a website yet. I very much enjoyed seeing some Haitian artists- it gave me another sense of hope for the country.
What I didn’t know when I was listening to the music and taking photos was that the band was actually friends with one of Natasha’s sisters and that we’d end up spending a lot of time with them afterwards.
After the show we went with this group of musicians to another party at the beach. I was really tired by then and probably weak from the lack of food. I didn’t really enjoy it so much, I was anxious and nervous to get back to our “house” and sleep – at this point I didn’t know where I’d put my sleeping bag. And even though Maribel and the rest were telling us that it was safe, I was also very much concerned with our security.
Fortunately, we weren’t at this party for too long and we got a ride from the musicians back to the “house”. I slept next to Natasha’s sisters and Maribel inside of a tent, in a place where no one would think a white person was sleeping.. it was difficult to fall asleep but I somehow managed. In the morning Natasha brought two big buckets of water (from I don’t know where) for us to shower. We came back to Port au Prince really early- around nine am. Maribel counted 22 people in a small minivan. I don’t know how I managed. Many had someone on their laps- I had a big backpack.
I got back to the village and I felt like I was walking into complete luxury.
I didn’t finish writing about Jacmel.. I began writing with details, but the story started to get long. Let me talk a little bit more about the end of the trip- we went to a music show on Saturday night after the festival at the beach. I can’t really categorize the type of music it was,…. I just know that I liked it very much. The group was called Loray- they don’t have a CD or a website yet. I very much enjoyed seeing some Haitian artists- it gave me another sense of hope for the country.
What I didn’t know when I was listening to the music and taking photos was that the band was actually friends with one of Natasha’s sisters and that we’d end up spending a lot of time with them afterwards.
After the show we went with this group of musicians to another party at the beach. I was really tired by then and probably weak from the lack of food. I didn’t really enjoy it so much, I was anxious and nervous to get back to our “house” and sleep – at this point I didn’t know where I’d put my sleeping bag. And even though Maribel and the rest were telling us that it was safe, I was also very much concerned with our security.
Fortunately, we weren’t at this party for too long and we got a ride from the musicians back to the “house”. I slept next to Natasha’s sisters and Maribel inside of a tent, in a place where no one would think a white person was sleeping.. it was difficult to fall asleep but I somehow managed. In the morning Natasha brought two big buckets of water (from I don’t know where) for us to shower. We came back to Port au Prince really early- around nine am. Maribel counted 22 people in a small minivan. I don’t know how I managed. Many had someone on their laps- I had a big backpack.
I got back to the village and I felt like I was walking into complete luxury.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Monday, May 3rd
I will never forget this weekend. I escaped out of the village with one of the most carefree and adventurous people I have ever met in my life, my friend from Spain, Maribel. For many days now we have been trying to plan a trip outside of Port-au-Prince. This is something that definitely interested me because of photography and for the simple reason that I would like to leave Haiti and be able to say that I saw more than just this city.
After a lot of questioning (since weeks ago) about security, transportation, lodging, time off from work, etc.. we were finally able to step into pure Haitian life and freedom from the village on Saturday. Our adventure began at eight in the morning. Feeling a bit guilty because others from the team were working hard to put up tent, we walked away alone and excited for a weekend with Haitians. We were going with Natasha, Maribel’s friend who works as a psychologist here- I felt like going with her was a safe way to go.
So we walked out of the village, ready to get on a tap-tap (local “buses” here, at that point I had never been in one) but all of a sudden, Marta drove past us with an SOS car. We asked her for a ride and three miles down the road, Maribel and I got dropped off. We were unsure where Natasha lived, we just knew she lived down a certain street.
With our backpacks and sleeping bags, looking like complete tourists (and possibly idiots.. sleeping bags with this heat?) Maribel used the creole she has been practicing everyday to find out exactly where Natasha lived. Thanks to a lot of really nice Haitians we were able to meet Natasha about five minutes down the street. I got formally introduced to her and her three sisters who were going on the trip. We walked back to the main road and I got on my first tap-tap ride of my life. A month ago, looking at tap-taps from the cars I wondered how so many people were able to fit into such a small vehicle. I had never imagined I would get in one myself.
