Tidbits

For the past few days we have been experiencing some torrential downpours. The bad news is, everything is canceled. Or is that the good news? Lazy afternoons in the guesthouse consist of rehearsing languages, reading Animal Farm, Catch-22 or something by Shakespeare, and listening to Caribbean radio as the rain trickles off the tin roof. The picture above is of Rosena, the cook, and I. Because most Americans melt in the rain, Rosena came to summon me for lunch wearing a giant sheet-cloak to shelter me en route to the kitchen. The acronym on my shirt stands for our organization: "Organization de la Force Chretien de Bayonnais".





The second picture features Mark Alcius, Eddy Saint Louis and I outside the market this morning (I am the one in the middle). Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in a cowboy hat but, then again, normally I wouldn't find myself in a random Catholic church adjacent the market listening to the three hour inauguration of the new Mayor of Bayonnais (Artibonite, Haiti) spoken entirely in Creole. Mark and Eddy seem to think it is a good look on me but we'll see if it sticks when I get back to the states.

Help... Anyone?

I have been in Bayonnais almost two complete months and I continue to be baffled by the nuances of quotidian Haitian life. Yesterday evening, I asked my roommate where I could purchase a soda because I wanted to indulge in something other than bottled water. Jacques Elie told me that he was busy and that he would show me tomorrow, a response that I accepted, until he arrived at the office a few minutes later presenting me with a Nalgene bottle full of Coke. While this may appear to be a considerate gesture on the part of Jacques Elie, it does not solve the greater question: Where can I buy a Coke? I watch the school bus unload cases of Fanta, Sprite, and Coca-Cola everyday and I know that the dealer cannot be far. Yet the Haitians would rather keep me on my toes by not divulging the location of the mysterious soda vendor.

The confusion does not stop with procurement either. Despite the modest amount of Creole I have learned (“Morgan hungry”, “Morgan sleepy”, etc.) and the extensive amount of English taught in the afternoons and evenings, there is still a formidable language barrier. The Creole expression for “What are you doing?” is “Kisa wap fe?” and the answer, unlike the English “nothing” is “anye” (anything). Too often, the students will reply to me that at 5:00, they will be “anywhere… doing anything”. Thank you for your clarity. There also seems to be some misunderstanding with affirmation and negation. One of the student’s sponsorship forms reads, under the title of “favorite activities”: “I like to jump rope neither at home nor at the school.” Either this child has difficulty with “either” and “neither” or he wants to make it absolutely clear that he does not want jumping rope to be a stipulation for his sponsorship.

Real men jump rope.

La Buwi

With Actionnel busy entertaining our counterparts in the states and the students of ECB studying assiduously for this week’s exams, life in Bayonnais has been relatively calm. A biblical storm and the subsequent lack of sunlight yesterday left us without power for a few hours during the day but by applying the correct ratio of patience, caress and swearing (both in English and in Creole) we were able to get the generator started. The engineers even sent us some new fuses and an oil pressure sensor, but wouldn’t you know it, our beloved Generatrice was still unsatisfied. Next week’s list of tasks include an equalization of the batteries which I have been assured has a relatively low rate of electrocution.
It appears that the plea for sponsorship was a success: included in the parcel from the US was a healthy ration of granola bars and cereal snacks. As luck would have it, Wednesday evening’s dinner was the local favorite "La Buwi", a dish that consists of powdered milk, sugar, and flour. Don’t get me wrong, I love cookie dough as much as the next seven year old, but the fruit and grains sent by Tom were a much appreciated treat. The electricity loads were not the only thing that surged this morning when I ran the toaster, but my spirits were elated by the forgotten smell of Pop Tarts.
Today, Merilus and I constructed a ladder out of some mature lumber we found near the generator shed. Although it may not pass those pesky OSHA regulations, our ten-rung masterpiece would have been coveted by most any Haitian Home Depot. At lunch I asked my cook if she would like to come to the United States with me in April, to which she replied that she would probably have a more secure and stable life with her boyfriend who is studying dentistry in Port au Prince. Rosena, if you are reading this, I am not resentful.
Tonight Carolina plays USC in the Sweet 16 and our limited alumni association here will be watching: Go Heels. And, in exactly one month from today, I will be back in the United States ordering quarter-pounders and watching reality TV...

