Giving a chair to the enemy

There are some things in life that are constant.  No matter how many changes their life goes through, such as moving to a different country, certain things will remain the same.  For me one of those things is an over healthy love of American football.  NFL or college, if it is on very little else matters.  I think one of the hardest things about moving to Haiti when I did is that I left just in time to miss the new NFL and college season.  I cannot even express how I feel knowing the first regular season games for both started this weekend I have been unable to watch a second of them. Anyway, trying to keep my bitterness to minimum, I was proud of myself for giving my seat up at church for a father and his son with a certain shirt on that rubbed me the wrong way...

Ugh, can you believe it that the freaking Michigan Wolverines followed me to Haiti?  It is worse enough they exist in the US, but to have to think about the traitor Rich Rodriguez in Haiti is absolutely ridiculous.  However, I do believe I rose above it all by standing during Mass while this man and his son were able to share my chair quite comfortably.  I did chuckle at the rise of competitive emotions I felt towards this man, who I am 99% sure has no idea what his shirt actually means or stands for.  To make matters worse, when I got home this afternoon and was still thinking about the t-shirt I found out that Michigan upset Notre Dame 38-34.  Not that I care two goudes about Notre Dame, but to be faced with the reality that Rodriguez might make a coaching comeback after a piss poor showing last season made me nausea.  OMG, are you ready for some football?  I certainly am!

Emotional State: exhausted from blogging, I hope you all appreciate this.

Goal: to find a sports bar in PAP that carries NFL or college games.

Something I have learned...

The main reason I moved to Haiti was because I got a job here, but a secondary reason was to have an adventure where I would undoubtedly learn a lot about myself.  One thing that has come up while I have been in Haiti, which is not necessarily something I would define as significant on the road to self discovery, is my complete obsession with baby animals.  I love them.  I cannot get enough of them and if there is a chance they might be homeless I always suggest will bring them back to the Mission house.

First example, on the way to Mother Theresa's Children's Hospital Enock and I were stuck in traffic and when I looked out my passenger side window I noticed the smallest baby goats I have ever seen grazing in a garbage heap.  They were so cute, sorry this was before my camera was up and running, and I naturally concluded since they were eating garbage that they must be abandon.  When I mentioned this to Enock, he laughed saying, "of course they had a home and that the mission house did not have enough land to raise goats." Strike one.

About 10 days later, Frank came to visit and we got the chance to go with my friend Mari Ange to her home in a ravine slum close to where I live (WARNING: if you also read my husband's blog than this story is a repeat as he got around to writing about it first). On the way back, we stumbled upon a teeny, tiny white kitten that just had two dots of caramel coloring on it's face.  It was so precious.  We have been talking about getting a cat at the mission house in order to solve our rodent problem, so what did I do?  I picked it up and called Elizabeth to ask if I could bring it home.  What ended up happening when Elizabeth got on the phone with Mari Ange it was discovered that the kitten did indeed have a home and once again everyone had a big laugh at my hasty assumption.  Unfortunately, I did not have my camera with me, so I am unable to post of picture of the kitten.

Over the weekend, I was surrounded by baby animals: goats, chickens, turkeys, and puppies. I discussed with Elizabeth, who really wants to start a small farm at the mission house, about bringing any or all of them home.  I was not serious about most of them, but with the recent passing of Sheba, one of our dogs, getting a new companion for Tamar, our remaining dog, has been discussed.  Thus I petted and cooed over all the puppies of varying size for the last 24 plus hours. 

I wanted a female one since we already have a female dog and are not interested in breeding.  After some discussion on whether this was even allowed, since Emily my boss is not a big dog fan, Elizabeth asked Pere Trissant if we could take on of the smaller puppies.  He said they were two small, but that I could pick any from the older litter.  Unfortunately, the ones left were all males, so my plan to bring another baby animal back to the Mission House was foiled once again. 

Emotional state:  missing the puppies, but looking forward to the kittens were are suppose to get on Tuesday from a friend.

Goal: to still get a friend for Tamar.

Why are Haitians so serious?

As an American I grew up in a society that taught children at a very young age to say "cheese" when someone was taking their picture.  I also think Americans love children who are 'hams' in front of any kind of camera, so one might think it is only natural to assume that children all over the world are taught the same thing.  In the word of the friend Vince, "FALSE."  A Haitian of any age might be rolling on the ground weeping from laughing so hard but as soon as you pull a camera out they appear to be having the worse day ever.  I have no idea why this is, except I am told that culturally Haitians believe serious photos are my attractive. Take the below photos as just a few examples of this I have gathered since my arrival.

Emotional State:  since I am doing several posts in one sitting, I would say still refreshed

Goal: to make more Haitians want to smile

My First Trip to the Haitian Countryside

This past Saturday I left the noisy, overcrowded, smog filled streets of Port-au-Prince for the mountain side community of Grand Boulage, which the newest twin parish Haitian Ministries has added to their list.  I was definitely not sure if I wanted to go, because after a long week a 3 hour drive to the country did not sound all that appealing.  However, I convinced myself to go since it is technically part of my job.  

