Monday, October 18, 2010
TTFN
Feel like I need to officially say Ta Ta for Now to this blog and any readers who might be hanging on and continuing to check in from time to time. I've got 6 months to finish this Phd thing... and well, every minute counts...
Sunday, August 22, 2010
inverse insomnia
I woke up at 6:30am this morning - more than an hour before my scheduled alarm. 6:30 am isn't too bad considering that over the last two weeks I've managed to open my eyes at 3:30 am, 4:20am and most days 5ish. Not quite sure what to make of this inverse insomnia. I've had plenty of periods in life when I toss and turn until 2am - but this consistent too early rising? This is something new.Two weeks ago today I left for my 3rd post-quake trip to Port-au-Prince. I spent a good part of this summer trying to put this particular visit off. My last visit to Haiti was marked by some conflict/confusion that I wasn't sure had been resolved. Thankfully I arrived at the clinic to discover that overall, expectations and relationships were back to the way I knew them pre-January 12th. It's not possible to say that life in PAP is good/right/resolved (of course that wasn't exactly possible pre-quake either) but I got a sense at the clinic of a "new normal" in which people are making a way - with characteristic strength, dignity and maybe even hope. That said, I was not able to escape the feeling of fear/dread each time I had to ask someone I had not seen since January "how is your family?" - for every two smiles and graziadieus there was at least one quivering lip and tear-swelled eyes.
This time, the bad news actually came from lot bo dlo , the other side of the water, as the United States is often referred to in Haitain Creole. On evening 4 of 6, I received news through a cousin in Chicago that our uncle Steve, my dad's youngest brother, had died suddenly of a heart attack earlier that morning. Just a week before, Steve had celebrated his 48th birthday over dinner with my aunt and 10-year-old cousin. His death came as a total shock. Thankfully, I was able to easily adjust my existing travel plans to join my family in Chicago for the wake and funeral.
Bittersweet and intense are probably the best words to describe the 72 hours after I landed at JFK last Sunday evening. I honestly can't think of another time in which every single interaction I had somehow felt strangely significant - not even in those early post quake days in January. The bitter surfaced minutes after I arrived when the US Customs agent began to ask some questions about my reasons for being in Haiti. He awkwardly transitioned to his own earthquake story - how he had shared small talk with a transiting senior UN official on route to Haiti on January 11th only to discover 48 hours later that this man was among the dead at the collapsed UN headquarters. The sweet came shortly after as I left JFK in a taxi with four of my favorite people (2 big, 2 little) from the S family - their flight back from family vacation in Minnesota landed at JFK just minutes after mine came in from PAP.
And so the bittersweet hours unfolded. I landed early Monday morning in Chicago and listened to my parents share sad details of my uncle's death as we drove back into the city. From there we went on to enjoy a picture-perfect Chicago summer morning at an outdoor cafe where I met my lovely 3rd cousins who were visiting from Dublin, Ireland. The family ties were clear as they laughed and shared wonderful stories about my distant relatives. We went on to the wake where the bitter (grief, questions, hurts, prayers) and sweet (family unity,love,stories,laughter,prayers) came together in such a powerful way that I literally found myself waiting for the aftershocks to start. Apparently my own post-Jan 12 "new normal" is to always be ready for the room to start moving. At one point I had to escape the claustrophobic viewing room and walk around the block a few times before I could breathe freely again.
And on it went - Tuesday morning's funeral mass by a Baptist-turned-Catholic priest who I thought actually managed to bridge our own Irish American family's version of the Protestant/Catholic divide, catching up at the boisterous post-funeral lunch on the happenings of a favorite cousin's life, a treasured time to talk to Grandma L as we got a little lost driving Chicago's streets, spending several hours with a dear friend who is facing conflict/pain/confusion on a scale that I really struggle to know how to best love her through, returning Wednesday to NYC via LGA where I sat and had lunch with a grandmother from Queens who told me stories from her 17 years as a volunteer airport greeter (apparently the annual volunteer appreciation lunch is lovely), then on to an only-in-NYC afternoon/evening that ended at an only-in-Harlem gem of a nightclub with West African roots, followed the next morning by just a touch more interpersonal drama - for good measure I suppose.
