Yes, I am currently on a Jean Knight kick, but rest assured that the song and title of this blog post couldn't be more perfect. Just keep reading!
The other night I decided to stay at the office through the rain to get some extra work done and putz around on the internet while I had the chance. A student, Richard, was willing to stay and escort me home.
We left the office around 8:15 at night. Once it's dark out, I usually take the "safer" route home, which is slightly out of the way, but has street lights. This time, though, there was a police car stationed along the quicker route, so we decided it was equally safe and headed that way. What we failed to evaluate was how this might appear to police, who aren't accustomed to seeing blan (white people), let alone a white woman, walking at night down vacant streets with a young Haitian male.
So the chef (Creole for policeman) called us over. "Bonswa, ti blan. Sa w ap fè avek ti neg sa?" (Good evening little whitey. What are you doing with this little Haitian?) I'm thinking: okay, that's reasonable. I guess this does appear to be a little out of the ordinary. So I explain to him in my best Creole that we are on our way home, and that Richard is accompanying me there. There is no problem. I'm fine. I'm not afraid. I know him; he is my student.
He responds (in Creole, but I've translated it), "Why are you walking? Where is your car? Blan don't walk in Haiti, especially not at night." Ah, yes chef! You are right. I am the only blan in Haiti without a car, so that is why I walk. I also live very close to where I work, so I don't need a car.
Chef: Where are you from? Let me see your passport.
Me: I'm American and my passport is at my house.
Chef: "Si ou pa gen piyes didantite, n'ap arete w." This means, "If you don't have an ID with you, we're going to arrest you."
All this time, the student I am with isn't saying anything. He was obviously afraid of the police, and whether or not they were serious, he didn't want to mess around.
Me: "Tann, tann, tann." (Wait, wait, wait). "Ou pa ka fè sa. Mwen pat konnen. Sel bagay mwen genyen se yon kart dasirans." (You can't do that. I didn't know. The only thing I have is my insurance card).
Until then, I thought it wasn't too serious, but they kept threatening arrest, so I started to get concerned. I turned to Richard. Still nothing. He just reiterated what the policeman said, saying that I needed to carry an ID, otherwise I could be arrested. Grreeeeaaaaaat! Garry (my big boss, HELP's country director) was out of town, so who was I going to call if I ended up in Haitian jail? It would be an experience, that I knew for sure. How many blan ever get arrested in Haiti, let alone an attractive, young lady blan?
After accepting my insurance card as a form of ID, I figured it out. They just wanted to talk to me, and keep me there as long as they could. So I indulged them a bit in conversation. Told them a little about myself, blah blah blah. Which of course led to, "Eske ou gen menaj?" (Do you have a boyfriend?)
The correct thing to say would have been, "Wi, m geyen menaj. Ayisyen memn!" (Yes, I have a boyfriend. A Haitian one even!) But I am seriously bad at dealing with these men, and said, "Mwen pa bezwen menaj" (I don't need a boyfriend). This only invited them to continue.
Oh bel famn (pretty lady) I'll be the best boyfriend. I want to take you to Petit Goave, the most beautiful beach in the South. You can be my queen, and we'll start an empire together. Let's join our names, and have children. Obama's mom is white. We can be like Obama. Please, give me your number. I have to have you. Insert any other pick-up lines or come-on's you want. This chef was intense, and it went on for about 20 minutes.
I finally appealed to them to let me go home because it was late and not safe for a lady to be out on the streets at this hour with a big backpack. It was around 9 pm by then. Oh, but that just got me into more trouble.
Chef: "Wi, se twop ta. N ap menen ou lakay la." (Yes, it is too late. We'll take you to your house)
Me: "OK. An ale. N ap mache ansemn? Se tou pre" (OK, let's go. We'll walk together. It's very close)
Chef: "Ahh no, cheri! N ap menen ou nan machine la" (Oh no, sweetie! We'll take you in our car)
Me: "Se vre?" (Really?)...."uuuhhhh...OK...an ale." (OK, let's go)
And off we went, literally down the street 200 yeards and around the corner, me in the back seat with the lights flashing and everything. Escorted home by the police. What a riot! At least I didn't go to jail, nor was I fined, AND, the kicker, I got away without giving them a real ID or my number. SUCCESS!
Mr. Big Stuff! Who do you think you are? Mr. Big Stuff! You're never gonna get my love!
