It’s my first full day in Portauprince. I want to see Citi Soleil the poorest slum in the western hemisphere. I want to experience that life for a split second, and remember it for a lifetime. Our plan is just to figure out where things are as we go. This is how things in Haiti work, by coincidence, or luck. We start asking people how to get to Pastor Leon’s compound as we switch taptaps. One man knows, I am subtly intrigued. Then he gets on another taptap, I’m concerned as to how we will find it without his direction. As it starts to drive off, he continues talking to us, says someone on the next taptap we take will know. At home I don’t know if I would have never started going through a new city and asked people as I switched buses how to get places. This is how things in Haiti work, by magical coincidence or as some might say, luck. Ironically you know they always work out, you know when you walk into someone’s house they’ll be there at that time you come and that someone on the bus or street will know how to get somewhere. I’ve never missed a person or opportunity through what I call Haitian coincidence. We get closer to Citi Soleil. There are riots that day not many buses go into the actual Citi Soleil. We find pastor Leon’s compound. We find it, we get off. That is the last bus we’ll be able to take. We tour around, the church sits 1500 people, it’s huge with no walls, they have a school and a clinic. We are taken to classrooms one by one the children get excited and ask for their pictures. We leave an hour later, our next stop is Islamic Relief.
Again we have no idea where it is in a town of a few hundred thousand with a dime and dozen NGOs and campsites throughout. One of the workers knows where it is, he gives us directions. Four of us get on a motorcycle, including the driver. We drive down, we get to a point and stop and ask people where the people of Islamic religion are. I tell the assistant director who has taken us around with another Haitian boy from Jacmel, that the Muslim people don’t look any different than anyone else. I don’t think we’ll find anything this way, NGO’s setting up camps are as prominent as abject poverty here. We arrive down a small alley and I’m thinking how would a campsite be at end of an alley. We stop at a masjid. Wow. I bang on the door. As always someone answers, it is a Haitian in a thobe. I greet him with my Salaam, I don’t remember the last time I exchanged this greeting. Later I learn most people know Salaam and walaykumsalaam, and that InshaAllah, with the same meaning is also something people say in Haiti. I ask him about Islamic relief. It is right behind the masjid. Eventually the director comes to meet us. Neither of them was born Muslim. We pray the day prayer together. We walk down a small opening alley between two houses as wide as me and my purse. I see the camp site. There are 20 tents set up, with 40 families. They just sleep there, in the tents. Islamic Relief has other projects in Haiti, different sites in different cities, many building schools, and other projects to develop possibly in the near future I'm told. I get a three minute debriefing. They ask where my private driver, translator and group is, and where I will go next. I respond- I have the taxi driver who I met on the street, his number and name, Excellent, I am my own group with two Haitians from the home who equally don’t know what they’re doing and I got here by asking around on public transportation and moto. Everyone always seems shocked that I am solo with no entourage. They offer to take us in their car to a camp city 60 steps down. This is my first journey in a proper car or anything with doors.
I want to see the slums but this is a good start. I see people in a small tent town. Then we head back, I decide to call Excellent and continue my hope to get into the slums. It starts to rain. I finally get hold of other Americans in Citi Soleil, staying at the same house in Pationville, we had exchanged contact information that morning while heading out and realizing we’re going in same direction. They do not know where we are, they have already gotten in the car about to leave. The offer to pick us up though. The population of this town is 3-500,000 he says. In mean time another motorcycle was called for us by the Haitan Muslims and arrives. He doesn’t speak English. I hand him the phone, the guide on their line speaks to him. Everything arrives and gets decided within 1 min of each other. He figures out what main road to take us on. I just sit and roll on, he's never met the group or anyone else and yet he knows where to stop and spots them down. It all always works out here. That is how we roll.
The last stop is a children’s home/orphanage. The children were found wandering on the streets of Citi Soleil, many with and many without families all in need of care. They are so happy to see us. Everyone runs up to me. I’m drowning with guilt. I found out we were going to the orphanage with the other group just now. Fifteen minutes ago I found out it existed and we were making a stop to drop of some goodies. They all kiss me and saw bonswa. We pass out balls, and toys, and bracelets and pictures drawn by elementary school children in North California. Everyone is so happy, the kisses don’t stop. My guilt continues to drown me, I feel like crying. The children play, and eat their snacks and we get a tour of the new home and the school. . I want to tell them, I am not really part of this wonderful group and cause, and I did not make all these preparations and come with them, I am just a tag along. Often the confessing of shortcomings and weaknesses helps me feel relief. I want them to know. The girls do a dance for us. The each come up to me individually, kiss me on my cheek and give me tissue paper flowers. I have never been kissed that much in a day. There is so much joy in those hours. I feel so loved, I tie the flowers on my bag. I will keep them tied forever.
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