Lights (sometimes)... plenty of camera and action

By now many of you have seen the video of the Florence delegation that was published on youtube.com a week ago. If you can get through the the elementary video editing and the shaky camera hand without a mild case of vertigo, you will see how much the group was able to accomplish during their nine days in Bayonnais. The background track is "Magdalena" by Sergio Mendes, and although it is Brazilian, I felt like it was suitable for the tone of the video. Here is the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-W_Qjw1eFic


Although any production company would tell you that it is box-office suicide to release two blockbusters on the same weekend, I am going to take that chance. After all, New Line Cinema and Touchstone Pictures would have nothing to do with these independent endeavors. The second video features the advanced class of our "Institut d'Amelioration Linguistique de Bayonnais". Established by Rochenel Charles, Mislet St. Louis, and I in early February 2007, the nightly class teaches principles of grammar, conversational English and occasionally a song like the one you are about to witness: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y11jXf0C82o

Green, Blue... and Read?

Le Jour de Saint Patrice passed through Bayonnais without a glance. No one made an effort to wear green; no anxious patrons waited for the foam on their Guinness to settle; even the traditional Shephard’s Pie was replaced by, well, rice and beans. On the whole, Haitians and Irish have very little in common, save the occasional potato famine and a longing for the shores of Ellis Island, or as it is called today, "Miami".
Likewise, "March Madness" has not taken hold on the western third of Hispaniola. Upon relating the tragic first round upset of the Blue Devils (to Virginia Commonwealth!), my neighbors looked at me curiously and replied "What is a Duke?" (Avid Carolina fans, I presume.) I am able to catch an occasional score on ESPN.com and despite my inattentiveness to collegiate sports in the past six months, my bracket it not doing terribly.
So what is left, after the Irish pubs and Tarheel basketball have been taken out? Books. Hundreds of pages of Times New Roman-lined newsprint bound by glue and stained by highlighter. Over the past several weeks, I have made great friends with Marcel Proust, Gabriel Garcia Marquez and Benjamin Franklin. Evenings consist of discussions with Flaubert about the scandalous behavior of Emma Bovary and conversations with Conrad about the captivating personality of Mr. Kurtz. I told Camus that I found his book a bit strange but I commended Herman Hesse on what I thought was a remarkable depiction of a young man’s spiritual journey. What a loser! I know. Holden Caulfield was disappointed when I told him I had departed a life of debauchery for an affair with literature but I assured him that my partying days were not over.

Sponsor a child!

Before Angelina Jolie and Madonna made adopting children from the third world trendy, OFCB was reaching out to communities around the globe to support its students. Because the Ecole Classique de Bayonnais receives absolutely zero funding from the Haitian government, the school is dependent on sponsors to provide children with a uniform, an education, and one meal daily. Hundreds of boys and girls are available for sponsorship, ranging from the irresistible pre-K toddlers to the mature young men and women in the high school. Please contact me if you or someone you know would be interest in helping put the future of Haiti through school:
modibble@gmail.com

**Consider sponsoring a child that is the same age as your children or a student that you can correspond with in English, French, Spanish or Creole!

A Tale of Two Haiti's

It seems that my last post, an allusion to Oliver Twist, was ill-received by a few readers. I admit that my writing can be sarcastic at times, in part because it is reflective of my personality, but also because I tend to use a sense of humor to cope with adversity. Haiti is the poorest nation in the Western hemisphere and with a GDP of $300/year its people are among the poorest in the world. Over eighty percent of Haitian professionals live abroad and, as a result, more than three-quarters of the very modest internal revenue is generated through remittances. The government is marked by instability and apathy and the only news that ever comes out of Port Au Prince revolves around coups, kidnappings, and corruption. Unlike America where private schools cater to the elite, Haitian communities must establish and fund their own education because the government seldom provides the essential civil services. The fact that I am able to use the internet to write this is an anomaly in a country where less than ten percent of the population has access to electricity. Flush toilets and fans are a great luxury; air conditioning and anything that resembles a grocery store are preposterous. And yet these factors should compel future groups to visit Bayonnais, not deter them.