Come on, really? You're going to use your "authority" to holler at me? Uh-uh buddy. Not gonna happen...
Monday, May 30, 2011
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
It's like thunder! Lightnin'! The way you love me is frightenin'!
It's been almost 4 months since I last wrote, and I know that all of you out there are aching for me to write. Instead of trying to catch you up, I'm just going to continue from this point forward. Maybe I'll make some "looking back" posts, but judging by my current blogging statistics, it's unlikely. Anywho...
It's officially the RAINY SEASON in Haiti. That means hot, hot heat during the day with about 99% humidity and thunderstorms throughout the afternoon/evening to cool everything off for the night. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of experiencing a Haitian rainstorm, allow me to elaborate:
It begins with a sprinkling, seemingly harmless, but nonetheless persistent. This could last anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple hours. Then, BOOM! The downpour begins, and is often accompanied by thunder so powerful it rattles your eardrums and shakes your heart from within your body. It's unsettling and invigorating all at once; I have yet to keep myself from jumping.
The duration of the storm is unpredictable. Sometimes is will only last about 30 minutes. If it lasts much longer, the consequences become worse. This is largely due to Port-au-Prince's TERRIBLE drainage, which means the more it rains, the more the streets flood. And when they flood, you better not plan on going anywhere, otherwise you'll be trudging through a foot of water. But the streets don't simply fill with rain runoff. No, sir! The floods carry all the mud and trash that people throw in the street, too.
Once the water level settles, banks of said mud and trash become visible throughout the streets. Seemingly shallow puddles disguise themselves in 6-inch deep potholes. Unpaved "sidewalks" become slippery, slimy mud pits. This makes for eventful walking, especially since it's rarely light out after the rain stops and street lights are few and far between.
Who wants to mail me rain boots?
I discovered a good portion of this the other night when I was making my way over to the Hotel Oloffson (a beautiful old, run-down gingerbread mansion--once a vacation palace to the presidents, now a hotel and low-key hangout for journalists and RAM fans--see link). Michael, Hervé, and I went there for their Monday night twoubadou performance.
I LOVE twoubadou! It's considered traditional Haitian music which includes guitar, drums, saxophone, accordion, maracas, banjo, and singing. There aren't many young people who play it anymore, so it's also fun to go see these old guys rock out. They're the cutest! And they still have moves! Crip Prestige (Haitian beer), the Oloffson porch, a slight breeze, some dancing, and of course, twoubadou, make for a great night. Next time I'll take some photos.
In other news, I am become my own ti menaj (little boyfriend), as I bought myself a bouquet of flowers. My students tell me that a beautiful woman in Haiti isn't supposed to buy herself flowers, but I could care less. They're pretty, they brighten up my room, make me smile, and it supports the guys who trek those flowers down from the mountains. Plus, I retort that if getting flowers the "right" way means having to get a REAL ti menaj who is possessive and jealous , then I am better off being my own boyfriend. They think I am totally NUTS! And I think I'm the best boyfriend I've ever had...well...minus the obvious setbacks.
Alright, I need to get some rest before a big day of teaching (superlatives for a few classes, and a podcast for the advanced group). Thanks for tuning in folks... A pi ta (Until later)!
It's officially the RAINY SEASON in Haiti. That means hot, hot heat during the day with about 99% humidity and thunderstorms throughout the afternoon/evening to cool everything off for the night. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of experiencing a Haitian rainstorm, allow me to elaborate:
It begins with a sprinkling, seemingly harmless, but nonetheless persistent. This could last anywhere from 10 minutes to a couple hours. Then, BOOM! The downpour begins, and is often accompanied by thunder so powerful it rattles your eardrums and shakes your heart from within your body. It's unsettling and invigorating all at once; I have yet to keep myself from jumping.
The duration of the storm is unpredictable. Sometimes is will only last about 30 minutes. If it lasts much longer, the consequences become worse. This is largely due to Port-au-Prince's TERRIBLE drainage, which means the more it rains, the more the streets flood. And when they flood, you better not plan on going anywhere, otherwise you'll be trudging through a foot of water. But the streets don't simply fill with rain runoff. No, sir! The floods carry all the mud and trash that people throw in the street, too.
Once the water level settles, banks of said mud and trash become visible throughout the streets. Seemingly shallow puddles disguise themselves in 6-inch deep potholes. Unpaved "sidewalks" become slippery, slimy mud pits. This makes for eventful walking, especially since it's rarely light out after the rain stops and street lights are few and far between.
