MY TYPICAL DAY IN HAITI
Summer 2013
This summer, I am the only constant volunteer for the five weeks. Right now, I am the only volunteer for two weeks, the only American in our program. In the past, teams of 10 to 12 volunteers showed up each Saturday and relieved the previous team. Over the five weeks, 50 or 6 f us showed up to help and to bring supplies of medicines and school supplies.
But this year, for some unforeseen circumstances, teams 2 and team 3 canceled at the last minute, leaving me on my own for two weeks. I left our air conditioned hotel, gated and hovering over the beautiful Caribbean Sea and I have taken a room at a private home, in the midst of the people and the poverty.
I was a bit of a crybaby my first night. It was too hot. The bathroom had all the right plumbing fixtures. But when I went to take a shower, I discovered there is no indoor plumbing. The fan stopped in the middle of the night and my room became an oven. I wanted to cry. I had to change my attitude if I wanted to get through these next two weeks.
The roosters wake me at 530 AM. They call to each other for about an hour. Then the goats chime in. Around 7, people in the house begin to rise. Someone brings water the bathroom so there is enough water for those of us who want a cool bucket bath. I rise at 8 when all is quiet. After two days, I have the rhythm of how to bath with just a bucket and a cup. The cool water is a relief as I am already a little damp form the heat.
At 830, I step outside in to the bright light of the day and see Jeams waiting for me. With a smile that reaches ear to ear, he greets me with a singsong tone that is so pleasant. “Good morning Bridget, Did you sleep well”?
I jump on the back of his motor cycle and off we go through the precarious, rocky, crowded roads of Jacmel. The road caters to motorcycles and SUVs only. Andy other vehicle could not make it through these rutted, hilly roads. I should close my eyes as we weave our way to camp. The trip is scary. All of the drivers, males, maneuver the roads like 10 year olds. They have no rules of the road and it appears as if they have no concept of cause and effect. With every turn, we nearly collide in to each other but through luck or the grace of god, we make it to the Salvation Army compound, our home for our wellness camp.
Jeams parks the motorcycle and I discreetly stumble off the back of the motorcycle. Every day, my shoe, my pant leg, my bag or whatever, gets stuck on something and Jeams is forced to jump to attention to save the motorcycle from falling on us.
We go to a restaurant where is has convinced them to make coffee for me for at least the next two weeks. The restaurant serves four things: ham sandwiches, spaghetti, boiled bananas and omelets. I order an omelet and am told, “No omelet.” So a ham sandwich it is for me for breakfast.
“Et fromage?” the waitress asks as she swats a fly with her pen.
“Oui", I tell her. I will love cheese with my omelet.
“Non fromage.” She responds with a tone of indifference, not recognizing or acknowledging the absurdity of her question.
When we finish breakfast, we wander over to my old lady friend and give her some small morsel of food. Then I wander across the street and over the camp. The children are arriving. Our woman’s group starts at 10 but they are already there. So I sit and I look at them and they look at me.
We exchange “bon jours” and they speak to me in Creole. It appears to me that they secretly hope that maybe, just maybe, I miraculously learned Creole overnight. But I didn’t and in my broken French I inform them once again, shamelessly, that I only speak English. They laugh uproariously and I can tell that they are talking about me. The fact that they are pointing at me leads me to this conclusion.
We start camp every day with song and dance. The children and the counselors make a circle and dance together. From time to time, I jump in the circle and join them. My stiff, old body attempts to sway to the music but my moves bring laughter, with and at my expense.
The women’s group starts. I join Alexandra and Sophianna as we introduce topics of breast feeding, malaria, cancer, birth control and diabetes. They have very few facts but lots of opinions. And I don’t think I did a very good job of convincing them that condoms do not cause cancer.
The older boys run to the beach and play soccer. They would play soccer all day long if they could. Other kids are in the art room where they are making masks or tie-dying tee shirts. The little kids are singing the alphabet.