There is a sweet side to my inverse insomnia that seems fitting to the mood of recent days. On Tuesday morning I got to watch the sun rise over Lake Michigan from the picture window of my parents' east-facing 16th floor apartment. It was beautiful. Something definitely worth losing a little sleep for.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Haiti is not Hell
Laura Wagner, an anthropology student who was doing research in Haiti at time of the quake, has once again captured many of the thoughts and feelings that blans like me are experiencing these days. Highly recommend reading the entire Salon.com piece here.
Some highlights
"I am told that the American reading public has "Haiti fatigue," that they don't want to read stories about the disaster and its aftermath anymore. Part of me wants to retort, "You know who else has Haiti fatigue? Haiti." But in truth, I don't want to read about the earthquake, either. I don't want to read about the conditions in the camps, or the increase in violence against women, or hurricane season, or what Sean Penn is saying today. When news stories about Haiti cross my in box, I skim them and then move them to a folder that I imagine, maybe wrongly, that I'll be able to process someday. Most of the time, it's too much. Knowing about something doesn't mean you know what to do to fix it."
"Nearly seven months after the earthquake, strangely, I find myself missing the emergency. Amid the tragedy, the sickening uncertainty, there was hope for change. The hours and days after the earthquake were hell, but an urgent and emergent hell: Because everything was thrown into tumult, no one knew where the pieces would land. Now it is clear how much institutional brokenness has endured. The crisis that, just half a year ago, felt like the end of the world is now chronic and stretching into an infinite horizon. Disaster, it turns out, is not an event but a process; the real crisis in Haiti comes not from the movement of the earth but from those structural, social and political factors that remain, seemingly intractably, intact amid so many broken things.
This is my selfish wish: to have been involved in relief at a time when things seemed morally unambiguous and every action was useful, even limping around the U.N. logistical base trying to find food for the injured, even scraping hardened sugar off the counters to mix with the oatmeal powder I found in the pantry, even sitting on a pee-scented cot holding someone's hand and talking about anything. There was no question of what to do; the only choice was to do."
"Haiti is not hell, or even limbo, however biblical it may appear at times. Amid the suffering and the absurdity, it is still a place, as all places are, on this sometimes-shifting earth."
Some highlights
"I am told that the American reading public has "Haiti fatigue," that they don't want to read stories about the disaster and its aftermath anymore. Part of me wants to retort, "You know who else has Haiti fatigue? Haiti." But in truth, I don't want to read about the earthquake, either. I don't want to read about the conditions in the camps, or the increase in violence against women, or hurricane season, or what Sean Penn is saying today. When news stories about Haiti cross my in box, I skim them and then move them to a folder that I imagine, maybe wrongly, that I'll be able to process someday. Most of the time, it's too much. Knowing about something doesn't mean you know what to do to fix it."
"Nearly seven months after the earthquake, strangely, I find myself missing the emergency. Amid the tragedy, the sickening uncertainty, there was hope for change. The hours and days after the earthquake were hell, but an urgent and emergent hell: Because everything was thrown into tumult, no one knew where the pieces would land. Now it is clear how much institutional brokenness has endured. The crisis that, just half a year ago, felt like the end of the world is now chronic and stretching into an infinite horizon. Disaster, it turns out, is not an event but a process; the real crisis in Haiti comes not from the movement of the earth but from those structural, social and political factors that remain, seemingly intractably, intact amid so many broken things.
This is my selfish wish: to have been involved in relief at a time when things seemed morally unambiguous and every action was useful, even limping around the U.N. logistical base trying to find food for the injured, even scraping hardened sugar off the counters to mix with the oatmeal powder I found in the pantry, even sitting on a pee-scented cot holding someone's hand and talking about anything. There was no question of what to do; the only choice was to do."
"Haiti is not hell, or even limbo, however biblical it may appear at times. Amid the suffering and the absurdity, it is still a place, as all places are, on this sometimes-shifting earth."
Thursday, July 29, 2010
6 months on...
Not easy to watch - primarily about violence in the post-quake camps - but important....
Friday, June 4, 2010
reroute
So my very good intentions of doing RAGBRAI with some old roommates where thwarted more than a month ago when I discovered that we missed the group registration deadline . So I've decided to train for a century (100 mile) ride right here in the Finger Lakes. The Southern Tier AIDS Ride for Life is on September 11 this year...which in theory gives me plenty of time to train. I just ordered a new bike from a local bike shop that is supposed to be ready early next week...and then... it will be time to start hitting the road with a little more discipline. All the sudden I find myself noticing just how hilly it is around here!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
on the party trail
The celebrations continued through the last week of May. After Haiti/Kentucky I came home to Ithaca for 2 days and then hit the road again for Wichita, KS to celebrate the ordination of SM into the United Methodist Church. While it was great to celebrate S's accomplishment, it was equally great to spend time with 4 dear Wheaton friends...and 1 very cute Wheaton baby. I just submitted the "getting together in Wichita" photo to the alumni magazine - will be interesting to see if ordination of a single female into a mainline denomination makes the cut for the next issue. I'm considering using this as a test to determine whether or not I'll let my own children apply there one day....
