The other day as I was walking into the building, I encountered some incredibly bizarre elevator etiquette, which reminded me of two other stories I've been meaning to post.
It's Not a Now-or-Never Thing...
The other morning, I was talking to Stephane on the phone as I came into my office building. I went through security, waited for the elevator, and got on board. Just before the doors closed, a very tall, very young man jumped (truly) on to the elevator and proceeded to physically barge into me in his hurry to push the button for his floor. I laughed immediately b/c I was so surprised at being bum-rushed on a State Department elevator, but I was still talking to Stephane, so I looked up at the guy with a clear 'You are a nutjob' expression and pointed at the other side of the elevator door -- where there is a second keypad (i.e., this dude could easily have just pushed a button over there and gotten to his destination without running me over). He looked at the keypad and looked back at me, still standing sort of close, and said, 'Oh. Sorry -- I guess I was a little too excited.' Because I am reasonably sure this person was an intern, I decided not to be too mean and just laughed at him again.
It's Not a Peephole
A few months ago, I was in the ladies room, doing what one does in the bathroom. I heard someone come into the bathroom and attempt to open my stall door (which was, of course, locked). Since there were two other unoccupied stalls available, I assumed the person would move on when they realized my stall was occupied. Imagine my surprise, then, when I looked up to see an eyeball peering through the crack between the stall door and the wall! The person said, 'OH! Sorry,' and moved on to the next stall. Just goes to show that passing a background check is not evidence of being a normal human being.
I Hate College Kids on the Sidewalk, Too.
Late last summer, I was taking my usual route from the office to the Metro, via the GWU campus. Which really just means I was walking through the streets of DC near my office, but since the campus is in the middle of Foggy Bottom, all pedestrians must suffer the throngs of college kids milling around the sidewalk. Apparently, the rats suffer, too. And one of them had had enough. As I was walking up the street, I saw a young college woman jogging and, just ahead of her, I saw what I thought was a squirrel with a tail problem. As I got closer, I saw that it was in fact a rat, which was sort of interesting b/c I had never seen a rat just out on the sidewalk like that. The girl jogger kept coming, the rat maintained his ground, and either girl jogger didn't notice the rat, or she thought he would move (I did), but either way, she just kept coming. Just as she reached the point where the rat needed to move or risk getting squashed, he jumped -- *toward*girl*jogger*. Not in a rabid, trying-to-bite way, but just in a I-was-here-first-and-I'm-not-scurrying-into-that-bush way. Girl jogger squealed and executed a highly entertaining series of hops and flails, while the rat gave chase for a good 5 feet or so, much to the delight of everyone except girl jogger. His job done, the rat finally did scurry into the bushes and, I presume, spent a happy evening tell all of his rat friends what he'd been up to.
01 April 2013
14 January 2013
Striking a balance
One of the less attractive aspects of my new job: I am severely constrained in what I can post or otherwise write publicly. (I am, however, happier than ever that I am not on Facebook -- there are a surprising number of stories of people in this job having issues b/c of things they posted on The Facebook...I mean, we all went through the crazy vetting process and were selected partly because of our ability to be discreet and, ya know, appropriate, but...) I would say on average, there are no fewer than three moments per workweek where something happens and all I can think is, 'Oh, my gosh, I wish I could write about this!!' but I can't, for whatever reason(s).
I think my response to this rather uncomfortable leash has been to avoid my blog entirely, but I am going to work on getting that balance right, on writing about things that are interesting, but cannot be considered objectionable. (I imagine that elicited quite a snort from some readers... heh.)
On a better note, I know where I am heading next: Tijuana, Mexico. Yes, that *is* better than my current DC assignment. Well, for me it is, anyhow. My desire to reconnect with my home country has been more than fully sated and I am ready to get back into other parts of the world. And since I seem drawn to, er, 'interesting' places, I think TJ will be a nice fit. Plus, it is right on the water and the security situation is currently good enough to allow us to explore the surrounding Mexican wine country, as well as the Baja California Peninsula (taquerias and tequila on the beach!). San Diego is only 20 minutes away (when the border is cooperative), so we can also get to know California a bit better, Stephane should be able to find some decent job options, and we will always be able to shop at Trader Joe's! Oh, and no winter!! Fabulous. Now I just have to learn Spanish...
I think my response to this rather uncomfortable leash has been to avoid my blog entirely, but I am going to work on getting that balance right, on writing about things that are interesting, but cannot be considered objectionable. (I imagine that elicited quite a snort from some readers... heh.)
On a better note, I know where I am heading next: Tijuana, Mexico. Yes, that *is* better than my current DC assignment. Well, for me it is, anyhow. My desire to reconnect with my home country has been more than fully sated and I am ready to get back into other parts of the world. And since I seem drawn to, er, 'interesting' places, I think TJ will be a nice fit. Plus, it is right on the water and the security situation is currently good enough to allow us to explore the surrounding Mexican wine country, as well as the Baja California Peninsula (taquerias and tequila on the beach!). San Diego is only 20 minutes away (when the border is cooperative), so we can also get to know California a bit better, Stephane should be able to find some decent job options, and we will always be able to shop at Trader Joe's! Oh, and no winter!! Fabulous. Now I just have to learn Spanish...
21 May 2012
It's alive!
A few quick things:
1) It's been a rough few weeks for music -- Adam Yauch of Beastie Boys a few weeks ago, Chuck Brown ('godfather of go-go,' DC's own music genre -- check it out, it's awesome!) and Diana Summer last week, and Robin Gibb of the BeeGees this weekend. A lot of lights in a dark world to lose at one time, but their music at least lives on...in my CD collection anyhow. ha.
2) As we approach full-swing election season, here's a tidbit for you to keep in mind when candidates start railing on about the amount of money spent on 'furren' countries: In 1962, 'international affairs' spending accounted for 5% of federal funding. How does that compare with 2011? Last year, only 1.2% of federal funding went toward international affairs. For those of you who may be thinking this is as it should be, remember that foreign affairs spending is not just foreign assistance, it also includes things like forwarding US trade interests abroad and thereby strengthening our own economy, as well as anti-terrorism activities abroad. And foreign assistance money, incidentally, goes toward programs to help increase education and health outcomes of foreign countries, which contributes to more peaceful, productive societies that are less likely to experience problems that affect the US. Consider that when listening to the political rhetoric this summer and fall.
3) My first Foreign Service assignment? Not so foreign -- I will be in the DC area until at least May of next year! Holy poo!
1) It's been a rough few weeks for music -- Adam Yauch of Beastie Boys a few weeks ago, Chuck Brown ('godfather of go-go,' DC's own music genre -- check it out, it's awesome!) and Diana Summer last week, and Robin Gibb of the BeeGees this weekend. A lot of lights in a dark world to lose at one time, but their music at least lives on...in my CD collection anyhow. ha.
2) As we approach full-swing election season, here's a tidbit for you to keep in mind when candidates start railing on about the amount of money spent on 'furren' countries: In 1962, 'international affairs' spending accounted for 5% of federal funding. How does that compare with 2011? Last year, only 1.2% of federal funding went toward international affairs. For those of you who may be thinking this is as it should be, remember that foreign affairs spending is not just foreign assistance, it also includes things like forwarding US trade interests abroad and thereby strengthening our own economy, as well as anti-terrorism activities abroad. And foreign assistance money, incidentally, goes toward programs to help increase education and health outcomes of foreign countries, which contributes to more peaceful, productive societies that are less likely to experience problems that affect the US. Consider that when listening to the political rhetoric this summer and fall.
3) My first Foreign Service assignment? Not so foreign -- I will be in the DC area until at least May of next year! Holy poo!
07 June 2011
The Enduring Genius of Mr. T
BBC Three has begun a new funniest videos show called 'World's Crazy Fools.' While we all love a good funniest videos show (who doesn't enjoy chuckiling at other people being idiots), this show deserves particular mention and possible nomination for Funniest Thing Ever Seen for two reasons:
1) The videos are top-notch. I have no idea where they managed to find so many truly gut-busting videos, but I'm sure glad they did.
More importantly, 2) Mr. T is the narrator!!!!! And oh, my gosh is he hilarious. Just when you think maybe Mr. T has finally lost relevance in today's Jersey Shore-obssessed popular culture, the BBC, of all people, snatches him up and reintroduces, well, Britain to the amazing Mr. T.
After watching the first episode, my face was burning from all the tears of laughter and I was literally weak from laughing so hard -- all I could do was sit on my couch and wheeze for about 90 seconds.
Find a way to watch this show, it will make your year.
1) The videos are top-notch. I have no idea where they managed to find so many truly gut-busting videos, but I'm sure glad they did.
More importantly, 2) Mr. T is the narrator!!!!! And oh, my gosh is he hilarious. Just when you think maybe Mr. T has finally lost relevance in today's Jersey Shore-obssessed popular culture, the BBC, of all people, snatches him up and reintroduces, well, Britain to the amazing Mr. T.
After watching the first episode, my face was burning from all the tears of laughter and I was literally weak from laughing so hard -- all I could do was sit on my couch and wheeze for about 90 seconds.
Find a way to watch this show, it will make your year.
Addendum
Last night's rains resulted in multiples deaths, building collapses, and serious floods all over the city. Stephane's employee did sleep at our house and even had to walk most of the way here because the flooding was so severe. We were up until 1am cleaning water our of our house, and a friend who lives only a mile from our house left our house at 8pm and didn't get to his house until 3am because of all of the debris coming down from the mountains and the standing water on the road. Pretty miserable.
06 June 2011
Please, please, please do not be a harbinger...
Given all of the recent weather-related unpleasantness in the US, I would imagine that most of you have not heard much about the weather here in Haiti. For the last week, a storm front has been stalled over Haiti and Jamaica, making for an uncharacteristically grey, breezy atmosphere. (It was so [relatively] chilly last week that I even broke out the going-to-the-US-in-winter long sleeved wardrobe.) Today things got particularly nasty, as it rained in the mountains from the early morning hours, which of course means that the Port-au-Prince metropolitan area flooded even without actual rainfall in these areas, due to the heavy runoff from the surrounding mountains.