The first tap-tap ride we took was for about twenty minutes. I felt very safe being with Haitians and it was clear that Nastasha and her sisters wanted to take good care of us, they were holding our hands since the beginning. I was impressed because as some people hopped in even if there wasn’t space to sit, one of Natasha’s sisters just held a girl on her lap. A complete stranger on someone’s lap was a whole new concept for me. I actually didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I expected- physically and mentally. I wasn’t as crammed and I didn’t feel unsafe or out of place…. ok, maybe a little bit. But the the fact that we were getting to know a culture by actually becoming a part of and not seeing it from the car kept me too excited.
About an hour later we were at a bus station in Port au Prince (this would have taken about half of the time in a car). I was a little unsure about being able to find a bus ride to Jacmel because there was a big music festival this weekend and it would make sense to think that a lot of people were leaving town.
There were no buses left when we arrived- for a second I thought maybe we were not going, and in this case I wouldn’t have cared so much because at this point I was so easy going with whatever. But Natasha assured us we would go to Jacmel and we just crossed the road and hopped on a car. I heard “jacmel? Jacmel?” all around me so many cars were probably waiting for as many people as they could cram into a car and leave. We first got in a car but then hopped out because it cost five dollars per person and Natasha and her sisters considered this expensive. I was a bit disappointed because I had thought this car with spacious.
By this point we had all been sweating since we left and it seemed like it was getting hotter each passing minute, with all of the commotion and having to take quick decisions. We ended up getting in a sort of minivan, about 15 people or possibly more were crammed in this car. I was sweating a lot and thinking ‘two hours of this will be difficult’. But I also told myself that it was all in the mind that I could deal with squishing and being so close to everyone. As we drove away I closed my eyes and began to think, all of sudden my daydreaming passed to dreaming, or so I felt like that. I felt tired so I wanted to rest but at the same time I wanted to open my eyes, curious about what I would find when I would open them.. I knew time had passed so I knew the scenery would be different.
I did stay away awake for the last hour and a half of the trip… it was greener, at some points I was reminded on Costa Rica (but very little).. but it seemed as if the mountains were steeper, the soil was drier… a lot greener than what I had seen in Haiti, that’s for sure. A few houses here and there, a few people walking around and every once in a while…. a little bit of destruction from the earthquake.
We arrived in Jacmel at around 11am. We took a motorcycle ride to Natasha’s friend’s house (some guy named Lulu who was letting us sleep there). By this point I began to be more conscious and curious about where I would sleep and what I would eat. I guess I got used to the luxuries (I can definitely call it that) that we have here and imagined that where we would stay there would be things that I would take for granted.. .such as water, electricity, bla. I don’t know what I was thinking forgetting that the majority of Haitians don’t live with these luxuries and that if I decided to come along with a friend of a friend of Maribel (who is Haitian), then I would find myself in what I consider poverty.
And no surprise- I found myself in a so-called house. Some unpainted square divided into two “rooms” by some kind of curtains, I peeked in one and there was an old bed and a lot of clothes on top of it.. of course there was no sign of electricity anywhere and no sign of a bathroom.
Natasha was the only one who “showered”- they brought a little bucket of water and I felt too uncomfortable to just take off my clothes and clean myself in the back of this house and … too guilty to take water from people who don’t have a lot of it. Feeling a bit sticky, I just changed shirts and felt ready to go into the city and find out what this festival was all about.
One more motorcycle ride and another tap-tap and we were at the beach in Jacmel. The place was so crowded that I didn’t get to truly breathe and recognize the beauty of its nature until I turned my head to the side many minutes after we arrived and I saw a bare part of the beach- it was beautiful. But I had no time to truly appreciate the natural beauty because we were there for the festival and our priority was to be immersed in this Haitian culture.
A lot.. a lot of people.. no whites except for Maribel and I (and about four others I noticed at some point, and like us, I’m sure they stood out), most people were sitting down, a lot drinking, a few eating, some dancing. There was actually not a lot of music, certainly no live music, just a DJ a little further away. A few children, some people more dressed up than others, many in bathing suits… and a little further away a crowded part of the ocean.
