Jean goes to Haiti

*Full pics on facebook*

For about 10 days, I traveled through Haiti. My trip was first inspired by the idea that I should visit my old childhood friend, MaryJo, in Port-Au-Prince where she's been working for a while. My motto is to visit people you know in other countries or places whenever possible. I believe travel makes you a better human being. It turns out that my former boss also would be in Haiti while I was visiting. Leading up to the trip, I planned to visit a school and teach. My landlady, Peggy, a high school teacher here in Chicago, heard about this and took up a collection of donated school supplies at her school. (Thank you!) I packed 50 pounds of school supplies (American Airlines limit) to take down with me. Because my old boss, Sue, also would be heading down with her mother, Doris, at the same time, they handed me another army bag of diapers to take down to an orphanage as well. School supplies, diapers, and 5 words in Creole...sounds like a great trip, right?
As I was warned, arriving in Port-Au-Prince airport is, well, something to blog about...several men approached-no, pounced on our carts of baggage as we wheeled ourselves out to our ride. Now I know why some of my first words in creole were "Pa touche"- don't touch!

Beyond the crazy airport, I saw the sights and sounds of Haiti...some of the first being the iconic tap taps, Haiti's unofficial public transport system.  A country where people like to express themselves through painting their cars??? I liked Haiti already. The ornately painted trucks with inspiring inscriptions such as "Fear my Brother" "Jesus My Mercy" and  "69 69 69." I don't think the translation for the last one is in the Creole/English dictionary. Hmm.
In preparation for my short lesson I was going to give that coming Monday to a school, I visited the school grounds and pastor of the school's church. The school was devastated by the earthquake and since then the 80 students in the school have gathered in a large tent next door with benches and chalkboards. Talk about a small education budget. Having not met the students but at least seen the space, I went about devising a lesson I could bring to the students with the supplies I could carry. As often happens in teaching, it was I who learned most from the lessons.
Another part of my Haitian experience was the ability to surrender control over any given situation. Hired by MaryJo's organization, on Monday morning bright and early, I was escorted by a driver and my interpreter, to an outlying town from Port-Au-Prince called Croix des Bouquets. It is a town known for its artistic metal work. Before even getting there, the driver's car broke down and we stalled on the side of the road. He hailed a moto-taxi to pick up another car. So I waited in the backseat of the disabled car with Erich, my interpreter, and I taught him my lesson as practice. My plan was that we were to make little autobiographical books that morning. Ha. It resembled something like that.

We eventually made it to Croix des Bouquets, mid-morning, and were greeted by far fewer students than expected. This was the Monday before the anniversary of the earthquake, January 12th, and many students stayed home for break until after the anniversary. So, with Improv as my Savior, I began my lesson... those in attendance were about twenty students spanning the ages of 4-16, the 3 teachers there that day, the pastor, a local artist, and even my driver, participated in the lesson...my first art lesson...in Creole. Totally normal. And I believed after that day that I could do anything.

Through meeting MaryJo's co-workers, neighbors, and a school community, I learned that Haiti is full of amazingly hospitable and spirited people...oh, what I would pay to hear Bernard, the house guard, say one more time with his warm smile, "BONJOU!"

With a little Compas dancing and Troubadou music thrown in there, some Creole tutoring from neighbor Samuel, UN troops on every other road,  money changers with rifles strapped against their chest on the street, chaotic drives through "no-rules" streets without a seatbelt to save your life...literally...it was time to move on from Port-Au-Prince to mellow Jacmel. I mean, I had some diapers to deliver. Jacmel is a smaller, way more chilled out town 3 hours away through the mountains. On the way to the Port-Au-Prince bus station, on the anniversary of the earthquake, I saw many people marching through the street. Someone handed a little leaflet through our window reading-roughly- that "the people of the tent camps need homes, work, and loans."

Work by graffiti artist, Jerry, in PAP next to street vendor.

Last night of MUSIK

Bus Passenger

Sue and Zaka buy Jimmy the dog from the lady in the background

Samuel dropped me off at the 'bus station,' a collection of trucks in a chaotic market of vendors and rubble. He helped negotiate my price and I sat up front in between the driver and an old man with my shins pushed against the dashboard. I braced myself for what I thought might be the bus ride of my life. The bus leaves when it's full and in the meantime I had several people reaching their arms inside the bus showing me their 7ups, pastries, cell phone chargers, and chewing gum. We finally took off through the mountains for some breathtaking scenery. There is one guide book out right now by Lonely Planet (one of perhaps the only that attempts guidance through Haiti) that gave the most amusing advice for women and bus travel in Haiti, it reads:"Haitian roads are abysmal and, as public transport is extremely bouncy, consider wearing a sports bra, especially on longer journeys, where you should also wear a skirt to allow for roadside toilet breaks." Noted.
What they did not prepare me for was the 'bus-bug.' I was bitten by something and began wriggling like a crazy person to see, with no success, what had taken a bite out of my stomach. Two days later it became one heck of a welt. I'm still not sure what was hanging out inside my pants.
When we got to Jacmel, Sue was to meet me on a moto, a motorcycle taxi, and take me to the art center. Through some mixture of French, Spanish, Creole, and English, I communicated to the driver that my friend was not there to pick me up yet and  I needed to call her. She finally found me and we piled onto the moto with the driver holding the diaper army bag in front, Sue in the middle, and me with my backpack holding on for dear life on the back. Personal space is a little different in Haiti but I never thought I would be this close to my former boss...on a moto...in Haiti.

 

Jacmel turned out to be a beautiful place. It was a very charged experience in that I was arriving on the day of many processions and ceremonies marking the earthquake's anniversary. My former boss, Sue, was helping plan an event for their new art center in town. Amid a sculpture exhibition by local artists, a vodou priest commemorated the loss of Sue's best friend, Flo, in the earthquake through a sand painting on the sidewalk. The evening included beautiful traditional Haitian dancing and live music in the street in front of the art center.

I had the privilige of staying with some great new friends and helping get those diapers to its final destination. Despite the statistically challenging atmosphere I had put my immune system in, I'm happy to report that I never got sick during my travels...well until the second bus ride of my life...

On the bus ride back to Port-Au-Prince to catch our plane home, I was stuck in the back seat of the bus this time and with little food in my stomach to keep me from feeling nauseous when we hit the first bump. Sure enough, practically sitting on my former boss's mother's lap, I leaned across and puked out the window going through the mountains...in Haiti! I was quickly given a bag to vomit into inside the bus so that I didn't puke onto the outside of the car. I managed to throw up and laugh at the same time at the ridiculousness of it all. Part way through the ride, I had to get out of the bus to let another woman out. To my surprise she was holding 4 chickens, 2 in each hand, upside down by the legs, as she exited. So not only was I puking on a bus in the mountainside of Haiti, I was doing it while sitting over 4 chickens without even noticing.
Mwen renmen Ayiti! I will be back someday. Because after all, I left my heart-and my breakfast-in the mountains of Haiti.

Jacmel Sunrise