Day 7

Hello friends. Once again, internet access has been limited and so our ability to post has been delayed. But don’t fret. This post is from day seven of our adventures, with more to be posted shortly.

Day seven started early with a quick hop out of bed and back in to the “party bus”. Based on the Cami Express’s performance yesterday, we were certain we’d be driving in a couple Nissan pathfinders or something more reliable. Despite our concerns, we decided to trust Gabie and Steve and made our way back to our seats from the day before. We left at six o’clock, hoping to arrive in PaP before our day of planned activities started. Fate was not kind to that poor vehicle and we broke down for something around the millionth time in the past 24 hours. Gabie, a bit frazzled but never losing her poise, made a few calls and had a tap-tap find us. Now this tap-tap was AUTHENTIC. At first glance this vehicle was overwhelming, exploding with colors and words. The first (and most memorable) phrase I saw read, “Kill me now. Give me Jesus.” Although the seating situation was less than ideal—I had a screw jammed up my butt and Melody was literally hanging off the back end—we FINALLY made it to Wall’s Guest House. For a while there, I wasn’t sure if we’d ever make it out of the Haitian boonies. But we did, safe and sound.

Then something just shy of a miracle happened: we were given breakfast and time to shower and nap before heading out. THANK YOU, JESUS. Between you and me, I was smelling pretty ripe (it was my first shower in 2 days). Breakfast consisted of mangoes, oranges, watermelon, and pulpy flavored yogurts. The girls were given the room the boys had last year, and the boys were given what we’ve named “the cave”: no windows, five beds, whitewashed walls, two oscillating fans, and a piece of [tasteful?] artwork. But we’ll manage (at least there aren’t any bunk beds involved). Just kidding, Timmy. The group spent some much-needed time recuperating, preparing for an eventful afternoon and evening.

The afternoon began with a few introductions. Our driver and translator arrived, both of which we had never met before. The driver only spoke French (I never did catch his name) and Jimmy was our translator/guide/babysitter. They took us to lunch at a swanky “blanc” hangout/hotel appropriately named the Visa Lodge. Inside, it’s easy to forget where you are (precisely why we hated the place). The restaurant was situated poolside, with our table under a cabana-esque overhang. Lunch was served buffet style, complete with Omaha steak and Maine lobster, both obviously imported. A native band serenaded the restaurant with tropical music. It rubbed several of us the wrong way as we began to see how the musicians were being displayed like some Haitian novelty in front of the guests. And when I say guests, I mean white people. Taylor said it best when he whispered into my ear, “hey look, we’re no longer the minority”. For the first time in a week, I was surrounded by more foreigners than Haitians. This comes to show who the hotel/restaurant caters to and expects from its guests. It made me sick. I couldn’t help but think of the bumper sticker I had seen in May that said something like, “Humanitarian Terrorists Are Not Welcome”. How could we be sitting poolside, sipping fruit smoothies and nibbling on steak and lobster when people were struggling to survive a few hundred yards away? Wiping our chins and heading back to the van, we had never been more full and empty at the same time.

Following our guilt-inducing lunch, we began what Melody has dubbed the “poverty tour”. If any of us weren’t already uncomfortable, we soon would be. We drove downtown, seeing a much more urban take on Haitian life. Our first stop was a quick visit to the Musee du Pantheon National. Billy’s participation in an American Studies class, Haiti and the US, this past semester has given him the unofficial title of group historian. When he saw the exhibits, he almost hit the ceiling. Included in the exhibits was the anchor from the Santa Maria and the memorial/burial site of the original rebellion leaders and soldiers (talk to Billy for more info). The museum, the tamest of our stops, was followed by a leisurely jaunt in front of the presidential palace. As an outsider, it was a hard place to be. On one side of the street, there is this beautiful white building collapsed in on itself (SOOOOOOOOO much symbolic irony) and on the other side, there are rows and rows of shitty relief tents and shacks. Keep in mind that the 12th of this month will mark the second anniversary of the quake. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? To make things even more uncomfortable (especially for poor Hannah) Jimmy walked us not through, but around these camps. Our unnamed driver crept behind us in the van. We quickly decided we had had enough.