Despite the aforementioned hardships that plague Haiti, OFCB is a testament of triumph. Every morning close to fifteen hundred children put on matching uniforms, participate in a comprehensive curriculum taught by well-selected professors, and receive, what is to many, their only meal of the day. The future of the community is enrolled in universities from Limbe to Port au Prince, studying everything from medicine and agronomy to business and information science. The new church is teeming with eager worshippers not only at the all-day Sunday service but on Wednesday evenings and at the infamous 6:00am Saturday morning worship. With each day that passes I feel less like a visitor and more like a member the community. Although no amount of sun could give my skin the same tone as my colleagues in Bayonnais, a handful of Creole phrases has opened a lot of doors and formed many friendships. I recognize the names of close to a hundred Haitians and the infamous “blanc” is now being phased out for the more affectionate moniker of “Morgan” (or sometimes “Mo-den” or “Morgens”). I consider the sweltering heat and the occasional absence of food to be yet another right of passage, one more hardship that I can overcome. I am an advocate of the idea that confidence is conceived outside of one’s comfort zone; that through adversity, character is formed. So, when I say that I do not have any condiments to flavor my rice and beans, it should be taken with a grain of salt.

Please sir, may I have some more...

In Haiti, sorghum is often the last line of defense against hunger; for this reason, it is appropriate that the Creole word for millet is “pitimi” (pronounced pity me). After an unsuccessful attempt to forage for dinner last night, Jacques Elie and I could find neither a grain of sorghum to suppress our hunger nor an ounce pity to uplift our spirits. Recent mix ups regarding meal duty have left our supply of Power Bars dangerously low and just yesterday we finished off the last of the beef jerky. The situation has become so dire that last night I was forced to break my abstinence from alcohol during Lent because I needed the bottle of wine to supplement the fruit and vegetable food group that was severely lacking in my diet. Coupled with the saltine crackers that I found in a cupboard, I felt like I had come to Mass for brunch.
If my efforts to evoke sympathy have failed thus far: the generator refuses to acknowledge my demands (ergo no power); the water is temporarily off, so the toilets do not flush (good thing we have been eating lightly); and the bus that carries the teachers from Gonaives will not start (don’t worry, Morgan can teach it). I cut my hair, or rather I had it cut, and I look like a dog that had part of his fur shaved off in order to undergo an operation; my pride was removed without an anesthetic. My clothes were taken to be washed while I was out and the shirt I have had on for days would probably be described by Homeland Security as “biological terrorism”.
In reality, I have nothing to complain about. The children are always beaming with smiles when I exit the guest house; English classes proceed without obstacle (four exams written this weekend); I have had ample help with the agronomic endeavors; and even the generator cooperates occasionally if I caress her enough. There is also that Chapel Hill basketball team that recently won a tournament…

The Magic School Bus

On Wednesday morning, I gratefully accepted Actionnel's invitation to accompany the Florence delegation to Port Au Prince to bid them farewell at the airport. Although the flight was not until Thursday morning, we left a day in advance just in case of any unforeseen obstacles. The guesthouse where we stayed on Wednesday night was symbolic for two reasons: one, it had been run by Chris's (the pastor's) mother many years ago; and two, I had stayed there on my first trip to Haiti nearly eight years ago. Around 8:30am the next morning, we dropped the seven passengers off next to a heavily armed UN tank (we were not allowed to enter the airport in the school bus) to give hugs and say goodbyes. I did not realize how much I had enjoyed their company until returning to the compound this weekend sans Anglos.


