We get on a many taptaps. Tap taps are pick up trucks with a metal oval overhead. To stop the truck you tap with a coin against the metal and the driver in the front hears. I don’t know if the Haitian people call them taptap. At first I called them popo’s due to my minor dyslexia, people still understood what I was saying, similar to how I understood them when I spoke no Creole. This is public transportation. Throughout the city you see people from school, work or just getting around on taptaps usually with minimal belongings. As you travel through the country on a taptap you see people with straw bags weighing as much as a person and buckets and things you would never expect to see, like chickens sitting in bags and random transported goods. The taptaps fill up fast, they are lined with tiny benches to fit half your buttocks and sometimes depending on size one bench in the middle so seated passengers face either way. Extra people get on and if the truck is big stand in the middle and another person will somehow always manage to squeeze in along the ends of benches when you feel like no more squeezing is possible. Everyone is nice. This is Haiti. I have searched for cranky people on the taptaps. Why we take taptaps across the country I do not know. It is indeed a struggling new task. Once after vomiting across the back of the bus I rested my arm on a lady’s bag. After a while the bag started shaking, I felt as if I was really losing it. Then I heard a chicken. Usually chickens are visible and not in bags, but this is Haiti, anything here goes. This doesn’t happen on nonpublic. Another common form of transportation is taxis, you pay morotocyle taxi’s to take you around, the cost is 3x as much per person. Some people on motorcycles aren’t taxi drivers, but the hollering continues none the less. I’ve also felt my moments where my life ends and others where it also begin on these rides. I’ve only felt this awkward while riding and being in control of someone else to navigate as we ride through countryside.
I take a long taptap to Portauprince for a few days. The other home we visit is in Pationville, a suburb of Portauprince. There its all bungalows and houses with walled boundaries and such. You don’t see tents or shanty towns or unpainted one bedroom brick and mortar houses there. Half an hour ride or less in and you arrive into Portauprince proper. Some volunteers come to Jacmel. The poverty is nonstop there they remark. Jacmel and Pationville are quite different. Our neighbors minus one are all tent families. They have all been moved here by a German NGO post earthquake. Further down we have some houses, on other side some houses are being built. Paint is a luxury. Some houses do not have roofs and thus it’s never quite clear which house is finished, which is abandoned, which is inhabited or was inhabited. Everything is judged by the people present. Walking down in one direction you see a trash dump along the street and metal shack houses. In another direction more tents. In another direction more bungalows being built. We are the only one bungalow on our dirt road. On the other side of the mini tent city that lies in the soccer field is a walled boundary. Half a mile form the walled boundary are two mansions, right on the beach front. I wonder if dominos were part of real life. I wonder how they would fall, how they would line up. I feel like the earthquake was a preview to a domino affect. Beach front property mansions with massive amounts of land, hit on the boundary with a tent city, on a soccer field attached to a bungalow, that keeps former boys from the street, the boundary on the other side which hits the school, both inside and outside the tent, the first Montessori program in the city. Alongside all this stray animals and patches of empty fields of grass and such. Further down a church. Every night there is service. Every night when you walk down the street and at some point you hearing singing all from the churches.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Starry nights and women
My old roommate,L, leaves this week. Her stay in Haiti is as long as mine. She has been the reason I have maintained sanity. Her wisdom eases me. She has been my debriefing that is vital to understanding or trying to understand everything here.
Another lady, T, comes the same week. She is here for a year with her great aunt and young daughter. Her daughter will be my new friend. Haiti attracts all kinds of personalities. Yet we’re all unique in our own way put under the umbrella of religious, left, or hippie. Something unites us, outside of our service for Haiti whether it be our experiences on life, our views and thoughts or our passions in life. Each person I have met, that is here to serve has helped me grow on my journey in some way. I’m not sure if I could bounce ideas and thoughts back in forth in my head without many of the basic conversations I’ve had here with other foreigners. I cannot explain myself to everyone on a normal day, let alone the Haitain people when there is a massive cultural and language barrier. However my conversations with the director on monogamy and life’s journeys and woman’s rights get interesting. I love those nights.
Another lady, T, comes the same week. She is here for a year with her great aunt and young daughter. Her daughter will be my new friend. Haiti attracts all kinds of personalities. Yet we’re all unique in our own way put under the umbrella of religious, left, or hippie. Something unites us, outside of our service for Haiti whether it be our experiences on life, our views and thoughts or our passions in life. Each person I have met, that is here to serve has helped me grow on my journey in some way. I’m not sure if I could bounce ideas and thoughts back in forth in my head without many of the basic conversations I’ve had here with other foreigners. I cannot explain myself to everyone on a normal day, let alone the Haitain people when there is a massive cultural and language barrier. However my conversations with the director on monogamy and life’s journeys and woman’s rights get interesting. I love those nights.