It took us a while to finally sit down and relax; getting in was complicated, getting food was complicated (I didn’t eat anything because I don’t think my stomach can handle street food, I ignored any sign of hunger and lived my Saturday with the littlest my stomach has ever had.. another issue which I didn’t think about too much), changing into bathing suits was complicated (and being drying and putting back clothes and bla bla), finding a place to sit was complicated. At first I felt as if we were spending more time figuring out how to enjoy ourselves than actually enjoying ourselves.
A shocking image came from observing the little tubes that had water in which people were supposed to shower after the ocean. It was completely packed, some people had soap on, many were fighting for the water, holding up their water bottle and stealing the little bit of water from the person next to them. Struggling to get a bit of water seemed completely normal to them and I stared at this in shock – thinking about how they were not wasting a single drop of this water. It’s hard to compare it with the showers I take daily in Costa Rica.
One of the most relaxing moments came from just sitting alone in the sand and photographing. Of course not all sights were pretty, men here pee anywhere.
After a lot of questioning (since weeks ago) about security, transportation, lodging, time off from work, etc.. we were finally able to step into pure Haitian life and freedom from the village on Saturday. Our adventure began at eight in the morning. Feeling a bit guilty because others from the team were working hard to put up tent, we walked away alone and excited for a weekend with Haitians. We were going with Natasha, Maribel’s friend who works as a psychologist here- I felt like going with her was a safe way to go.
So we walked out of the village, ready to get on a tap-tap (local “buses” here, at that point I had never been in one) but all of a sudden, Marta drove past us with an SOS car. We asked her for a ride and three miles down the road, Maribel and I got dropped off. We were unsure where Natasha lived, we just knew she lived down a certain street.
With our backpacks and sleeping bags, looking like complete tourists (and possibly idiots.. sleeping bags with this heat?) Maribel used the creole she has been practicing everyday to find out exactly where Natasha lived. Thanks to a lot of really nice Haitians we were able to meet Natasha about five minutes down the street. I got formally introduced to her and her three sisters who were going on the trip. We walked back to the main road and I got on my first tap-tap ride of my life. A month ago, looking at tap-taps from the cars I wondered how so many people were able to fit into such a small vehicle. I had never imagined I would get in one myself.
The first tap-tap ride we took was for about twenty minutes. I felt very safe being with Haitians and it was clear that Nastasha and her sisters wanted to take good care of us, they were holding our hands since the beginning. I was impressed because as some people hopped in even if there wasn’t space to sit, one of Natasha’s sisters just held a girl on her lap. A complete stranger on someone’s lap was a whole new concept for me. I actually didn’t feel as uncomfortable as I expected- physically and mentally. I wasn’t as crammed and I didn’t feel unsafe or out of place…. ok, maybe a little bit. But the the fact that we were getting to know a culture by actually becoming a part of and not seeing it from the car kept me too excited.
About an hour later we were at a bus station in Port au Prince (this would have taken about half of the time in a car). I was a little unsure about being able to find a bus ride to Jacmel because there was a big music festival this weekend and it would make sense to think that a lot of people were leaving town.
There were no buses left when we arrived- for a second I thought maybe we were not going, and in this case I wouldn’t have cared so much because at this point I was so easy going with whatever. But Natasha assured us we would go to Jacmel and we just crossed the road and hopped on a car. I heard “jacmel? Jacmel?” all around me so many cars were probably waiting for as many people as they could cram into a car and leave. We first got in a car but then hopped out because it cost five dollars per person and Natasha and her sisters considered this expensive. I was a bit disappointed because I had thought this car with spacious.
By this point we had all been sweating since we left and it seemed like it was getting hotter each passing minute, with all of the commotion and having to take quick decisions. We ended up getting in a sort of minivan, about 15 people or possibly more were crammed in this car. I was sweating a lot and thinking ‘two hours of this will be difficult’. But I also told myself that it was all in the mind that I could deal with squishing and being so close to everyone. As we drove away I closed my eyes and began to think, all of sudden my daydreaming passed to dreaming, or so I felt like that. I felt tired so I wanted to rest but at the same time I wanted to open my eyes, curious about what I would find when I would open them.. I knew time had passed so I knew the scenery would be different.
