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!

Mwen parle Kreyol.. or at least I try to..

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 28^th 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.

Settling in

My second day here I woke up with the worst sore throat I've had in a long time. One of the adults made me go see a doctor. I initially refused for two reasons. First, I never go to a doctor unless I'm dying in pain in the United States, so the thought of going to see someone for the sore throat just seemed ridiculous to me. Second, people all around be here have much worse problems, I felt wrong taking a doctor's time away from them. Any resistance I put up was to no avail. Luckily I was able to easily communicate to the doctor in French, and shortly after received vitamin C pills and ibuprofen.

I'm really struggling with having zero schedule whatsoever. Anyone in my life knows that I also have a schedule that is packed with way more activities and responsibilities than one person can really handle. Here, I'm in a quasi-vacation land. Vacation in the sense that, for the moment, I have no real commitments, I'm priviledged to just be able to sit and observe what is happening around me. Being forced to slow down is probably one of the best things to ever happen to me after the past couple years, but it's still difficult.

Yesterday we went to the beach. I'm living about 100 feet from the ocean – unreal. In true American fashion, though we tried so hard not to, myself and the other girls here went to swim in the ocean. Because of this sore-throat-turned-sinus-infection I decided not to fully get in the water, which worked out so I could watch everyone's stuff. So I'm hanging out with my feeting in the perfectly warm, clear water and these three kids approach me. It takes me about a second to realize that they're all carrying machetes. Yep, machetes. I saw bonswa and all that, and the oldest girl points at my necklace and in Creole asks to have it. I explained it was a gift from my mother, but I've since taken off that necklace I've worn nonstop for the past nine years, a confirmation present from a dear family friend. The comfort of wearing that necklace does not outweigh the discomfort of increasing the distance between myself and those around me.

I'm still getting used to being stared at everywhere I go and being known as “Blan”. Tried to teach my name to some little boys yesterday and Maria because “More-via”.

Today I accompanied a girl that is here for ten days to do a mini-class with young kids on basic English words. Word has not been officially spread that the class would be offered today, so when we arrived at the classroom there were just four girls gathered on the steps. Luckily it only takes minutes to attract a crowd of children when you're a blan, so within ten minutes we had about a dozen kids. While my new friend led the group, I took a backseat to observe. My attention became focused on one little boy off to the side of the group. By American standards he appeared to be about two years old, but he was probably more like 3 or even 4. His oversized long-sleeved shirt was on insideout, covering his swollen belly. The sleeves were much too long for his little arms so I reached out to roll them up. I then held out my hand, but he didn't grab on like most of the other children are quick to do. He instead placed his hand in mine, and then slowly pulled back, all while staring into my eyes with his. Those eyes are still staring at me. They were the biggest, brownest, and saddest eyes I've ever seen on a child, even here. No matter what I did I couldn't get him to smile.

I can't wait to get back into a classroom setting. Tomorrow the plan is to go with another girl who has been here almost a year and is fluent in Creole to the high school to talk about my program. She also proposed the idea of offering to tutor any students or do some classes to help them prepare for exams which are next week. I'm dying to see what they're doing in French and English classes - I know my fellow teachers will enjoy hearing about that!

Starting off..

Random acts of kindness from strangers that I experienced while travelling to Haiti. A rich (looking) older white man, who had been able to cut in front of me in the 40 minute security line, very kindly made me go ahead of him in line after they called final boarding for my flight to Fort Lauderdale. In FL, where I planned to stay from 12am-5am until I could check in for my flight to Cap, an older gentleman working in the airport refused to make me pay for a luggage cart ($4) - made my evening. 

Sleeping in the Ft. Lauderdale airport was not a far cry from the transient lifestyle I've led for the past several months. In fact, it was rather reassuring to see many others sleeping with their luggage in the terminal. To be alone but surrounded is a feeling I enjoy. 

I was thrown into Haitian time before I even landed in Cap. After checking in at 5:20am for my 7:30am flight, I went to another part of the terminal to grab a snack. I received a phone call at 6:20am that I needed to come board the flight because everyone had checked in so they decided to depart early. I arrived in Cap around 8:30am, about 45 minutes earlier than my scheduled arrival. In typical Maria style, I prepared for my trip ridiculously last minute and so I didn't even have a copy of the phone number to reach my ride. In the baggage claim/immigration/customs room I frantically tried to kill time until I saw a familiar face. Some men took my bags out of the airport thinking I was with another group of Americans.. a fair assumption.. but false. Luckily another American did help to convince the men I wasn't leaving yet and needed my bags. Another thing, one of the first things I noticed upon my arrival was that there were men everywhere. Men far outnumbered women everywhere and I instantly became nervous. I was pushed out of the airport, sticking as closely as possible to two other American girls who were headed to an orphanage and were also waiting for a ride. I saw a familiar car outside, but it was without the HOPE emblem, so I assumed my ride wasn't there yet. I waited. The man driving the familiar-seeming car approached me and asked if I was going to Borgne. Since I had mentioned i was going there to others and had already been offered taxi rides about a dozen times I politely but sternly shook my head and said my ride was coming.

About 10-15 minutes later, after the other girls left and I began to panic, Sergo approached me a second time, asking if I was with HOPE. I realized I recognized him this time around and breathed an insanely large sigh of relief. 

The ride to Borgne was an adventure. Sergo and I managed to communicate through a mixture of broken Creole, French, and a little English. He insisted on buying me lunch at a gas station on the outskirts of Cap, which is about an hour and a half drive from Borgne. Paranoid about food poisoning from the hot food, but not wanting to deny his hospitality, I settled for a Diet Coke (there was no regular in sight) and some delicious local nuts. Nothing could have made me feel more comfortable than that sweet sweet sound of a soda can opening. The drive to Borgne was the best part of the day, Sergo was more than happy to help me work on my Creole, and eager to tell me the names of everywhere we passed. 

As it did last time I was here, the contrast between the immense poverty and the unimaginable beauty of this country blew me away. 

I'm not sure what I expected of my arrival in Borgne, but it wasn't this. There are several other Americans here, all exciting people, obviously linked by a passion for social justice. However, since they've been here for a few weeks and are mostly medical interns, I've felt a little left out for the day. I primarily spent the afternoon shadowing people (and feeling annoying about doing so). I know that this current frustration is one that will pass, I just need to get some rest and get started with my work and find my place.

A highlight of the afternoon was collecting an entourage of little kids. The whole time all I could think about was a quote from a book I just started, recommended to me by the wonderful Kristen Jensen, called Kisses from Katie, about a young woman working in Uganda. She spends a while talking about falling in love with the children. I found myself not caring that this little boy just blew his nose into his hand and then held mine, because he was proudly leading me on the tour of the hospital and beaming to be one of children holding my hand. All I had time to feel was love.

Dinner was delicious. That was expected. Nanu is the best! We had a delicious rice with carrots and cabbage, with a potato like thing, avocado, and beef. To drink there were coconuts and freshly squeezed passion fruit juice. The dessert was the best part - fresh mango. Wins all around.

I'm not sure where tonight or the next few days will take me, but hopefully I'll be able to gain a better understanding of my role and learn as much as I can from those around me.