...reblogged for you
20.12.10
27.11.10
Tet Kale
Tet Kale is perhaps THE most popular presidential candidate in Haiti. His real name is Mickey Martelly. He was once a professional singer and the youth of this country are rallying behind him! (Convinced that as an outsider to politics he will be different) Throughout the entire campaign a hairless Mickey has been referred to simply as “Tet Kale.” Directly translated – “Bald Head” – After several weeks of being surrounded by Tet Kale propaganda I was sold. Not so much on his qualifications to be the president of Haiti, but more sold on the fact that he has be most genius campaign slogan of all time. Bald Head.
Starting today, Saturday November 27th, the day prior to elections no one is allowed to drive their cars or motorcycles. Actually, people are encouraged to not leave their homes at all. Next week after elections, if the coast is clear, everyone can once again emerge. However, there is always a chance that violence will escalate after Election Day banning everyone to their homes for days or even weeks.
Last night, the Friday before Sunday’s elections, my regular crew (Bail and Ajax) and I decided to venture out for dinner since it might be our last opportunity to do so for some time.
Ajax decided upon a pizza place not too far from our house. We arrived and to my surprise it was the nicest, cleanest, most established restaurant I had visited since arriving in Haiti. I felt as if I were on vacation. I couldn’t believe I was just being introduced to this hidden gem. Beautiful patio furniture, attractive potted plants, outdoor speakers for music, wine glasses on the table, laminated menus! On top of that, all the other patrons of the restaurant were Blans (foreigners) too! One was a group of French relief workers and at the other table sat a Cuban couple. It was all so unexpected. I was giddy with excitement!
We ordered our pizza and sipped our drinks. Relishing in the lovely change of scenery.
Then, not 15 minutes into our dining experience, a tinted windowed SUV whipped around the corner. Hanging on the sides were two men with guns. I felt my heart skip a beat. (drive by shooting?? Surely not.) I took note of those around me. Their calm(ish) demeanor put me a little more at ease. The vehicle came to a halt only feet from our table. The men with guns hopped off and the doors flung open. Inside the SUV was presidential candidate Tet Kale. He appeared to be injured. The men were panicked and heated. Some were tending to Tet Kale inside the car while the others paced with guns in hand. We all stared with wide eyes. Ajax filled his wine glass with 7up and I took this to mean we were be staying to watch the show. This would not ultimately be the case.
Moments later 2 more pick up trucks raced around the corner skidding to a stop. Each held 15 or 20 men crammed in the truck beds. All gripping handguns. Ajax and Bail flew from their seats. It was clear the situation had just gotten a lot more serious. I followed suit. Bail frantically ordered “On alle” – translation, “Lets get the hell out of here!” Everyone in the restaurant raced into the kitchen. Money was being thrown at the waitress. Voices were tense. The waitress trembled as she made quick change. Heart racing, I clinched the pizza box. Ajax instructed Bail and I to wait close to the building. He would roll by allowing us to jump in for a fast get away. The only problem…our car was blocked by the truck loads of angry gunmen. Clearly frightened Ajax forced his fragile car over a concrete blockade to escape the dangerous cluster. As the car passed over the barrier, the muffler was ripped from below. As I darted for our car, I grabbed the rusty muffler from the ground, tossed it into the back seat with the pizza and off we raced. Our engine roared without its muffler as we sped down the dark road.
Once we were a safe distance from the political rumble, though still shaking, we breathed a sigh of relief. “Hey at least we’ve got our Pizza.”
by: Two Door Cinema Club
13.11.10
Cyclone Tomas
About the time hurricane Tomas rolled into Les Cayes, the electricity went out, and my fever went up, I started having trouble remembering why exactly I was here.
The weekend prior had been pretty close to perfect. The beach, English-speaking friends, and dancing. Then with the departure of my friends and boss (to a conference in Miami) I found myself abruptly isolated. In any other circumstance, my busy routine would have provided a sufficient distraction from this lull, but the torrential rains and brutal winds of Tomas forbid my students to leave their homes. As a result of no school, very limited means of communication, a runny nose, and a bad cold preventing me from doing my daily yoga practice, I was left feeling pretty down and out.
My frustration with the overall situation perhaps also heightened my paranoia that I was being perpetually mocked for my butchered kreyol skills. Even my long benadryl induced naps left me feeling unsatisfied.