God's plan is perfect
10 children show up to my English class offered for 2 hours a day for next two weeks while I’m still in Jacmel. Their attendance is voluntary. I finally get to use all the books we brought them. We review conversation and greetings again. We review colors. I start developing their vocabulary. We look at a picture of bunnies in a cottage. They learn new words. We then do a picture of a neighborhood on a hill. One of the older boys, M, my TA takes over while I travel for a few days. The first day he told me in English class on his paper he wanted to be an English teacher. I told him let’s go. I tell him he’s a better English teacher than me.
Sustainability and consistency are integral here but rarely found. I pray whoever comes will continue to teach English and work with the boys and all children who really want to learn from the school. I hope God answers my prayer. I am calm, I know he will. He always does. God's plan is perfect, it is us, we are imperfect in our understanding of it.
Sustainability and consistency are integral here but rarely found. I pray whoever comes will continue to teach English and work with the boys and all children who really want to learn from the school. I hope God answers my prayer. I am calm, I know he will. He always does. God's plan is perfect, it is us, we are imperfect in our understanding of it.
One of the boys
I have started doing much of what the boys do. I play basketball with the boys again. I am afraid if one of them bumps into me hard enough I’ll fly against the wall. I smack into one of them. Another one glides against me, my arm is overed in his sweat. Not so gross. The ball hits my face. I pause for 2 seconds and continue. Another one tries to knock me down. They are all taller than me, the older boys. All the boys here are stronger than me. I have no upper body strength. I can carry buckets but not without water splashing out. I can shoot hoops I can snatch balls not not as aggressively as the boys. They eat three times as much in their plate as I do. Even the eight year olds. Maybe if I was here long term they could be my trainers.
I start to bond further with the younger boys. I take the small ones to the beach often, all of a sudden I become in charge of them too. Half of them speak 2 lines of English so it always becomes interesting. They start asking me everyday if we can come. I don’t swim. I just sit around, I lie down. I don’t even contemplate. I stare out into nothing. Thinking nothing. Nothing is contemplating enough. It is exact opposite of my life before. Where I thought about everything and more.
I start to bond further with the younger boys. I take the small ones to the beach often, all of a sudden I become in charge of them too. Half of them speak 2 lines of English so it always becomes interesting. They start asking me everyday if we can come. I don’t swim. I just sit around, I lie down. I don’t even contemplate. I stare out into nothing. Thinking nothing. Nothing is contemplating enough. It is exact opposite of my life before. Where I thought about everything and more.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Jesus is my girlfriend
I cook for the boys. They ask why I am making them cut all these vegetables and why I will put them in pasta. I tell them, wait, wait. It is raining. It is raining a lot. I feel like I haven’t eaten all day. I wonder if the people who eat once every few days, feel this same way. I wonder if my body is as strong and tolerant as theirs to even survive without food for two days and live a high energy day. the pasta is done. They all come with their bowls, dirty bowls, saucers, small plates. I laugh. D, asks why I won’t give him a second helping. I only cooked 6 packets of pasta for stirfry, not 20 I tell him. He cannot see, but I tell him he’s my favorite and I gave him an extra serving.
After dinner I sit with Cl in the kitchen. I finally get to eat. I give him some Gatorade. He tells me he has had problems in his chest since he was a little boy so thats why he's extra sick when he gets ill. He asks if my parents are alive. I tell him yes both. He tells me how his parents died. He asks for my phone to call some people. He tells me he has called the orphanage and that his best friend is there and he is good. He is happy. His best friend and him grew up together. He lies down on the floor and points to the rain and says this is how they used to sleep on the streets. He asks if I understand. I do. His English is broken but we always seem to understand each other well.His friend is back in the orphanage. He says what happened to him during the earthquake. He says Jesus, Jesus, again. Jesus saved me. I joke about his girlfriend when he asks for my phone again. Jesus is my girlfriend he says. Jesus is my everything. My clothes, my money, my friends don’t matter he tells me. Jesus matters. Jesus.
After dinner I sit with Cl in the kitchen. I finally get to eat. I give him some Gatorade. He tells me he has had problems in his chest since he was a little boy so thats why he's extra sick when he gets ill. He asks if my parents are alive. I tell him yes both. He tells me how his parents died. He asks for my phone to call some people. He tells me he has called the orphanage and that his best friend is there and he is good. He is happy. His best friend and him grew up together. He lies down on the floor and points to the rain and says this is how they used to sleep on the streets. He asks if I understand. I do. His English is broken but we always seem to understand each other well.His friend is back in the orphanage. He says what happened to him during the earthquake. He says Jesus, Jesus, again. Jesus saved me. I joke about his girlfriend when he asks for my phone again. Jesus is my girlfriend he says. Jesus is my everything. My clothes, my money, my friends don’t matter he tells me. Jesus matters. Jesus.