Then the fun *really* began.
When Stephane left his office in Carrefour at 530pm this evening, there was already 1-3ft. of standing water, which is typical in that area due to its negligible elevation and vastly inadequate sewer system. Unfortunately, this deeply impoverished, densely populated area is also the current site of a cholera resurgence, as well as being home to at least 300,000 camp dwellers. One can only imagine the implications of even this minor flood in such an area....
Just after Stephane finally reached our home almost two hours later (we live only about 15 miles from his office, incidentally), the rains finally reached this side of the mountains. It POURED for more than 30 minutes, with thunder strong and close enough to shake our concrete house. Poor Ewan shook like an epileptic for most of the evening before collapsing from fear and exhaustion. (He and McArthur, who seemed wholly unperturbed by the evening's clamor, are now curled up together, asleep -- very cute.) There is a ravine directly behind, but about 500 feet below our house that is normally bone dry; tonight, we could hear the water rushing through it like a rapid, punctuated by the shouts of the people who live precariously close to its banks.
We even had some flooding in our house, though only a couple of inches on one side (tells you something about the construction here, no?), so we can hardly complain. One of Stephane's employees lives down the hill from us and has already called to say that his house has flooded completely. We offered for him to bring his family here at least for the night, but they want to try to start clearing the water.
To make all of this more ridiculous, we are now a full week into hurricane season and no government ministry can articulate a coherent 'plan d'urgence'. We are trying concertedly not to consider what will happen if an actual hurricane arrives.
Then the fun *really* began.
When Stephane left his office in Carrefour at 530pm this evening, there was already 1-3ft. of standing water, which is typical in that area due to its negligible elevation and vastly inadequate sewer system. Unfortunately, this deeply impoverished, densely populated area is also the current site of a cholera resurgence, as well as being home to at least 300,000 camp dwellers. One can only imagine the implications of even this minor flood in such an area....
Just after Stephane finally reached our home almost two hours later (we live only about 15 miles from his office, incidentally), the rains finally reached this side of the mountains. It POURED for more than 30 minutes, with thunder strong and close enough to shake our concrete house. Poor Ewan shook like an epileptic for most of the evening before collapsing from fear and exhaustion. (He and McArthur, who seemed wholly unperturbed by the evening's clamor, are now curled up together, asleep -- very cute.) There is a ravine directly behind, but about 500 feet below our house that is normally bone dry; tonight, we could hear the water rushing through it like a rapid, punctuated by the shouts of the people who live precariously close to its banks.
We even had some flooding in our house, though only a couple of inches on one side (tells you something about the construction here, no?), so we can hardly complain. One of Stephane's employees lives down the hill from us and has already called to say that his house has flooded completely. We offered for him to bring his family here at least for the night, but they want to try to start clearing the water.
To make all of this more ridiculous, we are now a full week into hurricane season and no government ministry can articulate a coherent 'plan d'urgence'. We are trying concertedly not to consider what will happen if an actual hurricane arrives.
30 May 2011
A weenie dog and a Haitian street dog have a baby and....
It looks something like this:
How cute is that?! That is McArthur Jameson at about four weeks old (last weekend).
These are his lame-o parents, Ewan and Bella:
These are his lame-o parents, Ewan and Bella:
Yeah, they're pretty cute, too...
Ewan is a pure-bred dachshund who was wandering the streets of our old neighborhood for a few weeks before he fell in love w/Bella (who is in fact Stephane's mom's dog, but has lived with us since the earthquake) and moved in w/us. Seriously, he LOVES Bella. As in, sits near her and just stares adoringly, with the occasional wag.
Ewan had tried in vain many times to consummate their love and since Bella has a past history of infanticide by neglect (she is truly the world's worst mother), I had begged to get one or both of them fixed, but Stephane, in Haitian style, kept putting it off. Honestly, I wasn't too worried about Bella getting knocked up b/c, ya know -- look at them! Ewan couldn't reach her if he stood on a stool!
But obviously nature prevailed and five weeks ago we awoke to find a tiny mini-Ewan in our downstairs guestroom closet.
(Actually, we have a hunch that our former maid may have assisted in the mechanics of the mating process. She was the only one who insisted that she had seen them successfully 'get together' and was wholly obsessed w/the idea of a Ewan-Bella byproduct, so....Thanks, Gert.)
The baby was really something of a surprise, as Bella had not looked pregnant at all. It was literally only a day or two before McArthur's arrival that we thought maybe she was acting like a pregnant dog, not that she looked much like one.
McArthur is pretty awesome. He is learning to potty outside already and seems to be developing quite a feisty personality, so smart and sassy -- my favorites! We didn't start calling him by name until last week, just in case he, too, fell victim to Bella's lackadaisical approach to mothering, but it seems he is quite tough, persistent; hence the strong name.
Since he doesn't have any littermates, we are relying on Ewan to help McArthur learn about being a dog. (Bella is predictably no help here, as she is too old to want to play [seriously, she's about 10 -- we're lucky McArthur wasn't born a mongoloid] and doesn't care about his development anyhow.) Ewan, being rather neurotic and desperate for attention himself, is a somewhat ambivalent tutor: On the one hand, he very much enjoys having someone to play with (Bella snubs him, too) and he will roll around w/McArthur until they are both exhausted. On the other hand, McArthur takes up a lot of our attention with his puppy needs and I think sometimes Ewan considers eating him. But I think they'll work it out. The possibility of McArthur will develop into a stable, 'normal' dog seems rather too much to hope for, but I think he's going to be pretty fun, if nothing else.
25 May 2011
What a great way to start my day
As most of you know, I am unabashedly fascinated w/the British Royal Family, so it should come as no surprise that with my morning tea this fine day, I decided to check out some photos of the Obamas' recent visit w/the Royal Family in Britain. What I found was a CBS photo gallery that was far more laugh-track than pomp and circumstance....Here is the link: http://www.cbsnews.com/2300-504963_162-10007880.html?tag=page
The first few pics are of the Obamas meeting Wills and Kate (whose headline-making dress was the real reason I wanted to see these pictures in the first place). I was mildly amused to see that Michelle, although 'cute' in her '50s housewife-style dress, looks deeply frumpy when posed next to the lithe, sophisticated Kate.
However, things only got funnier from there: Keep clicking until you reach the pictures of QE2 greeting the Obamas as they arrive -- the Queen and Michelle are wearing (practically) the same dress! You know Michelle saw that as she got out of the limo and thought, 'F**k, I'm dressed like an 85 year old.' But the next picture provides even more hilarity, as it poses the Obamas next to QE2 and Prince Philip, who is wearing a suit similar to that of Obama. I fully understand that guys have fewer options when it comes to dresswear, but the lineup of this foursome wearing their matching outfits is nothing less than comical -- the Obamas look like a younger, darker, taller version of the Queen and Prince Philip.
The last bit of real entertainment comes in photo 16, wherein everyone looks as if they've smelled a fart and Prince Charles's comb-over is caught in a rogue breeze. Priceless.
All things considered, I feel like the Royal Family has finally found another head of state family who is less photogenic than they are, but maybe the Royals are still riding high on their acquisition of the lovely Kate. Even Prince Charles's comb-over faux pas could not even the score after the preceding pictures.
Do you think CBS *meant* to satirize the state visit, or did they just have no choice b/c they couldn't get better pictures of this motley crew?
And this, folks, is how I started my day. heh.
The first few pics are of the Obamas meeting Wills and Kate (whose headline-making dress was the real reason I wanted to see these pictures in the first place). I was mildly amused to see that Michelle, although 'cute' in her '50s housewife-style dress, looks deeply frumpy when posed next to the lithe, sophisticated Kate.
However, things only got funnier from there: Keep clicking until you reach the pictures of QE2 greeting the Obamas as they arrive -- the Queen and Michelle are wearing (practically) the same dress! You know Michelle saw that as she got out of the limo and thought, 'F**k, I'm dressed like an 85 year old.' But the next picture provides even more hilarity, as it poses the Obamas next to QE2 and Prince Philip, who is wearing a suit similar to that of Obama. I fully understand that guys have fewer options when it comes to dresswear, but the lineup of this foursome wearing their matching outfits is nothing less than comical -- the Obamas look like a younger, darker, taller version of the Queen and Prince Philip.
The last bit of real entertainment comes in photo 16, wherein everyone looks as if they've smelled a fart and Prince Charles's comb-over is caught in a rogue breeze. Priceless.
All things considered, I feel like the Royal Family has finally found another head of state family who is less photogenic than they are, but maybe the Royals are still riding high on their acquisition of the lovely Kate. Even Prince Charles's comb-over faux pas could not even the score after the preceding pictures.
Do you think CBS *meant* to satirize the state visit, or did they just have no choice b/c they couldn't get better pictures of this motley crew?
And this, folks, is how I started my day. heh.
03 February 2011
YAY!
So most of you know Stephane proposed while we were at the Grand Canyon this week, and now you have the pictures to visualize it!
In typical less-than-what-I-plan-to-be-in-my-head style, my response to the proposal was not quite what I had hoped it would be....It happened like this:
Stephane and I were walking along the Canyon Rim Path when we found a rare scenic spot not flush with other tourists. We stopped to enjoy the solitude and beauty, shivering in the strong wind of the winter Canyon in the late afternoon. Stephane took a few very deep breaths and I asked if he was too cold. He said no, but asked to hold my gloves, and I laughed at the idea of him shoving his hands into my too-small gloves. I gave him my gloves, he dropped one of them and then stiffly got down on one knee -- I thought to pick up the glove -- and he started to rummage around in his pocket.