Who wants to mail me rain boots?
I discovered a good portion of this the other night when I was making my way over to the Hotel Oloffson (a beautiful old, run-down gingerbread mansion--once a vacation palace to the presidents, now a hotel and low-key hangout for journalists and RAM fans--see link). Michael, Hervé, and I went there for their Monday night twoubadou performance.
I LOVE twoubadou! It's considered traditional Haitian music which includes guitar, drums, saxophone, accordion, maracas, banjo, and singing. There aren't many young people who play it anymore, so it's also fun to go see these old guys rock out. They're the cutest! And they still have moves! Crip Prestige (Haitian beer), the Oloffson porch, a slight breeze, some dancing, and of course, twoubadou, make for a great night. Next time I'll take some photos.
In other news, I am become my own ti menaj (little boyfriend), as I bought myself a bouquet of flowers. My students tell me that a beautiful woman in Haiti isn't supposed to buy herself flowers, but I could care less. They're pretty, they brighten up my room, make me smile, and it supports the guys who trek those flowers down from the mountains. Plus, I retort that if getting flowers the "right" way means having to get a REAL ti menaj who is possessive and jealous , then I am better off being my own boyfriend. They think I am totally NUTS! And I think I'm the best boyfriend I've ever had...well...minus the obvious setbacks.
Alright, I need to get some rest before a big day of teaching (superlatives for a few classes, and a podcast for the advanced group). Thanks for tuning in folks... A pi ta (Until later)!
Saturday, February 12, 2011
WHAT?
I live in Haiti! WHAT?
Just having one of those days, looking out over my desk onto the courtyard at work, thinking "Holy cow, I live in Haiti. How did I get here again? Why am I here?"
But then I snap out of it and realize how normalized my life has become here, and how proud I am to be working for HELP and with HELP students. Every time I feel like giving up because of loneliness or frustration, I remember all the sacrifices my students have made to get to where they are, and how much they are still willing to give up. Throwing in the towel and fleeing home is always an option for me. I am lucky to have choices because my students don't. At least not in the same sense that I do. This is their one chance. It's all or nothing, so how could I desert them just because I've had a pretty bad month? I can't. They mean too much to me to leave. I don't really know if I am making that much of an impact on their lives, but I am certain that they have already changed mine forever.
(For those of you waiting for the Oscar memorial post, it's coming...I've just been struggling to find the right words)
Just having one of those days, looking out over my desk onto the courtyard at work, thinking "Holy cow, I live in Haiti. How did I get here again? Why am I here?"
But then I snap out of it and realize how normalized my life has become here, and how proud I am to be working for HELP and with HELP students. Every time I feel like giving up because of loneliness or frustration, I remember all the sacrifices my students have made to get to where they are, and how much they are still willing to give up. Throwing in the towel and fleeing home is always an option for me. I am lucky to have choices because my students don't. At least not in the same sense that I do. This is their one chance. It's all or nothing, so how could I desert them just because I've had a pretty bad month? I can't. They mean too much to me to leave. I don't really know if I am making that much of an impact on their lives, but I am certain that they have already changed mine forever.
(For those of you waiting for the Oscar memorial post, it's coming...I've just been struggling to find the right words)
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Elections
Yes, I am well aware that I am failing miserably at this whole blogging thing. Jarrett Allen never lets me forget it. Maybe it will be one of my New Year’s Resolutions…?
Anyway, I have many experiences to catch you all up on, but I feel the most pressing is the election. (Look for a summary post of my goings-on later) On November 28, 2010, the presidential election took place in Haiti. Let me preface this by saying that there was and still is a lot of hubbub about this election.
First of all, elections in Haiti have a history of going sour—it’s not uncommon for the president to refuse to leave office and things often escalate to violence—and people had been preparing for this one like we were going to war. I mean the shelves in the markets were bare. No one was out and about. Even the nightclub down the street from my house closed out of fear and caution. And if you know me well, you know that this just made me want to go out more. If there was going to be violence or excitement, I wanted to witness it. Come on, I am in Haiti after an insane earthquake, in the middle of a serious cholera epidemic, and during a tumultuous election and I am not going to have anything to show for it? Really? That’s simply unacceptable.
