Our First Glimpses of Haiti

I've been terrible about taking photos on this trip.  My role here is to organize things, write, edit, and just plain see what's going on on this island.  I have other people in my group who are much better at taking photos, and who are assigned to do so.  So I've been relying on them to capture the images of this trip.  I tried to be better about taking photos in Haiti, but I mostly ended up taking some videos and stills from our van as we rode through the streets of Port-au-Prince.  Here are my first few images from Haiti.

The spot where our Haitian hosts' van broke down, along the main road into Haiti from the Dominican crossing at Jimani.

Daniel, one of our Haitian hosts, trying to figure out what's wrong with his van.  The lake here continues to encroach on the highway, and work crews are constantly dumping new dirt to keep the water from flowing over the road.

Outskirts of Port-au-Prince.

Rush hour traffic in Port-au-Prince.

Eating Ants

I may have eaten a couple of ants today.  There’s really no way of knowing for sure. 

Ants seem to have a presence in every room in every building on this island.  They’re the tiny little sugar ants that form thin lines in your kitchen sometimes, when you spill juice and forget to clean it up.  Here in the Dominican Republic and Haiti, they march along the walls of the bathrooms, kitchens, bedrooms, and anywhere else you can imagine.  You see them outside too, along the edge of the patio or pool, filing one after the other in perfect formation, on a mission to bring crumbs, dead bees or flies back to a crack in the concrete, where their queen is surely waiting. 

Today a few unfortunate little soldiers got stuck in the peanut butter and died there.  I discovered their bodies when I went to make a sandwich.  I tried to scoop out as many of them as I could before spreading the peanut butter on my bread, but there’s really no way to be sure I got them all. 

If I did indeed eat some ants, it wouldn’t be the worst thing I’ve eaten on this trip.  Two days ago, in Port-au-Prince, we stopped at a fast food place that serves white people food like hamburgers and French fries.  Frankly, I enjoy eating the local cuisine when I travel.  And a lot of times, a foreign attempt on an American classic like the hamburger misses the mark. 

I chose my order carefully.  I figured the quality of Haitian beef couldn’t be all that great, so I ordered the dish I thought would be the most difficult to foul up: chicken nuggets.  Boy was I surprised.  But maybe I shouldn’t have been.  One of our hosts had previously informed us that because North Americans eat so much more white meat than dark meat, countries like Haiti take a lot of the leg and thigh leftovers.  But it wasn’t the dark meat that killed my appetite.  It was the fact that they were so processed and pressed into spongy little patties and then deep fried in oil that looked like it hadn’t been changed in a week or more.  The fries didn’t help either.  They could’ve been good, if they’d had about half as much salt.  

All this is not to say I haven’t eaten well here on Hispaniola.  In fact, the home cooking of our hosts has been delicious.  And I’m incredibly thankful for that, especially considering what millions of people here eat.  Or don’t eat, for that matter.  We’re lucky to have plenty of peanut butter and chicken and other varieties of foods, whether they include ants or not. 

Photos From the Dominican Republic, Part 1

Flags from the Dominican Republic, USA, Uganda and Malawi at the Children of the Nations office in the DR.

The Children of the Nations office where my Dominican counterparts work, in Barahona, Dominican Republic.

Perla, the little girl I sponsor (ensure her school fees are paid, etc.) in the community of Don Bosco, a Dominican slum in the city of Barahona.

Taking a drink from the roadside spigot in the Dominican slum of Don Bosco.

Charinson, the first university graduate from the batey (Haitian slum) of Algodon, where Children of the Nations built its first school in Barahona, Dominican Republic.

Estrella, a little girl from the Dominican slum of Don Bosco.

Some of Estrella's family.

That fruit must be sour.

Another Thought on Haiti

Something I realized as I wrote my previous post is that my nerves always calm down sooner or later, and I’ve become very comfortable in poor countries.  After that first trip to Mexico, which lasted two weeks, I returned the following summer for eight weeks.  I got used to living in a cabin in the hills outside Ensenada, where I would hear mice scurrying along the rafters above my bunk.  Even now, it’s hard to imagine being OK with that.  But I managed, just like I did in other ways, and just like I’ll have to do during my four days in Haiti.

