Last night came to a peaceful close. I
was able to discuss more planning for my classes. (On that note: I
really won't start teaching until July because the high school
doesn't finish until June 28th but I really wanted to have
some time to acclimate and work on my Creole.) I then was invited by
some of the other American girls to go lay up on the hospital roof
and look at the stars. Absolutely beautiful. I felt like the stars
were so close, and it was pretty late so it was relatively quiet
outside beyond the hospital. I loved it.
Something I've been struggling with a
lot since I arrived is a concept I prefer best named in French - “le
voyeurisme”. I mentioned it when reporting back to the Hood
community in the spring of 2012. I use the term in the sense that I
constantly feel like I'm intruding on the personal lives of those
around me through even just a glance – as if I feel that it's
unfair for me to even try to observation a way of life I can't even
begin to imagine. This is what keeps me from taking pictures, even
though most people welcome it. I know that I can't really become part
of the culture in seven weeks, but that's what I want, to observe
less and experience more.
Today I went with a new friend (who is
sadly leaving tomorrow!) to gather a group of young children to go
through beginner English picture books and learn/practice our Creole
in exchange. We had a group of about ten attentive kids, ranging
(from my estimations) from about five to ten years old. Some of the
students, younger and older, were really able to work through the pronunciation on their own, which was really cool to watch. One of
the interesting connections the kids made was when my friend pointed
to a picture of a fire, and the kids all said the word “poubelle”,
which in French (as well as a variation of the spelling in Creole)
means “trash can”. In Haiti, there isn't exactly a system for
trash collection. I remember being shocked when I was here the first
time as a little boy took the wrapper off his lollipop I gave him and
tossed it out of the window. I had to catch myself before almost
scolding him. That was the norm. In any case, trash here is typically
burned to get rid of it – and I just love the linguistic
connections I get to make/see everyday here between English, French,
and Creole.
While spending time with the kids today
as we worked in the courtyard of the primary school adjacent to the
hospital compound, I was struck by the amount of broken glass
scattered over the ground. Then I realized that about half the
children running around weren't wearing shoes, which was typical to
see here but paired with the sight of broken glass was just a
different thing altogether. I did, however, notice one little boy
wearing a rather sturdy-looking pair of TOMS, which made me smile.
Later in the afternoon, my friend and I
went to the malnutrition ward in the hospital to visit with the
babies. Here we did take pictures. (I will try to upload along with
this post, but the internet is temperamental.) One of the babies
looked much like a newborn, but she is actually 23 months old,
another even smaller at just 16 months.
After dinner I went with the other
Americans to swim in the ocean. Practically living on the beach, a
beautiful beach surrounded by green mountains, remains surreal to me
in the middle of everything happening around me. But it was the
warmest water I've ever swam in outside – absolute paradise.
While I'm sad to see new friends leave
tomorrow, I'm glad to lose some of the American bubble. I have swore
to myself that tomorrow I will go hang out with the ladies in the
kitchen, so matter how awkwardly I stumble over my broken Creole. It
is happening.
Tonight there was a little farewell
shindig for one of the girls leaving in particular as she's been here
for about five weeks. The hospital staff bought a cake for the
occasion in Cap! We had water, coke, and the Haitian beer Prestige.
Dr. Thony, the head of the hospital, said some really sweet words and
we had a nice evening just talking with each other and saying
goodbye. Shortly afterwards, when there were just a few of us left
downstairs playing cards, we began to hear yelling outside. A crowd
had gathered outside of the hospital entrance as someone had just
passed away. The word is that it was a 35 year old woman who was
pregnant and arrived just two days before, and that the cause was
Cholera. (Speaking of which, if you haven't seen it yet, definitely
take the 28 minutes to watch Baseball in the Time of Cholera, it's a
great documentary and it's free to watch on youtube!) In Haitian
culture this means that wailing, screaming, and crying will ensue for
a few hours – both eerie and heart-wrenching to listen to. (The
funeral scene in the documentary captures this perfectly.) It's still
going on now, it'll be a while before I'm asleep.
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