The sermons I now hear.

When I was rector of St. Peter's Episcopal Church in San Francisco, we had a "mantra" - "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans."

I came to Haiti for 2 reasons. I wanted to try and help in some way to make Haiti a little better, and I wanted to experience another culture, a culture that was a part of me because I have a Haitian niece and nephew. I saw Haiti as a kind of microcosm of the larger world, a small region that I could, maybe, wrap my mind around; the larger world being just too large.

The first time I set foot on Haitian soil, I was immediately overwhelmed by the level poverty and then, soon after, buoyed by a spirit that gave hope to my intentions.

But the more I experienced and studied, the more I became aware of the larger problem, of which Haiti was, in fact, a microcosm. That was the problem of the Global Economy that thrived by using the resources, material and human, to create huge wealth for some by disregarding the indigenous value of both material and human resources. Not only in Haiti, but wherever poverty was visible, the people and the resources they stood on were being used by others to create wealth for those others. In Africa, for example, some of the poorest people live right on top of some of the richest deposits of oil, minerals, gems etc. from which they derive almost, and in many cases actually no benefit.

On a recent trip back to San Francisco, I was asked by the new Priest-in-Charge of Trinity+St.Peter's: "What church do you worship at now?" I said "I don't", and this essay is why. In another essay I may write about the problems I see in the Missionary driven Christianity here and, again, in the other poorest countries. But, by not going to church here, I have found another source of inspiring sermons. 

YouTube has, amongst a lot that is either stupid or just a useful way to be distracted, a number of very provocative lectures and interviews. At first I was listening to Neil Degrasse Tyson, being amazed by his wisdom and style and by the fact that I had never heard of him before. But then, by association - other lectures that would appear in the margins of the video - I began discovering Richard Wolff, Noam Chomsky, Paul Krugman, and, this morning's preacher, David Korten.

What I see in Haiti is corroborated by these thinkers. Haiti is poor now, because, for 2 centuries other countries and corporations have seen and then used Haiti simply as a source of cheap labor to make these other countries and corporations outrageously wealthy, at least by comparison.

The fact that the minimum wage here is so low is simply the result of the low wages that are essential (or so it seems for capitalists) to maintain high profits. As David Korten and others point out, we have forgotten that we exist in community with a spiritual mandate to care for each other. And despite what many on the top are saying, we cannot care for each other when we use others to take care of ourselves.

I am not anti-capitalist. Indeed, I readily acknowledge that I have benefited greatly from capitalist-engendered wealth, but, in my case, from some people who were rich but also very concerned about and involved in the welfare of others. The problem, as I see it, thanks to Mohammad Yunus, is the dominance of the capitalist model. When profit is THE driving force, all decisions are made from that perspective.

What is telling, and another reason why I don't go to church here, is that most of the growing Christian communities around the world, are either preaching the capitalist mantra, or, in some cases I see here, practicing a form of capitalism by selling "Good News" and making the messenger rich while the lot of the average parishioner remains the same. I actually heard one evangelist on a local radio station say that "Your problem is..." you don't know how to pray right. And he offered to send a book, for $25US, that would tell you what you needed to know to get God to answer your prayers.

I am reminded of Jesus' teaching: "What benefit is it for you if you gain the whole world and lose your soul?" But even this still appeals to your own self-interest. A good advertising slogan. What Jesus was really trying to say was: shift your priorities. This isn't about you, it is about what you can offer to others. David Korten (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zdsZ_lLz07Q) describes the spiritual experiment, begun when human consciousness first emerged, of trying to make decisions that benefited the collective (human and ecological), but instead, the ego took off, using the emergent capabilities to create for itself.

I look at promising ideas that have arisen here, some from the Yunus Center for Social Business here in Petionville, and others attempting to create businesses that produce jobs and raise the standard of living. But then I see the financial pressures from the rich, families and corporations, that suppress or limit these attempts. Competition is very difficult on such an uneven playing field. For example, there are many garment factories here, some very recently developed, with the goal of creating jobs. But the pressure from external competition (other countries that have very low wages too) keep the wages at very unlivable levels. People have jobs, but they are almost no better than when they had none.

So, what I am realizing is that, rather then being able to help much, I am being given an education on the huge global problem. Perhaps this is really why I came to Haiti. I am being nudged into consciousness, becoming aware of what is probably the most pressing problem of the planet. 

My primary focus here now is education. And I am working with others to develop education models that teach children to think. My hope now is that perhaps I can help them learn to think beyond survival mode - which is really the driving rule of Capitalism. Perhaps these children can see ways to serve their fellow Haitians and forge another economic system which benefits the average Haitian. 

The adventure continues.