My flight back from Wichita was delayed and I ended up having an 8-hour overnight visit with my parents in Chicago (7 of those hours were spent sleeping). Unfortunately the Wichita delay meant I missed the Saturday morning Cornell graduation ceremony for some of my favorite classmates : ( By Saturday afternoon I was on the road again up to Rochester for M and J's wedding reception. I slept in Rochester but managed to make it back to Ithaca only an hour late to E's graduation after party....which more or less continued on to 2 am Monday morning. It's a tough life but someone's got to do it!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Hongera and Kwaheri
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Gates (hearts) GHESKIO
A quick post to share some very good news from my research site in Haiti. Dr Pape and the GHESKIO team have been awarded the 2010 Gates Award for Global Health. You can read about the prize and see video here.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Another Clinton confession
No, not another intern scandal....in early march Bill Clinton testified before the US Congress about the role his former administration's agricultural policies that protected US farmers had in undermining the Haitian agricultural sector.
"It may have been good for some of my farmers in Arkansas, but it has not worked. It was a mistake, I had to live everyday with the consequences of the loss of capacity to produce a rice crop in Haiti to feed those people because of what I did; nobody else."
Economic policies tied to IMF and other global aid in the 1980s and 90s forced Haiti to remove import tariffs on rice coming in from the United States and other global producers. These global producers had their own protective import tariffs and offered subsides to their farmers to produce more than their national markets needed - making lots of low cost rice available for export. The result - in Haitian street markets imported rice costs about half of what locally grown rice costs. Even though many people prefer the local rice's flavor and texture, people generally buy what is cheaper. Haitian farmers can not sell enough Haitian rice to fund their own production and so production falls further -raising the price of Haitian rice even higher. According to this AP article, 80% of rice consumed in Haiti is imported from the United States - Haiti's current production can only meet 50% of national consumption.
Out of trajedy can come opportunity and one of the most exciting things about the current talk around Haiti's earthquake recovery funding is the need to reinvest in local agriculture. In encourage you to check out this AP article by long-time Haiti correspondent Jonathon Katz who interviews some of the key UN players in the reconstruction effort.
That said, it's frustrating that the voices cited are the voices of foreigners. Many Haitian organizations have been tirelessly campaigning for the renewal of Haitian agriculture over the past decades. Their voices are rarely heard - even now when their message is more timely than ever. Check out this video by Kore Prodiksyon Lokal (Support Local Production)
"It may have been good for some of my farmers in Arkansas, but it has not worked. It was a mistake, I had to live everyday with the consequences of the loss of capacity to produce a rice crop in Haiti to feed those people because of what I did; nobody else."
Economic policies tied to IMF and other global aid in the 1980s and 90s forced Haiti to remove import tariffs on rice coming in from the United States and other global producers. These global producers had their own protective import tariffs and offered subsides to their farmers to produce more than their national markets needed - making lots of low cost rice available for export. The result - in Haitian street markets imported rice costs about half of what locally grown rice costs. Even though many people prefer the local rice's flavor and texture, people generally buy what is cheaper. Haitian farmers can not sell enough Haitian rice to fund their own production and so production falls further -raising the price of Haitian rice even higher. According to this AP article, 80% of rice consumed in Haiti is imported from the United States - Haiti's current production can only meet 50% of national consumption.
Out of trajedy can come opportunity and one of the most exciting things about the current talk around Haiti's earthquake recovery funding is the need to reinvest in local agriculture. In encourage you to check out this AP article by long-time Haiti correspondent Jonathon Katz who interviews some of the key UN players in the reconstruction effort.