Elizabeth and I arrived at Grand Boulage around 3 in the afternoon and were greeted by an excited Pere Trissant and a welcome cooler climate.  I was amazed by my surroundings and I relished in the fresh air and tranquil setting.  I never knew Haiti could look like this.

I was thrilled to see something different than just the poverty of PAP.  I am sure in a lot of ways people within the community of Grand Boulage are poorer than those in PAP, but the

mentality of the people in the country and the surroundings give the poverty there a different feel.  I am sure my view may be slightly skewed as I spent most of the weekend at church, which seems to be a place Haitians go to release their suffering and rejoice in the blessings they do have.  It is these emotions along with the tangible, unwavering faith most Haitians seem to possess makes the 4 hour long mass worth while. It is definitely something everyone should witness at least once.  This past weekend certainly painted my own lack of faith in a new light.

Emotional State:  refreshed

Goal: to get a country house in Haiti

 

I will talk to you, riaghta?

Ok so most kids inevitable succumb to the desire to have money and get a summer job. Personally, my summer jobs have ranged from full time nanny, to helping my mom around the house, to working at a bookstore, to a receptionist at my mother-in-law's massage business.  Some of them I have loved and some of them not so much, but I can remember how thrilling it felt to be a little financial independent from my parents.

In Haiti having a job is more about being able to survive than it is about having some extra

cash in your pocket for the movies.  The mindset is completely different.  This summer the Mission House had three teenagers, Giles, Jerry, and Hegeur, come to help us out, like a summer job.  They would clean, cook, organize, make phone calls, run errands, etc. Were they the hardest workers?  No, but were you at 17? Not to mention they were getting only $30US every two weeks. I think for the amount they were getting paid and for what they were doing, no American teenager would have every signed up for that job.  I would also not be surprised if they shared their small wage with the rest of their family.  It just shows me again and again how little Americans know about sharing and sacrificing for another.

With the comparison to my past summer jobs aside, these three teenagers were such a joy to have around.  

They were helpful and patient with my kreyol and always wanted to talk about the differences between Haiti and the US.  They even had different english phrases the knew that they loved to say.  One of them was "I will talk to you, riaghta" and they would also put this ridiculous emphasis on right.  I do not know why, but every time they would say it all three would laugh so hard. I do think a fascination wi

th the US is a natural thing in Haiti, but for Giles, Jerry, and Heguer it has bigger significance.  Over ten years ago, a couple from the US names Steve and Katharine Smith adopted their youngest brother Joey.  Steve Smith happens to be on the board at Haitian Ministries and has made a commitment to help Joey's biological family in any way he can. The Smith's last summer even brought Joey back to Haiti for the first time to meet his biological family.  I believe the visit was a very positive experience for everyone as whenever Giles, Jerry, or Hegeur mention Joey, they seem to have a sense of pride relating to his new life in the US.

The youth of Haiti inspires me as they are able to maintain their childish innocence and enthusiasm for life against the hardship of poverty.  And instead of being resentful of the life their brother Joey has, they are proud of him and speak highly of the Smiths.  I have learned a lot from them and hope that even with school starting on Monday that they will still find time to visit.

Emotional State: happy

Goal: to be more grateful for the things and people in my life.

A Night at the Oloffson

After a day of distributing over 2,500 school books to our scholarship students and having to put one of the Mission House's dogs down, a night out was in order.  What do 3 Americans and one Dominican do on a Saturday night in Port-au-Prince?  We become a cliche by going to the Hotel Oloffson, probably the biggest ex-pat hang out in PAP to hear Sweet Mickey, a konpa band, play.  Now a ticket to show program as they call concerts here was 500 goudes or $12 US, which is comparable to a show at the Black Cat in DC, so to save some money we smuggled in street food for dinner (rice, bbq chicken, plantains, and spicy coleslaw or what Haitians call pik lees) and two flasks of Haitian rum.  I felt a little bit like an eight grader trying to sneak into an R rated movie, but I justify it by saying we were supporting the local street vendors instead of the international institution that is the Hotel Oloffson. 

The show was suppose to start at 11, but the opening band did not even come on until midnight.  After an hour of Ram, the Oloffson house band, Sweet Mickey finally made an appearance at 1:00 am only to play one song and then have to stop as one of their amps started smoking.  While the night did not go as planned, it was certainly fun and the Hotel Oloffson all

 lit up at night and packed with people is definitely an experience.  I know the photo above is a little blurry, but at least it gives you an idea of what it was like.  

Even if the night was long and the band we paid to see malfunctioned it was still a memorable evening as Frank and I celebrated the dawning of our one year wedding anniversary and I got to finally dance to konpa music with the man I love.  We definitely were not the only blancs in attendance, but we might have been the most rhythmically challenged couple there.  Oh, well it was fun!