Now, they say, I am Haitian

    My scooter is in the shop again (for the 3rd or 4th time) so, to get around, I have been taking Tap-Taps. A Tap-Tap is a converted pickup truck with wooden bench seats and a metal or fiberglass roof. You flag one down, pointing in the direction you want to go or are urged to use one by the "barker" that tells you where his particular Tap-Tap is going.      It is a very cheap way to travel, hence they are also very crowded. The saying is "How many people can you fit on a Tap-Tap?.... Just one more." So they are not comfortable. The trip from my home in Petionville to the Orphanage near the Airport takes 3 Tap-Taps and costs 45 Haitian Gourde (about $1) roundtrip. 

They really aren't that uncomfortable depending on the size of the people that try to squeeze in. I usually try to get the seat on the outside back, partly because it is open to the air and I can see a lot. I am probably the only one who experiences a Tap-Tap like a tour bus. I also sometimes hang out on the back, rather like I liked to do on Cable Cars in San Francisco. 

     The great thing for me about this (apart from it being cheap) is that I am surrounded by Haitians. I have never seen another "blan" on my rides. I hear the other passengers speaking (understanding some of it - more perhaps then the other riders think) and it helps me learn my Kreyol. I get some curious looks, and hardly anyone speaks to me - but they don't speak much to each other either, they are mostly on their cellphones. 

     It can be very hot inside, especially when the Tap-Tap is stuck in traffic, which is most of the time riding up Rue de Delmas, one of the main roads from Downtown Port au Prince to Petionville. But, when we are moving, there is a breeze through the windows and the decorative cuttings in the metal, and the breeze gets cooler as we ascend the maybe 1000 ft of elevation to Petionville.

    This is how most Haitians travel, so now I feel more like one of them.

I'm becoming REALLY Haitian

     The Chikungunya Virus has hit Haiti pretty hard. Originally from China (hence the strange name which first sounded to me to be something about chickens) is spread by mosquitoes. The official count, last I checked, seemed somewhat low because virtually everyone I knew has it or has had it. It begins with high fever and very painful aching in all the joints, especially hands and feet. The fever often lasts a week and the pain can last a lot longer. It is rarely fatal but can be for the elderly, the very young, and those who are already frail.

    Well, not to be left out, I contracted the fever Wednesday, despite copious, if not regular, applications of insect repellent. After one of my trips down to the orphanage on a Tap-Tap, I started to feel feverish. I had already had some pains in my right wrist (where I have some arthritis anyway) and my lower back (which I chalked up to the bad mattress I sleep on.) But as the fever grew (spiking at 101.5) and with an increasing amount of pain in my hands and all my joints (it seemed), I knew what was happening. 

    There is no cure for this virus, only symptom relief which means acetaminophen or ibuprofen or, the drug of choice here, paracetamol. And lots of water. The fever can last a week, mine lasted only 2 days. The pain can last a lot longer - up to a year. In my case, most of the pain subsided today with the fever. 

    So, now I have more of the Haitian Experience - the worst form of public transportation and the Haitian Virus du jour. And I already am a big fan of "Diri e sos pwa" (rice in bean sauce). So now, they say, I am Haitian! 

    The Adventure continues.

Some of Haiti’s Problems are Internal

        Now that I have lived in Haiti for 3 months, I am an expert. Right? But I want to share some thoughts and impressions.

        Much of Haiti’s ongoing economic problems are a result of other countries (e.g. France at the beginning, and the United States at various times ever since) seeing Haiti as a source of free, then cheap, labor creating large profits for these other countries. But that is not the only reason Haiti has never thrived. There are internal reasons as well.

        The biggest problem I have seen is poor Education. Only a small percentage of Haitian families can afford the meager (as little as $25 per year) tuition for school. There is a literacy rate of just above 50%. And, most of the less expensive schools are way below second rate. For example, there is a school next door to my apartment, and I listen to what is going on in the classroom while I am retrieving the sun and wind-dried laundry from my roof. From the opening bell, 7:30am, until the close at 2pm there is constant chattering among the children with the teacher’s voice barely audible above the din.

        Most of what I do hear that passes for teaching is rote memorization. The teacher says something and the children say it back. I am told, and I have read, that this is common except for the expensive “private” (as opposed to the missionary-run, or for-profit) schools. I am told that, in general, the children are also taught not to question anything, and thus, not to think for themselves. A Haitian friend of mine, in his late teens, was reading a book about American Superstitions (to learn English and about American Culture). I asked him what he thought. He said: “Well, I guess they must all be true.” So the children are not trained to think in a way that might lead to creative solutions to the social and economic problems.

        Another major problem is a result of the poverty and the small number of jobs available. When (if) you are looking for a job, it is not a matter of having skills needed for a particular position so much as who you know in the company who can give you the job. And, once you have a job, say as a secretary in a Notary’s office, in order to assure that you will work a full day, you stretch out the work to make sure there is enough. I sat in such an office for over an hour watching a typist prepare a needed document, typing by a very slow “hunt-and-peck” method.