I also got used to eating the local food in Mexico, whether it was at a restaurant or a taco stand.  But I remained vigilant with the water, always using the bottled stuff to brush my teeth.  I ventured out of my comfort zone by going there in the first place, and it paid off.  I love Mexico now.  I’ve been back on short visits a handful of times, and I always enjoy it.  I don’t feel uncomfortable in the least when I’m there. 

This week, in the Dominican Republic, the only things bugging me are the mosquitoes and the heat.  Over the past few days, we’ve spent a significant amount of time in the slums on the outskirts of the city, where my employers have schools.  I haven’t felt out of place or uneasy.  I think part of the reason is that I’m used to being in areas like this.  And another big part is the people I’m with.  The local staff members are in these slums daily, and the Americans with me are just as accustomed to seeing this kind of deep poverty as I am, if not more so.  Everyone is surprisingly nonplussed by the sight of palm wood and sheet metal shanties with naked toddlers running around in front of them, through rutted dirt roads strewn with trash and other, more fluid types of waste. 

Maybe part of it, too, is that the families who live in these conditions know our organization is there to help, and so they’re friendly toward us.  I’ll try and post photos of some of the folks I’ve met.  But right now, I need sleep.

Preparing for Haiti

Tomorrow I go to Haiti.  I’ve been looking forward to it for a while, but now that it’s upon me, I’m nervous.  I tend to get like that before trips that I know will stretch me.  And usually those are trips to very poor countries. 

The first time I went to Mexico, I was excited but afraid of everything.  When we drove through downtown Ensenada that night, on our way to the camp we were staying at in the hills outside of the city, I was afraid to eat the food at Burger King.  Yes, Burger King.  Not some street-side taco stand, but a reputable, international restaurant chain.  My stomach was in knots that only untied slowly, over the course of a few days.

Before I went to Bolivia, I was similarly anxious.  I had to visit the doctor in Argentina, where I was living at the time, and get a tetanus shot, a hepatitis shot, and a yellow fever vaccination.  It all seemed like a big deal.  I was nervous about eating the food in Bolivia, nervous about accidentally contracting something and ending up in a hospital or wrapped around a toilet.  And yet, the only place I got sick during my seven months in South America that year was in Argentina, one of the wealthiest, most comfortable countries on the continent.  I guess that’s what I get for trusting the quality of meat at “the end of the world” in Tierra del Fuego.

Now, like the first time I went to Mexico and the first time I went to Bolivia, I’m going to a country that’s poorer than any other I’ve been to.  “The poorest country in the Western Hemisphere,” is the oft-quoted phrase that follows Haiti like a voodoo curse.  I’m uneasy any time I’m entering a place that’s poorer than any other I’ve been to.  Bolivia is still holds the title of the poorest place I’ve been.  But after tomorrow, that label will belong to Haiti. 

I talked briefly with Mark—one of the people joining me for the trip—about my nervousness.  And it helped.  Just like writing this helps.  Now, maybe the only thing I really have to dread is the 4+ hour drive from here in the Dominican Republic to Gressier, just west of Port-au-Prince. 

In the Air Again

Here I am, back on a plane, and I’m reminded off all the things I love and hate about air travel.  It’s a red-eye flight with a 10:35 departure from SeaTac, heading to Newark.  I’ve got plenty of time to muse, which brings up the first thing I hate about the red-eye flight in particular: my difficulty sleeping on airplanes.  But let’s start with something more positive: the peacefulness of the red-eye.

On this flight, as on most of the other overnighters I’ve been on, it’s quiet.  No crying children, no loud talkers, the drink cart passed once, almost silently, and I was able to use the bathroom without waiting in line.  Which reminds me of something else I hate: airplane bathrooms.  I’m skinny and even I have trouble turning around in those places.  I can only imagine the tiny corner of hell the 350-pound guy across the aisle walks into when he enters that miniscule closet.