I asked him first the very romantic, 'What are you doing?' And then when I saw him pull out an amazing ring, sparkling in the sunlight, he swears I said, 'Are you serious?!' I have no recollection of this coming out my mouth, but knowing my jackass self, it seems likely. However, when he did actually ask me to marry him, I was very quick to say, 'Of course! Yes, of course!' So let's pretend that makes up for 'What are you doing?....Are you serious?!' (Stephane, incidentally, takes every opportunity to remind me of the latter....)
A Japanese tourist happened along just after the proposal and took the lovely picture featured at the top of this entry. I think he was very confused by our giggles and uncontrollable smiles, but he took our picture anyhow before scampering off.
So there you have it -- the proposal! I feel cheezy in my extreme excitement and will not subject you to it further. Hopefully the pictu
res speak for themselves.
In typical less-than-what-I-plan-to-be-in-my-head style, my response to the proposal was not quite what I had hoped it would be....It happened like this:
Stephane and I were walking along the Canyon Rim Path when we found a rare scenic spot not flush with other tourists. We stopped to enjoy the solitude and beauty, shivering in the strong wind of the winter Canyon in the late afternoon. Stephane took a few very deep breaths and I asked if he was too cold. He said no, but asked to hold my gloves, and I laughed at the idea of him shoving his hands into my too-small gloves. I gave him my gloves, he dropped one of them and then stiffly got down on one knee -- I thought to pick up the glove -- and he started to rummage around in his pocket.
I asked him first the very romantic, 'What are you doing?' And then when I saw him pull out an amazing ring, sparkling in the sunlight, he swears I said, 'Are you serious?!' I have no recollection of this coming out my mouth, but knowing my jackass self, it seems likely. However, when he did actually ask me to marry him, I was very quick to say, 'Of course! Yes, of course!' So let's pretend that makes up for 'What are you doing?....Are you serious?!' (Stephane, incidentally, takes every opportunity to remind me of the latter....)
A Japanese tourist happened along just after the proposal and took the lovely picture featured at the top of this entry. I think he was very confused by our giggles and uncontrollable smiles, but he took our picture anyhow before scampering off.
So there you have it -- the proposal! I feel cheezy in my extreme excitement and will not subject you to it further. Hopefully the pictu
res speak for themselves. 17 January 2011
Sure, why not add another tire to the fire?
Stephane and I were enjoying a quiet evening at home last night (on what was supposed to be the day of the run-off election that recedes further and further from actuality with each passing day....) when his accountant rang. Hearing only Stephane's side of the conversation, I wasn't exactly sure what was going on, but it didn't sound like anything good, as he kept repeating, 'I hope you're joking. That's not funny.'
When he hung up the phone and told me what his accountant had been saying, I, too said, 'You're joking.' The big news? None other than the impromptu return of Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was sitting at the airport when we got the call.
Really? Dictator Lite returns to Haiti after a quarter of a century's absence, four days after the one year anniversary, in the midst of contentious elections and a cholera outbreak? Why? And *how*? The man hasn't had a legal passport since being rushed out of the country in 1986. There are rumors of a diplomatic passport, but no one knows if that is true and if it is, from which country said magic passport originated.
It is certain that the French knew of his departure for Haiti (journalists here received phone calls from Guadeloupe, where his flight from Paris had a layover, alerting them to his imminent arrival), but the extent of their involvement in his return and whether or not anyone else (i.e., the Haitian government and MINUSTAH) had knowledge of this visit is unknown.
Initial reactions were mixed: lots of people at the airport cheering his return, lots of other people (those who remember the 'good old days') reflecting back on that era without the least bit of nostalgia. There were reports of big groups in the streets in various parts of town, but I think most of these were actually just rah-rah bands playing Carnival music as they begin their campaign to bring back the festivities, a whole other debate.
At the moment, the predominant sentiments seem to be shock and wariness, as people question what Baby Doc wants with their country at this moment. The television last night kept running footage of his return intermingled with archival footage from his hasty departure, which will hopefully remind people of why he left in the first place.
But the thing is, in a country where 46% of the population is under 18, most Haitians *don't* remember why Duvalier left, why people fought to get him the hell out of here. And even those who were alive then often succumb to the common error of remembering the good (rule of law, stability) and forgetting the bad (corruption beyond even contemporary levels, a culture of fear). Haiti's fundamental fault is that its memory is too short; it can't learn lessons when it can't remember what happened in the first place.
So that's why you get people spray-painting 'Bon retour JC Duvalier' all over the place and dreaming of bringing back the man who, although less persecutorial than his father, did very little beyond exploiting the country during his 15-year rule and then ran off with millions of dollars that rightfully belongs to the country to live the good life in France.
Thus far, this wholly bizarre 'rentree' has not significantly disrupted anything here aside from the television viewing schedule, but in Haiti, one never knows. And if Aristide decides to follow suit, well....That would be a whole other keg of powder.
When he hung up the phone and told me what his accountant had been saying, I, too said, 'You're joking.' The big news? None other than the impromptu return of Jean-Claude Duvalier, who was sitting at the airport when we got the call.
Really? Dictator Lite returns to Haiti after a quarter of a century's absence, four days after the one year anniversary, in the midst of contentious elections and a cholera outbreak? Why? And *how*? The man hasn't had a legal passport since being rushed out of the country in 1986. There are rumors of a diplomatic passport, but no one knows if that is true and if it is, from which country said magic passport originated.
It is certain that the French knew of his departure for Haiti (journalists here received phone calls from Guadeloupe, where his flight from Paris had a layover, alerting them to his imminent arrival), but the extent of their involvement in his return and whether or not anyone else (i.e., the Haitian government and MINUSTAH) had knowledge of this visit is unknown.
Initial reactions were mixed: lots of people at the airport cheering his return, lots of other people (those who remember the 'good old days') reflecting back on that era without the least bit of nostalgia. There were reports of big groups in the streets in various parts of town, but I think most of these were actually just rah-rah bands playing Carnival music as they begin their campaign to bring back the festivities, a whole other debate.
At the moment, the predominant sentiments seem to be shock and wariness, as people question what Baby Doc wants with their country at this moment. The television last night kept running footage of his return intermingled with archival footage from his hasty departure, which will hopefully remind people of why he left in the first place.
But the thing is, in a country where 46% of the population is under 18, most Haitians *don't* remember why Duvalier left, why people fought to get him the hell out of here. And even those who were alive then often succumb to the common error of remembering the good (rule of law, stability) and forgetting the bad (corruption beyond even contemporary levels, a culture of fear). Haiti's fundamental fault is that its memory is too short; it can't learn lessons when it can't remember what happened in the first place.
So that's why you get people spray-painting 'Bon retour JC Duvalier' all over the place and dreaming of bringing back the man who, although less persecutorial than his father, did very little beyond exploiting the country during his 15-year rule and then ran off with millions of dollars that rightfully belongs to the country to live the good life in France.
Thus far, this wholly bizarre 'rentree' has not significantly disrupted anything here aside from the television viewing schedule, but in Haiti, one never knows. And if Aristide decides to follow suit, well....That would be a whole other keg of powder.
12 January 2011
4:53 has come and gone....
...And I cannot believe it has been one year.
It has been a very long, very hard, very sad year.
It has been a very long, very hard, very sad year.
07 December 2010
Elections -- The neverending story....
If I stand quietly in my room tonight, in the distance I can hear the shouts of what are presumably a number of agitated people, their discontent echoing off of the hills around my neighborhood.
Haitian elections were held on 28 November, and tonight -- after MUCH delay -- the results were announced...sort of. Predictably, there will be a run-off. With 18 candidates in the running, it was always unlikely that a majority would be attained in only one election. What was uncertain, however, was who would be in the run-off.
It seems that the election commission, in consultation with the UN, the government (or what is left of it since Parliament disbanded in May), various international community members, and other 'concerned parties', may be trying to diffuse a difficult situation. But the solution they came up with is not likely to appease the masses.
One of the front runners in this election was the notorious, charming Sweet Micky, a Haitian music star known to wear ladies' clothing at concerts, tell the government to 'fuck their mother' during a past Carnival, and generally act like a musician. While this would not seem like the best candidate to lead a country to most of us from the developed world, here in Haiti, 'Michel Joseph Martelly' was a shoo-in. No further comment or explanation needed, I imagine.
The other popular front runner was Mirlande Manigat, an educated woman in her 70s who helped craft the constitution that was established after the Duvaliers were kicked out in '86. Her husband was President for less than a year in the late 80s before being ousted. She is generally perceived as being a reasonable, informed person who is most likely among the competitors to be an effective leader at this critical moment. Notice I said 'most likely among the competitors.'
The third front runner was only such because he was the hand-selected candidate of the current (deeply unpopular) Presidential administration. This candidate, Jude Celestin, spent an obscene amount of money on campaign ads so farcical they bordered on offensive. (For example, he protested that during the cholera outbreak, candidates were still running their ads, saying it was unfeeling to keep focus on the elections instead of on the current crisis. His ads, naturally, continued running, to which he responded, 'Well, I can't stop the radio stations.' I picture a non-commital shrug accompanying that statement, but I think that's just in my head.) This person, unsurprisingly, did not have much popular support, but he did have a lot of *financial* backing, which in Haiti, can be used to acquire popular support.
The election committe -- infamous for making its unpopular announcements at strange times of the non-business day -- promised to release the results at 6 o'clock this evening. At almost 9pm, we were informed that most of the Senate and Delegate races will require a run-off, as will the Presidential race. The two candidates proceeding forward??....The charismatic crowd-pleaser Sweet Micky? The staid Mme. Manigat? Or the establishment's darling, Jude Celestin?
Haitian elections were held on 28 November, and tonight -- after MUCH delay -- the results were announced...sort of. Predictably, there will be a run-off. With 18 candidates in the running, it was always unlikely that a majority would be attained in only one election. What was uncertain, however, was who would be in the run-off.