        When I understood that the average pay for secretaries and bank clerks and others of that level is just over $5 per day, I could see the reason for this. You can’t live on “part-time”. You can’t really live on “full-time”.

        This is so much a part of the present culture, that when I asked “What would happen if Martelly (the present, and very good, President of Haiti) were to give speeches about how increasing productivity would help increase prosperity by making foreign investment more appealing?”, I was told: “He would be shot!”

        I don’t have any solutions, but we (GracePeople, a program I work with which provides tuition and school supplies to about 50 children in Montrouis and Leogane) are working with the teachers of these school to develop teaching programs that go beyond rote learning and develop the ability to think creatively, in addition to know facts. The children we sponsor are getting good grades, and hopefully, as the teachers develop better skills, the quality of learning will improve even more.

        My three months in Haiti have been a major education for me, especially about Haiti’s problems, but, by extension, about the global education problem. Now I hope to have a bit of impact on the remedies. 

One Man's Experience

I haven't written for a while, partly because I have been busy and partly because I wasn't sure about writing about what I have been experiencing. I need to emphasize that the following are my experiences and my thoughts about them. As I mentioned earlier, our own cultural biases affect our perceptions of the outside world.


I have a motor-scooter that I use to get around Port au Prince. It's a great time-saver because I can weave around the tap-taps and SUVs that clog the city streets. I have a US motorcycle drivers license. I have registered the bike, gotten insurance and applied for a license plate. For unknown reasons, the actual plates aren't available now, so I carry around all the paper work under the seat. 
A few weeks ago, riding back from the Orphanage, I was signaled over by a group of policemen that were stopping a number of other cyclists. I pulled out the papers and tried to explain to a cop who seemed to understand English that I had all the paperwork but licenses were available yet. He said "They wouldn't let you drive without a license plate in your country!" I said "Actually, they do, if you have the paperwork with you." He would hear none of it. He took my papers and drivers license and handed them to another policeman who went into a building. The policeman then said "You'll have to leave the bike here."
Well I wasn't about to do that. So I stood by the bike and called my friend Jonathan. He asked to speak with the policeman, but the policeman waved me off. Jonathan said He would come to where I was.
I happen (grace??) to have a good friend, that I work with with GracePeople, who is also a policeman. I called him and he said "I'll be right over." In the meantime Jonathan arrived and called two of his friends who also were policewomen. They arrived first, spoke to the people inside, and after an hour or so, I got my papers back and my license. But the cop said "I'll stop you again if I get the chance." (I found an alternate route home.)
It turns out that this is a common practice. Groups of police set up arbitrary check-points. Supposedly, these are to make sure people have the proper papers. There is nothing illegal about driving without a plate if you have the application paper work. The real purpose, I am told, is to get pay-offs from the cyclists who are stopped. Another Haitian guy who was stopped, who spoke English well, told me this has happened to him several times and he has everything, including the plate, but the police find "something wrong" with the bike. And there is nothing you can do. 
There are at least 2 levels of Police. My friend, Bernard, and presumably the other two who came to help are well trained and don't take their power as license (pardon the pun) to extort money from people. But many policemen (all men that I see) seem not to have much of an idea of what they are supposed to do but rather waste time or use their time needlessly to stop cars and bikers - to look busy or to make some money on the side. Granted, they are very poorly paid. That is one of the major problems all over. But it is also part of the corruption we all have to deal with here.
Now another story. In order to track contributions and expenditures for "The Haiti Project" at Trinity+St.Peter's which funds the work with GracePeople here in Haiti, we were asked to set up a bank account to receive wire-transferred funds. We went to the bank and found that we needed a letter from the Ministry of Social Affairs which oversees (to a degree) the huge number of NGO's here.
So we went to the Ministries office, and found out that we needed official papers of our "founding", a complete record of our income and expenses since the beginning, and the names of the members. Fortunately the founder has kept copious and meticulous records (She is a marvel and a blessing). We presented all this. After some discussion, mostly, it seemed, about what the name "GracePeople" would be in French, we were told that the letter would be ready April 21st. (This was February 24th). 
I should mention here that when we arrived, the office consisted of a number of desks and computers and file cabinets and a TV that was showing a popular Haitian soap-opera.
Bernard (of previous mention) who came with us, in uniform, managed to get permission to see the Minister himself, after he removed his gun. Some minutes later, he returned and said the letter would be ready on Friday and that we should call before, to be sure. So Thursday we called and found that the Minisiter had left for the US on Wednesday and wouldn't be back for a week. We called back a week later on Thursday and found out that he had returned to Haiti but hadn't come in to work. The following weekend was major Karnival (which ran from Friday through Ash Wednesday) and hardly anyone came to work then. After that we were told that the letter was on his desk but he hadn't signed it yet. Finally, another week or so later we got the letter. 
Then we had to go and get the documents for the bank account notarized. On our way to the Notary, we stopped at a lawyer's office - she was a friend of GracePeople. I asked why we needed a lawyer and was told that that would speed up the process. So we all went to the notary's office. We walked up a very dark and steep set of stairs (after we squeezed passed one of those large transformers you see on power poles that was sitting in the hallway) and entered a cramped office where the notary was. Again, after long discussion (all in Kreyol, so I didn't get most of it) we were told that the paperwork would be ready in an hour or so. So we went and had lunch. When we came back, we looked at the paperwork, and there were several mistakes. So we waited in another room where the secretaries were while corrections were made. The two women didn't seem to know how to type. It took over an hour for them to make the corrections. I asked if this was normal. The reality, I was told, was that they stretch work out for as long as they can to make sure they work a full day. Again they don't make very much even then.
The following day, we went to the bank. After they looked at the documents including my passport, they asked "Where is his permit?" Apparently, to be a signer on the bank account I needed to have a resident permit. So we drove across town to the Immigration office. (Driving across town took more than an hour!) There, again because Bernard was in uniform, we were able to by-pass the long lines and crowds and went up to find out what was needed for the permit. Among other things, they required: A copy of my Birth Certificate, a Medical letter from my Physician, a letter from my Employer, my Passport, and a sample of my DNA (kidding about the last one). I was told that they ask for all these things so they can charge fees for each one. 
Hearing this, we decided that I would not be one of the signers. And the next day they went back to the Notary with amended papers with another member of GracePeople as the third signer. We still haven't gotten the bank account, so the check for $1650 that I brought with me in January is still not cashed. 
This is Haiti. Everything takes longer. It took 2 days of standing in line to get the papers for my cycle. I think partly this is due to poor training, and partly, it seems, due to the stretching out of work. I asked "What if the President of Haiti was to give a speech telling Haitians that Haiti could work a whole lot better if they were more efficient in the bureaucratic processes?" The answer "He would be shot!"
The adventure continues. 