Around noon, Adeline and the other woman bring over a large cast iron pot filled with 30 pounds of rice, beans and sardines. Aldine carries the bowls and spoons in a plastic trash bag, plopped on top of her head. Everyone is hungry. We try to feed all of the campers and any of the other kids in the neighborhood.
By 1PM, everything is quiet in the compound. So we all wander home. I jump back on Jeam’s motorcycle and am now familiar with the neighborhood. I begin to recognize landmarks and people and find that the trip home gets shorter and shorter every day.
Its 130 now and I go to my room and wash my blouse which is now drenched in sweat. I linger in the bathroom and throw water on myself. I am really waiting for 2PM, the witching hour; electricity comes back on for all of us. That means one thing to me: the fan will start again. I lie on my lumpy bed and soak in the wonderful sensation of a breeze. I am now comforted and settled for a while in wonderful luxury.
At some point, Max interrupts my guilty pleasure and checks in on me. Because I refuse to put minutes on the phone, I can’t be reached, so in frustration, he goes out of his way to make sure I am OK. I have tried to convince him that he doesn’t need to do this because really, all is right with my world because I have a working fan. He leaves after a few minutes and I am again alone to listen to my music and focus on the anticipation of the vacillating fan hitting me just right in the face.
But then there is yet another knock on my door and it is the owner of the house. She has arrived with an overabundant place of rice and beans and something else. It could be goat or corn meal or bean sauce. All of it is very good but too, too much food and I cannot convince her to serve me less.’
Around 4PM, I make my way to the internet Café. But first, I stop at the local market for a beer. Joseph, the owner, engages me in conversation. He apologizes profusely for his poor English skills. He English is very good. I offer no apology for my lack of creole skills.’ I wander up the café and pay about 50 cents for an hour. But each day, they add more and more time to my hour. The computers and the service are terrible. So, in the midst of my frustration, I have to remind myself that I am in Haiti. Be thankful for what I have.
After 2 hours or more, I stroll back to my house. Everyone in the house sits on the front porch and waits for my return. They all greet me and speak to me in creole or French. I speculate what their questions must be and I answer them in English. Our disjointed conversation seems to appease them. After a few moments, we run out of conversation and so we sit in silence, watching and greeting people as they stroll passed the front porch.
Max shows up again around 830. His girlfriend and cousin are usually with him. We go up to my room, where rice, beans and sardines are stored in the corner. Together, the four of us ration out the food needed to feed 100+ kids tomorrow. All three of them then hop on the cousin’s motorcycle. The fish cans are placed in the front basket. Catherianna holds on to the bean bag. Max holds the rice. Then off they go, through those dark, dangerous roads to the cook’s house. She likes to soak the beans overnight so they are perfect in the morning.
I spend the rest of my evening, in my room, charging my electronic devices, washing my clothes in the bucket and writing. Of course, the fan is on.
The house and the streets begin to settle down around 11PM. I am now listening to my MP3 player. I listen to a song and think to myself that I will go to bed right after this song. But then I listen to another song and another song and another song and another song. The familiar tunes and words are intoxicating to me.
All of the sudden it is midnight. Now I am in a slight panic. I MUST go to bed and fall in to a deep sleep. I must be sound asleep by 4AM, the haunting hour of the night. The electricity goes off at 4AM. The fan stops instantly and without any regard to my pain and suffering. If I am not in a deep sleep, this immediate silence wakes me with a resounding, unsettling quiet that kicks me into an unpleasant reality. My night and my sleep are ruined. I lay awake and panic as the sound of the roosters reminds me that I have had a night without enough sleep. But, regardless of this unpleasant situation, at least I know I can count on one thing: I will soon be greeted by Jeams and his wonderful, wonderful smile. All is right with the world.
For more stories about my time in Haiti, please of to Bridgetkellyinhaiti.blogspot.com
or bkmemoirs.wordpress.com
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