My Monday morning started innocently enough. In the name of efficiency (but with a spirit of procrastination) I had tied off the kitchen garbage bag the night before and left it by the door to wait for a convenient moment to walk it over to the neighborhood garbage heap - the gated pit a respectable distance from our comfortable town homes where garbage piles up until a truck is hired to come and haul it all away.
As I was pulling together my lunch, I saw the bag and knew that there was no way justify leaving it there for the entire work day So I picked it up, slipped on my sandals and walked over to the heap. Usually I just absentmindedly pitch the bag from a good 10 yards away. This morning I walked closer to the edge.
Mid-way through swinging back my arm to pitch the bag, I saw him - a little boy, about 8 years old, standing down in the pit and looking up with expectant brown eyes. We made eye contact, I released the bag, and after a moment of hesitation in which i tried to think of what I should be thinking, I turned around and walked down the path back to the house.
I don't know what happened next down in the pit. I imagined him climbing up the pile to where the bag landed - hoping to find something inside that would help quiet his hunger or was clean enough to sell. I tried to remember what I had thrown away the day before - an empty tuna can, some scraps of mango peel, coffee grounds. I was disappointed that I hadn't managed to discard something of greater value.
There are days here in Haiti where I can forget that this is the poorest country in the Western hemisphere. There are days when I look around and all I see are the beautiful smiling babies, the vibrant colors of the mini-buses and the pink flowers cascading over compound walls. Yesterday was not one of those days.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Weekend at the Lake House
Last week I was looking at some photos a friend posted online from a weekend at a lake house. To me, lake house weekends are the essence of all that is good about Midwestern summers- good people, (too much) good food, sunshine, water play, down time, game nights, and conversations that just don't happen elsewhere (about topics both silly and serious). I was getting a bit homesick as I flipped through her slide show and started to wonder just why I was choosing to live this season in Haiti without access to many of my favorite people, places or activities.Then, on Thursday night, I got a very unexpected invite to spend to weekend at a Haitian "Lake" (as in the Caribbean Ocean) house. Everything that needed to happen fell into place in less than 12 hours - and now I am back home in Port-au-Prince with a very sleepy smile on my slightly redder face. Check out the photos here.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Just one more thing....
One more post for the day and then I'm working....and I mean that. L - one of the guys I talk about in my post on SODA below - worked as the "fixer" for the documentary on US policy and Haitian rice production featured here. I've heard that the end of the second part of the documentary includes a short segment on the AVJ poultry project. I personally haven't had a chance to watch it yet but would still encourage you to check it out. (For an interesting story of another "fixer" working in Iraq check out this NYT article)
For those of you who may be a little wary of the network sponsoring the documentary, I encourage you to take the time to read a little more about them. I personally find it exciting that there is another voice beyond the BBC and CNN in the global English-language news market- especially one that makes a pan-Middle Eastern perspective more accessible to the non-Arabic speaking world. Unfortunately most of us living in North America still have to look online to get it.
For those of you who may be a little wary of the network sponsoring the documentary, I encourage you to take the time to read a little more about them. I personally find it exciting that there is another voice beyond the BBC and CNN in the global English-language news market- especially one that makes a pan-Middle Eastern perspective more accessible to the non-Arabic speaking world. Unfortunately most of us living in North America still have to look online to get it.
Name that tune
Sitting inside my house I'm often distracted by the sounds I hear all around me. In the presence of Caribbean heat and the absence of air conditioning we live most of our home life behind screens rather than sealed glass windows and closed doors. I love the way it makes me feel like I am in the midst of things - even when I am alone at my kitchen table (like I am right now).
In the last few hours I've listened to the constant background hum of ceiling fans; the muffled roar of the diesel generator powering our neighborhood; the loud chirps of insects and tree frogs; the hollow plop of breadfruit falling off trees and hitting the ground below; the yells of my next door neighbor's kids and the splashing of families hanging out by the pool; the echo of tennis balls bouncing off racquets onto cement courts; the cheers and laughter of a group assembled a few houses away. Music is everywhere: in the ice-cream-truck-inspired version of the Titanic theme played over and over by trucks selling water; the singing (sometimes all-night) of youth groups assembled at the Catholic retreat center down the road; the horns and drums of the ra-ra bands which recently started parading through the streets again (they had apparently been on a post-Kanaval season hiatus); konpa and reggaeton coming through the little radio of the guard sitting near the neighborhood gate and my own ipod playlist out of my computer's speakers.
Last Thursday night, I gained a new appreciation for this relatively quiet corner of the city after spending the night at a friend's apartment which is directly on one of the city's busiest commercial streets. I'm usually a pretty solid sleeper but I spent almost 5 sleepless hours looking at the ceiling as I listened to non-stop sounds of people shouting; honking horns; barreling semi trailers; zipping motorcycles; barking dogs; and a rooster or two (which contrary to conventional wisdom do not wait until dawn to start crowing) .
Some of my most distinct memories from this Haiti season are linked to sounds: the hauntingly beautiful voice of a troubadour singer at an outdoor concert I attended during my first week in Port-au-Prince in 2006; our nutrition project team's rhythmic chants about feeding babies manba and the importance of vitamin A; the karaoke version of Livin la Vida Loca sung by drunk Sri Lankan UN troops who were sponsoring a party in my neighborhood (a good story now but the cause of a sleepless night back then); the deafening crash of tropical rains on metal roofs; waves lapping on white-sand beaches; and in some of my lonelier moments, the sound of my cell phone ring.