To my perverse dismay, everything went relatively smoothly, in my neighborhood anyway. I still did not get to go out because the students were being total chicken-shits, but I suppose I can’t blame them. Based on previous experiences with elections, they probably have good reason to be overly cautious. Instead, I sat around with them all day watching the progress on TV. By about 2 pm the majority of the candidates were calling for an annulment, claiming widespread fraud in favor of Jude Célestin, which they are saying mostly occurred throughout the polls in PAP.
Protests broke out in parts of PAP and throughout other areas in Haiti, namely Cap-Haitian, where tensions were already high due to the cholera outbreak that many angry Haitians blame on the UN Peacekeepers. But demonstrations seemed to calm down by the Tuesday after Sunday Nov. 28 and we all went back to work, markets were reopened, etc.
A few days later, some reports came out that it was looking like Mirlande Manigat and Michel Martelly were leading the polls, and that Jude Célestin, the corrupt candidate from Préval’s party Inité, was out of the running. I thought, oh good, things are okay. The candidates who the Haitian people really want to be in the 2nd round will be there, but little did I know that we had just reached the eye of the hurricane.
We’ve spent the last two weeks hovering in a state of mixed emotions, mainly comprised of relief, anxiety, frustration, and anticipation. What would the CEP (Counseil Electoal Provisoire) release? [Note: There is little faith in this organization, as they are believed to be in bed with Préval and the ruling political party Inité. They are the ones responsible for making sure the voting process is proper and just, but citizens say the CEP officials were stuffing the ballot boxes with votes for Jude Célestin; hence, crazy tension.]
Tuesday, December 6, the office closed at 4 pm sharp because the CEP stated they’d release the results at 6 pm. The tension was palpable. If Jude Célestin would make it into the next round, you could just feel in the air that the entire country would lose it. The students gathered in the kitchen/living area with nervous stares and eagerness. Huddled around a little radio, we waited and listened.
The results were in: Mme Manigat won around 34% and Jude Célestin barely slid into 2nd with around 24%. He beat out Martelly by less than 1%. Everyone was up in arms. The reaction in the street was instantaneous. Gunshots, yells, screams, arguments…it was on. We entered a new phase of unrest, especially since everyone knew that Célestin had cheated.
Everything shut down again. I knew it would be days until I had to work again…days until the markets reopened. Stuck at home.
It’s been five days now of staying mostly at home, eating peanut butter and bananas, taking multiple cat naps per day, basically living the lazy life and going stir crazy because of it. I am not good at staying put, particularly when I am told that I have to. The first day of demonstrations, I went out to the street to see what was going on.
I headed to Débussy (one of the other student houses) because I couldn’t stand being inside and I had told Lubin, a student, that I would visit despite the disorder. I wasn’t really afraid, but just in case, I walked with my cell phone in hand ready to dial Mathieu in case something went down. (Mathieu is a medical student who was very concerned for my safety, yet was too afraid himself to walk with me. They’re all a little bit too paranoid if you ask me. At some point, they need to stop being so afraid because the fear itself is inhibiting progress here)
Anyway, there weren’t many people out, mostly men, except for the women selling bread and canned milk. A stench of burned rubber and smoke filled the air. On every corner there were simmering tires leaving behind mounds of black soot and wires. People had obviously been throwing rocks and shoving piles of the rubble further into the street. Navigating through the mess, I finally made it to the house, where I enjoyed the student’s company and had a nice break from Noam Chomsky’s Hopes and Prospects.
I’ve been venturing out everyday a little bit. Most of the time I went with a student or Michael. One day Agronome, a lovely HELP student who is very considerate and helpful, took Michael and myself out to try to find some food. Right as we were leaving a huge riot broke out in the direction we were heading. On the radio they were reporting guns and machetes to be present. Needless to say, we turned around and walked the other way. It was later reported that many people were shot at that demonstration.
Last night, Michael and I had had enough, and we thought we’d go see if this local bar was open. As it turns out, Muncheez was totally open and we got to enjoy an odd mix of blues/jazz, reggae, bad ballads, and Sweet Dreams are Made of These. It was strangely comforting.
Things aren’t really calming down, but places are starting to slowly reopen. People can’t go this long without work, food, etc. So while the riots continue, everyday life is picking back up anyway. It’s a good thing, too, because with everything closed, it’s difficult to find clean water, food, and medical attention, all of which are not helping the cholera epidemic. I guess we’ll see what happens in the coming week. For now, I am staying safe and simply waiting for it to be over.