The ride home was anything but direct! After what seemed like forty years of driving around a deserted part of Port Au Prince, our driver, Moses, finally led us towards the promised land. I was left alone aboard the old Charlotte-Mecklenburg school bus for what seemed like hours at a time, contemplating which would be a worse fate, heat exhaustion or kidnapping. In the end, I suffered no injuries (except for a minor case of whiplash) and we got on the road around 1:30pm. The return voyage saw us stop multiple times to check the internal pressure (to urinate) and to pick up some necessary provisions at the one supermarket. I spent Thursday night at Actionnel's house (spaghetti for dinner again) and rode to Bayonnais with the teachers on Friday. After 36 hours of travel I was glad to be home! There are no broken springs like the broken springs of your own bed!

Florence

I have been unable to write until now due to the immense volume of initiatives underway this week. The principle project of the Florence delegation—Chris, Robert, Doug, Allan, Lisa and Gray—is the construction and implementation of twenty drip irrigation systems that will help local farmers increase their crop yields during the dry season. Additionally, the group has generously contributed to the continuing construction of the new school and they are actively overseeing the (hopeful) completion of the walls of the first floor of the building. During the mid-day sun, the group can be found inside assembling personal hygiene kits and assisting in the installation of the new computer lab. As if all of this weren’t taxing enough, five of the seven missionaries hiked for three hours to the Fort de Bayonnais on Saturday! The church service on Sunday was led by Pastor Chris and it was well received by the Americans and Haitians alike. I must say that I am impressed by how hardworking, jovial, and all-around enjoyable the company has been.

Last night was particularly exciting for me. Actionnel was worn out from translating church in the morning and then hosting a slew of community meetings so he asked me if I would drive his children home in the late afternoon. In addition to his wife, four children and various extended family members, I must have picked up half a dozen random passengers who jumped in the truck as it crossed their path including a baby that was passed through a window! The road out of Bayonnais has more craters than the surface of the moon and the one highway isn’t much better. I almost tipped the car on a few occasions and the only time I went over thirty miles an hour was when I accidentally flew (literally flew) over a speed bump. When the children finally stopped gritting their teeth and jumped out of the truck, I could tell that they were a little more excited than usual to be home.

Extended Cab?

Our Wednesday morning adventure to Port au Prince was as conventional as can be expected of any trip to the Haitian capital. Despite the ubiquitous potholes on Haiti's sole highway, the air conditioning and the clear radio reception of the double-cab Toyota Hillux seemed a little too "first world". The shanty towns constructed of sheet metal and the burning piles of trash in the street suggested the country's difficult circumstance but as we drove along the coastline between St. Marc and Cabaret, the crystal clear water and lush ecology reiterated to us that Haiti, too, was once a Caribbean paradise. Not long before we reached the airport, we received word that the bus, which was to transport the Florence delegation, was irreparable and that we would have to find an alternative. Actionnel, who has earned the "Action" in his name, proceeded to the airport, assuring Jacques Elie and I that we would find a way to fit six more passengers and 20-plus pieces of luggage in the truck. Most Haitians wait outside the airport packed into what looks like an iron cage but thanks to a bit of sidestepping and the harmless appearance of my whiteness, we were able to clear security and receive the passengers without any hassle. Fortunately, were able to catch a ride back with an old friend who was in the area; unfortunately, however, we were still two seats short (with one already straddling the gear shift in the front). Never able to turn down an adventure, Jacques Elie and I rode home from Port au Prince to Bayonnais (a journey of at least 3.5 hours) in the back of the truck, sitting on all of the luggage. Although the airport is on the outskirts of Port au Prince, I still found myself tense up a few times when we stopped in the middle of a town and a passerby would look at me as if I might make good bait. The dust and exhaust was omnipresent and with the help of the sun, it is a surprise that my skin did not actually look Haitian upon our arrival. Following the suggestion of a fellow traveler, I wrapped a bandanna around my face, in Billy-the-Kid fashion, which drew many looks from the heavily armed Brazilian UN convoys until they realized that the idea of a white gangster in Haiti is laughable. Guns were a reoccuring theme throughout the trip, whether it was the M-16s of the UN "peacekeepers", the mK5 sub-machine guns of the Haitian police or the sawed off shotguns of the grocery store security. I wasn't concerned with making any friends but I certainly did not want to make any enemies. We arrived to the community unscathed at 5:30pm and the children were waiting for us anxiously.

I promise I will post pictures soon...