That said, it's frustrating that the voices cited are the voices of foreigners. Many Haitian organizations have been tirelessly campaigning for the renewal of Haitian agriculture over the past decades. Their voices are rarely heard - even now when their message is more timely than ever. Check out this video by Kore Prodiksyon Lokal (Support Local Production)
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Back on the bike
It's been more than 2 years since I've ridden a bike - I attribute that to living in mountainous and congested Port au Prince but I do have some hardcore biking friends who brave the Haitian hills for their love of cycling. Ithaca is hilly enough to intimidate a Midwesterner - but definitely more bike friendly than my last place of residence. The spring weather this week inspired me to have a friend fix my bike so I can start to use it for my campus commute. I've got a long way to go before I am back in biking form but my goal is to participate in RAGBRAI this July. I read about this annual bike "race" across Iowa when I was an undergrad and put in on my life "to do" list. Ten years + later it seems about the right time to follow through. I'm trying to recruit a few fellow riders (for training in Ithaca and/or treking across Iowa) - so if you have the time and are up for the challenge/moving party let me know!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
street level commentary
About two years ago a graffiti artist known as Jerry started tagging compound walls across Port au Prince with cartoons that carry political/social messages. Within days after the earthquake he responded with new images. My friend and professional photographer BD just posted a great series of photos highlighting some of his work. Check it out here
Saturday, February 27, 2010
anxious
I was scheduled to fly out of Haiti today but changed my ticket to next Saturday with hopes of having things with the nutrition programs at the clinic and the IDP camp a little farther along before I return to Ithaca. Am so thankful that E - the recent Cornell undergrad who had joined our nutrition team just 5 days before the quake - returned to Port-au-Prince on Wednesday ready to jump back into the thick of things. Even with her on board, I know I could extend my stay by 6+ months and still feel like I was walking away at the wrong time.
I have to get back to Ithaca soon if I am going to meet an end-of-March deadline for a manuscript related to a student prize that I am unexpectedly a finalist for . At this moment the stress that comes with staying here in Haiti is more appealing than the stress of an academic deadline. I haven't consciously thought about my dissertation in months -but I am very aware of the shadow that this unfinished degree is casting over my days here. It is so frustrating. Why can't I let go of the worry and be fully engaged in this important moment? There is just no right-feeling time these days.
I have to get back to Ithaca soon if I am going to meet an end-of-March deadline for a manuscript related to a student prize that I am unexpectedly a finalist for . At this moment the stress that comes with staying here in Haiti is more appealing than the stress of an academic deadline. I haven't consciously thought about my dissertation in months -but I am very aware of the shadow that this unfinished degree is casting over my days here. It is so frustrating. Why can't I let go of the worry and be fully engaged in this important moment? There is just no right-feeling time these days.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
ordinary people in extraordinary time
The other day I received an email inviting me to a 1 year old birthday party next weekend for my dear friend's daugther. All I could think was "but I thought she is only 10 months old??" Well, she was only 10 months old back in early January when I was getting ready for my week-long trip to Haiti - she was 10 months old before the earthquake.
My world is very small right now. My world is a clinic in a city on an island in the Caribbean sea. Geographically, it's the same little world I lived in a year ago - only back then, it didn't feel like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
Days here have melded into one. I find myself having to remind myself that the larger world is still turning. That babies in NYC and preschoolers in Washington state are still growing up. That friends back in Ithaca are still making progress on Phds. That some of my friends from here in Haiti who I have yet to see but who I know are physically okay are really there in the US with family and friends. The rest of the world isn't pausing just because I feel like my life has paused in this so familiar but not quite right place.
But even here in Haiti you can see that life is moving ahead. Too slowly but surely aid is reaching communities. Some corners of the city feel so normal that you can almost forget about the rubble filling others. Supermarkets that did not fall are full of food and shoppers. Many of the restaurants most popular with expatriots are open for business. Market stands, food stalls, and barber shops have popped up all around the tent cities that fill every public space.
Last night my friend K and I got thai food to go (a pricey but tasty recent addition to the PAP restaurant scene) and passed by the central plaza to grab some beer from a street vendor to go with our dinner. Beyond the tents, the main sign that things weren't quite right was that no one was selling Prestige - Haiti's national beer. We had to settle for Colt 45.
As a foreigner and a physically unscathed survivior I know that my experience of this disaster remains superficial. Even though I was there to feel the earth groan and shake. Even though I walked through the immediate aftermath of downtown Port au Prince. Even though the place where I lived for more than two years is no longer inhabitable. Even though I am here now. I am not the one who lost a child, a brother, or a close friend. I am not sleeping under a bed sheet, a tarp or even a tent. I do not have loved ones who are learning to live without a leg. I do not have to worry about my job security in an even more devastated economy - if anything, my job just got more secure. I just can't find my preferred brand of beer.