Under the Cover of Darkness

"We move at 9." came the "order". Well, not an order, exactly. More an announcement. "AM?" I asked. "No, PM." "Pou ki sa?" [Why?]  This is how the Sunday afternoon began, as we started stuffing clothes into bags, especially the large duffle-bag I had bought for my move to Haiti. We were moving yet once again, and hopefully for the last time to a new apartment in Downtown Petionville. Apart from some security issues, the old apartment, though very beautiful, even palatial, was a good distance away from much of anything. The new apartment was within walking distance of most places in Petionville - and earshot distance from a club playing Haitian and Caribbean music from about 6pm until after midnight. I love it!

Apparently Haitians prefer to move at night because then other people can't see what they have. And they don't usually use a moving truck when they move from one place to another. Instead they hire a large (or barely large enough) Tap-Tap. A Tap-Tap is a converted pick-up truck with a metal roof on the back, usually painted in bright colors and with some plea to the Divine written in spray-paint style across the paintable surfaces. (you can see a smaller version of the tap-tap we used in the Article on Leogane).

Before the truck arrived, we had most of the clothes in bags, the kitchen items were piled in what ever large containers we could find, and everything else was in distressingly unorganized piles around the main room. I'm used to getting boxes and packing things in a somewhat orderly way, but that wasn't going to happen here.

Fortunately, in addition to the driver and someone he brought, about 6 of our friends showed up and started loading things into the Tap-Tap. All the time, as I brought containers of things down to the truck, I was wondering how the living room furniture (second-hand [at least] over stuffed chairs and a simple coffee table) was going to fit. But slowly it was all stuffed into the back of the Tap-Tap. (The description of crowding in a Tap-Tap is "How many people can you fit in a Tap-Tap? Just one more.")

But then there were the Queen-size mattress sets. Where would they fit? Tied to the roof with the last of the furniture pieces tied on top of that.

And did I mention the goat?

One of my housemates is a Voodou priest and has been keeping a goat in the back for some ceremony he is planning in the future. So, the goat was the last "thing" loaded into the back before they drove off. I followed on my new motor-scooter with a friend riding behind me holding two ceramic vases about 2 feet high each. As we gently worked our way down the "dry riverbed" that was the road down to Rue Meyotte that took us to Petionville, I noticed a book bag that had fallen off the truck. So I stopped to pick it up and place it between my feet on the scooter. I was amazed that that was all that fell of on out journey.

Picture (because it was too dark to photograph) a large pick-up, top heavy with mattresses and a chair working its way along roads with over-hanging branches and an occasional banner stretched across the road. There were several guys either on top with the mattresses or hanging on the back. It was a sight! And maybe another reason why we did this at night. 

And all this for $50. Granted, we had a lot of volunteer help, and the driver and his assistant drank almost a whole bottle of rum as we loaded. He first saw the bottle, and filled a glass, then later asked for more, finally I just handed over the bottle. 