I did stay away awake for the last hour and a half of the trip… it was greener, at some points I was reminded on Costa Rica (but very little).. but it seemed as if the mountains were steeper, the soil was drier… a lot greener than what I had seen in Haiti, that’s for sure. A few houses here and there, a few people walking around and every once in a while…. a little bit of destruction from the earthquake.
We arrived in Jacmel at around 11am. We took a motorcycle ride to Natasha’s friend’s house (some guy named Lulu who was letting us sleep there). By this point I began to be more conscious and curious about where I would sleep and what I would eat. I guess I got used to the luxuries (I can definitely call it that) that we have here and imagined that where we would stay there would be things that I would take for granted.. .such as water, electricity, bla. I don’t know what I was thinking forgetting that the majority of Haitians don’t live with these luxuries and that if I decided to come along with a friend of a friend of Maribel (who is Haitian), then I would find myself in what I consider poverty.
And no surprise- I found myself in a so-called house. Some unpainted square divided into two “rooms” by some kind of curtains, I peeked in one and there was an old bed and a lot of clothes on top of it.. of course there was no sign of electricity anywhere and no sign of a bathroom.
Natasha was the only one who “showered”- they brought a little bucket of water and I felt too uncomfortable to just take off my clothes and clean myself in the back of this house and … too guilty to take water from people who don’t have a lot of it. Feeling a bit sticky, I just changed shirts and felt ready to go into the city and find out what this festival was all about.
One more motorcycle ride and another tap-tap and we were at the beach in Jacmel. The place was so crowded that I didn’t get to truly breathe and recognize the beauty of its nature until I turned my head to the side many minutes after we arrived and I saw a bare part of the beach- it was beautiful. But I had no time to truly appreciate the natural beauty because we were there for the festival and our priority was to be immersed in this Haitian culture.
A lot.. a lot of people.. no whites except for Maribel and I (and about four others I noticed at some point, and like us, I’m sure they stood out), most people were sitting down, a lot drinking, a few eating, some dancing. There was actually not a lot of music, certainly no live music, just a DJ a little further away. A few children, some people more dressed up than others, many in bathing suits… and a little further away a crowded part of the ocean.
It took us a while to finally sit down and relax; getting in was complicated, getting food was complicated (I didn’t eat anything because I don’t think my stomach can handle street food, I ignored any sign of hunger and lived my Saturday with the littlest my stomach has ever had.. another issue which I didn’t think about too much), changing into bathing suits was complicated (and being drying and putting back clothes and bla bla), finding a place to sit was complicated. At first I felt as if we were spending more time figuring out how to enjoy ourselves than actually enjoying ourselves.
A shocking image came from observing the little tubes that had water in which people were supposed to shower after the ocean. It was completely packed, some people had soap on, many were fighting for the water, holding up their water bottle and stealing the little bit of water from the person next to them. Struggling to get a bit of water seemed completely normal to them and I stared at this in shock – thinking about how they were not wasting a single drop of this water. It’s hard to compare it with the showers I take daily in Costa Rica.
One of the most relaxing moments came from just sitting alone in the sand and photographing. Of course not all sights were pretty, men here pee anywhere.
Monday, April 26, 2010
I’m writing at the UN Base. I’m at the restaurant. I discovered this place about a week and a half ago and ever since I’ve come here every chance I can - with a craving for fresh mango juice. The place and the menu looks like any regular place in the US. It’s a very, very, very nice disconnection.
I’m here with the journalist, Line, and the volunteer from my team, Marta- we’re charging our computers. Well, Line is charging that and her cellphone as well as her camera battery.
We haven’t had electricity for the past 48 hours (aprox.) That has been a little difficult because the nights have gotten a little bit boring and because they’ve used a generator twice and it’s so loud and because everyone has been worried about the chicken we had in our fridge (either way, fridges here turn off at ten)… but it hasn’t been as difficult as not having water.
We haven’t had it for the past two days. The last shower I took was on Saturday night before going out to Petionville, it was a very quick shower- I wish I had known it was going to be the last one. I feel extremely sticky and disgusting right now- others are saying you get used to it, that we sweat so much anyways that a little shower makes no difference and bla bla. To me, it makes a huge difference. I’m at a place where I feel I should at least wash my hands every chance I get, and .. baby wipes and hand sanitizer it simply not the same.