It seems that the election commission, in consultation with the UN, the government (or what is left of it since Parliament disbanded in May), various international community members, and other 'concerned parties', may be trying to diffuse a difficult situation. But the solution they came up with is not likely to appease the masses.
One of the front runners in this election was the notorious, charming Sweet Micky, a Haitian music star known to wear ladies' clothing at concerts, tell the government to 'fuck their mother' during a past Carnival, and generally act like a musician. While this would not seem like the best candidate to lead a country to most of us from the developed world, here in Haiti, 'Michel Joseph Martelly' was a shoo-in. No further comment or explanation needed, I imagine.
The other popular front runner was Mirlande Manigat, an educated woman in her 70s who helped craft the constitution that was established after the Duvaliers were kicked out in '86. Her husband was President for less than a year in the late 80s before being ousted. She is generally perceived as being a reasonable, informed person who is most likely among the competitors to be an effective leader at this critical moment. Notice I said 'most likely among the competitors.'
The third front runner was only such because he was the hand-selected candidate of the current (deeply unpopular) Presidential administration. This candidate, Jude Celestin, spent an obscene amount of money on campaign ads so farcical they bordered on offensive. (For example, he protested that during the cholera outbreak, candidates were still running their ads, saying it was unfeeling to keep focus on the elections instead of on the current crisis. His ads, naturally, continued running, to which he responded, 'Well, I can't stop the radio stations.' I picture a non-commital shrug accompanying that statement, but I think that's just in my head.) This person, unsurprisingly, did not have much popular support, but he did have a lot of *financial* backing, which in Haiti, can be used to acquire popular support.
The election committe -- infamous for making its unpopular announcements at strange times of the non-business day -- promised to release the results at 6 o'clock this evening. At almost 9pm, we were informed that most of the Senate and Delegate races will require a run-off, as will the Presidential race. The two candidates proceeding forward??....The charismatic crowd-pleaser Sweet Micky? The staid Mme. Manigat? Or the establishment's darling, Jude Celestin?
It seems Mme. Manigat came out on top with just over 31% of the vote. Not too shabby, really, considering the number of people in the running.
Sweet Micky recevied just under 22%.
Jude Celestin reportedly received 22.4%. Which means that he and Mme. Manigat will proceed to the run-off, leaving Sweet Micky out of the running by a margin of less than one percentage point.
Which seems awfully convenient AND leaves a large, vocal, already-agitated populace without their chosen hero.
Hence the yelling in the streets at 1130 at night.
So we'll see what goes on. We're on lockdown tomorrow 'just in case', but in any case, our neighborhood is the safest place in the city to be, as there are important members of every possible contingent living here (alleged gun runners, drug dealers, bigwigs from the Haitian National Police, UN police, State Dept. and USAID higher-ups, etc.), so everyone has a reason not to come around here.
Could be interesting. Of course, it could also end up being nothing. C'est la vie en Haiti.
So we'll see what goes on. We're on lockdown tomorrow 'just in case', but in any case, our neighborhood is the safest place in the city to be, as there are important members of every possible contingent living here (alleged gun runners, drug dealers, bigwigs from the Haitian National Police, UN police, State Dept. and USAID higher-ups, etc.), so everyone has a reason not to come around here.
Could be interesting. Of course, it could also end up being nothing. C'est la vie en Haiti.
26 October 2010
Not joking....
Was reading through some CVs today, trying to tie up some loose ends before my exciting last day on Friday, and I came across possibly the funniest thing I've yet encountered here. I reach the reference page and at the top in all capital letters I find:
'JESUS CHRIST FILS DE DIEU TOUT PUISSANT'
I stared at this for about 10 seconds trying to figure out if this person had genuinely listed Jesus Christ Himself as their first reference (even gave Him a job title!) and I realized, yes, yes he did.
Do you think that's a personal or professional reference? Sadly, no contact information was provided.
Coming in a close second is another CV wherein the applicant felt it was pertinent to inform us that her previous job responsibilities included 'ordering sugar, every day.' Well, that's just swell.
'JESUS CHRIST FILS DE DIEU TOUT PUISSANT'
I stared at this for about 10 seconds trying to figure out if this person had genuinely listed Jesus Christ Himself as their first reference (even gave Him a job title!) and I realized, yes, yes he did.
Do you think that's a personal or professional reference? Sadly, no contact information was provided.
Coming in a close second is another CV wherein the applicant felt it was pertinent to inform us that her previous job responsibilities included 'ordering sugar, every day.' Well, that's just swell.
22 October 2010
No cholera!!!
I imagine you have seen or heard news about the cholera situation in Haiti. The cholera is NOT yet where I am living/working, or even close by, and I am being extra careful about hygiene just in case it does make it down this way. Also, there is A LOT of confusion amongst local authorities and health workers about what is really going on, and many news outlets are publishing information before there is real confirmation of anything. So basically, take anything you hear with a grain of salt. I can tell you that cholera *is* here, but it is for the moment localized in this one area and there have NOT been any confirmed cases outside of the area where it is currently concentrated (though I have seen at least one newspaper reporting this).
Because cholera is transmitted quite easily and because there is regular movement between the affected area and Port-au-Prince, it is likely that it will get here in the next week. However, even IF that happens, cholera is very treatable, if caught at an early stage. Recovery rate for treated cases is more than 80% and mortality rate for untreated cases is still under 50% (30-40%), so really, it is VERY unlikely that even if I were to catch cholera, I would die of it. Would rather not get it at all, but ya know, if I do, it's really not anything to get worked up about.
In other news, I resigned from my job and next Friday is my last day. I have had one other offer from a French NGO and am waiting to hear about some other options before I make a decision. I will be in the US (MD) for Thanksgiving, as I have to get my Foreign Service medical exam done on the 22d and 23d of November and my 10 year (ACK!) high school reunion is on the 27th. Will let you know when I have more firm travel dates.
Hope you're all well, keep thinking happy, anti-cholera thoughts!
Because cholera is transmitted quite easily and because there is regular movement between the affected area and Port-au-Prince, it is likely that it will get here in the next week. However, even IF that happens, cholera is very treatable, if caught at an early stage. Recovery rate for treated cases is more than 80% and mortality rate for untreated cases is still under 50% (30-40%), so really, it is VERY unlikely that even if I were to catch cholera, I would die of it. Would rather not get it at all, but ya know, if I do, it's really not anything to get worked up about.
In other news, I resigned from my job and next Friday is my last day. I have had one other offer from a French NGO and am waiting to hear about some other options before I make a decision. I will be in the US (MD) for Thanksgiving, as I have to get my Foreign Service medical exam done on the 22d and 23d of November and my 10 year (ACK!) high school reunion is on the 27th. Will let you know when I have more firm travel dates.
Hope you're all well, keep thinking happy, anti-cholera thoughts!
09 September 2010
22 August 2010
Holy crap, it's a new post!
But really it's just a posting of some articles that I've had published in or have submitted to the Charleston Post & Courier, so really, if you've read those, this won't be that interesting. Sorry.
To be honest, I am having a hard time keeping up with the blog. There is the obvious excuse of being completely overwhelmed by my real humdinger of a job, but to be honest, the bigger obstacle is somewhat less tangible, a little more insidious and creeping. Firstly, I really hate my job. For so many reasons. But I am trying to mind my Ps and Qs, so I don't really want to go into details here, which cuts out a lot of what I could talk about. Further, said discontent with the job is making me a generally miserable person, a person who goes home, eats dinner, and falls asleep on the couch at an hour so early that even an 80 year old would object, all so that I can stop thinking about the horrible day that just was and avoid having to think about the horrible day yet to come. In effect, I am a person who can't be motivated to sit down and write, whose brain is tired and sad.
But wait, there's more! Whereas I previously loved Haiti, I increasingly see only the bad things. This probably stems largely from the whole crap job situation, but it is also associated with the fact that this is not the same Haiti I was living in before. This is to be expected after after a major earthquake, but what I am struggling with more than the rubble and masses huddled under tarps and tents is the change in atmosphere, in attitude, in...life. Where Haiti was a deeply troubled nation with a strong positive spirit and reason to hope for good changes in the near future, now there is shock, resignation, and an exaggerated inability to envision positive change.
And that is the short version of what runs through my head daily, the albatross around my neck that becomes increasingly heavy, pulling me down and down.
Thanks for joining the pity party, I hope to be able to overcome this, but I make no promises. Below are articles from the P&C for those who have not yet read them.
MAY
Flying into Port-au-Prince last month, I was somewhat perplexed to hear other passengers – mostly relief workers – comment after looking out of their windows at the city below, that ‘it doesn’t look so bad.’ Later, this perception was repeated by other people I encountered, people now working in Haiti but who had no previous experience here. To me, and many others who were here before the earthquake, the changes are obvious and painful.
While others on the plane were looking out of their windows and remarking on the number of buildings still standing and the traffic in the streets, I was looking at the large patches of blue and gray tarps that have cropped up between the remainders of neighborhoods, places where thousands of people who have no other choice now live. I was remembering the giant cracks, unseen from our altitude, that run through many of those still-standing buildings, rendering them unsafe for inhabitants and passers-by alike, tottering vestiges of the poorly constructed city that once was. I was looking at piles of fallen concrete that were once city blocks easily recognizable to those of us who passed them every day before the earthquake.
Upon landing, I was momentarily transported back to the last time I had been at that airport, consumed by feelings of fear and uncertainty as I stood on the tarmac for ten hours waiting for an evacuation flight. That was three days after the earthquake and the airport was busier than it had ever been with planes of various national armies and aid groups in a near-constant parade of take-off and landing. I spent ten hours there not entirely sure if I wanted to get on a plane and leave, but not sure either if I wanted to go back through the streets filled with rubble, refugees, and the oppressive smell of the dead. For ten hours I had stood in front of a section of the damaged airport, the wall ominously scarred by a 10-foot crack in the shape of an X. When my return flight landed last month, that same crack was still easily visible and I felt my chest tighten and breathing become shallow as my body responded to the thoughts and feelings my brain was frantically recalling upon seeing that spot.