However, two days into my irritable state, my memory was jogged.
Join on the front porch by the two women I live with (and also despise for at least a few seconds everyday as they blatantly snicker behind my back) I battled the winds of Tomas with my hula-hoop. The air was almost chilly and the only light we had came from a candle and my laptop screen. Bial washed clothes in the wash bucket, Gracious rocked in the rocking chair, and I danced away to one of Kanye’s latest. As the wind blew the rain sideways so that it misted us underneath the covered porch, it hit me, this was exactly why I was in Haiti.
4.11.10
Battle of the Bugs
I’m not really into killing. I mean, I don’t know many vegans that are…But, ever since I made the executive decision to stop my malaria medication (much to the chagrin of my family) I have been on a personal mission to crush each and every mosquito that crosses my path. The only problem is, they are fast. Fast like flies. The mosquitoes in Mississippi are perhaps abnormally lethargic but I have never had trouble with this task in the past.
Our bathroom, conveniently, is quite the breeding ground for these monsters. I find this especially unpleasant as I am bathing (aka pouring cups of water on myself) – and trying to simultaneously swat them away. I am constantly amazed, in the most annoying way possible, by there speed.
Another battle I’ve been fighting in that very bathroom is with a ridiculously sneaky spider. As some of you might remember, during my first week in Haiti I came in contact with the BIGGEST black widow, brown recluse hybrid to ever exist. Fortunately this most current enemy of mine is A Lot smaller than that original guy. Regardless, he is equally as evasive. On our first meeting – he was spotted on the toilet seat, I made a few weak attempts to brush him into the water, but again, these Haitian insects are FAST! On our 2nd meeting – he was spotted right around the base of the toilet, This time I got smart and trapped him under a plunger. I left him under there to die of “natural causes”…Two days later, the plunger remained suctioned to ground, untouched, and I assumed it was still entombing the spider. It wasn’t. I spotted him again, at the base of the toilet. The plunger being really the only option I gave it another shot, but this time he got smart and made a run for it up the wall. He lucked out. – Today, our most recent meeting, he was spotted right outside the bathroom door. His willingness to explore outside the safety of his toilet bowl region tells me one thing…he is getting a little to big for his britches and something MUST be done. I did my best sandwich the little guy between my shoe and the ground, but he seized my hesitation as his opportunity to escape yet again.
This nemesis of mine, and his little malaria transmitting friends, may have lived to see another day…but this fight is not over I tell you. It will never be over.
3.11.10
Lost In Translation
I believe that by comparing the language cassette tapes used to teach English 1 and Kreyol 1 a very good point can be made. – and while I’m not exactly sure what this point is… I do know that it’s quite obvious which educational recording is more entertaining.
English 1
Track 1:
Male: “Good Morning.”
Female: “Hi”
Male: “I’m Pablo. What’s your name?”
Female: “My name’s Frida.”
Male: “Nice to meet you.”
Female: “Nice to meet you too.”
Kreyol 1
Track 1:
Male: “Hi, what’s your name?”
Female: “My name is Marie.”
Male: “And I’m Jean. Where do you live Marie?”
Female: “I live near here…”
Male: “What does ‘near here’ mean exactly??”
Female: “It means I’m not going to tell you where I live.”
Male: “Ohhhhh – Marie, why are you being rude to me?”
Female: “Bye-Bye!”
Duh.
…Now to address the posted picture.
Several of my more fashionable students have been donning these really beautifully gaudy bling bling rings. When one caught my eye a few weeks ago, I KNEW it was a must have! Seeing as how these girls were in my English 1 class, finding out where they acquired their jewels was next to impossible. (their vocabulary is still a little limited) Finally, we bridged the communication gap, and I forked over 50 goudes ($1.50 US). The girl promised to return with my ring!
Return she did, but the ring she delivered in NO WAY resembled the rings I had been admiring!! (My ring is pictured above.) What I had wanted was a beautifully gaudy bling bling ring, but what I had gotten was a hideously tacky piece of junk…or so my initial reaction told me. But after fake smiling and slipping the purple hunk of glittery metal on my finger, it started to grow on me. By the end of the day, I loved my stupid ring!
