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.