Driving through the city with the chauffeur was almost surreal – the streets are full of action and life, almost as much as before, with women selling produce and clothing on the sidewalks, the ubiquitous tap-taps trawling for passengers, and children tapping at the window asking to wipe down your car for some spare change. But behind many of these women were piles of broken concrete, homes and businesses reduced to rubble. Some streets are blocked by the spontaneous encampments that now house tens of thousands, exacerbating Port-au-Prince’s already infuriating traffic conditions. A few days later, we drove by a lot that had recently been cleared, its pile of debris neatly arranged by the roadside for pickup by a UN or government dump truck; sitting on top was a human skull, completely bare, its jaw missing.
The mountainsides around Port-au-Prince are covered with the collapsed houses of Haiti’s poorest residents, people who constructed their homes out of the cheapest possible materials on steep hillsides prone to mudslides. From a distance or if one does not look too closely, these places give the impression that someone paved the mountain. For those of us who know that thousands of families were buried under that wreckage, it is impossible to pass by without considering the people missing. For those who did not know the city before, it is easy to mistake the haphazard structures that remain for just another slum, not understanding that what they are seeing is a mere fraction of what was there before. For those not familiar with Port-au-Prince before, for those not able to detect the smallest differences between what is here now and what once was, for those who saw media images of ruined streets and expected to find only that level of destruction, perhaps for these people things here truly don’t seem ‘that bad.’ For the rest of us, or for anyone able to look at the buildings that have collapsed and mentally calculate the probable number of people inside at 4:53pm on Tuesday, January 12th, for us things are that bad – and worse. Grappling daily with the number of lives lost and the amount of work that must be done before even a hint of progress can emerge – that struggle is almost unimaginable for all but those who know what was here before.
JUNE
‘Kouman ou ye?’ – ‘How are you?’I asked in Creole of the small child planted in front of me.
‘Pa pi mal.’ – ‘Not too bad,’ was his response, a funnily adult turn of phrase emanating from the three year old who had taken a wide stance across from me, his arms crossed, his lower lip slightly jutting and twisted, his eyes taking me in with some skepticism.
This child is an orphan, his parents were killed in the earthquake. He was taken in by neighbors, who assured us that they look after his needs as best as they can, and indeed, there seemed to be a close rapport between the adult man in his late 30s speaking to me, and the mini-man standing firmly by his side, still eyeing me somewhat warily.
I was speaking to the pair after having been led to their makeshift camp by a resident of a nearby neighborhood. We were evaluating the area to see if there was a need for an early childhood development center and when we had asked if there were any children between three and five years of age who did not attend school, our guide had nodded vigorously and led us down a path that crossed a cornfield just outside of Jacmel, a small city in southern Haiti.
The path led to a small promontory, where we were greeted first by the sight of three young adolescents, barely clothed, cooking over an open fire in front of a stand of banana trees. They were evidently somewhat surprised to see us – me a white woman and my colleague, an ebullient Haitian woman obviously ‘not from around there’ – and responded shyly when we greeted them. We asked if there was an adult we could talk to and if there were any other children, and as we were asking, several other residents emerged from the banana trees.
Introductions were made and we were given a brief tour of their very small camp. It was not my first camp tour; since returning to Haiti I have seen many camps, in greater and lesser states of disorder and inadequacy. But this camp was easily the most wrenching I have yet encountered. There were no tents, not even the self-made kinds consisting of blankets or tarps stretched over misshapen sticks and broom handles. These people were literally living under banana leaves. The only structures to be found were very small (one-person), triangular lean-tos whose frames were made of twigs, the ‘roofs’ of banana leaves layered on top. Our guide pulled aside the leafy curtain that served as a door for one of these hovels and revealed an elderly woman napping inside, nestled on a bed of leaves, her few belongings (a brush, a small sack of herbs, some scraps of material) ranged neatly around the edges.
Our group had grown steadily as we progressed through the camp, and by the end we numbered around 30 people, mostly children and many of them quite young – our target demographic for the ECD program. I asked how many people lived in the camp, the answer was around 20 families. Twenty families can be as many as one hundred people, as the average Haitian family size is five, but it seemed that there were perhaps less in this case. This number is certainly not enough to attract the attention of most agencies working in post-earthquake Haiti, despite the fact that these families are living in conditions that are appalling even by the currently prevailing standards. Residents reported that they had received no assistance whatsoever since the quake, despite requests for a water pump and latrine, and that we were in fact the first visitors they had received.
We explained our program, that it is not a school, but more like a pre-school for the youngest children, and that it is free; we then asked if residents would be interested in this service. The answer was a resounding, unanimous Yes. A number of parents said that they wanted desperately for their children to go to school, that they thought this was the only way they could have a better future, but that they simply could not afford the fees. Looking at their banana shacks, one could easily believe it.
When I asked if there were any orphans in the camp, the initial answer was no. When I clarified to ask if there were any children who had lost their parents during the earthquake, a number of children were pointed out, including the tiny child that had installed himself across from me and next to his guardian, the three-year-old with the eyes of an eighty-year-old. I asked how the community takes care of these children and the man shrugged, saying, ‘We find ways. We have to. These are our children now.’
JULY
Recently, I met with representatives of a certain multinational donor who had come to Haiti to evaluate how and where their funding has been used. In town for only a few days, the delegation had made a whirlwind tour of several cities and numerous camps, and had met with government and non-governmental officials. After, they met with a few of the agencies who had received funding for various initiatives in the immediate aftermath of the quake to ask questions and share their general impressions after these visits. They were, in a word, overwhelmed.
Their questions and observations were largely reasonable: They asked about how agencies are responding to issues such as trafficking of women and children, and what is being done to look after orphans and separated children. They pointed out the difficulty presented by the slow, corrupt customs process when shipping in aid and supplies. Unemployment and lack of education were listed as two large problems observed during the visit. There were questions about agencies’ contingency plans for hurricane season, as well as questions about how the hundreds of NGOs in Haiti do (or don’t) communicate and coordinate their efforts. Essentially, the delegation felt that the number obstacles or problems they had encountered were far greater than the examples of progress they were able to see.
They are not entirely wrong; the obstacles and problems are numerous and they, by definition, impede the amount of progress it is possible to make. However, there are positive things worth noting. To begin with, in defiance of most people’s expectations, there has not been any sort of epidemic or public health crisis, despite the fact that hundreds of thousands of people continue to live in very close quarters in camps throughout southern Haiti. This has been avoided through the efforts of aid organizations who launched huge campaigns to install clean water points, latrines, and to educate people on the connection between hygiene and health.
Nor has there been a sharp uptick in malnutrition cases, as was portended just after the quake. It goes without saying that malnutrition continues to be a problem in Haiti, but the situation has not been made significantly worse by the earthquake. This is once again thanks to aid agencies, who have worked to ensure at least a minimum level of general nutrition, and who have targeted particularly vulnerable groups, including children and pregnant/nursing women, to ensure that they receive the nutritional support they need.
Additionally, many children are either back in school or are attending school for the first time, through programs established by various agencies. Many strategies have been used, ranging from building new schools to subsidizing tuition fees to incorporating informal education into other child-focused activities. In a country where the literacy rate is only around 50%, even informal education and alphabetization opportunities are vital to development efforts.
But these small victories are often lost amidst the myriad problems whose magnitude and breadth make it hard to recognize anything else. Perhaps one reason it is difficult to see progress here is that aid agencies are not facing only the fall-out of a massive natural disaster. In fact, they are facing problems that existed long before the earthquake, problems that have haunted and hobbled Haiti almost since its inception. Human trafficking, corruption, unemployment, exclusion from education, inadequate disaster preparation – all of these things were around long before the earthquake, preserved and perpetuated through various social systems and mechanisms that shape the lives of most Haitians, generally in an unfavorable way. To grapple with a disaster of this size and come out on top in six months is a challenge. To grapple with well-entrenched systems of poverty and exclusion and come out on top in six months is, frankly, impossible.
July 12th marks six months since the earthquake. The fight to rebuild Haiti will be a long one and while it is fair for donors to come here and ask what has happened to their money (indeed, they should do so), it is also important that they and their constituents understand that what happened to Haiti six months ago was not just a natural disaster, it was the breaking of a dam that held back centuries of social injustice. The consequences of this system – trafficking, corruption, poverty, violence – were well known before the earthquake. The only difference is that now they are fully laid bare for the world to see, and their enormity is impossible to ignore.
But it is a mistake to allow these difficulties to take center stage all the time. It is worth knowing what good is being done, particularly since these good things can often be measured in very human terms. Even the smallest amount of good can make a huge difference in a single person’s life. And since it is not possible to change an entire system in six months, it is important to remember that it is possible to change lives.
AUGUST
Plying the wet streets of Martissant one recent morning, I chuckled to see a young pig snuffling about next to a garbage-strewn canal, closely followed by a very pregnant goat happily munching some rotten fruit skin. This unlikely pair were located not in the countryside, but rather in one of the most densely populated quarters of the Port-au-Prince area.
Around the animals, thousands of Haitians hustled on foot through the streets, over piles of refuse, between the many cars wending their way slowly through morning traffic. This area is known for its violence and poverty, its shabby neighborhoods criss-crossed by canals that are meant to efficiently carry out to the adjacent ocean the rainwater that rushes down the surrounding mountainsides into this sea-level quartier. Instead, the canals are filled with refuse – Styrofoam boxes, plastic bottles, and larger detritus like tires or even cars – and so the streets in this area flood with even a passing storm. The streets here flood so quickly and so completely that people sometimes die, are swept away or are caught up in the torrents and drown. During the earthquake, whole blocks in this neighborhood collapsed, the ruins still sit, almost exactly as they have since 12 January, a constant reminder of yet another threat to this already besieged population.