Finally, this next song I CANNOT get enough of…talk about a good addition to my hula hooping sound track! – Thanks Granny!
by: Lupe Fiasco
2.11.10
Front Roll Guy
Yesterday, November 1st – the day of the dead, was a national Haitian holiday. This so marvelously afforded me an extra long weekend – with no school, Monday or Tuesday!
To assist in the celebration and attempting to wake the dead, my friend Angela rolled into town with quite the crew. After squeezing in one last work session Sunday evening, Angela and I washed away the day’s dust and got ready to hit the Bay Club.
Being dropped off at the bar by Ajax (our boss/the man I live with) was definitely more funny than awkward; however actually walking into the Haitian club searching for our friends was the reverse. Luckily our friends quickly spotted the two blans roaming around aimlessly and waved us over.
An evening of Barbancourt rum and dancing ensued. In Haiti, practicality always comes first. So in the spirit of practicality when at a bar or restaurant the rum is always ordered, not by the glass, but by the bottle, half bottle, or ¼ of a bottle. For this particular occasion, a whole bottle was definitely in order. A nice balance of Kreyonglais was the icing on the cake enabling everyone’s humor to translate perfectly. The shenanigans began.
The night ended with us all crammed into the nicest whip I’ve been in for months – a shiny new truck with air conditioning and flawless interior. Music bumping, I felt for a moment I was back at Sewanee cruzing down university avenue.
The next morning we arose at 9am to keep the fête alive! With swimsuits and hula hoops in tote we set out to meet our gang at the most beautiful beach around…Port Salut. – We had promised Ajax we would hop a Tap Tap (truck bed taxi) the least dangerous of all the incredibly dangerous methods of transportation. But shortly upon leaving the house we were met with an offer we couldn’t refuse. A mototaxi driver offered to take us the entire way for 50 goudes each ($1.50 US). Speeding down the street, weaving in and out of traffic, we wondered…why everyone was starring at us?? Two white girls on the back of a motorcycle holding hula hoops – what’s weird about that? Then, low and behold, who do we pass on our wild ride? But Ajax, of course. We gave a smile and wave and knew we would certainly be receiving a lecture that evening.
As we chatted away, the driver eventually turned to us and asked if we were aware that we had long since passed our destination. He had continued driving, assuming we would inform him of where exactly we needed to be dropped off. Fortunately our friends were just shortly behind, and they were able to rescue us from being stranded. In the meantime we found a cozy spot on the side of the road with some vegetable vendors. We told the kind ladies our story of passing our intended stop and they laughed pulling up stools for us. Soon our ride arrived and we kissed the friendly women goodbye.
Once again squeezed in the truck with good tunes, we agreed what a good day it would be even if we did nothing else but ride.
Alas, the brief road trip came to an end at the beautiful waters of the Caribbean Sea. A beach vendor brought a table and chairs to our shady spot in the sand where our truck was still cranking out music, the leader of our group ordered a bottle of barbancourt, and there we had it, the perfect day.
In between swimming, hula hooping and lounging a stumbling man covered in sand paid us a visit. His blank blood shot eyes revealed that he was taking his day of the dead celebration very very seriously! He simply held out his empty sprite bottle for bit of our rum. To show his appreciation he placed the bottle on the ground and proceeded to do a pretty dramatic front roll in the sand. He walked away without a word, but periodically throughout the day I was caught a glimpse of him on the beach doing front rolls. Hundreds of them…
Sadly the day could not go on forever so eventually we headed to the house of one of our friends. His mother had been expecting us and prepared an absolutely huge and amazing dinner!
And though our beach day ultimately ended at the office, putting in a couple hours of work before bed, the two day GHEDE celebration made it all worth while!
Thank you Ghede.
And Thank you Mister Kingston.
by: Sean Kingston
14.10.10
we are brave. we are haitians
With almost two months under my belt, and midterms right around the corner, I think it is safe to say I have fallen in love…with my English III class. English I and II, are a barrel of laughs, don’t get me wrong, but having a room full of 50 beginners doesn’t exactly make for an easy two hours. So it’s when English III rolls around every Tuesday and Thursday evening that I get really excited!
A class of 15, brilliant and articulate, we sit around a table and engage in what is always stimulating conversation.
They teach me about their country, and I correct their pronunciation and the occasional grammatical slip up.