We were in by about 11pm. In, but not sorted out. That took the major part of the next day. 

Even though the apartment isn't as nice as the prior one, I am happier. It is a pretty new house with a good wall and sliding door protecting the front, and running water. And the neighborhood is more what I had hoped for. Several other houses fairly close so there is developing a bit of a sense of community and connectedness. (You can read more in the previous post.) And there is the music, which I am hearing through the window as I type this. And I can climb the metal stairs to the roof and sit under the stars and hear the neighbors, the music, several church choirs singing from different directions, and the street sounds. But, during the day, machann (Merchants) singing out their chant about what ever they are selling. 

And up the street is "Vivian's" - a kind of hole-in-the-wall shop that spills out onto the street corner. Vivian and her daughters make great Creole Chicken or beef, the fried plantain and sometimes spaghetti (!). This is done over charcoal fires that glow deep red in the night. We sit on the side street, under the branches of a large tree as the moon seems caught in the etching of branches. She doesn't sell Prestige, my favorite (and only) Haitian beer. So one of her daughters takes some money and runs up the street and finds a store still open at almost midnight to buy some.

So the night ends with a delicious typical Haitian meal, on plastic chairs on the street, watching Vivian cook and sing and smile. She has the appearance of a great wise woman whom you could tell your story to and from whom you would receive wise counsel from some deep spiritual well. Jonathan leaned over to me and said "THIS is Haiti!"

Apartment Adventure

Finding an apartment in Haiti, specifically Petionville is a bit of an adventure in that there is a fair amount of competition for the "nice" apartments because of all the NGO people here who have the money to pay. There is also a concern about security and location (as it relates to security). The apartment I was staying in with friends on previous visits was in Nerette, a section of Petionville that was across the street from a tent city and not the safest area, although I felt quite safe walking home from downtown P-ville. 

The problem there was that we had a number of visitors, friends of friends of friends. This seems to be a cultural fact - people just drop in - but it means that people I don't know show up and I couldn't tell whether they were trustworthy or not, to say nothing of them drinking "my" Presitge (the great Haitian beer). The result of this "over-exposure" to where I lived by the community, resulted in 2 burglaries. The problem was, people would see digital cameras and laptops and a "blan", therefore this was a great location to steal from if you needed money to survive. 

The kitchen from the living room

So my friends found us a "safe" apartment. About 4 miles east of downtown P-ville and rather close to the President's house. It was almost palatial with large rooms and floor to ceiling sliding glass doors and a small terrace looking out over hills and the valley that is Port au Prince. We had almost constant electricity and the landlord was working (so he claimed) on getting the running water to work. We were safe, I thought, but also remote, I couldn't walk anywhere of importance. Although it was quite lovely, it seemed to violate my original intent about living like an "average Haitian" (even though that wasn't really possible because I earned more in a month then most Haitians see in a year.

Well, "God" heard my prayer. The same situation in the previous apartment (unknown - to me - visitors showing up and, apparently "cased the joint") resulting in another break-in. Not much was taken but the Landlord said "This doesn't happen here. This is a safe neighborhood." and gave us until Feb 28th to move.

We looked at several places. The first one was safe - a police check-point just down the rode - in an area near the Caribe Hotel (A favorite of visiting NGO big-wigs like foreign embassy personnel). It was nice but the windows were high so that if you were sitting on the spacious veranda all you could see was wall and the sky, The rooms were small and dark, but there were 3 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms with shower and a 3rd toilet. But before we could reach the landlord to make our desires known, the apartment was rented to someone else who offered more money. We had been told the rent was $900 a month. Apparently someone else offered to pay more to get the place. 

The next day we visited the 2nd apartment. This one was an area not too far from Nerette but just off one of the main roads (Rue Delma) and within walking distance to the marchand (street merchants) and stores and "night-life".

Looking out the entrance toward the church

From the outside the house looked new. Freshly painted (brick red and white) stucco (cinder block) walls and white wrought-iron doors and window guards. The inside was simple with tile floors, 2 bedrooms and bathrooms, a small kitchen and small terrace. Nothing worth photographing. But it was the neighborhood that spoke to me. The house was down a dirt road with a church across the street. Next door on one side was a wholesale soda distributor with stacks of cases of empty bottles. The other side was a work in progress. Piles of cinder blocks and orderly piles of large stones used for construction. 

There was a school where I could see and hear identically uniformed children reciting answers to questions, and there were several other homes that faced the open space shown here. This created a little community. Because there is often no electricity during the day and it is hot, people tend to gather outside. There is a friendliness. They wave or smile at me. The children are more curious. I feel a part of the community.

Port au Prince in the middle of the picture.