I am comfortable being here in Haiti right now. I am tired - but in that good tired way. Tired because you are spending time doing things that just might really matter. I am sure that at some point, sooner than later, I will catch up to ordinary time but for now, I can live in this extraordinary one.
I LOVE this piece posted on Salon.com by a UNC anthropology grad student who was living here at the time of the quake.... she gets it.
Haiti: A survivor's story By Laura Wagner
My world is very small right now. My world is a clinic in a city on an island in the Caribbean sea. Geographically, it's the same little world I lived in a year ago - only back then, it didn't feel like it was the only place in the world that mattered.
Days here have melded into one. I find myself having to remind myself that the larger world is still turning. That babies in NYC and preschoolers in Washington state are still growing up. That friends back in Ithaca are still making progress on Phds. That some of my friends from here in Haiti who I have yet to see but who I know are physically okay are really there in the US with family and friends. The rest of the world isn't pausing just because I feel like my life has paused in this so familiar but not quite right place.
But even here in Haiti you can see that life is moving ahead. Too slowly but surely aid is reaching communities. Some corners of the city feel so normal that you can almost forget about the rubble filling others. Supermarkets that did not fall are full of food and shoppers. Many of the restaurants most popular with expatriots are open for business. Market stands, food stalls, and barber shops have popped up all around the tent cities that fill every public space.
Last night my friend K and I got thai food to go (a pricey but tasty recent addition to the PAP restaurant scene) and passed by the central plaza to grab some beer from a street vendor to go with our dinner. Beyond the tents, the main sign that things weren't quite right was that no one was selling Prestige - Haiti's national beer. We had to settle for Colt 45.
As a foreigner and a physically unscathed survivior I know that my experience of this disaster remains superficial. Even though I was there to feel the earth groan and shake. Even though I walked through the immediate aftermath of downtown Port au Prince. Even though the place where I lived for more than two years is no longer inhabitable. Even though I am here now. I am not the one who lost a child, a brother, or a close friend. I am not sleeping under a bed sheet, a tarp or even a tent. I do not have loved ones who are learning to live without a leg. I do not have to worry about my job security in an even more devastated economy - if anything, my job just got more secure. I just can't find my preferred brand of beer.
I am comfortable being here in Haiti right now. I am tired - but in that good tired way. Tired because you are spending time doing things that just might really matter. I am sure that at some point, sooner than later, I will catch up to ordinary time but for now, I can live in this extraordinary one.
****************************
I LOVE this piece posted on Salon.com by a UNC anthropology grad student who was living here at the time of the quake.... she gets it.
Haiti: A survivor's story By Laura Wagner
I was sitting barefoot on my bed, catching up on ethnographic field notes, when the earthquake hit. As a child of the San Francisco area, I was underwhelmed at first. “An earthquake. This is unexpected," I thought. But then the shaking grew stronger. I had never felt such a loss of control, not only of my body but also of my surroundings, as though the world that contained me were being crumpled.
I braced myself in a doorway between the hallway and the kitchen, trying to hold on to the frame, and then a cloud of darkness and cement dust swallowed everything as the house collapsed. I was surprised to die in this way, but not afraid. And then I was surprised not to be dead after all. I was trapped, neither lying down nor sitting, with my left arm crushed between the planks of the shattered doorway and my legs pinned under the collapsed roof. Somewhere, outside, I heard people screaming, praying and singing. It was reassuring. It meant the world hadn’t ended.
I want you to know that, before the earthquake, things in Haiti were normal. Outside Haiti, people only hear the worst -- tales that are cherry-picked, tales that are exaggerated, tales that are lies. I want you to understand that there was poverty and oppression and injustice in Port-au-Prince, but there was also banality. There were teenage girls who sang along hilariously with the love ballads of Marco Antonio Solís, despite not speaking Spanish. There were men who searched in vain for odd jobs by day and told never-ending Bouki and Ti Malis stories and riddles as the sun went down and rain began to fall on the banana leaves. There were young women who painted their toenails rose for church every Sunday, and stern middle-aged women who wouldn’t let me leave the house without admonishing me to iron my skirt and comb my hair. There were young students who washed their uniforms and white socks every evening by hand, rhythmically working the detergent into a noisy foam. There were great water trucks that passed through the streets several times a day, inexplicably playing a squealing, mechanical version of the theme from "Titanic," which we all learned to ignore the same way we tuned out the overzealous and confused roosters that crowed at 3 a.m. There were families who finished each day no further ahead than they had begun it and then, at night, sat on the floor and intently followed the Mexican telenovelas dubbed into French. Their eyes trained on fantastic visions of alternate worlds in which roles become reversed and the righteous are rewarded, dreaming ahead into a future that might, against all odds, hold promise.