During Tuesday’s Creative Writing session, one of my students produced this gem:
Everyday doing business is getting harder and harder…
I remember the good old days when trading was simple…before a cup of coffee. At that time it was easy to know what to expect, just looking people into their eyes. Nowadays, things are really different:
- a bank account number for the deposit…
- and the location of the bag…
Usually an isolated part of the park into which you will have to walk alone…
Part of the deal…they say!
No guarantee,
What a life!
There was nothing that proceeded or followed this passage, but its still so undeniably intriguing.
As is Sufjan's new album. listen up - it's so good.
by: Sufjan Stevens
by: Sufjan Stevens
2.10.10
Buckets of Rain
Haitian Radio Show in English = bad idea/ hilarious
Q: Do you like Rap Music?
A: Yes, Especially R&B and Techno
Q: Thats not Rap...
A: Yeah, that's why I said Especially
Interviews such a this and others similar kept me awake and entertained on the longgggg curvy dark car ride from Port Au Prince back to Les Cayes. I was especially alert and entertained as the show’s host and guest debated the true meaning of the word “Shawdy”.
I was extra grateful for the distraction provided by these humorous broadcastings as I tried not to notice the driver’s compulsive door locking and praying. Each time he made the sign of the cross in front of his chest and forehead I was positive we were moments away from meeting our demise.
Fortunately, after five hours of holding my breath we arrived safely.
Dropping my bags in my rat-infested house with a sigh of relief, I quickly discovered the water to be out. However, a resourceful Gracious had planned ahead, leaving buckets and bowls out in the rain. As I happily bathed in the chilly but fresh rain water, and flushed the toilette with the sloshing-a-bucket-o-water into the toilette trick, I couldn’t help but think about how much happier I was in Haiti, than I had been in the freezing cold Dominican Republic hotel room that had been my prison for the past week.
Good to be home!
28.9.10
Two for One Special
This is my friend Angela. She's brave, real brave.
And right now she's back in Haiti teaching my classes for me this week while I'm in the DR. Thanks Angela!
Now for a story:
For a moment everything was calm. My bus of screaming, squealing, heckling Haitian men had finally, FINALLY fallen into a nice deep sleep. Slight annoyed that one of the louder of the absurdly loud men had chosen to plop himself down beside me, I craned my aching neck as far in the other direction as possible, and proceeded to fade into the peaceful sounds of Dominican raindrops against the bus window.
Sometime later, being only slightly aware of our halt, I peered through the crack of my eyelids and focused my vision. My stare was instantly met with a pistol. Now granted my seat was reclined and it was only the handle of the gun hanging out of a man’s belt that was visible, but still…it was most definitely all up in my grill. And it most definitely made my heart skip a beat.
About this time, being especially pleased the large loud Haitian was squeezed in the seat beside me, I calmly told myself to go back to sleep.
Making eye contact, I was certain, would result in the armed Dominican yelling, “YOU…come with me” pointing at the only little white girl in sight.
Because of such intuition I quickly closed my eyes to maintain the appearance of a sincere snooze, and then…boom, sound asleep for another several hours.
I can’t actually recall the last time I snuggled down in a tiny Haitian bus seat falling into a deep state of REM sleep after coming face to face with an plain clothed Dominican man baring arms and making rounds on our bus…however, it seemed to come quite naturally.
The End
As for today, It's a rainy day...and i'm talking RAINY. I could easily make today a 3 poster, but I'll save the next post for another rainy day (aka tomorrow).
This song's for Angela, but in no way represents her as a person.
by The Walkmen
Twitter, I love u. u nice.
As I sit in my hotel room in the Dominican Republic and stare at Tropical Storm Matthew out the window I’m thinking to myself….
Dsquared: I love your Spring 2011 collection, especially those hipster rims you paired with each look on the runway…
And Armani: I think your spring line is BEAUTIFUL…
BUT Roberto Cavalli: your Hippy meets Pocahontas spring line is just ridiculous…
by Will.i.am
23.9.10
Pigeon Problems.
This is a series of Tweets posted on Twitter by an account holder:
Going to bed, put the pigeon in the kitchen with a full loaf of wonder bread and put cardboard so she can’t fly upstairs to my room, g-night.
People keep asking how I know she’s pregnant? Her lil pigeon nipples are swollen and sticking out, belly is huge to, 2 pregnant signs.
I’m really sad, lil pregnant pigeon is looking at me like what now with a lil tear going down her lil beak, how do you console a bird?