Cruising in air-conditioned comfort through this scene of filth and deprivation, there were occasional peeks of the Caribbean just beyond, its water the color of heaven and clear as fine crystal, despite the quantities of trash pumped into it each day. Its quiet waters made incongruous background to the ramshackle houses and tent camps immediately before us, the dirty child with the expressionless face knocking on the window of our stereotypical NGO Land Cruiser, begging for change. I indicated that I had none, which was true, but must have seemed like a mean joke to this child looking through the windows of our very expensive car.
My chauffeur had heard me chuckle looking at the pig and goat, these two country creatures in the middle of a capital city, and he had gestured to the broader scene – the streets still semi-inundated from the previous night’s rain, the mounds of rubbish, the dirt and mud that coated everything. He gestured to this and said, ‘It’s been like this since I came here from the provinces in 1998. It’s a little worse now, but it’s been like this for a long time.’ Earlier he had confessed that he would like to see Haiti return to dictatorship, that this was the only way he felt things would ever improve. He isn’t the first person to have said so. ‘Haitians need someone to tell them when to go left and when to go right,’ another chauffeur had told me vehemently earlier in the week. He had continued, saying, ‘Haiti will never rebuild without someone telling people to get it done or they go to jail.’
As my chauffeur and I continued on our journey, the clutter and trash of the city gradually gave way to the greener countryside, stands of banana trees and sugar cane fields abutting the turquoise sea. The southern mountains began to loom, their jagged beauty beckoning us toward our destination. At the same time, we passed encampments and half-dressed children, a man with one leg begging for change in the middle of the road. I began to think that this contrast between beauty and suffering, long a part of living in Haiti, was now more cruel than wondrous. Once I had reveled in this beauty, now it made me tearful and angry.
I pointed this out to the chauffeur, pointed out how Haiti’s beauty exists amidst so much affliction. He paused, considering, seemingly for the first time. He then replied that he had never really thought about the two things at the same moment. Maybe that’s what one has to do – keep the beauty separate from the suffering.
To be honest, I am having a hard time keeping up with the blog. There is the obvious excuse of being completely overwhelmed by my real humdinger of a job, but to be honest, the bigger obstacle is somewhat less tangible, a little more insidious and creeping. Firstly, I really hate my job. For so many reasons. But I am trying to mind my Ps and Qs, so I don't really want to go into details here, which cuts out a lot of what I could talk about. Further, said discontent with the job is making me a generally miserable person, a person who goes home, eats dinner, and falls asleep on the couch at an hour so early that even an 80 year old would object, all so that I can stop thinking about the horrible day that just was and avoid having to think about the horrible day yet to come. In effect, I am a person who can't be motivated to sit down and write, whose brain is tired and sad.
But wait, there's more! Whereas I previously loved Haiti, I increasingly see only the bad things. This probably stems largely from the whole crap job situation, but it is also associated with the fact that this is not the same Haiti I was living in before. This is to be expected after after a major earthquake, but what I am struggling with more than the rubble and masses huddled under tarps and tents is the change in atmosphere, in attitude, in...life. Where Haiti was a deeply troubled nation with a strong positive spirit and reason to hope for good changes in the near future, now there is shock, resignation, and an exaggerated inability to envision positive change.
And that is the short version of what runs through my head daily, the albatross around my neck that becomes increasingly heavy, pulling me down and down.
Thanks for joining the pity party, I hope to be able to overcome this, but I make no promises. Below are articles from the P&C for those who have not yet read them.
MAY
Flying into Port-au-Prince last month, I was somewhat perplexed to hear other passengers – mostly relief workers – comment after looking out of their windows at the city below, that ‘it doesn’t look so bad.’ Later, this perception was repeated by other people I encountered, people now working in Haiti but who had no previous experience here. To me, and many others who were here before the earthquake, the changes are obvious and painful.
While others on the plane were looking out of their windows and remarking on the number of buildings still standing and the traffic in the streets, I was looking at the large patches of blue and gray tarps that have cropped up between the remainders of neighborhoods, places where thousands of people who have no other choice now live. I was remembering the giant cracks, unseen from our altitude, that run through many of those still-standing buildings, rendering them unsafe for inhabitants and passers-by alike, tottering vestiges of the poorly constructed city that once was. I was looking at piles of fallen concrete that were once city blocks easily recognizable to those of us who passed them every day before the earthquake.
Upon landing, I was momentarily transported back to the last time I had been at that airport, consumed by feelings of fear and uncertainty as I stood on the tarmac for ten hours waiting for an evacuation flight. That was three days after the earthquake and the airport was busier than it had ever been with planes of various national armies and aid groups in a near-constant parade of take-off and landing. I spent ten hours there not entirely sure if I wanted to get on a plane and leave, but not sure either if I wanted to go back through the streets filled with rubble, refugees, and the oppressive smell of the dead. For ten hours I had stood in front of a section of the damaged airport, the wall ominously scarred by a 10-foot crack in the shape of an X. When my return flight landed last month, that same crack was still easily visible and I felt my chest tighten and breathing become shallow as my body responded to the thoughts and feelings my brain was frantically recalling upon seeing that spot.
Driving through the city with the chauffeur was almost surreal – the streets are full of action and life, almost as much as before, with women selling produce and clothing on the sidewalks, the ubiquitous tap-taps trawling for passengers, and children tapping at the window asking to wipe down your car for some spare change. But behind many of these women were piles of broken concrete, homes and businesses reduced to rubble. Some streets are blocked by the spontaneous encampments that now house tens of thousands, exacerbating Port-au-Prince’s already infuriating traffic conditions. A few days later, we drove by a lot that had recently been cleared, its pile of debris neatly arranged by the roadside for pickup by a UN or government dump truck; sitting on top was a human skull, completely bare, its jaw missing.
The mountainsides around Port-au-Prince are covered with the collapsed houses of Haiti’s poorest residents, people who constructed their homes out of the cheapest possible materials on steep hillsides prone to mudslides. From a distance or if one does not look too closely, these places give the impression that someone paved the mountain. For those of us who know that thousands of families were buried under that wreckage, it is impossible to pass by without considering the people missing. For those who did not know the city before, it is easy to mistake the haphazard structures that remain for just another slum, not understanding that what they are seeing is a mere fraction of what was there before. For those not familiar with Port-au-Prince before, for those not able to detect the smallest differences between what is here now and what once was, for those who saw media images of ruined streets and expected to find only that level of destruction, perhaps for these people things here truly don’t seem ‘that bad.’ For the rest of us, or for anyone able to look at the buildings that have collapsed and mentally calculate the probable number of people inside at 4:53pm on Tuesday, January 12th, for us things are that bad – and worse. Grappling daily with the number of lives lost and the amount of work that must be done before even a hint of progress can emerge – that struggle is almost unimaginable for all but those who know what was here before.
JUNE
‘Kouman ou ye?’ – ‘How are you?’I asked in Creole of the small child planted in front of me.
‘Pa pi mal.’ – ‘Not too bad,’ was his response, a funnily adult turn of phrase emanating from the three year old who had taken a wide stance across from me, his arms crossed, his lower lip slightly jutting and twisted, his eyes taking me in with some skepticism.
This child is an orphan, his parents were killed in the earthquake. He was taken in by neighbors, who assured us that they look after his needs as best as they can, and indeed, there seemed to be a close rapport between the adult man in his late 30s speaking to me, and the mini-man standing firmly by his side, still eyeing me somewhat warily.
I was speaking to the pair after having been led to their makeshift camp by a resident of a nearby neighborhood. We were evaluating the area to see if there was a need for an early childhood development center and when we had asked if there were any children between three and five years of age who did not attend school, our guide had nodded vigorously and led us down a path that crossed a cornfield just outside of Jacmel, a small city in southern Haiti.
The path led to a small promontory, where we were greeted first by the sight of three young adolescents, barely clothed, cooking over an open fire in front of a stand of banana trees. They were evidently somewhat surprised to see us – me a white woman and my colleague, an ebullient Haitian woman obviously ‘not from around there’ – and responded shyly when we greeted them. We asked if there was an adult we could talk to and if there were any other children, and as we were asking, several other residents emerged from the banana trees.
Introductions were made and we were given a brief tour of their very small camp. It was not my first camp tour; since returning to Haiti I have seen many camps, in greater and lesser states of disorder and inadequacy. But this camp was easily the most wrenching I have yet encountered. There were no tents, not even the self-made kinds consisting of blankets or tarps stretched over misshapen sticks and broom handles. These people were literally living under banana leaves. The only structures to be found were very small (one-person), triangular lean-tos whose frames were made of twigs, the ‘roofs’ of banana leaves layered on top. Our guide pulled aside the leafy curtain that served as a door for one of these hovels and revealed an elderly woman napping inside, nestled on a bed of leaves, her few belongings (a brush, a small sack of herbs, some scraps of material) ranged neatly around the edges.
Our group had grown steadily as we progressed through the camp, and by the end we numbered around 30 people, mostly children and many of them quite young – our target demographic for the ECD program. I asked how many people lived in the camp, the answer was around 20 families. Twenty families can be as many as one hundred people, as the average Haitian family size is five, but it seemed that there were perhaps less in this case. This number is certainly not enough to attract the attention of most agencies working in post-earthquake Haiti, despite the fact that these families are living in conditions that are appalling even by the currently prevailing standards. Residents reported that they had received no assistance whatsoever since the quake, despite requests for a water pump and latrine, and that we were in fact the first visitors they had received.
We explained our program, that it is not a school, but more like a pre-school for the youngest children, and that it is free; we then asked if residents would be interested in this service. The answer was a resounding, unanimous Yes. A number of parents said that they wanted desperately for their children to go to school, that they thought this was the only way they could have a better future, but that they simply could not afford the fees. Looking at their banana shacks, one could easily believe it.
