Haiti is a free country

Haitians and Americans working on the school

Nzunga has lots of ideas about what I should tell you.  A few days ago, he just wanted me to tell you I am safe and alive in Cap Haitien.  Now, he wants me to tell you how hard I worked today.  Today we went to the site of the school and helped.  We carried concrete bricks and laid them around the perimeter of the school, so when they are ready to go on the school when the cement is done being laid on the first level.  After that came my favorite part, making sand.  Someone would shovel a scoop of gravelly, chunky, rocky sand into the sifter.  The other person shakes the sifter so all the good fine sand falls into a mound, and the chunky rocks stay in the sifter.  Then, the best part, you turn your body, flick the sifter down in a way so the rocks fall out and away into their own pile.  Carrying bricks I could do for about a half hour to an hour, but sifting the sand and flicking the pebbles I could do all day!

I want to back up and talk a little about the Haitiens that we are staying with here.  They are incredible, generous, fun people to know, and I’m so greatful to have such wonderful hosts.  They all have amazing stories.  Nzunga grew up in the Congo.  He talked today about that experience for the first time, and as soon as I mentioned it I could see the sorrow in his eyes.  He says it was a hard time for him, sometimes he doesn’t like to remember.  His parents passed away while he was a teenager, and according to him, he joined up with a bad crowd.  Nzunga believes if it wasn’t for the people who pushed him to get an education, he would be dead right now, so he would give his life for improving the education system.  He came to Haiti in 1998 with Kihomi, his wife.

Kihomi’s story is my favorite.  She grew up in the Congo, carrying fruit on her head, walking for hours to sell it with her mother.  When Kihomi got her education, her life changed, and she became able to provide a different life for her mother.  Now, she finds a few girls at a time and helps them with school.  One of the girls she is supporting came to the compound and sat with us for a few moments.  Kihomi found this girl through her mother, when Kihomi bought some oranges from her mother.  She heard the girl’s story, and has been supporting her since then, to get her to go to school.  We asked Kihomi how old the girl was, and found out this girl is 23, and still finishing high school.  That’s fine, says Kihomi, when they get to be 25 become a little too old for high school.

I told Kihomi about Seattle Education Access, and how in Seattle I help low-income and homeless young adults pursue higher education, and she laughed and said, “That’s what I do!”  I am very happy to have flown across the country to work with the Polly Trout of Haiti.

And finally the story of our Secretary General, Emmanuel Pierre, who we have been told to call Mano.  When he and Kihomi were driving us around Cap Haitien, they took us to the site of the elementary school being built, a project of the Haitian Baptist Convention that the Evergreen Association is supporting.  As we looked at the site that would one day hold six classrooms, and then eventually twelve when they built the second story, Kihomi started translating Mano’s story.

Mano grew up like the poor kids on the street of Cap Haitien.  His father passed away when he was 14, but there was always someone to look out for him and to push him to go to school.  He went through seminary, and became a Baptist pastor.  The main person who always took care of him was the Secretary General, and now he has been selected by the people to be the Secretary General.  Mano wants to use his resources and abilities to help other children get an education.  He says his village is not far from Cap Haitien, so he thinks of this as his city.  He has chosen the poorest place in Cap Haitien to build this school, so the poor kids who are growing up the way he once did can access it.

It has been an incredible experience to hear all of our hosts’ stories and see how their lives have been transformed by education, and how much they are giving to the education of future generations.  I’m so grateful for this experience.  Nzunga and all our hosts are taking great care of us.  Every hour, Nzunga tells us we should, “Drink water, drink water, drink water,” to an extent that not even Sheila Becker could rival.  Today we got the word that there was unrest in Port-au-Prince, and Nzunga rushed us back to the compound, about an hour’s drive away, just in case.

The police were striking in Port-au-Prince.  They are not well protected, and one of their officers was killed today.  So the police have started putting up barricades to demand attention and better protection.  I appreciate how Nzunga wants to keep us safe, and is doing so much for us, but I also want to be at the barricades, to see what is going on there.  I’m getting a bit frustrated with how sheltered I feel, but I have too much respect for my hosts to bush the boundaries they have set.