The best part, for me, was this sense of community and the fact that the roof of the house was flat and accessible. There is a good breeze up there, and I am imagining evenings up there sitting under the stars, hearing the music and voices of the neighborhood and drinking Prestige or maybe a Rum drink I am working on (with ginger syrup and the juice of a "Citwon", an intense kind of lime). The views from up there include Port au Prince to the north and, to the south, the hills covered with cinder- block, chockablock houses in multiple colors. 

Petionville's Painted Ladies

This feels like the real Haiti I have been seeking. Here I am in the midst of it. I can walk out and touch it. I can hear the sounds of the street. (I fear, a little, Pentecostal preaching from the church across the way, although I am assured "It is not that kind of church.") 

The other big change is that I bought a motor scooter today. It is more comfortable and safe for me (at my advancing age) than a motorcycle. Now I can get around on my own, with out waiting (and waiting and ...) for my driver to come. 

I finally feel at home in the way I wanted to here. And I feel safe. Not only have my housemates agreed to limit visitors to people we know well, but, as you may have noticed, I have not shown any pictures of the actual house. Being white (Blan) comes with certain privileges and certain expectations. Today, for example, we stopped at a little market and bought sodas. But the person at the counter put mine in a paper bag. I asked my friend Jonathan why? "Because you are white." and a few days ago we stopped to buy some Citwon from a marchand on the street. The price was very high - Why? because she saw me first. The problem is that if an apartment is known to be occupied by a "blan", it is more likely expected to be "filled" with all sorts of "rich things". I think many of our "visitors" came to check the place out. We will limit that and also be more careful about locks. The apartment is completely sealed with wrought-iron gates and window guards. And when I walk on the streets, I walk like a "New Yawker" - fast and purpose full (even as if I know where I am and where I am going) and I feel quite safe. 20 years in Manhattan and 3 years in the Tenderloin have served me well.

The end of the day today was "crowned" with sucking the flesh out of a wonderfully ripe mango. You bite a whole in one end of the skin then squeeze it to soften the fruit and push it out the end. It is delicious. Haiti has some of the best Mangoes, Pineapples and Papaya. and they are very cheap on the street. (especially if you have your Haitian friend purchase it for you.

Trip to Leogane

          The trip to Leogane began Sunday morning with the car being late. We were supposed to meet at 9am at Epi D’or, a bakery on Rue Delma, about half-way up the hill from downtown Port au Prince toward Petionville. We usually meet there because it is a convenient place between where I live and where the other people were coming from, and Epi D’or makes great sandwiches which we buy to eat on whatever journey we have planned.

As we walked out to get into the car, Myrtha said “It isn’t Bernardo’s car. That has a problem.” So, what we had instead was a rented “Tap-Tap” the usual form of transportation for most Haitians. It is a converted pick-up with wooden benches and a metal roof in the back. You “tap” the roof when you want to get off.

          Normally, these are very crowded and can be hot and uncomfortable. But today, there were just three of us in the back and some large buckets of rice and beans, an ice chest, cases of soda and small bags of “DLO” – water. It turned out to be a wonderful way for me to travel. There was a constant breeze (although it usually carried exhaust fumes from diesel trucks and cars badly in need of maintenance, and road dust.) and there was a great view out the back of everything we passed by.

          At first, as we descended to the coast road, we came through crowded streets with Marchands, motocycles weaving in and out, large water trucks blocking the way, and tap-taps like our own (we’d have to wave off people who wanted to board our truck), and we passed shops of every sort. One shop had a sign that read “Swimming Pools –Exterminator” which left me wondering.

          The main road used to be filled with tents that got set up right after the quake. The 6 foot wide strip down the middle of the street had been “home” to thousands. But now it was clean and there were even some flowering shrubbery. The route got closer to the bay and I could see the blue water of Port au Prince harbor and occasional hotels with “plag” meaning beaches.

          Occasionally there would be a speed bump, for reasons I couldn’t discover, which made us slow down and which made us targets for people selling food and sodas to the somewhat captive audience. I began to wonder whether the speed bumps were there to force people to be available for the sellers. And sometimes there were police checks – again I never figured out why. There is a sense that it is police, with not much else to do, exercising authority.

          As we worked (and “worked” is the operative word) our way past the oil storage tanks and into the suburbs of Carrefour and beyond, the sights became more rural. Ram-shackled homes, vying for space with tiny shops – “JESUS MERCY COUFITEUR”, – and large churches like “EBEN-EZER TEMPLE”, from which singing and loud shouts of “ALLELUIA” could be heard. There were fields of sugar cane, some barren fields with a few tethered cows and goats, and coconut and banana palms.

          We turned off the main road onto a bumpy side road along a deep ditch with wooden bridges (two tree trunks with smaller branches nailed to them), and, on the other side, small houses, maybe 10 feet by 20 feet, made of cinderblock with corrugated steel roofs, sheltered beneath numerous trees. Some of these were the homes of the children we were visiting at the School in Leogane.