When I asked if there were any orphans in the camp, the initial answer was no. When I clarified to ask if there were any children who had lost their parents during the earthquake, a number of children were pointed out, including the tiny child that had installed himself across from me and next to his guardian, the three-year-old with the eyes of an eighty-year-old. I asked how the community takes care of these children and the man shrugged, saying, ‘We find ways. We have to. These are our children now.’
JULY
Recently, I met with representatives of a certain multinational donor who had come to Haiti to evaluate how and where their funding has been used. In town for only a few days, the delegation had made a whirlwind tour of several cities and numerous camps, and had met with government and non-governmental officials. After, they met with a few of the agencies who had received funding for various initiatives in the immediate aftermath of the quake to ask questions and share their general impressions after these visits. They were, in a word, overwhelmed.
Their questions and observations were largely reasonable: They asked about how agencies are responding to issues such as trafficking of women and children, and what is being done to look after orphans and separated children. They pointed out the difficulty presented by the slow, corrupt customs process when shipping in aid and supplies. Unemployment and lack of education were listed as two large problems observed during the visit. There were questions about agencies’ contingency plans for hurricane season, as well as questions about how the hundreds of NGOs in Haiti do (or don’t) communicate and coordinate their efforts. Essentially, the delegation felt that the number obstacles or problems they had encountered were far greater than the examples of progress they were able to see.
They are not entirely wrong; the obstacles and problems are numerous and they, by definition, impede the amount of progress it is possible to make. However, there are positive things worth noting. To begin with, in defiance of most people’s expectations, there has not been any sort of epidemic or public health crisis, despite the fact that hundreds of thousands of people continue to live in very close quarters in camps throughout southern Haiti. This has been avoided through the efforts of aid organizations who launched huge campaigns to install clean water points, latrines, and to educate people on the connection between hygiene and health.
Nor has there been a sharp uptick in malnutrition cases, as was portended just after the quake. It goes without saying that malnutrition continues to be a problem in Haiti, but the situation has not been made significantly worse by the earthquake. This is once again thanks to aid agencies, who have worked to ensure at least a minimum level of general nutrition, and who have targeted particularly vulnerable groups, including children and pregnant/nursing women, to ensure that they receive the nutritional support they need.
Additionally, many children are either back in school or are attending school for the first time, through programs established by various agencies. Many strategies have been used, ranging from building new schools to subsidizing tuition fees to incorporating informal education into other child-focused activities. In a country where the literacy rate is only around 50%, even informal education and alphabetization opportunities are vital to development efforts.
But these small victories are often lost amidst the myriad problems whose magnitude and breadth make it hard to recognize anything else. Perhaps one reason it is difficult to see progress here is that aid agencies are not facing only the fall-out of a massive natural disaster. In fact, they are facing problems that existed long before the earthquake, problems that have haunted and hobbled Haiti almost since its inception. Human trafficking, corruption, unemployment, exclusion from education, inadequate disaster preparation – all of these things were around long before the earthquake, preserved and perpetuated through various social systems and mechanisms that shape the lives of most Haitians, generally in an unfavorable way. To grapple with a disaster of this size and come out on top in six months is a challenge. To grapple with well-entrenched systems of poverty and exclusion and come out on top in six months is, frankly, impossible.
July 12th marks six months since the earthquake. The fight to rebuild Haiti will be a long one and while it is fair for donors to come here and ask what has happened to their money (indeed, they should do so), it is also important that they and their constituents understand that what happened to Haiti six months ago was not just a natural disaster, it was the breaking of a dam that held back centuries of social injustice. The consequences of this system – trafficking, corruption, poverty, violence – were well known before the earthquake. The only difference is that now they are fully laid bare for the world to see, and their enormity is impossible to ignore.
But it is a mistake to allow these difficulties to take center stage all the time. It is worth knowing what good is being done, particularly since these good things can often be measured in very human terms. Even the smallest amount of good can make a huge difference in a single person’s life. And since it is not possible to change an entire system in six months, it is important to remember that it is possible to change lives.
AUGUST
Plying the wet streets of Martissant one recent morning, I chuckled to see a young pig snuffling about next to a garbage-strewn canal, closely followed by a very pregnant goat happily munching some rotten fruit skin. This unlikely pair were located not in the countryside, but rather in one of the most densely populated quarters of the Port-au-Prince area.
Around the animals, thousands of Haitians hustled on foot through the streets, over piles of refuse, between the many cars wending their way slowly through morning traffic. This area is known for its violence and poverty, its shabby neighborhoods criss-crossed by canals that are meant to efficiently carry out to the adjacent ocean the rainwater that rushes down the surrounding mountainsides into this sea-level quartier. Instead, the canals are filled with refuse – Styrofoam boxes, plastic bottles, and larger detritus like tires or even cars – and so the streets in this area flood with even a passing storm. The streets here flood so quickly and so completely that people sometimes die, are swept away or are caught up in the torrents and drown. During the earthquake, whole blocks in this neighborhood collapsed, the ruins still sit, almost exactly as they have since 12 January, a constant reminder of yet another threat to this already besieged population.
Cruising in air-conditioned comfort through this scene of filth and deprivation, there were occasional peeks of the Caribbean just beyond, its water the color of heaven and clear as fine crystal, despite the quantities of trash pumped into it each day. Its quiet waters made incongruous background to the ramshackle houses and tent camps immediately before us, the dirty child with the expressionless face knocking on the window of our stereotypical NGO Land Cruiser, begging for change. I indicated that I had none, which was true, but must have seemed like a mean joke to this child looking through the windows of our very expensive car.
My chauffeur had heard me chuckle looking at the pig and goat, these two country creatures in the middle of a capital city, and he had gestured to the broader scene – the streets still semi-inundated from the previous night’s rain, the mounds of rubbish, the dirt and mud that coated everything. He gestured to this and said, ‘It’s been like this since I came here from the provinces in 1998. It’s a little worse now, but it’s been like this for a long time.’ Earlier he had confessed that he would like to see Haiti return to dictatorship, that this was the only way he felt things would ever improve. He isn’t the first person to have said so. ‘Haitians need someone to tell them when to go left and when to go right,’ another chauffeur had told me vehemently earlier in the week. He had continued, saying, ‘Haiti will never rebuild without someone telling people to get it done or they go to jail.’
As my chauffeur and I continued on our journey, the clutter and trash of the city gradually gave way to the greener countryside, stands of banana trees and sugar cane fields abutting the turquoise sea. The southern mountains began to loom, their jagged beauty beckoning us toward our destination. At the same time, we passed encampments and half-dressed children, a man with one leg begging for change in the middle of the road. I began to think that this contrast between beauty and suffering, long a part of living in Haiti, was now more cruel than wondrous. Once I had reveled in this beauty, now it made me tearful and angry.
I pointed this out to the chauffeur, pointed out how Haiti’s beauty exists amidst so much affliction. He paused, considering, seemingly for the first time. He then replied that he had never really thought about the two things at the same moment. Maybe that’s what one has to do – keep the beauty separate from the suffering.
09 June 2010
Ha.
My work computer died Monday morning. As in, the IT guy said he has never seen anything like it and the hard-drive was registering as being 100% free space, not even an operating system was there anymore. Yeah.
Happily, I had sent some version of most of my documents through Outlook, so I was able to recover a lot that way. One thing that did not make it was a document needed for one of our programs, a document that naturally took A LOT of time to develop and should have been in place, ya know, ages ago. So I'm sitting here this afternoon trying to recreate this document, probably looking puzzled/distressed/afflicted, with my mouth open and face contorted and the following exchange takes places between me and one of my new colleagues who arrived last week:
Her: Uh, are you okay?
Happily, I had sent some version of most of my documents through Outlook, so I was able to recover a lot that way. One thing that did not make it was a document needed for one of our programs, a document that naturally took A LOT of time to develop and should have been in place, ya know, ages ago. So I'm sitting here this afternoon trying to recreate this document, probably looking puzzled/distressed/afflicted, with my mouth open and face contorted and the following exchange takes places between me and one of my new colleagues who arrived last week:
Her: Uh, are you okay?
Me: What? Oh, yeah -- that's my thinking face.
Her: Oh. It's a little scary.
HA!
Back to work, then. Will try to write a proper entry soon (and try to more closely monitor my facial expressions while at work -- heh.)
Her: Oh. It's a little scary.
HA!
Back to work, then. Will try to write a proper entry soon (and try to more closely monitor my facial expressions while at work -- heh.)
11 May 2010
What a difference, uh, three months makes...
Sorry about that. Things got extra busy there for a while. In fact, they still are extremely busy, as I started a new job two weeks ago (it's now been one month since I started, I didn't have time to finish this post when I started it -- *sigh*). At this moment, I write you from the darkened parking lot of my new office in Port-au-Prince. Why the darkened parking lot, you ask? Because there are no light fixtures out here! And why am I sitting in the parking lot? Because my agency has a bit of a transportation issue and I am waiting for Stephane to come pick me up, but sadly we are also having a bit of a transportation issue (namely that we have only one car b/c Stephane refuses to let me drive here and right now that one car is with someone else), so I am here at the office, chillin' with the night guards, waiting for my ride.
So anyhow. I'm back. In Haiti. It's interesting.
In fact, one week to the day after my return, we were all in the office -- a large, heavy-looking, multi-level concrete structure -- going about our business when there was suddenly a too-familiar shaking sensation. It was easy to tell who had been here during the quake and who had not, b/c those of us who knew what this was came fleeing out of the building like ants pouring out of a flooded hill, while the others sort of watched us scurry and decided to follow. At any case, it was a pretty large aftershock -- 4.4, the biggest recently -- and although I had known intellectually before I came back that this would happen, physiologically, it was like 454pm on January 12th for me -- checking body parts and people, searching out the safest possible place at the moment, shaking like an addict in withdrawal. I shook for about 20 minutes after this and spent the rest of the day freezing like a deer who's heard a twig snap every time a big truck rolled by the office, rumbling like an earthquake as it went along.
