A Journal from Haiti: Day 2, Part 1

A Journal from Haiti: Telling stories the world should hear.

Experiences and thoughts on the journey translated into words to the best of my ability.

Sunday

6/23/13

Day 2, Part 1

Sometimes it's tough to sleep well in a strange environment, but I must have been even more exhausted than I knew last night. As soon as Laura flipped off the light and my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep on a top bunk for the first time since college! I don't even think I even moved...until 4:30 when I was awakened by an unfamiliar sound. Apparently, half past four is what time the rooster next door thinks everyone should rise and shine! Ha! Not exactly expected when you're staying in a house in the middle of a town. Plus, I'm pretty sure waking in this manner was a first for this suburban girl! Once I was awake, I was ready to start the day and had a hard time waiting patiently for everyone else to wake up! When it was finally time for breakfast, I was excited to try out mamba (Haitian Peanut Butter) for the first time. It's definitely different from the Peter Pan I grew up on--in fact I think it's much better! Mamba is made with peanuts, a bit of sugar cane, and a few ground up peppers. Yum! I think it tastes like natural peanut butter in The States with just the perfect amount of added spice. As soon as breakfast was done, we loaded into the van to head to church.

As we drove from Cabaret to Leveque, two things stuck out to me most: the tap taps and the loto booths. Tap-tap is the Haitian word for taxi, but these taxis don't look anything like the yellow cabs New York is famous for! The first one I spotted immediately brought to mind visions of my first international mission trip to Mazatlan. In Mexico, we were quite familiar with their "taxis"--red Mercedes trucks with two benches in the back. The drivers would shout "Ocho, ocho!" as we, ignoring their advice to stop at 8, tried to pile in as many people as we could possible seat somewhat safely on the benches. Unlike in Mexico, the taxis in Haiti have no suggested passenger limit. In fact, it seems to be a competition of sorts to see which tap tap can carry the most passengers. The truck beds are overflowing with people, but that doesn't stop more passengers from climbing aboard. As long as you can find a way to hold on, the driver will happily carry you to your destination. And trucks aren't the only vehicles used as tap taps. There are plenty of motorcycle tap taps as well. I'm pretty sure I saw almost as many motorcycles on our drive to and from Leveque as I saw that time we went to bike week in Daytona. (Yes, I went to bike week in Daytona...It was a bit of an accidental unplanned adventure, but I have been nonetheless. But that, my friends, is a story for another another day and another blog post...) Passengers pile on behind the motorcycle driver--3, 4, and 5 deep! It's quite the sight! As we drove down the road, something else caught my eye immediately--brightly painted little sheds scattered about on the sides of the road. They reminded me of the snowball shacks we have in Maryland. They had words painted on them, but we were going too fast to really see (and then, of course, my Kreyol is still a bit...uh...emerging). I asked Watson what they were and he told me they were loto booths. Yep, loto. As in lotto. As in lottery. Here we are in a country where water and electricity are more than scarce, where children are going hungry, where education is a luxury. But don't worry, there's a loto booth on every corner, so your luck might turn around tomorrow. I know it shouldn't be shocking to me, the lottery is a part of most cultures marked by poverty. That's true even in America. But these colorful snowball-loto shacks surrounded by rubble and trash make the phenomenon so much more difficult to ignore.

We turned off the main road, left the tap-taps and loto booths behind, and headed down the dirt roads leading to the village. It was clear we were getting farther and farther away from town. With the exception of the occasional emaciated horse, donkey, or goat, palm and plantain trees were the only things to be seen. As we bounced along the bumpy terrain, I gazed out the van window and began to wonder how the Leveque we were about to see would compare to the one I had spent the last year imagining. When we came upon the aqueducts, the sudden bustle of activity interrupted my thoughts. There were children playing, teenagers laughing, and women chatting, all gathered around this vital place shared by several nearby villages. Many of them stood on the side of the road , staring after the van as we drove on by. Their eyes were fixed on us, but their faces were expressionless. I wondered--What are they thinking? Suddenly, I realized that I really had no idea how Haitians feel about Americans. Are they thankful when they see these privileged, white visitors come to do short-term relief work. Or are they resentful of these people who could never understand their culture, their ways, their world.

We made a left hand turn and moments later we got our first look at the colorful houses we had seen in the pictures on the internet, and we knew we were in Leveque. The streets and yards were full of activity. Kids, fascinated by the "blans", chased after the van. When they could no longer keep up, they stopped in the middle of the street, their eyes still locked on us. Many of them were covered in dirt and shoeless; others were naked from the waist down. I wanted nothing more than to stop the van and meet each of these precious children. We made our way through the streets to an opening in the center of the village where many teens and children were gathered. There was a large white pavilion-like structure in the middle of the clearing. Kathryn told us that this building, which looked much like the what we would see at a park in America, was the village activity center. I began to notice families, dressed in their Sunday best, making their way toward the hill ahead of us, and I knew we must be close to the church. As we started our slow ascent up the hill, I felt guilty for passing these families to make the ascent in our air conditioned vehicle. As we made the climb we caught glimpses of the village bellow--the rainbow of houses we had passed by just moments before, the distinctive blue tarp structures housing the families still waiting for permanent dwellings, and the concrete block structures that would soon become their new homes. And all of a sudden we were at the top, pulling up next to the church. Stepping out of the van, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the creation below. We could see the village, the countryside, the mountains, and the sea. It was absolutely breathtaking. A beauty beyond photographs and words. A sight I could have spent hours soaking in. Magnificence I had not expected. This was Haiti. The Haiti no one tells you about. The Haiti I was already starting to love.