But let’s continue with the positive points again.  Tonight I lucked out enough to get an entire row to myself, so I don’t have to worry about anyone crawling past me to take a leak or grab something from the overhead.  And who knows, maybe I’ll be able to stretch out and catch a few winks later.  In the meantime, I’ll sit here and write while listening to my iPod.  Which are two more things I love.  

I’ve had the same songs on my iPod for over a year.  That’s lazy and pathetic, I know.  I’ve had plenty of time to change my lineup—I just haven’t gotten around to it.  But right now, that’s OK with me.  Because now, whenever I’m on an airplane and I turn on my iPod, I’m reminded of the nine weeks I spent on the road in the southern United States and Europe last fall.  At the moment, I’m making my way through my collection of The Black Keys, just as I did on so many airplanes and buses a year ago.  I already listened to Death in Vegas’ “Scorpio Rising,” just as I did on that wobbly train from Dallas to Austin last September.  I can never get enough of Liam Gallagher’s voice, and that song has become a ubiquitous travel companion, along with a handful of Liam’s better-known Oasis hits. 

Another indispensable album is Cornershop’s When I Was Born for the 7^th Time, which puts me back on that train platform in Bilbao, waiting to ride from my hotel into the center of town.  Later tonight, or perhaps on my connecting flight from Newark to Santo Domingo, I’ll probably listen to some Bishop Allen.  “Flight 180” is a tough song to do without when you’re on a plane, after all.  So are a pair of songs from the Foo Fighters’ There is Nothing Left to Lose album: “Next Year” and “M.I.A.”  Which reminds me, I’d love to hear “Paper Planes” right now, but unfortunately it’s not on my playlist. 

These songs and others are comforting when I’m on the road.  They’re the voices of old familiar friends.  They remind me of the trips I’ve taken and the sites I’ve seen, because they’ve been around for so many of them. 

As I said earlier, I’m also glad for the chance to write during this flight.  I’ve done that now, so I’ll move on to something else enjoyable: reading.  Maybe when I’m halfway through the next chapter, I’ll luck out again and sleep will seize me for long enough to make tomorrow bearable. 

Preparing for Hispaniola

I feel bad.  I haven’t written a blog in about six weeks.  I meant to write about my surfing experience soon after it happened, but instead I let myself become preoccupied with other things.  So here’s an update:

I just moved into a new apartment two weeks ago, and I’m leaving on a work-related trip in about a week.  Yes, those are my excuses for not blogging more regularly.  Could I have found time between moving and trip planning to sit down for 40 minutes and type?  Probably.  But I back-burnered it. 

Now, most of the travel plans are in place and I’m all moved in.  The new place is a little one-bedroom overlooking the water in West Bremerton.  I’m still working on furnishing it and trying to figure out how to hang a painting without using nails.

The upcoming trip, which begins on Halloween night, is a 12-day excursion to the Dominican Republic and Haiti.  I’m leading a group of seven other people—mostly writers and photographers—to the areas where the organization I work for conducts its business.  The business is that of development.  Schools, medical clinics, churches, clean water projects, that’s what the good people on the ground in Africa and Hispaniola develop.  I write about it, and edit what others write about it, with the intent of generating more publicity and enthusiasm from the literate public, thus generating more support and further development and helping more people. 

On this particular trip, our group will get a first-person perspective of what our organization is doing in the Caribbean.  I’m looking forward to meeting some of the people we’ve written about and getting to talk directly with sources, rather than going through an intermediary or exchanging emails.  I’m also excited to spend two weeks in a warm climate during the middle of autumn.  And getting to practice my Spanish.  And getting to venture into a crazy, messed-up place like Haiti.  I admit, I’m a little nervous thinking about Haiti. 

This is the first place I’ve gone where I have to take malaria pills.  And I’m more frightened of the pills making me sick than I am of actually contracting malaria.  Or dengue fever.  But, considering the way the mosquitoes in Argentina feasted on me (at one point, sleeping with the window open, I had about 30 bites), I should probably be more afraid of the bugs than the pills. 

Overall, though, I’m excited.  I get to travel, write, and experience two countries I’ve never been to before.  One of which has a lot of traits I’m familiar with, and another that will be completely new, strange, and intriguing.