Many times I’ve driven by the nearest visible tent camp around our village, I’ve had the urge to get out and photograph.. especially now that, under the bridge next to it, the water has been rising because of the rain. A lot of times while in the car I noticed people and children bathing in this water and I thought I want to go take pictures there. On Saturday afternoon, on a trip to the supermarket to buy food for everyone, I got dropped off there with Maribel and Jean Jaques, one of our translator (and of course a Haitian). I was a little scared, but at the same time, I felt comfortable, having passed this place many times- ready to go and see it up-close. We started to get close to the water and smiled at everyone, as we said “bon soir”- most people received us very nicely and again, I had to act really, really confident. We mostly just observed the children in the water, so many of them looked so happy bathing that it made me think “well at least the rain has it’s advantages”. I’m sure it is refreshing for these children to be bathing here- at the same time it is a little sad because I am sure that a lot of the trash begins to flow with the water- but that is the least of their concerns. Many women were washing piles of clothes and laying them out on top of the gravel or rocks, I’m sure they dry quickly with the sun. We talked with one of the woman who told us she lived in the tent camp, I asked Jean Jaques to ask her if it would be dangerous for us to come and she told him that it would be a pleasure to receive us.
After about 40 min. Jean Jaques, Maribel and I walked up to the bridge where we were supposed to wait for the two volunteers to pick us up on their way back from the supermarket. It was very hot and we found a little shade next to a woman who was selling mangos. At this point my camera was already hidden in my bag, next to the street and everything- I’d rather not take out my camera. We ended up sitting here for over an hour- the girls were stuck in traffic and for some time I began to get worried something had happened because we didn’t expect to wait to long. But the three of us felt fine under this shade. It was a totally different experience to be looked at from the cars filled with Haitians. Usually, I’m in a car, looking through a car window and everything seems interesting. In this case, a lot of Haitians were looking at me- I’m sure they felt strange looking at a white person on the street- I haven’t seen many white people on the streets around this area (not that it’s not safe).
On Saturday we all felt a void because Tomy, volunteer from Spain, had to leave on a family emergency on Friday. I was in charge of coordinating his helicopter flight out of Port au Prince, so I spent the afternoon sweating between e-mails, skype and phonecalls. One afternoon and everything froze and the next thing we know- he is gone. People are coming and leaving (mainly leaving now) and it’s getting difficult to say good-bye.
Yesterday we were going to go to the beach, but we had another shortage. Fuel. The whole city, not sure if the whole country, has been on a fuel shortage for the past few days- it doesn’t seem like it because traffic is still crazy, but you can tell when you drive past a gas station and there are lines of cars waiting for gas.
So, everyone made different plans yesterday. Many went to a pool close by (the idea of a pool anywhere around here kind of grossed me out), Maribel went to the mountains with a translator, they took tap-taps (local “buses”) and …. I decided to stay in and relax- write, read, go to the village. Marevie, the girl who I go see at the hospital, was in one of the houses for the weekend so I went to her house and spent about three hours with her. She is doing a lot better- she looks stronger, reacts better, reaches for things, cries.. and most importantly- she smiles. I took some photos of her and her village family while a lady styled all the little girl’s hair with a hot brush and some baby cream.
After the village, without anyone really noticing, I grabbed a very little bucket of drinking water to cleanse myself in the shower. I wouldn’t have grabbed it if I felt like this water was really drinking water, but to me it’s not really- it comes from a purifier at the village and although it might be good for us, it tastes weird. I would much rather have bottled water.
Today I just cleaned myself with wipes- I don’t even want to think about it. I feel really uncomfortable right now. We got some water from outside of the village but it’s being used for cleaning, toilets and cooking- which apparently is priority.
So, one month into my Haiti trip and the living conditions get difficult.
I’m here with the journalist, Line, and the volunteer from my team, Marta- we’re charging our computers. Well, Line is charging that and her cellphone as well as her camera battery.
We haven’t had electricity for the past 48 hours (aprox.) That has been a little difficult because the nights have gotten a little bit boring and because they’ve used a generator twice and it’s so loud and because everyone has been worried about the chicken we had in our fridge (either way, fridges here turn off at ten)… but it hasn’t been as difficult as not having water.