Desperately trying to separate ourselves from the “HAITI EARTHQUAKE RELIEF TEAM” in matching shirts, we jumped in the van and sped off towards our next destination. Jimmy informed us we were headed towards a cemetery. Which one? I still don’t know. Why? An even better question I can’t answer. We made it to the entrance were a Vodou artist was selling his work. His pieces were fascinating: horrifically manipulated dolls spray-painted black, tied up with string, and pierced with nails. His work will certainly give me nightmares but was interesting enough to solicit a business card from him. Jimmy, using the little intuition he had, decided against entering the cemetery. We packed back in the van and headed towards yet another iconic symbol of the earthquake’s devastation. Driving up to the Cathedral of Our Lady of Assumption, the national cathedral of Haiti, I was speechless. What was once a beautiful gothic/baroque building was now leaning columns and chunks of concrete dangling by iron rods. I stopped to admire the pieces of beautiful handcrafted stone flooring and couldn’t help but think of the archbishop, slain during a service, along with his parishioners on that very floor nearly two years ago. It was some heavy stuff. To make matters even worse, a horde of Haitian beggars ambushed us as we wandered through the cathedral ruins. One woman rubbed her pregnant belly with one hand and held out the other. Another swung her dilapidated arm around, trying to earn our sympathies and throw her a gourde or two. Timmy swears that the man playing the guitar and following us around with a big stick was “conveniently blind”. Despite our sincerest urge to hand these people some money, we knew it wouldn’t be in their best interest. If we gave them a dollar or a million dollars, it would never be enough. I reassured myself that I was on this island to empower the people of Haiti, not to feed the stereotype of the humanitarian [terrorist] tourist. Wading through the crowds of crippled and pregnant natives, we made our way back to the van and moved on.

Jimmy and the driver dropped us back at Wall’s. The team split up and spent some time alone before dinner, frustrated with the afternoon’s activities. Many of us have begun wondering if International Child Care fully grasps the Compact’s mission. We aren’t like the other foreigners we were exposed to today. We’re not trying to “heal” Haiti like the doctors in the restaurant, nor are we trying to “save” Haiti like the 28-person group from central Michigan. We are here to actively learn so that we can address social issues vital to Haiti’s recovery. We are here to help Haiti heal and save itself. Based on the day’s itinerary, I’m not so sure ICC understands. Still full from our buffet lunch, many of us sat silently at the dinner table.

Our day’s saving grace was a familiar face from our trip this past May. Djaloki was kind enough to pay us another visit to discuss Haitian life and his experiences as a Vodou priest. Djaloki is what Haitians call a “shaman”. Being a well travelled, educated man, Djaloki can spur some interesting conversation. He began with a quick bio and a few Haitian proverbs. He then invited us to interrupt him at any time and ask questions, encouraging us to step outside our “comfort boxes”. Nothing was taboo in Djaloki’s eyes. After a few minutes, the new team members began to warm up to his charismatic personality. We began throwing lots of different questions at him, ranging from Haitian culture to organized religion and spirituality. The group was engaged in a conversation with a man who understood the collective Haitian experience. One of the more profound topics discussed with Djaloki was the fast approaching “shift of consciousness”. Ordinarily a topic to deeply philosophical for casual discussion, Djaloki was able to break down the concepts and explain his belief in a current change in collective morality. He believes a vast reformation in the human understanding of the world—and how we interact with it—must occur for us to redirect our present “suicidal path”. According to Djaloki, it is the responsibility of every human being to open his or her mind to the wisdom that knowledge, humility, and symbiotic relationships can provide. It is through this wisdom that we can find hope for the future. He continued, explaining the “Diamond Rule”, “Do unto others as they would have done to themselves.” Mull over THAT for a hot second. I could go on forever about the wisdom oozing from Djaloki.

We spent the rest of the evening reflecting and completing affirmations to help us unwind from one long-ass day.



<3 for Ayiti,

Nick et al.