Man I am on my roof and male pigeon just escaped leaving the female, wtf, just like a dude in real life and she’s pregnant, notcool
Damit she’s pregnant!!!! I knew I shouldn’t have kept these pigeons together in the same cage, I’m pissed off!
Today a friend emailed this to me, I read it several times, and then tonight after reading it for a final time, I almost threw up I was laughing so hard.
I'm absolutely getting a twitter.
Thank you.
by Arcade Fire
22.9.10
Happy Bird Day
The things I would have never before considered “normal” are rapidly becoming the occurrences that make up my daily routine.
Awaking each morning to the crowing of roosters is pretty sensible, however the complete neglect of time or scheduling these roosters seem to live by also results in my being lulled to sleep each night by their screams.
Another oddity to which I have grown so accustomed that I now almost regard as mundane is the scampering of rats and mice throughout the entire house. Their games I first noticed in the kitchen. (Not an ideal location for rodents, I realize, but far enough from my room to keep me at ease.) As the weeks grew on I began to observe their hide and seek shenanigans elsewhere. In the living room, under my chair, right across my feet, in and out of bedrooms (not mine!) they seem to be having such fun that its almost enjoyable to watch.
One more scenario that I have found to be far from occasional is the attendance of toddlers to my college level English classes. On days when my students have no one to care for their children, the kids just tag along. As well behaved, as any children I’ve ever encountered it really poses no problem for me to administer an exam with a test taker’s baby on my hip.
Then there’s shower time. Upon first moving to Haiti and realizing that showering, as I knew it would not be happening…ever again, I experienced a brief moment of panic. Filling my five-gallon bucket with ice cold water every night, and pouring cup full’s over my body did not initially seem like an ideal circumstance. However, it was almost immediately that this outlook changed. The pivotal moment was my second day in the country, feeling especially filthy and covered in dust, I ventured into the bathroom to douse myself with water. One giant scoop of water poured directly over my face, and that was it. A feeling of refreshment I had never before experienced. It was so revitalizing that I could not help but to grin. I was sold. I now smile, every single night, as I shower.
The regular power outages would probably be considered the most inconvenient aspect of my new way of life, or at least by many standards. The frequency of blackouts in Haiti is the antithesis of sporadic. The timing of these outages can be accurately pinpointed down to the minute. This is because here in Haiti, we lose power, on the minute, every two minutes, for an average of 30 seconds. The loss and return of light at such a high rate of recurrence ensures that after one day of experiencing this glitch it becomes a part of the subconscious.
My favorite element of living with all these hassles is the total absence of frustration surrounding me. I can positively state that there is not one individual in Haiti who would throw up their hands in the face of these hardships. Roosters, rats, power outages, bucket showers, they are nothing. This of course is because there are far bigger fish to fry for the people of Haiti, but the ironic fact remains that their willingness to accept reality and still enjoy their days produces a far more relaxed and stress free environment. I’ll take it!
by: Sleigh Bells
14.9.10
Tuesday's ART
I live in Haiti, so as you can imagine I am gradually becoming accustomed to expecting the unexpected.
Just yesterday I was ambushed by rioting needy villagers fighting over the small collection of children’s clothing I planned on distributing civilly. My idea of sorting the box of donations by size and fitting each child for just the right garment was quickly tossed out the window, as were the dresses when the mob forced me into the back seat of the rocking car. After each lunging hand had disappeared from the open window panes of our vehicle, I laughed with a stomach full of butterflies. It was an experience, that was certain, but not all that surprising. I live in Haiti, these people are in need; they are hungry for anything!
The real surprise was when a 70 year old white man with painted toenails, wearing swim trunks, a multi colored striped shirt, and an orange doorag, stepped into my life on what was a fairly typical Tuesday morning.