Anyway, I have many experiences to catch you all up on, but I feel the most pressing is the election. (Look for a summary post of my goings-on later) On November 28, 2010, the presidential election took place in Haiti. Let me preface this by saying that there was and still is a lot of hubbub about this election.
First of all, elections in Haiti have a history of going sour—it’s not uncommon for the president to refuse to leave office and things often escalate to violence—and people had been preparing for this one like we were going to war. I mean the shelves in the markets were bare. No one was out and about. Even the nightclub down the street from my house closed out of fear and caution. And if you know me well, you know that this just made me want to go out more. If there was going to be violence or excitement, I wanted to witness it. Come on, I am in Haiti after an insane earthquake, in the middle of a serious cholera epidemic, and during a tumultuous election and I am not going to have anything to show for it? Really? That’s simply unacceptable.
To my perverse dismay, everything went relatively smoothly, in my neighborhood anyway. I still did not get to go out because the students were being total chicken-shits, but I suppose I can’t blame them. Based on previous experiences with elections, they probably have good reason to be overly cautious. Instead, I sat around with them all day watching the progress on TV. By about 2 pm the majority of the candidates were calling for an annulment, claiming widespread fraud in favor of Jude Célestin, which they are saying mostly occurred throughout the polls in PAP.
Protests broke out in parts of PAP and throughout other areas in Haiti, namely Cap-Haitian, where tensions were already high due to the cholera outbreak that many angry Haitians blame on the UN Peacekeepers. But demonstrations seemed to calm down by the Tuesday after Sunday Nov. 28 and we all went back to work, markets were reopened, etc.
A few days later, some reports came out that it was looking like Mirlande Manigat and Michel Martelly were leading the polls, and that Jude Célestin, the corrupt candidate from Préval’s party Inité, was out of the running. I thought, oh good, things are okay. The candidates who the Haitian people really want to be in the 2nd round will be there, but little did I know that we had just reached the eye of the hurricane.
We’ve spent the last two weeks hovering in a state of mixed emotions, mainly comprised of relief, anxiety, frustration, and anticipation. What would the CEP (Counseil Electoal Provisoire) release? [Note: There is little faith in this organization, as they are believed to be in bed with Préval and the ruling political party Inité. They are the ones responsible for making sure the voting process is proper and just, but citizens say the CEP officials were stuffing the ballot boxes with votes for Jude Célestin; hence, crazy tension.]
Tuesday, December 6, the office closed at 4 pm sharp because the CEP stated they’d release the results at 6 pm. The tension was palpable. If Jude Célestin would make it into the next round, you could just feel in the air that the entire country would lose it. The students gathered in the kitchen/living area with nervous stares and eagerness. Huddled around a little radio, we waited and listened.
 |
| In this photo: Kenal (white hat), Samuel (black shirt), Barthelemy (green shirt), Marc Arthur (white shirt), Léonel aka "Senegal" (Tommy Bahama style shirt), Hégel (blue shirt), and Makelot (red stripes). More students were sitting on the stairs nearby and at the kitchen table. |
The results were in: Mme Manigat won around 34% and Jude Célestin barely slid into 2nd with around 24%. He beat out Martelly by less than 1%. Everyone was up in arms. The reaction in the street was instantaneous. Gunshots, yells, screams, arguments…it was on. We entered a new phase of unrest, especially since everyone knew that Célestin had cheated.
Everything shut down again. I knew it would be days until I had to work again…days until the markets reopened. Stuck at home.
It’s been five days now of staying mostly at home, eating peanut butter and bananas, taking multiple cat naps per day, basically living the lazy life and going stir crazy because of it. I am not good at staying put, particularly when I am told that I have to. The first day of demonstrations, I went out to the street to see what was going on.
I headed to Débussy (one of the other student houses) because I couldn’t stand being inside and I had told Lubin, a student, that I would visit despite the disorder. I wasn’t really afraid, but just in case, I walked with my cell phone in hand ready to dial Mathieu in case something went down. (Mathieu is a medical student who was very concerned for my safety, yet was too afraid himself to walk with me. They’re all a little bit too paranoid if you ask me. At some point, they need to stop being so afraid because the fear itself is inhibiting progress here)
Anyway, there weren’t many people out, mostly men, except for the women selling bread and canned milk. A stench of burned rubber and smoke filled the air. On every corner there were simmering tires leaving behind mounds of black soot and wires. People had obviously been throwing rocks and shoving piles of the rubble further into the street. Navigating through the mess, I finally made it to the house, where I enjoyed the student’s company and had a nice break from Noam Chomsky’s Hopes and Prospects.