          GracePeople is a program developed to help children in Leogane and Montrouis. Leogane is south and west of Port au Prince and, though it was the epicenter of the 2012 earthquake, has received little of the attention and aid since. We provide yearly tuition for 22 children in Leogane (about 40 more in Montrouis), and bring food, school supplies, and clothing.

          After we arrived and unpacked, the children assembled and sang a song to welcome us. They had also drawn pictures of flowers and boats for me, even though I am just a part of the team. They are very happy to be in school AND they are getting very good grades. Today we had brought rice and beans, chicken, tomatoes and lettuce and soda and water. Even though there are only 22 children in our programs, other children from the school were there so we fed about 45.

          The school consists of 6-8 20X30 foot cinderblock rooms with small windows and a corrugated roof. There is no electricity, although I noticed two solar panels near the entrance and several young men using laptops. I brought a solar powered speaker system and my Kindle. I planned to play some varieties of music, including “Peter and the Wolf” in French. But my trial run at the orphanage the day before nixed “Pierre e La Lou”. Even the music I did put together left them more or less un-impressed. My friend Jonathan reported later that he heard them say in Kreyol; “Where did he get this Granmoun music” Fortunately he had some Konpas, Rah Rah, and other pop music which pleased them – Ah the generation gap!

        For amusement, the boys kick around a soccer ball (called football there)

with some great skill. Myrtha and I are looking to set up a real football field with goals and also get a volleyball net that could be used in the same space for the girls. And we want to use another area for a small but functional basket-ball court

          We began our departure, but before we pulled away, about 10 boys and girls climbed into our TapTap to get a ride to their various homes. And then the director loaded his bicycle in and climbed in himself. Oh well, the motto is: How many people can you fit in a TapTap? – Just one more.

 When we stopped at one girls home we noticed her brother climbing a coconut palm to retrieve some of the coconuts, which the family proceeded to hack with a machete to provide coconut juice for us. So we drank that and ate the coconut “meat”. Eventually we worked our way back into the city and up to Petionville and home. After a brief rest  and a shower to remove the dust, it was time to get dressed for the first night of Carnival. More about that another time. Carnival is another adventure entirely.

The Mis-perceptions of an Outsider

    Although everything I say here should be read as my opinion or observation, I need to own that I, like too many visitors to Haiti, make assumptions that ought to be corrected by deeper exploration. In my previous blog I talked about the garbage situation in Haiti and made some interpretations that turn out to be wrong. 

      First, I was over-generalizing, looking at several specific areas and assuming the rest of Haiti followed along. The truth is, much of Port-au-Prince is swept and quite tidy most of the time. Today, after my visit to the orphanage to check on the school (There was no electricity so not much to be done), my motorcycle driver took a very different route home, and I saw neighborhoods I'd never seen before. Many were very neat. I even saw women and some men along the streets sweeping. And it should be added that the major effort of removing the rubble from the 2010 Earthquake (The anniversary is this Sunday) has been pretty much completed. 

      Having said that, a further explanation of what I saw before that prompted my previous comments is needed. The fact is that the part of the Ministry of Transportation and Planning that deals with "trash" hasn't given out trash bins anywhere I can see. So the real problem is there is no place to put trash. What I experienced on the bridge (Throwing bags of trash  over the bridge to a dry river bed) is one of the few options open to people. And further, even if homes were given receptacles like we have in San Francisco, many streets and alleys where houses are, are too narrow for trucks to pick them up. The burning of the trash which I have seen is, perhaps, the best way to process the trash. Last night I saw a dump-truck and a bulldozer picking up what looked like charcoal. It was, in fact, the remainder of a garbage fire which could now be processed more efficiently.

     From the outside, it is easy to see something and apply the gestalt from your own experience for interpretation. Haiti has been a major victim of that. From the early French slave-owners to modern times (like me, several days ago) people see Haitians and interpret what they see by their own inner sense - which usually comes from a very different set of experiences. 

      Many of you have heard stories about students who end up fulfilling what the teacher expects of them. If the teacher feels "These children aren't going to be able to accomplish much." then, in fact, the children won't accomplish much. We have also seen the exact opposite happen when a teacher expects great accomplishments from her/his students.

      A wonderfully written and highly informative book: "Haiti: The Aftershocks of History" by Laurent Dubois, records, among much more, many examples of this biased interpreting of Haitian people and culture. This is perhaps the best place to start if you want to understand Haiti now. It is where I started, but I fell into the trap of believing my perceptions rather than challenging them by looking deeper.

     One of the many exciting things for me about retiring here is that I can keep challenging my assumptions. Already, Haiti has taught me a lot about world economics and political striving. I see Haiti as a kind of microcosm of poverty and the dis-empowerment of people throughout the world. But Haiti is also challenging my own inner microcosm from which I interpret the world outside. Most situations are more complicated than they seem. There are no simple answers, but there are answers. Much of the work to find those answers is inward, then moving outward. 