The name was Art Saggs. I couldn’t forget it if I tried. – Art would of course find me on the one and only day I was left a lone, while my babysitter living companion, mentor, and caretaker ventured to Port Au Prince for the day, 5 hours away. Art's demeanor curious, and not all that offensive, I found it quite easy to pick up conversation with the stranger. Interested only in the basic details of my story (which was more than fine by me), he immediately divulged his in entirety. Art elaborated on his history in Haiti, a retired lawyer (disbarred is more like it) with 12 years of annual visits to the country under his belt ultimately leading to his permanent residency. Then before we had been three minutes acquainted Art was navigating me through his email account and Vanguard retirement plan portfolio. (His hands just slightly too shaky to do it himself.) Art’s master plan was to build a beautiful guesthouse on the beach of Jacmel Haiti. His tales of the future sounded picturesque. His knowledge of all the most spectacular waterfalls in the country was mesmerizing. I was taking the bait. – As he shared with me his email login password, we shifted gears. Art began to very emphatically dictate a letter, which I scrambled to type. The content was bothersome to say the least. He was lashing out at a committee from the United States, of some sort, which had just recently “disallowed him the expenditure of certain funds.” As the letter grew more graphic, Art covered his face to hide the emotional moment. Then, just as I sealed the email “Yours Truly, Art Saggs” – the mysterious man with whom I had so quickly become familiar lowered his hands, revealing a smile and declared “Ha! PUT THAT IN YOUR PIPE AND SMOKE IT!”
Things seemed to be getting stranger by the second, but each time they took a turn for the worse, Art quickly drew me back in. On one occasion he opened my eyes to the little known organization “Clowns Without Boarders”. Surely this was a joke…Nope. Groups of individuals traveling to areas of devastation in clown attire making balloon animals for children, oh its real, he assured me.
Shortly after the entertaining clown conversation Art quite openly shared something with me that sent the entire situation from bizarre to potential crisis status. He had just escaped from a mental intuition in Port Au Prince. Sawing through rebar, fighting guards, he fled with little more than his life. “You see, I’m bipolar, and well the officials in Port Au Prince at the time seemed to think for some reason, that I needed my rest.” (Who the hell knows what that actually means?) Art explained as to how he initially got into the entire predicament.
Playing it cool as a cucumber, I replied, “Oh man that’s a bummer, are they looking for you?” Then with a mischievous but very nonthreatening smirk that I had so promptly come to know, he giggled, “Ohhh, I’m looking for Them!”
Wanting to know more, while at the same time desperately wanting to move on from this topic, I had come to terms with the fact that this situation had no chance of getting less weird. I was right.
Next cyber stop: Art’s Vanguard retirement portfolio. Once again leaving all the computer work in my hands…Art gave me a quick crash course on retirement funds. My eyes fixed on the screen; I was peering inside this man’s financial life in a nutshell. Art had me clicking here, and typing there - “Submit” he instructed, then boom, we were done. Art sold all 950 shares of his stock with the click of my finger. “Ha, I’m depleting my retirement” he laughed with a carefree air.
The problem however, was not that Art had just drained all his money…the problem was that he could not actually get his hands on this money for another few days. The severity of this became much more clear upon being informed that he actually didn’t have a penny to his name at this moment and he desperately needed 2000 gouds (US$50) to get back to Jacmel. This, I’m sure you can assume, immediately proceeded his plea for money. Problem number two however, I had no money either. Now, if only the story ended here…Art should have clearly taken this as a sign that he needed to exhaust his efforts else where, but no. At this time I reluctantly allowed him to make some phone calls on my Haitian pay as you go cell. However, two hours in and Art had neither paid me for using every last one of my minutes nor gone!
After patiently listening as he hit dead end after dead end in an attempt to secure gas money, I realized that what started as a strange meeting, had suddenly turned into an all day affair. My conversational replies became shorter, hoping if I ignored the situation it would disappear as quickly as it had come. However there was no quick fix, and my lack of interest did not discourage. I learned several more fun facts before it was all said and done. Art had slept on the street last night. The street in Haiti!!! I also learned of Art’s womanizing ways. He loved very much his Haitian girlfriend but this did not keep him from pursing several other women living in the United States. (via my cell phone.) Finally, some sister of a friend came through. She delivered 1000 gouds rather than his requested 2000. But this donation would get him halfway home and he would figure the rest out from there.
With a “Bon voyage” and a wave of my hand, I bid the rambling man a farewell. “But not to worry my dear,” Art assured me, “We will meet again soon!”
by The Thrills
I just recently rediscovered this album...the entire thing simply marvelous!
I just recently rediscovered this album...the entire thing simply marvelous!
13.9.10
Hold your nose and blow.