Comfort Zone
There is a party on the beach with the school. My heart feels heavy that morning. I don’t get out of bed until 9. 9 feels like 1pm for me. It is so late. i feel more militant this weekend. D never comes out he is slightly antisocial. I do not blame him. At noon I tell him I’m taking him to the party on the beach. I drag him off the couch. He disappears. I find him hidden under the bed behind the suitcases in between shoes. This is how badly he doesn’t want to go. I call the director, I tell him D has to come with me. Finally he comes. I know he doesn’t like me, but I always manage to tease him and make him laugh. We get to the beach everyone is surprised to see him and tells him to come swim and do something. He just sits there. We sit along boats. I sit on the upside down one, I lie down across it amidst 50 kids all around us. Something about Haiti has made me stop caring what I do and when. I do my own thing. Nobody every seems to mind, perhaps because I’m a foreigner. We go back, I don’t know if D has had fun but I am glad I forced him out of his comfort zone.
My heart is big enough to hold your pain
The next time we meet I ask A what him what he wants from me. I ask him what he will do when I leave. I only have two weeks left, I don’t know how to help you so tell me how. A starts crying. He puts his head down. I’m sorry I say. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I keep repeating myself. I ask him to promise he won’t cry that night. I tell him I will never understand him because I can’t. He says I have become his family. I tell him I will never abandon him when I’m gone. I tell him he cannot think he is hopeless. He cannot think life is not important enough to pursue. There is only so much he can promise me. I tell him about ladders, I tell him about stars. I say you need a ladder to get to the stars. I tell him the stars are reachable, I tell him he needs a strong ladder. He is young, he is so young.
I will not forget these few nights of tears. I will never forget his talent. My heart is big enough to hold your pain I tell him. My heart is big enough. I am in so much pain. My heart is big enough, it is big enough, I tell myself.
I will not forget these few nights of tears. I will never forget his talent. My heart is big enough to hold your pain I tell him. My heart is big enough. I am in so much pain. My heart is big enough, it is big enough, I tell myself.
Half way gone
I have started to spend a few nights with A, listening to him, he says he needs me. I sit there. I look away. We are in downtown Jacmel, A and I. I finish asking him about what brings his sadness. I am worried about him. He talks to me, he tells me he needs to leave this all. He needs to get out to save himself and his sanity. I don’t know where he will go or what he will do. I wish I could comfort him with hope. I know there is hope. I don’t know where to find it during that conversation. My thoughts pause. hear the church in the background. The people are singing. I continue to look away in the other direction. Tears stream down my face. My eyes burn. I never had a lack of options. I never had a lack of opportunity. There was always a outlet in front of me, somewhere, somehow. And there were so many more I couldn’t see. I look straight ahead into nothing past the metal fence into the darkness. I pray, I pray for the people, I pray for him. Our whole lives we search for satisfaction and the lives of the people we would find least satisfying sit satisfied and okay with their situation. I cannot understand it, but my heart does. That moment has killed me softly. Tears flood my face again. The fall slowly, securely somewhere. Each tear in Haiti has left a small needle size puncture in my heart I feel. My heart needs to be wounded, I knew that before I came. It takes a broken heart to be receptive to Gods light and truth. I am so thankful for the few things I have with me in Haiti. It is very rare I cry with such clarity ever. It is rare I even cry. It takes something to drown me fully before tears come down my face. I am wounded.
I have reached my halfway point in Haiti this week. I sit there, my face sticky. There has been clarity. I came to understand how to be thankful. During those moments of epiphany in prayer I have understood so much more than I thought I ever would in 20 days, and there’s only so much more to come. I stand at the crossroads, Haiti has transformed me slowly, but it has also killed me softly. Soft and slow is beautiful. Half way there, and half way gone.
I have reached my halfway point in Haiti this week. I sit there, my face sticky. There has been clarity. I came to understand how to be thankful. During those moments of epiphany in prayer I have understood so much more than I thought I ever would in 20 days, and there’s only so much more to come. I stand at the crossroads, Haiti has transformed me slowly, but it has also killed me softly. Soft and slow is beautiful. Half way there, and half way gone.
HasbiAllah
There have been two days where I felt the need to leave soon. I do not know why I came here I tell my debrief roommate. She keeps me sane. Those two days I realize I cannot handle so much pain. I could not handle so much blood for more than one day. I cannot handle their depression and ptsd of certain people without triggering on my own. I feel the need to leave tomorrow and escape. Then I feel the need to stay longer, to help them longer. It is only once every few weeks where I go through a short handful of minutes feeling this way.