      The adventure continues.

      

First Impressions

       Saturday, was the first day I really got out into Haitian day-to-day life. New Years Eve was partying and the 2 days following were much the same. Many stores were closed, and when my friends and I went out to eat, there was loud rhythmic music everywhere. It was as if people wanted to stretch the celebration out as long as they could. Actually, my experience of Haitians, especially the young (which seems to be most of them) is that any excuse for a party is the antidote to the reality of poverty and joblessness. 
      So, we went out to a barbershop to explore one idea for a business. For me it was a fascinating experience of inner-city life here. We drove to a large empty space, a parking lot, I suppose, but it appeared more like a dry river bank that was flat enough to drive your car on. We walked along the riverbed itself – there was a small stream – which was littered, literally, with refuse of every sort. Lots of plastic bags, empty or full, everywhere.

     Let me digress about an observation about this. Although most all the rubble has been removed, I am impressed by how dirty the streets are. I do see people sweeping in front of their shops, but most people don’t have shops. The Marchan (Merchants) who sell on the street just leave there trash where they created it. Sometimes this gets moved a bit into a large pile, and sometimes it is set on fire. I also see garbage trucks, occasionally at night, trying to pick up some of the refuse. But there doesn’t seem to be any major effort like “Recology – Sunset Savenger. More on that another time.

So we wove our way through narrow passageways that reminded me of medieval places I have seen in Barcelona and Cologne. Here in Haiti, houses are built wherever they can be built, so sometimes there is a very narrow passage to get through. Once I had to turn sideways to fit between two buildings. Along the wider spaces were Marchan selling vegetables (I bought some heads of garlic) and OTC medicines and candy and bread. This is the source of livelihood for so many people. (I am not sure how much of a livelihood it really is.)

We found the barbershop my friends were headed for. It was a small cinderblock room about 6 X 8 feet. The cinderblocks had been painted “Graffiti Style” in bright colors and free-hand spray-paint letters. We set up a table in the alley and got some plastic lawn chairs. At our back were some crumbled walls of a building spilling out onto the passage way. And, again, the area was strewn with plastic bags, empty soda and beer bottles. But the sky was blue and there was a make-shift awning flapping in the breeze, so it was all good. Music blared from the entrance to the shop, some Creole Compas and some Lady Gaga or Miley Cyrus – pretty much foreign to my classical background but infectiously uplifting.

Other people began to gather. And our party began. Someone came by with a bottle of Creole Cream which is rhum-based with coconut milk and sweetened condensed milk and almond and other flavors. It was quite good. But as I drank it, I also was breathing, so there was a really earthy blend of this delicious drink and the smells of the trash and urine and fried meat and plantain. It was not unpleasant, altogether. And it seemed very real. Nothing artificial here!

People were going by – this was a main passage, it seemed. A group of very well dressed men carrying drums and other instruments, on their way to a Pentecostal meeting, women and men carrying, on their heads, merchandise to sell or things they need to get from A to B, like one man had a television balanced on his head, children going home from school or children just going somewhere, maybe with buckets or gallon bottles of water. I smiled at some of the children, which I like to do, but then I noticed one particular boy who stood a ways off, after our smiles connected, and I could tell he was hoping for more.

Young children especially ask for money. I have heard of places where children are sent out to solicit money for their “owners”. I don’t know whether that was going on here. But I have learned not to respond, because once you start other children see it and come expecting their share. But most times I just get a pleasant, perhaps, from the girls, shy smile, mixed with curiosity. “What is this old white man doing here?”

I looked around at the small gathering that had formed, mostly young men and some young women who seemed to be flirting with one guy after another, and I started thinking that most of these people have no jobs or something very minimal, and yet there was great joy and laughter. How was I going to connect with them to make some kind of difference.

I will focus on the young because they hold the hope for Haiti. They have the energy, and I hope they have will to pursue a different strategy then living day to day. There doesn’t seem to be a sense of thinking of consequences. The trash issue is one symptom. There doesn’t seem to be a sense of future. They take garbage from their homes and just throw it from a bridge into a riverbank (I was in the car when we stopped on a bridge and when I asked why, I saw one of the guys take bags out of the trunk and toss them). It is like there is no thought for what the result is. Taking it deeper, perhaps the thinking is, “Why bother. This is what it is like. Nothing will change”.

One sign of hope. As I was sitting there with this gathering party, I looked in one direction and saw the narrow alley of rough cinderblock walls, several Marchans stalls, a dirty stream where people kept dumping their pails of dirty water, and people going here and there.




Then, turning in the opposite direction, I saw a very new house, with nicely painted walls stuck right in the middle of all this that I have described.



Haiti is full of contradictions, or perhaps, better said, in Haiti hope keeps emerging, but has major work to flourish, let alone survive. For example, the day after we visited this barbershop, we got word that it had been broken into and robbed of virtually anything of value.