On our first day in Cap Haitien, I asked Nzunga if we could walk around in the daytime.  He hesitantly said yes, but he does not encourage it.  Ron asked if it would be best if we went in groups of twos or threes.  Nzunga then explained how much Mano was risking by hosting us at his compound.  He has been kidnapped at gunpoint from his own bed several months ago.  They assume, but do not know for sure, that he is a target because he always has American missionaries coming to stay at his compound.  If I were to leave the compound and walk around on the street, people would see me, see where I came from, and then Mano would be even more of a target.

Tomorrow we will go to a Haitian market so I can attempt to barter.  Nzunga explains that bartering is not about selling your goods for more then they are worth.  Bartering is a chance for the customer and the vendor to have a conversation, to build a relationship.  I think this will help me feel less sheltered, to get to walk and talk with the vendors in the market.

My Creole teachers at the compound

The other problem for me is if I was allowed to walk around the streets, I wouldn’t have much to say to anyone.  I did enjoy some fun “conversations” with the children staying on the compound.  They were standing on the steps, making faces and hamming it up while I sat on the balcony.  I ran inside to get my camera, and they let me take a picture and video of the boy making funny faces.  I said, “Bonswa,” and the girl said, “Bonswa.”  I said, “Como regule,” and she told me her name, but I couldn’t pronounce it.  I asked, “Como i?” and she told me, “I’m good.  How are you?”  I said, “Mwen byen.”  I pointed to things around the compound, and asked, “Qui q’cest in Creole?”  She taught me fluir, Jeep, meza, fruit, and a few other words I forgot.  I asked her if papaya, mango, guava, banana are all fruit (pronounced fru-eat), and she said, “Oui.”  She asked if I liked Haiti, if I liked Creole, and I said, “Oui.”  I pointed to my head and hesitantly asked, “Tet?”  She smiled and affirmed me.  Then we went through tet, epol, jenou, otey (head, shoulders, knees, and toes), and Ron came down to video us singing together.  She was very forgiving with my bad accent, Creole that slipped into Spanish or English, and lack of things to say.  I’m not sure how a conversation outside the compound will go.

Same as when I went to New Zealand, the culture shock is slowly seeping in for me.  When we first landed, others in the group remarked about the streets, the lack of lanes, the goats roaming around with no owner in sight.  Nzunga loves to tell us, “Haiti is a free country.  Those are free goats in a free country.”  On day one, I didn’t feel surprised by all of this.  (Perhaps this is because of Chris’ pictures and stories of Port-au-Prince.)  I told Ron I couldn’t tell what was going on, but I wasn’t feeling the culture shock.  He remarked that he always feels it more on the way back.  When you’re traveling somewhere new, you take the experience in without letting yourself be shocked, because this is someone’s way of life.  It is what it is.  When you go back to the States, you become astounded with the differences, and you open your critical eyes to compare the places and experiences.

I want to back up again to Nzunga’s statement that Haiti is a free country, the goats are free, the drivers are free, the pedestrians are free.  They follow no laws but their own.  I’m struggling with being so sheltered and not getting to understand the level of freedom that does exist here.  I know that this definition of freedom comes with a high cost, but I want to ride in the tap-tap, the Haitian public transit trucks and buses that hold more than double the amount of people allowed in the States, and are also traveling murals.  I want to walk through the markets.  I want to try manje rapid (fast food) from a cart by the side of the road.  I want to have that experience and be able to understand first hand what it means to give up the amenities and comforts that are provided for us on the compound, to have a different sort of freedom.

I asked Nzunga and Mano if I learn enough Creole, what is the best book I should read.  They both responded, people.  A wise answer, and very fitting for me.  I hope I get the chance to practice it this week.

The one night we stayed in Port-au-Prince, there was a D.J. at the hotel.  Some of the other travelers were pretty tired and not too happy about having loud music all night as soon as we got settled.  Pharez (the youngest person on the trip) and I were pretty excited.  We went down after the nightly reflection to go dancing, but there was no one there, just the D.J. and a couple of friends.  We sat with Nzunga, he bought me a Haitian beer so we could try it.  There was a young kid, about 5 or 6, in a red T-shirt who came out on the dance floor, and had impeccable rhythm.  After one Haitien beer and a day full of flights, I was ready for bed.  I woke up the next morning completley well rested, only to find out the music had gone on all night and hundreds of people came to dance at midnight.