I’ve been venturing out everyday a little bit. Most of the time I went with a student or Michael. One day Agronome, a lovely HELP student who is very considerate and helpful, took Michael and myself out to try to find some food. Right as we were leaving a huge riot broke out in the direction we were heading. On the radio they were reporting guns and machetes to be present. Needless to say, we turned around and walked the other way. It was later reported that many people were shot at that demonstration.
Last night, Michael and I had had enough, and we thought we’d go see if this local bar was open. As it turns out, Muncheez was totally open and we got to enjoy an odd mix of blues/jazz, reggae, bad ballads, and Sweet Dreams are Made of These. It was strangely comforting.
Things aren’t really calming down, but places are starting to slowly reopen. People can’t go this long without work, food, etc. So while the riots continue, everyday life is picking back up anyway. It’s a good thing, too, because with everything closed, it’s difficult to find clean water, food, and medical attention, all of which are not helping the cholera epidemic. I guess we’ll see what happens in the coming week. For now, I am staying safe and simply waiting for it to be over.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Rolando and the Hardware Adventure
Saturday October 23, 2010
A few days ago I had a bad day. I had a whole entry written about everything that was wrong…mostly things related to homesickness, sleeping by myself in a concrete box (I really miss Oscar), and about being alone as an American woman in Haiti. But it just isn’t good to harp on the negative, so I’ve let that day go along with the post.
Saturday October 23 could have been considered a bad day, since pretty much everything went wrong. It went so wrong I spent most of the day laughing. It was quite the welcome to Haiti.
The day began with me heading to the HELP Center in order to meet our motorcycle driver at 8 AM. He was taking me to the hardware store so that I could get a quote for all the equipment I would need for my garden/compost project. First of all, I was already feeling like this would be an “experience” because I was going alone and my Creole is still baby talk. All I knew was that I needed to ask for a “proforma” and ask for a “ti discount de 5%.” (Creole has some funny English words…discount being one of them) So with my list in hand, I grabbed a helmet, hopped on the back of Rolando’s bike, and we were off. [Side note: I really love riding motorcycles; it’s too fun. And I still want a Vespa. Nothin’ like the wind in your face.]
Unfortunately, my joy ride didn’t last very long. We were about 20 minutes into our journey towards A&B Hardware when the police pulled us over. (Welcome to Haiti) I noticed they were pulling all the motorcyclists over and checking their licenses, so I simply stayed on the back of the bike while Rolando (HELP’s motorcycle driver/errand boy) dug around for his papers. Then I thought that maybe the police were giving him a hard time because I was white. Great, I thought, I’d have to try to explain in Creole that he is my chauffeur and that he is paid by my employers, etc, etc. It turned out that wasn’t the case and that I didn’t have to explain myself. But the police asked me to get off the bike and go stand in the shade. At that point I started really wondering what was going on. Was I going to be stranded somewhere in PaP? I had no idea where I was. What would I do? I didn’t even have Garry’s number. (Garry is HELP’s director in Haiti)
Luckily the policemen were nice and spoke French (yay!), and I found out that the problem was Rolando only had a copy of his license. (Welcome to Haiti) Not a big deal, but they did confiscate his bike and keys. I called Linedy, who manages the HELP office and she just said don’t worry. Don’t worry? I mean, I stayed calm of course, but couldn’t you at least tell me if somebody is coming to get us? Whatever, I just went with the flow and Rolando made some mystery calls to mystery numbers from my phone (so as to save himself the credit). He just looked at me every few minutes and said, “Mimi, Garry ap vini, l’ap vini.” That translates to Garry is coming, he’s coming. OK, I was reassured; at least somebody was coming. The next challenge was how long would that take? Traffic is notoriously bad in PaP. (Welcome to Haiti)
I looked at my watch; it was now 10 AM (2 hours after we had initially set out on the adventure). While we were waiting on the other side of the street for Garry, a Tap-Tap (the Haitian public transportation “buses”) broke down right in the middle of an already busy street…only about 30 feet down the street from the police motorcycle checkpoint. And the Tap-Tap didn’t just stall. Oh no, the whole front axel just dropped onto the asphalt. (Welcome to Haiti) The truck wasn’t going anywhere for a long time and in kicked the cacophony of hundreds of horns and honks.