I need to tell you these things, not just so that you know, but also so I don’t forget.
Continue reading here
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Back in Port-au-Prince
Four weeks post quake I find myself back at my very familiar desk in the nutrition office at the clinic. Sitting here - facing the wall in the back corner of the room - it's easy to pretend that nothing has changed. But it just takes a glance over my shoulder to see the piles of donated supplies and the relocated accounting department to remind me that most everything here is different.
Yesterday we had a memorial service for 3 clinic staff members who died in the quake. We are almost certain a 4th person died but his body has not been found yet. According to Haitian law, he will be considered a "missing person" until 5 years have passed with no recovered body. Only then he will be officially dead and we can have a memorial. There seems to be something positively hopeful in that - leaving space for unexpected resurrections - but also so difficult as family and friends cling to dimming hope.
In the midst of these surreal surroundings - the tent cities in every open space, piles of rubble along every street, pancaked buildings, aid workers tents covering the airport - I am struck by what has stayed the same. In the midst of crisis the core of people comes out. And I am surrounded here at the clinic by so many people with such solid cores - intelligent, compassionate, hopeful people. We still laugh. We still tease. (and I admittedly still get annoyed by a few folks who tested my patience before) Even with Miss M, my dearest coworker who lost so much - her only child, her mother, her sister and five other close relative - we find bits of joy while leaving as much room as she needs to express her pain.
I am thankful for this time back in Haiti. (although I admittedly could do without the ongoing aftershocks - last night's rumble sent sent my stomach to the floor as we slept with the mosquitos under the clear sky) There is so much to be done - our team needs to launch an incredible number of activities in these two short weeks that remain in my trip. I am motivated a bit by fear - fear of failing those who have already endured so much. But also by hope - that one more life saved is reason enough to try.
Yesterday we had a memorial service for 3 clinic staff members who died in the quake. We are almost certain a 4th person died but his body has not been found yet. According to Haitian law, he will be considered a "missing person" until 5 years have passed with no recovered body. Only then he will be officially dead and we can have a memorial. There seems to be something positively hopeful in that - leaving space for unexpected resurrections - but also so difficult as family and friends cling to dimming hope.
In the midst of these surreal surroundings - the tent cities in every open space, piles of rubble along every street, pancaked buildings, aid workers tents covering the airport - I am struck by what has stayed the same. In the midst of crisis the core of people comes out. And I am surrounded here at the clinic by so many people with such solid cores - intelligent, compassionate, hopeful people. We still laugh. We still tease. (and I admittedly still get annoyed by a few folks who tested my patience before) Even with Miss M, my dearest coworker who lost so much - her only child, her mother, her sister and five other close relative - we find bits of joy while leaving as much room as she needs to express her pain.
I am thankful for this time back in Haiti. (although I admittedly could do without the ongoing aftershocks - last night's rumble sent sent my stomach to the floor as we slept with the mosquitos under the clear sky) There is so much to be done - our team needs to launch an incredible number of activities in these two short weeks that remain in my trip. I am motivated a bit by fear - fear of failing those who have already endured so much. But also by hope - that one more life saved is reason enough to try.
Friday, February 5, 2010
a time to mourn
A poem shared by my dear friend AD - who along with her husband BD continues to live and work in in Haiti.
A moment of silence please,
A moment of silence please,
A time of reflection on
The casual destruction
And near immolation
Of much that we love.
Whenever the reason please,
Cease from absconding with
The mutual horror
And engorging on murder
Of much that we love.
I planted a tree please,
And watered the roots for
Many long months
Hoping for mangos
The kind that I love
It was gone in a moment please,
Flattened by debris from
Nearby explosions.
It died in the earthquake
Like much that we love.
So a moment of silence please,
A time of reflection on
The abs/presence of Deity
And responsibility
For much that we love.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Telling stories
Many of my friends who are still on the ground in Haiti have been sharing their experiences through their email message, blogs and even interviews with the media. While I am lost for words, they have thankfully found them. Encourage you to check out these sites:
Ben and Alexis http://blexi.blogspot.com/
Kim, Patrick and Solomon http://kimandpatrick.blogspot.com/
The Livesay family http://livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/
There have also been incredible stories of survival shared by friends who have returned to the US.