Emotional state:  content

Goal: to learn how to konpa correctly

Comfort Food

Yesterday was my one year wedding anniversary, which I think classifies as a big milestone. As an anniversary gift to each other, Frank, my husband, flew down from Washington, DC to spend the weekend with me. He got in on Friday, September 4th and left this afternoon. The four days he was here were absolute bliss. We went to an ex-pat and bourgeois hot spot for a program (aka concert), visited a friend at her house in a slum near where I live, enjoyed the local soccer final (they call it a tikan in Haiti), and visited Mother Theresa's Children's Hospital. The intention was to show him the ups and downs of Haiti, their brightly colored culture mixed with the harsh reality of their poverty. I think he enjoyed every minute and truly believes we could make a life here, which is a good thing since I already moved here.

While the visit was an amazing gift it was by no means long enough and today when I dropped him off at the airport, I truly felt my heart break just a little bit। He is absolutely the main source of my happiness, which I already knew, but something that surprised me is the boost in confidence I get when he is around and the pronounced appearance of my adventurous side. Both things, I believe are quite essential when living and working in Haiti. The conclusion is that I married my wonderful husband for a reason and being in different countries is not it.

Naturally as a women in the 21st century what did I do to ease my pain, I ate। I consumed all food that made me feel like home or made me think of positive things। What this took shape as was a buffet of all things I love to eat. I started with a little bit of...


Who does not love guacamole? And then it took the form of an American classic:
I ate the whole box by myself and do I feel better? OF COURSE! P।S. Am I glad that processed cheesy pasta is popular in Haiti or what?

To end my binge on a sweet note my comfort food took on a green color

Now I certainly feel better, but will have to go to the gym for the rest of the week for make up for it all। The morale of the story is I love my husband and it is not healthy for me to be without him.

Emotional State: I am a mess in many ways

Goal: To get Frank down to Haiti as soon as possible.

Who forced you to be out in the sun so long?

On Saturday morning, I thought with Frank coming to visit on Friday wouldn't it be nice I was super nice and tan.  I have definitely gotten some color while being down here, but those who know me will know how much effort it takes for me to get tan.  So after breakfast, I took the article Djaloki, a friend I met down here, gave me about Vodou, which is only 7 pages long, to the roof top to read.  Now, because the article is so short and it was only 10 am I did not put on any sunscreen, huge mistake.  Approximately, 30 minutes later I knew I was in trouble.  My thighs, arms, and chest were burning and my eyes were watering.  I looked myself over and crossed my fingers that it would not get too bad.

About an hour later I was almost purple is some spots.  Oh, and it was painful.  Luckily no blistering, but it was bad.  After several treatments with creme and aloe and tea bag (its suppose to help the swelling) I was feeling much better, but I looked closer to an over cooked lobster. 

After showing Elizabeth and watching her face cringe I knew how stupid I had been.  As I walked to the living room to get some water Enock, one of the staff, asked if I had been running.  At first I was confused and then he pointed at my red arms, he thought I was flush from exercising.  I said no mwen espere, mais pas vre, solel ap boule mew.  Meaning I wish, but it is not true, I got sun burned.  Clearly confused by this comment he grabbed my wrist and brought me into the kitchen where Elizabeth and Carlito were.  He kisa (meaning what) and pointed to my skin.  Elizabeth explained to both him and Carlito for awhile. At the end, they still looked confused, but they mainly wanted to know who or what forced me to stay out in the sun for so long? 

Clearly, the idea of tanning is lost on a group of people that so highly value lighter skin tones. Oh well they definitely got a good laugh at this blanc for that.

Emotional state: incredibly pissed that I let myself get so, so burned

Goal:  to practice logical protective measures against the sun from now on.

How much money would you be willing to die for?

I know a post is long overdue and I apologize for that and for those who have already heard this story as I am trying to get myself caught up. 

On Saturday morning around 8:30  Mari, aka Blan because he has very light skin, was sitting in the front yard talking to Milo, our security guard, and I went over to chat with them and share some food Elizabeth had brought back with her from the North.  Jean Mari, who is probably my favorite character in the house, started talking really fast and make huge expressive hand gestures.  After he told the story twice all I could get from it was that he went to the bank and something happened and someone almost died or did in fact die.  Once he realized I was not understanding he grabbed my wrist and dragged me back into the mission house where he yelled for Elizabeth to help him translate.  

What he was really saying was that Friday was payday, so he went to the bank right after work, they got off between 3 or 4 because most of them start work at 7 am, to cash his check.  After getting his money he exited the bank and happened to walk out right after this guy, who apparently had a lot of money, as two robbers immediately came up to him and pulled a gun, demanding he hand over his money.  The guy who had the money pulled out his own gun and shot both the robbers point blank.  All this happened while Jean Mari was just standing there.  

Jean Mari is naturally a very good natured person and laughed it off by saying that at least he did not die, but how sad it would have been if he did because he gets paid so little and who wants to die for such a little amount of money.  

For me there is one clear moral to this story: we should definitely pay our employees better.  With that said I wonder if Jean Mari was not willing to die for two weeks pay, what amount of money would he be willing to die for?  I did not ask him that question, but I should have.

Emotional Status: excited about feeling more and more comfortable in my new home, but I know that I will never feel truly at home until Frank is here permanently.  Why does that have to be so far away?

Goal:  SPEAK MORE KREYOL