The mass quantity of garbage in this country is indescribable. If I were to attempt to convey such a horror I would perhaps do so by explaining the grotesque way in which waste is displayed in the form of mountains bordering every street. I would share with you the truth that when a piece of trash is placed in a trash can, at school, at home, anywhere…and that trashcan eventually becomes full, it is carried only several steps out the front door and emptied into the streets. Each discarded item piling on top of the other, as motorbikes and bare feet simultaneously trample the debris into a muddy heap of disgust. These are the pictures I would attempt to paint for you… And still this would, in fact, be a fantastic understatement! Yet the fault of this situation can in no way be handed to the people discarding of litter with any particular frequency. The reality is the complete lack of any sort of infrastructure that could support a waste management system. Solutions? I’m sure a little brainstorming could produce many…but for now, if you visit Haiti try to leave nothing behind. I am doing my very best to discard of the least amount of garbage possible. I have been here almost two weeks, and have thrown nothing away.
The real question on everyone’s mind, I’m sure , is “Does it smell?” -- The answer: oh does it ever! I am quite surprised we cannot be smelled from the shore of Miami. Those from the Dominican Republic approaching the Haitian border must, most certainly, hold their noses and gag.
That being said…it is all the other aspects of Haiti that make withstanding the squalor manageable. Its the genuine nature of Haitian culture, and the people’s uplifting spirit that makes Haiti, toxic rubbish and all, one of the most wonderful places I’ve ever experienced.
Come to Haiti. Send your Money!…Just leave your garbage at home – we have enough to go around.
I could have easily chosen to attach a photo of the waste mounds here, but instead I decided to accompany this grimy post with these photos of my beautiful roommate Bail. She is the picture of loveliness at all times.
Enjoy this little ditty from The Blow…who sadly are no more.
by The Blow
12.9.10
Haiti PAP peri
(Haiti Is NOT Dying)
For the past three days I’ve been working side by side with a friendly computer tech. His English proficiency being equivalent to my kreyol, did not allow our conversations to extend much past the typical pleasantries. Last night he ate dinner at our house…thanks to a translator, we for the first time, were able to have a semi legitimate conversation. It was then that I was told, he, this man with whom I’d been exchanging simple greetings all week, had been trapped for 4 days under rubble in Port Au Prince after the earthquake. His comforting smile and nervous laugh had in no way prepared me for this discovery. The horrific disaster of January 12th really did happen, and it happened to him, the man sitting across the table from me. He drank his own urine for days waiting for his friends, who he was able to call from his cell phone, to dig to his rescue.
by Cold War Kids
11.9.10
REAL G'S NEVER WAKE UP BEFORE NOON
The following may or may not be a true story…and this may or may not have happened to me, or someone I know.
However, rest assured…if in fact it is true, it most certainly will not happen again.
Alone in my house, tuned into the night sounds beyond my open-air window, I began to ponder the importance of having my pay-as-you-go cell phone loaded with viable minutes. My desire to communicate with friends and family perhaps lit the initial spark, but it was for safety reasons that my phone really should be ready for action at a moments notice - I justified. As my imagination ran wild, and after a brief stand off with my minute-less cell, I caved. Fully aware of the phone card vendors stationed in bulk just beyond my gate I made the judgment call to venture out into the night. The brief nature of my excursion would no doubt prevent the attraction of any lurking dangers. However, immediately upon the impulse leap from the security of my home, I of course became a magnet for all the unsupervised delinquents roaming the streets. Very common in Haiti are the wreck-less bands of young boys prowling in the shadows, up to absolutely no good.
“Take me to your house.” They harassed over and over.
Avoiding any remote interpretation of eye contact, I strengthened my stride. The boys followed suit. Almost before I’d taken another step one preteen had his hand down my pocket, seizing my keys. A swift reaction allowed me to catch his boney wrist in my clutch, yanking the chain from his miniature fist. However, before a feeling of victory could even remotely surface, another boy, perhaps 15, dipped his thieving hand into the opposite pocket capturing my cell phone, the original purpose for the entire mistaken endeavor. With no second thought or even blink of an eye, before I knew it my fist was making contact with the little punk’s face. I punched him. To accompany the punch I release a blood-curdling scream and the boy quickly tossed me the phone as his friends ran away laughing. Relief would have been ideal, but in reality all I was left with, besides my rightful possessions, was a racing heart.
by K.Flay
The photo above is a David Choe collage hanging in my bedroom here in Haiti. More Haiti pics will be added to my photo section as they become available. Also a special thanks to the contributor of this super fly melody.
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