Welcome back, eh?
I do have more to share, but for the moment must wrap up, as I am still at work.
Thanks for the thoughts/emails, keep an eye out for my upcoming articles in the journal 'Policy Review' (in case you actually read *that* -- haha!) and/or the Charleston Post and Courier, for whom I am writing a semi-monthly column. Will try my darnedest to write again sooner!
26 February 2010
And then, more of the usual.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100226/ap_on_re_la_am_ca/cb_haiti_earthquake_18
This link is to an article that reduced me to tears of despair and frustration. Pretty much the opposite of the last one. It seems that the new plan, spearheaded by the International Organization for Migration, which was well-funded but almost invisible prior to the earthquake and now seems to ineptly taking the lead in many post-earthquake initiatives, the new plan is to encourage people to return to their old neighborhoods, rather than moving them to UN/government/NGO-supervised camps outside of town while they remove rubble from the city. Have they seriously not considered that most of the people living in PAP right now were living in some of the worst neighborhoods before the earthquake, such as the bidonvilles that covered the hillsides and were never safe even before this event?? Do they seriously believe that it is a better idea to encourage millions of people to once again take up residence in what is now recognized as an intrinsically unstable area, due to location on the fault and soil composition?? Do they not remember that PAP was FAR overpopulated prior to the earthquake, a fact which contributed directly to the human loss of this event?? Do they not understand that people will still need secure, organized places to live while the government and other agencies clear rubble, even from so-called 'approved' neighborhoods?? If the point of this is to reduce congestion in the city camps and provide people with a longer-term home, why not proceed with the original plan to set up long-term, but temporary, camps outside of town and/or assist people in migrating out of the city to other parts of the country (with the proper caveats there, of course -- seed money, existing family/social support in relocation area, etc.)?? Why on earth would these people think it is most effective to shove people back into their dilapidated neighborhoods, or to spend time promoting this plan when ultimately, if they really do the things they are saying the will do (namely, relocate people whose neighborhoods are too badly damaged for repatriation), they will *still* end up having to establish large camps outside of the city?? How can they do this to the people of Port-au-Prince?? How can these agencies condemn them to insecurity and further suffering, due to nothing more than the absolute, shameful incompetence of said agencies??
I am reminded of my impulse to yell at those teenagers in Bea's classes, but there is no one here to yell at. My anger, frustration, anxiety, and fear are at this moment overwhelming. I cannot stop shaking and I am fighting the urge to go to my bed and never leave.
This link is to an article that reduced me to tears of despair and frustration. Pretty much the opposite of the last one. It seems that the new plan, spearheaded by the International Organization for Migration, which was well-funded but almost invisible prior to the earthquake and now seems to ineptly taking the lead in many post-earthquake initiatives, the new plan is to encourage people to return to their old neighborhoods, rather than moving them to UN/government/NGO-supervised camps outside of town while they remove rubble from the city. Have they seriously not considered that most of the people living in PAP right now were living in some of the worst neighborhoods before the earthquake, such as the bidonvilles that covered the hillsides and were never safe even before this event?? Do they seriously believe that it is a better idea to encourage millions of people to once again take up residence in what is now recognized as an intrinsically unstable area, due to location on the fault and soil composition?? Do they not remember that PAP was FAR overpopulated prior to the earthquake, a fact which contributed directly to the human loss of this event?? Do they not understand that people will still need secure, organized places to live while the government and other agencies clear rubble, even from so-called 'approved' neighborhoods?? If the point of this is to reduce congestion in the city camps and provide people with a longer-term home, why not proceed with the original plan to set up long-term, but temporary, camps outside of town and/or assist people in migrating out of the city to other parts of the country (with the proper caveats there, of course -- seed money, existing family/social support in relocation area, etc.)?? Why on earth would these people think it is most effective to shove people back into their dilapidated neighborhoods, or to spend time promoting this plan when ultimately, if they really do the things they are saying the will do (namely, relocate people whose neighborhoods are too badly damaged for repatriation), they will *still* end up having to establish large camps outside of the city?? How can they do this to the people of Port-au-Prince?? How can these agencies condemn them to insecurity and further suffering, due to nothing more than the absolute, shameful incompetence of said agencies??
I am reminded of my impulse to yell at those teenagers in Bea's classes, but there is no one here to yell at. My anger, frustration, anxiety, and fear are at this moment overwhelming. I cannot stop shaking and I am fighting the urge to go to my bed and never leave.
Finally, something to smile about
Haiti visitor makes impact at Severna Park Middle School • Community - Severna Park (www.HometownAnnapolis.com - The Capital)
This is the link to a short article written about a middle school near my house in Maryland and their efforts to help Haiti. A few weeks ago, I spoke to the seventh grade class about what had happened and tried to help them understand how their service learning project can make a difference for Haitians; all I can say is that I am amazed and I think you will be, too, when you read what these 300 or so kids have done. When I picked up their donations on Monday, I fought tears while looking at the boxes and boxes of items they had collected, in addition to their efforts to raise money. It really is incredible to know that members of that community are thinking of Haiti and taking every opportunity to help out. (Incidentally, all together, the seventh grade class donated more than 1,000 items to the donation drive Bea and I are working on, and they did this all during one week. Due to the recent snowstorms, the kids did not have school for more than a week, so in the end they had only about six days to gather their goods and bring them in. In the end, they had so much stuff that Bea's Nissan Cube was packed literally from floor to ceiling and front to back -- even the front passenger seat had things in it -- and I still have to pick up three more bags of things that people brought in after that!)
Additionally, I spent Monday and Tuesday at one of my former high schools, Glen Burnie High, talking to Bea's classes about Haiti and the earthquake. I wasn't sure how much of an impact this would really have, as GB is a rather depressed area itself and many of the kids in that school now can't be bothered (or don't have the means) to properly take care of themselves, let alone try thinking about someone else. I was also a bit nervous b/c some of Bea's classes are a little rough...But it turned out to be a great experience, for me and (I think) for them. Even the rowdiest classes were quiet for more than an hour while I spoke and answered their questions, and already students have brought in hundreds of items for donation.
There were a couple of moments where people were sleeping or chatting/giggling while I was talking about human suffering on an unimaginable scale. During those moments, I wanted to yell at these kids and inform them that their inability to pay attention to someone sharing such a painful, personal experience made me wish that they would one day be victims of a similar horror. But I reined in that impulse, reminded myself that I was fortunate to have the other 95% of the class paying attention/demonstrating interest and understanding, and moved forward. And the donations that we have thus far received reassure me that at least some people were reached.
When I first got back to the US, I didn't want to talk about the things that had happened, mostly b/c it was too hard, but also partly b/c I didn't like feeling like a specimen. Now, when I am talking to groups like this about my experiences, I know it is for a purpose -- to promote awareness and attract donations for those who need them so badly -- and I am much more comfortable. It is never easy (the two days spent in Bea's classroom left me with a slightly sick feeling at the end of each day, remembering everything that had happened), but the knowledge that it is making a positive difference more than makes up for the discomfort.
It's not too late to send any donations you may have (we will be collecting at least through the end of March), I can send you the list of items we are collecting if you are interested, and thanks to everyone who has already helped out -- it means more than you know.
This is the link to a short article written about a middle school near my house in Maryland and their efforts to help Haiti. A few weeks ago, I spoke to the seventh grade class about what had happened and tried to help them understand how their service learning project can make a difference for Haitians; all I can say is that I am amazed and I think you will be, too, when you read what these 300 or so kids have done. When I picked up their donations on Monday, I fought tears while looking at the boxes and boxes of items they had collected, in addition to their efforts to raise money. It really is incredible to know that members of that community are thinking of Haiti and taking every opportunity to help out. (Incidentally, all together, the seventh grade class donated more than 1,000 items to the donation drive Bea and I are working on, and they did this all during one week. Due to the recent snowstorms, the kids did not have school for more than a week, so in the end they had only about six days to gather their goods and bring them in. In the end, they had so much stuff that Bea's Nissan Cube was packed literally from floor to ceiling and front to back -- even the front passenger seat had things in it -- and I still have to pick up three more bags of things that people brought in after that!)
Additionally, I spent Monday and Tuesday at one of my former high schools, Glen Burnie High, talking to Bea's classes about Haiti and the earthquake. I wasn't sure how much of an impact this would really have, as GB is a rather depressed area itself and many of the kids in that school now can't be bothered (or don't have the means) to properly take care of themselves, let alone try thinking about someone else. I was also a bit nervous b/c some of Bea's classes are a little rough...But it turned out to be a great experience, for me and (I think) for them. Even the rowdiest classes were quiet for more than an hour while I spoke and answered their questions, and already students have brought in hundreds of items for donation.
There were a couple of moments where people were sleeping or chatting/giggling while I was talking about human suffering on an unimaginable scale. During those moments, I wanted to yell at these kids and inform them that their inability to pay attention to someone sharing such a painful, personal experience made me wish that they would one day be victims of a similar horror. But I reined in that impulse, reminded myself that I was fortunate to have the other 95% of the class paying attention/demonstrating interest and understanding, and moved forward. And the donations that we have thus far received reassure me that at least some people were reached.
When I first got back to the US, I didn't want to talk about the things that had happened, mostly b/c it was too hard, but also partly b/c I didn't like feeling like a specimen. Now, when I am talking to groups like this about my experiences, I know it is for a purpose -- to promote awareness and attract donations for those who need them so badly -- and I am much more comfortable. It is never easy (the two days spent in Bea's classroom left me with a slightly sick feeling at the end of each day, remembering everything that had happened), but the knowledge that it is making a positive difference more than makes up for the discomfort.
It's not too late to send any donations you may have (we will be collecting at least through the end of March), I can send you the list of items we are collecting if you are interested, and thanks to everyone who has already helped out -- it means more than you know.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)