We haven’t had it for the past two days. The last shower I took was on Saturday night before going out to Petionville, it was a very quick shower- I wish I had known it was going to be the last one. I feel extremely sticky and disgusting right now- others are saying you get used to it, that we sweat so much anyways that a little shower makes no difference and bla bla. To me, it makes a huge difference. I’m at a place where I feel I should at least wash my hands every chance I get, and .. baby wipes and hand sanitizer it simply not the same.
Many times I’ve driven by the nearest visible tent camp around our village, I’ve had the urge to get out and photograph.. especially now that, under the bridge next to it, the water has been rising because of the rain. A lot of times while in the car I noticed people and children bathing in this water and I thought I want to go take pictures there. On Saturday afternoon, on a trip to the supermarket to buy food for everyone, I got dropped off there with Maribel and Jean Jaques, one of our translator (and of course a Haitian). I was a little scared, but at the same time, I felt comfortable, having passed this place many times- ready to go and see it up-close. We started to get close to the water and smiled at everyone, as we said “bon soir”- most people received us very nicely and again, I had to act really, really confident. We mostly just observed the children in the water, so many of them looked so happy bathing that it made me think “well at least the rain has it’s advantages”. I’m sure it is refreshing for these children to be bathing here- at the same time it is a little sad because I am sure that a lot of the trash begins to flow with the water- but that is the least of their concerns. Many women were washing piles of clothes and laying them out on top of the gravel or rocks, I’m sure they dry quickly with the sun. We talked with one of the woman who told us she lived in the tent camp, I asked Jean Jaques to ask her if it would be dangerous for us to come and she told him that it would be a pleasure to receive us.
After about 40 min. Jean Jaques, Maribel and I walked up to the bridge where we were supposed to wait for the two volunteers to pick us up on their way back from the supermarket. It was very hot and we found a little shade next to a woman who was selling mangos. At this point my camera was already hidden in my bag, next to the street and everything- I’d rather not take out my camera. We ended up sitting here for over an hour- the girls were stuck in traffic and for some time I began to get worried something had happened because we didn’t expect to wait to long. But the three of us felt fine under this shade. It was a totally different experience to be looked at from the cars filled with Haitians. Usually, I’m in a car, looking through a car window and everything seems interesting. In this case, a lot of Haitians were looking at me- I’m sure they felt strange looking at a white person on the street- I haven’t seen many white people on the streets around this area (not that it’s not safe).
On Saturday we all felt a void because Tomy, volunteer from Spain, had to leave on a family emergency on Friday. I was in charge of coordinating his helicopter flight out of Port au Prince, so I spent the afternoon sweating between e-mails, skype and phonecalls. One afternoon and everything froze and the next thing we know- he is gone. People are coming and leaving (mainly leaving now) and it’s getting difficult to say good-bye.
Yesterday we were going to go to the beach, but we had another shortage. Fuel. The whole city, not sure if the whole country, has been on a fuel shortage for the past few days- it doesn’t seem like it because traffic is still crazy, but you can tell when you drive past a gas station and there are lines of cars waiting for gas.
So, everyone made different plans yesterday. Many went to a pool close by (the idea of a pool anywhere around here kind of grossed me out), Maribel went to the mountains with a translator, they took tap-taps (local “buses”) and …. I decided to stay in and relax- write, read, go to the village. Marevie, the girl who I go see at the hospital, was in one of the houses for the weekend so I went to her house and spent about three hours with her. She is doing a lot better- she looks stronger, reacts better, reaches for things, cries.. and most importantly- she smiles. I took some photos of her and her village family while a lady styled all the little girl’s hair with a hot brush and some baby cream.
After the village, without anyone really noticing, I grabbed a very little bucket of drinking water to cleanse myself in the shower. I wouldn’t have grabbed it if I felt like this water was really drinking water, but to me it’s not really- it comes from a purifier at the village and although it might be good for us, it tastes weird. I would much rather have bottled water.
Today I just cleaned myself with wipes- I don’t even want to think about it. I feel really uncomfortable right now. We got some water from outside of the village but it’s being used for cleaning, toilets and cooking- which apparently is priority.
So, one month into my Haiti trip and the living conditions get difficult.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)