Garry eventually made it through the gridlock to pick us up, and we were back on route to the hardware store. Ahhh, sweet victory! We were going to make it!
A&B Hardware turned out to be a total bust. They didn’t have everything I needed, and not only that, but you can’t pick things up and put them in a basket. You have to describe to them what you want and they get it out of the back for you. This meant there was huge potential for a large margin of error. After hearing “pa gen sa” (don’t have that) one too many times, Garry and I gave up on A&B. (Welcome to Haiti)
We got back in the car, and I just assumed that was it, I’d have to wait another week to get my equipment. But then Garry drove around the corner to a place called Eko Depot (a total rip off of Home Depot…same colors and knock-off logo). This was the place! It was like hardware heaven! They had everything I needed and more! And I could put my stuff right into a basket and take it home with me that very day! I was thrilled. Who knew a hardware store could bring so much joy.
We crammed shovels, wheelbarrows, pitchforks, and much much more into Garry’s little SUV (like an old Rav4 size SUV) and headed back to the HELP Center. I think we finally made it back around 2 or 3 pm. Ahhh, what a day, and it was far from over.
After organizing everything at the center, it was time to head home with Joanna for a quick rest and shower before going out with Conor to hear some live kompa. Joanna works in the NY office and was on her first visit to Haiti. She stayed with me, and it was wonderful! Even though I hadn’t been here much more than a week, it was so nice to have another American female around. Plus, she is totally awesome! (I was quite sad to see her leave a few days later)
Joanna brought some Newman’s Own pretzels with her from NY that we proceeded to devour before going out. Mmmm, a break from fried plantains and beans & rice. We were all tired, but mustered the energy to go hear this good kompa group, Fasil. The venue was pretty cool, although we were seated in the back, and since I wear flowers in my hair, I was placed on the bush-side of the table. My head was literally in the plants, but it wasn’t a big deal because the Prestige made the whole day better.
Prestige is the Haitian beer. It’s very similar to Red Stripe of Jamaica, and even comes in a similar bottle. Add in some groovy Afro-Caribbean beats, and you have a wonderful evening. Kompa is great! It’s pretty relaxed, but also upbeat. I like it. One dances kompa to kompa music, but I have yet to learn how to kompa. Watching all the other attendees crammed on the dance floor was enough for me that night. It’s a pretty sensual dance, so I hope to learn with some familiar people before jumping into a serious dance scene with strange men.
The concert was great, but we didn’t even make it to the headliner because it was already around 1 am and we couldn’t last any longer. The next time Fasil plays I will drink some coffee and prepare for a really late night, full of dancing and hopefully drunken splendor.
Welcome to Haiti! From potential disaster to delightful beer and music, all in a day’s work!
A few days ago I had a bad day. I had a whole entry written about everything that was wrong…mostly things related to homesickness, sleeping by myself in a concrete box (I really miss Oscar), and about being alone as an American woman in Haiti. But it just isn’t good to harp on the negative, so I’ve let that day go along with the post.
Saturday October 23 could have been considered a bad day, since pretty much everything went wrong. It went so wrong I spent most of the day laughing. It was quite the welcome to Haiti.
The day began with me heading to the HELP Center in order to meet our motorcycle driver at 8 AM. He was taking me to the hardware store so that I could get a quote for all the equipment I would need for my garden/compost project. First of all, I was already feeling like this would be an “experience” because I was going alone and my Creole is still baby talk. All I knew was that I needed to ask for a “proforma” and ask for a “ti discount de 5%.” (Creole has some funny English words…discount being one of them) So with my list in hand, I grabbed a helmet, hopped on the back of Rolando’s bike, and we were off. [Side note: I really love riding motorcycles; it’s too fun. And I still want a Vespa. Nothin’ like the wind in your face.]
