Working on it.

Woke up yesterday morning to a view of crowds of children from our balcony. The hospital compound is directly across the street from a major high school for the area. There were groups of students all wearing different uniforms lining the street outside the school gates. I learned that yesterday and today all of the students from the area that finished primary school this year are taking exams to move onto high school. My new friend who is helping me get my program organized was trying to get us in there to see a little bit, but we couldn't reach the principal.

In Haiti, tap-taps (like taxis but are usually small pick-up trucks) and buses usually have names painted in large letter at the top of the windshield. In general, the names tend to be religiously based. I've also seen some pretty funny ones, like in Cap when I arrived, I saw one called “Facebook”. I wish I was ready to capture a picture of that one. One of the nicer buses dropping off children to take exams today was named “Dignité”. This is one of the few car names that has really struck me, because being able to control one's movement from one place to another definitely plays a role in an individual's sense of dignity.

Yesterday I achieved the goal I set yesterday. After finishing another book and killing as much time as possible, I realized I needed to go back to the kitchen area and force myself to get to know people, no matter how awkward it felt. I'll be the only American here my last 3 weeks, I have to learn Creole – I want friends!

So I put my game face on and walked back behind the hospital through the narrow passageway, hoping not to spy any rats on my way, past the ladies sitting outside the entrance to the malnutrition ward feeding babies, and into the back area. The women were congregating around the large square washing area, probably about 10 square feet, covered by a metal roof. About ten feet from this is the kitchen, which is completely detached from the hospital. The kitchen consists of a large counter and several metal pot-like things that are filled with hot coals and used as stoves. The walls of the kitchen are blackened in areas from years of cooking. As I approached the women I saw at least two familiar faces. Nanu, who cooked for us when I was here in 2012, is a stout middle-aged woman, and one of the best chefs I know. Lucilia, who has essentially played the role of a mom to the girl who's been here for a year, is gorgeous and probably in her mid-thirties. I walked up to them and said “Bonswa” (Good afternoon), “Mwen vle aprann pale kreyol” (I want to learn how to speak Creole). They smiled instantly at my attempted Creole and got me seated in the circle. Although I wasn't allowed to do much, I proved to be to weak to crushed the black beans effectively (these women are STRONG), I did get to taste a lot of passion fruit and grilled corn. And, of course, I did get to work on my Creole.

Something that struck me today about the Haitian women that I've encountered is their strong sense of femininity without doing a lot of things that I feel like women in our society feel are necessary to feel like a woman. I was surprised by my lack of repulsion by seeing so many woman that don't shave, realizing at one point that I didn't even notice until I went to look for it. These women inspire me with every task I watch them do, especially how they do laundry! I'm very much looking forward to more time spent with these women, improving my Creole and learning about their lives.

Although in general my time in the back was positive, I saw a couple things that reminded me of the harsh realities of Haitian society. The little boy that lives at the hospital, who is parented essentially by all, is often in trouble around here. He isn't malicious, but is constantly looking for a playmate. He likes to be pushed around in this old Barbie car, which I caved to on my first day. In an attempt to get myself and others to push him around, he would push the car up to us, and finally Lucilia grabbed the heavy car and threw it to the side of the yard. Later, while on time-out on a stool for some unknown transgression, he began to whine. Lucilia then set him up off to the side on his small “poop pot”. He sat there for a while, filling his empty plastic water bottle with dirt to amuse himself. Shortly after, Lucilia took a switch from a tree and began to hit his hands with it, yelling something I couldn't make out. After several strikes, he began to vomit mid-crying. She walked away. He continued to cry and vomit, my heart ached. I later found out he was sick because of something he was told specially not to eat because it would make him sick, and I realize that this was discipline, but the emotional wall I'd had up since arriving finally broke in that scenario. It took me a while to realize that this event did occur out of love, it was just entirely too real for me to watch. About ten minutes later he was laughing and smiling again in small bath.

There are no toilets for patient use in the hospital. Patients must use latrines outside the hospital, approximately fifty feet from the nearest exit. To access the latrines, patients have to walk up a step flight of stairs. The latrines are located about fifty feet from the kitchen area, so they are in clear view. At one point in the afternoon we watch a frail old man with a walking stick in one hand, and a blood-filled IV bag in another, being assisted up the stairs by a tall skinny woman. It was almost scary to watch as they slowly made their way up the steps. Because the hospital has electricity, and the housing I stay in on the hospital compound has running water, I was truly surprised to discover that patients are unable to use a real restroom.

Last night I heard a ball bouncing on the steps, the little one was playing by himself, for once not pestering someone to join. I went downstairs and kicked the volleyball-turned-soccer ball around with him in the driveway area for about an hour. I probably had just as much fun as he did, the smile that lit up his face every few seconds made me feel like I'd be content to play for hours.

Today I spent the morning refining my list of possible activities for when my classes start. I'm really looking forward to how the meeting goes tomorrow with prospective participants, and next week I'll be starting a class with the hospital staff! I did, however, get lectured teasingly by the ladies about how I need to improve my Creole as soon as possible. It's happening, little by little. Haitian Creole grammar is so cool! So there aren't any verb conjugations, and you just add different words right in front of the verb to change the tense. It's wonderful. I'm still in love with French, but Creole is really fun to learn!