Joel and Rachel http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/us/2010/01/18/quake.survivors.return.home.koin.html
Kara T http://www.boston.com/news/world/latinamerica/articles/2010/01/18/survivor_in_mass_will_bring_supplies_to_haiti/?page=1
By far the story I am most compelled to share is that of GHESKIO - the clinic where I work. Since hours after the quake, our Director Dr. Jean William Pape has been talking about hope. In the midst of the choas four days ago he sent out an email with a list of "12 good things that happened today" While he has been retusing to see most of the press as they distract him from his work, I am thankful for this NBC segment.
Ben and Alexis http://blexi.blogspot.com/
Kim, Patrick and Solomon http://kimandpatrick.blogspot.com/
The Livesay family http://livesayhaiti.blogspot.com/
There have also been incredible stories of survival shared by friends who have returned to the US.
Joel and Rachel http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/us/2010/01/18/quake.survivors.return.home.koin.html
Kara T http://www.boston.com/news/world/latinamerica/articles/2010/01/18/survivor_in_mass_will_bring_supplies_to_haiti/?page=1
By far the story I am most compelled to share is that of GHESKIO - the clinic where I work. Since hours after the quake, our Director Dr. Jean William Pape has been talking about hope. In the midst of the choas four days ago he sent out an email with a list of "12 good things that happened today" While he has been retusing to see most of the press as they distract him from his work, I am thankful for this NBC segment.
Robert Bazell: Do you see hope?
Dr. Jean William Pape: Yes. You know, we are all optimistic. That's why we stayed in this country. I'm very optimistic that with support from all over the world, with good Haitian management, we can get there.
Visit msnbc.com for breaking news, world news, and news about the economy
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Day nine
I've thought about writing something here almost every day since I arrived in Santo Domingo 36 hours after the quake...but have found myself pretty much at a loss for words. I don't feel like it is my story to tell any longer. Many people I love are still living the story - and so I will wait for them. Kenbe fem ayiti, kenbe fem.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
Preval's New Year's Resolutions
According to this brief Washington Post article, Haiti's president made a New Year's speech promising fair elections, a restored agricultural sector and improved infrastructure in 2010. If his NY resolutions tend to follow the same trajectory as my own, then I'd be a hypocrite to hold him to them.
Friday, January 1, 2010
a smashing start to the new year
All week I was looking forward to spending NYE with some dear friends down in Charm City. The weather report predicted light snow the morning of Dec 31 down most of my route between Ithaca and Baltimore. I thought about leaving a day earlier but figuring that I am a Chicago girl who knows how to drive in winter weather and with hope of maximizing my academic productivity, I decided to just do the 5 hour drive on NYE morning.
As I turned out of my neighborhood late Thursday morning I found that the roads were a bit slushier/slipperier than I was expecting. In good weather it takes about 45 minutes on rolling country roads to go from Ithaca to the nearest entrance for interstate 81. I figured that this first stretch would be the hard part. If I could make it through the 3-4 intersections with stop signs and traffic lights onto the highway without any major swerving/skidding, the rest of my drive would be a bit slow but relatively easy.
The snow was still falling when I got to 81 S and took my place in a slow-moving stream of cars in the right lane. Around Binghampton traffic got a little tighter so I moved over to the left lane. I was going along at 45 mph when I saw a big suburban two lanes over changing lanes in a really odd/sudden way. It took me second to realize the car was actually out of control and heading perpendicular to traffic towards my lane. It was too slippery to swerve or stop quickly but thankfully i was able to slow down enough to ensure that the impact of my much smaller Nissan Sentra with this massive SUV wasn't likely to be physically threatening to me.
As we collided, I listened to what has become for me an unfortunately familiar sound of crunching metal. In my mirror I saw the styrofoam pieces of my front bumper scatter into the other lanes of traffic. Thankfully the car behind me was far enough back to avoid sandwiching me. I was able to pull on to the small shoulder as the Suburban came to a stop several yards behind me, pointing against traffic.