In the last few hours I've listened to the constant background hum of ceiling fans; the muffled roar of the diesel generator powering our neighborhood; the loud chirps of insects and tree frogs; the hollow plop of breadfruit falling off trees and hitting the ground below; the yells of my next door neighbor's kids and the splashing of families hanging out by the pool; the echo of tennis balls bouncing off racquets onto cement courts; the cheers and laughter of a group assembled a few houses away. Music is everywhere: in the ice-cream-truck-inspired version of the Titanic theme played over and over by trucks selling water; the singing (sometimes all-night) of youth groups assembled at the Catholic retreat center down the road; the horns and drums of the ra-ra bands which recently started parading through the streets again (they had apparently been on a post-Kanaval season hiatus); konpa and reggaeton coming through the little radio of the guard sitting near the neighborhood gate and my own ipod playlist out of my computer's speakers.
Last Thursday night, I gained a new appreciation for this relatively quiet corner of the city after spending the night at a friend's apartment which is directly on one of the city's busiest commercial streets. I'm usually a pretty solid sleeper but I spent almost 5 sleepless hours looking at the ceiling as I listened to non-stop sounds of people shouting; honking horns; barreling semi trailers; zipping motorcycles; barking dogs; and a rooster or two (which contrary to conventional wisdom do not wait until dawn to start crowing) .
Some of my most distinct memories from this Haiti season are linked to sounds: the hauntingly beautiful voice of a troubadour singer at an outdoor concert I attended during my first week in Port-au-Prince in 2006; our nutrition project team's rhythmic chants about feeding babies manba and the importance of vitamin A; the karaoke version of Livin la Vida Loca sung by drunk Sri Lankan UN troops who were sponsoring a party in my neighborhood (a good story now but the cause of a sleepless night back then); the deafening crash of tropical rains on metal roofs; waves lapping on white-sand beaches; and in some of my lonelier moments, the sound of my cell phone ring.
Bon moun yo
My 2009 New Year's resolution should probably have something to do with consistently taking more photos. In the mean time I've scrapped together the few recent photos I do have of some of the good people (bon moun yo) I've encountered here in recent days. Most of the images are thanks to others who more faithfully document life here. Please note that there are lots of good people missing from them!
At the end of June I spent a week in and around Ithaca. Here are a few photos. Notable missing images include C and the G family who hosted me; my friend J's beautiful babies and our post- bed time wine and cheese in her backyard; a too short but still satisfying coffee shop hour with the lovely S and T; Friday happy hour with A and S; an unexpected chance to be a wedding date for my high school friend M; and a quick visit with the S family outside Philly.
On the Port-au-Prince side, while my world continues to be geographically limited, quite a number of good people have managed to cross into that small space. We've had a regular rotation of people through the neighboring town house reserved for short term clinical volunteers and visiting researchers. Constantly welcoming and sending off people is a little wearying....but mostly in a too-much-of-a-good-thing sort of way.
My trip to NY was a helpful reminder just how relatively settled here I've become. Flying out of Port-au-Prince, I ran into two clinic colleagues in the airport waiting room and then was recognized from this blog by another blan nutritionist volunteering in Haiti. (Little did I know when I started that blogging is potentially costing me most of my 15 minutes of lifetime fame. The other day I met another person who said she knew of me from this site.) For my overnight in NYC before boarding the bus to Ithaca, I stayed with S and T - good friends I made here in Haiti earlier this year. On the flight back, I ran into a Cornell colleague waiting to board the same flight out of Philly, was stopped mid-aisle by another Haitian colleague while boarding my next flight out of Miami , and then ran into three more women I know in the Port-au-Prince immigration line. Either this is a very small town....or it's actually achieving some degree of hometown status for me.
At the end of June I spent a week in and around Ithaca. Here are a few photos. Notable missing images include C and the G family who hosted me; my friend J's beautiful babies and our post- bed time wine and cheese in her backyard; a too short but still satisfying coffee shop hour with the lovely S and T; Friday happy hour with A and S; an unexpected chance to be a wedding date for my high school friend M; and a quick visit with the S family outside Philly.
On the Port-au-Prince side, while my world continues to be geographically limited, quite a number of good people have managed to cross into that small space. We've had a regular rotation of people through the neighboring town house reserved for short term clinical volunteers and visiting researchers. Constantly welcoming and sending off people is a little wearying....but mostly in a too-much-of-a-good-thing sort of way.
My trip to NY was a helpful reminder just how relatively settled here I've become. Flying out of Port-au-Prince, I ran into two clinic colleagues in the airport waiting room and then was recognized from this blog by another blan nutritionist volunteering in Haiti. (Little did I know when I started that blogging is potentially costing me most of my 15 minutes of lifetime fame. The other day I met another person who said she knew of me from this site.) For my overnight in NYC before boarding the bus to Ithaca, I stayed with S and T - good friends I made here in Haiti earlier this year. On the flight back, I ran into a Cornell colleague waiting to board the same flight out of Philly, was stopped mid-aisle by another Haitian colleague while boarding my next flight out of Miami , and then ran into three more women I know in the Port-au-Prince immigration line. Either this is a very small town....or it's actually achieving some degree of hometown status for me.
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