Unfortunately, my joy ride didn’t last very long. We were about 20 minutes into our journey towards A&B Hardware when the police pulled us over. (Welcome to Haiti) I noticed they were pulling all the motorcyclists over and checking their licenses, so I simply stayed on the back of the bike while Rolando (HELP’s motorcycle driver/errand boy) dug around for his papers. Then I thought that maybe the police were giving him a hard time because I was white. Great, I thought, I’d have to try to explain in Creole that he is my chauffeur and that he is paid by my employers, etc, etc. It turned out that wasn’t the case and that I didn’t have to explain myself. But the police asked me to get off the bike and go stand in the shade. At that point I started really wondering what was going on. Was I going to be stranded somewhere in PaP? I had no idea where I was. What would I do? I didn’t even have Garry’s number. (Garry is HELP’s director in Haiti)
Luckily the policemen were nice and spoke French (yay!), and I found out that the problem was Rolando only had a copy of his license. (Welcome to Haiti) Not a big deal, but they did confiscate his bike and keys. I called Linedy, who manages the HELP office and she just said don’t worry. Don’t worry? I mean, I stayed calm of course, but couldn’t you at least tell me if somebody is coming to get us? Whatever, I just went with the flow and Rolando made some mystery calls to mystery numbers from my phone (so as to save himself the credit). He just looked at me every few minutes and said, “Mimi, Garry ap vini, l’ap vini.” That translates to Garry is coming, he’s coming. OK, I was reassured; at least somebody was coming. The next challenge was how long would that take? Traffic is notoriously bad in PaP. (Welcome to Haiti)
I looked at my watch; it was now 10 AM (2 hours after we had initially set out on the adventure). While we were waiting on the other side of the street for Garry, a Tap-Tap (the Haitian public transportation “buses”) broke down right in the middle of an already busy street…only about 30 feet down the street from the police motorcycle checkpoint. And the Tap-Tap didn’t just stall. Oh no, the whole front axel just dropped onto the asphalt. (Welcome to Haiti) The truck wasn’t going anywhere for a long time and in kicked the cacophony of hundreds of horns and honks.
Garry eventually made it through the gridlock to pick us up, and we were back on route to the hardware store. Ahhh, sweet victory! We were going to make it!
A&B Hardware turned out to be a total bust. They didn’t have everything I needed, and not only that, but you can’t pick things up and put them in a basket. You have to describe to them what you want and they get it out of the back for you. This meant there was huge potential for a large margin of error. After hearing “pa gen sa” (don’t have that) one too many times, Garry and I gave up on A&B. (Welcome to Haiti)
We got back in the car, and I just assumed that was it, I’d have to wait another week to get my equipment. But then Garry drove around the corner to a place called Eko Depot (a total rip off of Home Depot…same colors and knock-off logo). This was the place! It was like hardware heaven! They had everything I needed and more! And I could put my stuff right into a basket and take it home with me that very day! I was thrilled. Who knew a hardware store could bring so much joy.
We crammed shovels, wheelbarrows, pitchforks, and much much more into Garry’s little SUV (like an old Rav4 size SUV) and headed back to the HELP Center. I think we finally made it back around 2 or 3 pm. Ahhh, what a day, and it was far from over.
After organizing everything at the center, it was time to head home with Joanna for a quick rest and shower before going out with Conor to hear some live kompa. Joanna works in the NY office and was on her first visit to Haiti. She stayed with me, and it was wonderful! Even though I hadn’t been here much more than a week, it was so nice to have another American female around. Plus, she is totally awesome! (I was quite sad to see her leave a few days later)
Joanna brought some Newman’s Own pretzels with her from NY that we proceeded to devour before going out. Mmmm, a break from fried plantains and beans & rice. We were all tired, but mustered the energy to go hear this good kompa group, Fasil. The venue was pretty cool, although we were seated in the back, and since I wear flowers in my hair, I was placed on the bush-side of the table. My head was literally in the plants, but it wasn’t a big deal because the Prestige made the whole day better.
Prestige is the Haitian beer. It’s very similar to Red Stripe of Jamaica, and even comes in a similar bottle. Add in some groovy Afro-Caribbean beats, and you have a wonderful evening. Kompa is great! It’s pretty relaxed, but also upbeat. I like it. One dances kompa to kompa music, but I have yet to learn how to kompa. Watching all the other attendees crammed on the dance floor was enough for me that night. It’s a pretty sensual dance, so I hope to learn with some familiar people before jumping into a serious dance scene with strange men.
The concert was great, but we didn’t even make it to the headliner because it was already around 1 am and we couldn’t last any longer. The next time Fasil plays I will drink some coffee and prepare for a really late night, full of dancing and hopefully drunken splendor.
Welcome to Haiti! From potential disaster to delightful beer and music, all in a day’s work!
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