I remember panicing on the airport. I remember I texted Faraz from Toronto who was one of main reasons I was here. I told him panic has started. He has prepped me for Haiti and what might happen the night before. I was breathing heavy that night. I started to feel internally uneasy the night before at the airport when I realized what I was really doing. I remember texting him that I’m panicing. His response was, it was one statement. HasbiAllah
I am in God’s hands. HasbiAllah. God has changed me, in ways I haven’t been able to imagine. Each day I experience enough to make my normal self panic or have an intense stream of a million uncomforting thoughts. But with each thing I am calm and digest it. I am not able to explain what God has done. Usually we see the changes in retrospect but everyday there has been retrospect here, I see myself change in different ways. I am so grateful, I left myself completely to God when I got off that plane. I had no idea what would happen. I had no idea. I still have no idea what’s to happen tomorrow and how much more I will change. Coming to Haiti I have become Haitan in the sense of reliance. I have been reminded God is my everything. HasbiAllah.
I remember panicing on the airport. I remember I texted Faraz from Toronto who was one of main reasons I was here. I told him panic has started. He has prepped me for Haiti and what might happen the night before. I was breathing heavy that night. I started to feel internally uneasy the night before at the airport when I realized what I was really doing. I remember texting him that I’m panicing. His response was, it was one statement. HasbiAllah
I am in God’s hands. HasbiAllah. God has changed me, in ways I haven’t been able to imagine. Each day I experience enough to make my normal self panic or have an intense stream of a million uncomforting thoughts. But with each thing I am calm and digest it. I am not able to explain what God has done. Usually we see the changes in retrospect but everyday there has been retrospect here, I see myself change in different ways. I am so grateful, I left myself completely to God when I got off that plane. I had no idea what would happen. I had no idea. I still have no idea what’s to happen tomorrow and how much more I will change. Coming to Haiti I have become Haitan in the sense of reliance. I have been reminded God is my everything. HasbiAllah.
Teaching
This week is exam week and last week of school for the local children. I start teaching again. We have visitors come. All the children line up. They are given colored bells. They try to have a song with bells. Each color makes a different sound. Everyone gets a beanie baby, the children all want their favorite pick. There are many. They empty out a suitcase of clothes. All the children run. The 3 and 4 year olds are too small to do anything. I left them up and push them through. There are no clothes for them but the girl in my hands grabs a pair of shorts. There is never physical fighting or stealing. This always seem so to impress me how outside of verbal arguments and minor yelling for demands, everyone is always civil to one another. I feel like clothing distribution is survival of the fittest, whoever grabs in time gets in time.
One of the girls falls over the roots of a tree. Her lip is bleeding. Everyone watches her. She did not go home right after school they say. I take her inside. I try to carry her. I do not get far. She reaches my shoulders. I have become the house nurse since one of the boys busted his chin. How I got this position I do not know. I don’t know anything but how to clean and patch up a wound.
The last day of school the children close out. They move all the tables and desks attached to benches up to the house, where their original classroom used to be. One bench seats five students and is made out of wood. The children start carrying them across. Most are between the ages of five to ten. Two carry one bench table. I’m impressed. I help two girls. One is at the front and the other lifts from the middle over her body. The bench is still too heavy for me. They lift it up the stairs, I lift the bottom.
Haitian children are stronger than me. Even the 10 year old boys grab my hands and squeeze them so strong I yelp. Perhaps my runner’s legs will compete with their lower body. The upper body strength of the children amazes me. I feel so weak in front of them. How fast they bounce back to life, play and work barely eating is beyond me. simply stated- their strength in life amazes me.
One of the girls falls over the roots of a tree. Her lip is bleeding. Everyone watches her. She did not go home right after school they say. I take her inside. I try to carry her. I do not get far. She reaches my shoulders. I have become the house nurse since one of the boys busted his chin. How I got this position I do not know. I don’t know anything but how to clean and patch up a wound.
The last day of school the children close out. They move all the tables and desks attached to benches up to the house, where their original classroom used to be. One bench seats five students and is made out of wood. The children start carrying them across. Most are between the ages of five to ten. Two carry one bench table. I’m impressed. I help two girls. One is at the front and the other lifts from the middle over her body. The bench is still too heavy for me. They lift it up the stairs, I lift the bottom.
Haitian children are stronger than me. Even the 10 year old boys grab my hands and squeeze them so strong I yelp. Perhaps my runner’s legs will compete with their lower body. The upper body strength of the children amazes me. I feel so weak in front of them. How fast they bounce back to life, play and work barely eating is beyond me. simply stated- their strength in life amazes me.