I sat there for a minute or so before calling 911 and starting the formalities of meeting the other driver and reporting the incident to police and insurance. The potential danger of the situation didn't register at all. All I could think about was how angry I would be if my insurance rates went up and how disappointed I was that I wasn't gong to get to wear the cute New Year's outfit that I had assembled a few nights earlier. At least my front bumper with its ugly peeling paint due to a previously poorly completed post-accident repair was very likely going to be replaced. I wonder if such post-accident thinking is "normal" or somewhat unique to my slightly less than normal path in recent years. Not to sound morbid, but bad things happening to people around me (and less often to me) is pretty much what I've come to expect..
Dave the tow truck driver gave me a ride back to Ithaca. I sat in the front cab of his truck with my battered Nissan trailing behind. About 30 minutes into the drive Dave starting telling me about his co-worker who was recently released from prison. The coworker had gone into a physical rage against his ex-wife and her boyfriend when he discovered the boyfriend had been molesting his child and the ex-wife knew about it. Dave transitioned into his own story of getting custody of his son after his 4-year-old explained to the judge what his mommy's boyfriend was doing across the room with a spoon, a candle and a syringe. Both stories were permeated by Dave's laughter - a sound that was a bit hard for me to reconcile with their content. Still I managed to insert a few comments/questions along the way - to give the impression that I understood - even though I knew I did not.
Dave had overheard me saying something on the phone about my upcoming trip to Haiti. He asked about it so I gave him a two sentence overview of my work there. All I got from him in response was silence. No comments. No questions. After several minutes of quiet the talk went back to directions to Ithaca and the current road conditions. Unlike me, at least he didn't pretend to understand what I was talking about. I had to respect him for that.
As I turned out of my neighborhood late Thursday morning I found that the roads were a bit slushier/slipperier than I was expecting. In good weather it takes about 45 minutes on rolling country roads to go from Ithaca to the nearest entrance for interstate 81. I figured that this first stretch would be the hard part. If I could make it through the 3-4 intersections with stop signs and traffic lights onto the highway without any major swerving/skidding, the rest of my drive would be a bit slow but relatively easy.
The snow was still falling when I got to 81 S and took my place in a slow-moving stream of cars in the right lane. Around Binghampton traffic got a little tighter so I moved over to the left lane. I was going along at 45 mph when I saw a big suburban two lanes over changing lanes in a really odd/sudden way. It took me second to realize the car was actually out of control and heading perpendicular to traffic towards my lane. It was too slippery to swerve or stop quickly but thankfully i was able to slow down enough to ensure that the impact of my much smaller Nissan Sentra with this massive SUV wasn't likely to be physically threatening to me.
As we collided, I listened to what has become for me an unfortunately familiar sound of crunching metal. In my mirror I saw the styrofoam pieces of my front bumper scatter into the other lanes of traffic. Thankfully the car behind me was far enough back to avoid sandwiching me. I was able to pull on to the small shoulder as the Suburban came to a stop several yards behind me, pointing against traffic.
I sat there for a minute or so before calling 911 and starting the formalities of meeting the other driver and reporting the incident to police and insurance. The potential danger of the situation didn't register at all. All I could think about was how angry I would be if my insurance rates went up and how disappointed I was that I wasn't gong to get to wear the cute New Year's outfit that I had assembled a few nights earlier. At least my front bumper with its ugly peeling paint due to a previously poorly completed post-accident repair was very likely going to be replaced. I wonder if such post-accident thinking is "normal" or somewhat unique to my slightly less than normal path in recent years. Not to sound morbid, but bad things happening to people around me (and less often to me) is pretty much what I've come to expect..
Dave the tow truck driver gave me a ride back to Ithaca. I sat in the front cab of his truck with my battered Nissan trailing behind. About 30 minutes into the drive Dave starting telling me about his co-worker who was recently released from prison. The coworker had gone into a physical rage against his ex-wife and her boyfriend when he discovered the boyfriend had been molesting his child and the ex-wife knew about it. Dave transitioned into his own story of getting custody of his son after his 4-year-old explained to the judge what his mommy's boyfriend was doing across the room with a spoon, a candle and a syringe. Both stories were permeated by Dave's laughter - a sound that was a bit hard for me to reconcile with their content. Still I managed to insert a few comments/questions along the way - to give the impression that I understood - even though I knew I did not.
Dave had overheard me saying something on the phone about my upcoming trip to Haiti. He asked about it so I gave him a two sentence overview of my work there. All I got from him in response was silence. No comments. No questions. After several minutes of quiet the talk went back to directions to Ithaca and the current road conditions. Unlike me, at least he didn't pretend to understand what I was talking about. I had to respect him for that.
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