Signing Off...

So it is my last evening here in Haiti. I feel as if I have been here for ages, and yet time has flown by. Sadly, my Kreyol is still pitiful, for which I am somewhat ashamed, but all in all it has been a most fun/interesting/enjoyable experience.

Things I will miss:

1. the sisters (and their hospitality/generosity) as well as other people I have met along the way

2. sweet potato dessert

3. daily walks to the clinic

4. spontaneous music from random sources

5. fried plantains and pickles

6. fascinated children who stare in astonishment when the blan says Bonjou/Bonswa

Things I will not miss:

1. mosquitoes

2. rice and beans

3. EDH (Électricité d’Haïti), or lack thereof

4. cold showers

5. people screaming hey you/hey blan 5 million times each during one 15 minute walk (funny at first, now I am totally over it… some of these people have seen me stroll by at least twice daily for nearly two months… is it still necessary, really?)

Nou fini.

(And thanks for reading—or pretending to…)

(As for my two big commentators, a special thanks… you made struggling with the internet somewhat worth it).

Denied

The idea of a visa is a rather remote concept for me (unless, of course, it refers to shopping and the need for credit). If I want to travel somewhere, I can, for the most part, book a ticket, take my passport and go (I realize this is not always entirely true, but I definitely have the option of leaving the US should I wish to do so). Which is why it is somewhat difficult for me to grasp how very challenging it is for a typical Haitian to obtain a visa to merely visit the US (I am not sure if travel elsewhere is any easier, though I sincerely doubt it).

One of our translators, a very bright and truly exceptional twenty-five year old student who also works for Family Health Ministries in various capacities (often traveling long distances to complete said work… in all honesty I do not know how he manages to do it all), was invited to a conference in Washington, D.C. I am not entirely sure what the conference was about, but I think it had something to do with young leadership and world poverty. Anyway, I remember thinking he would be a wonderful voice to have at this conference, as he is motivated, articulate and would likely have a lot to contribute. Plus, it was a wonderful opportunity for him: all expenses paid, a unique experience, etc. Although I had heard from some of the Americans living here that obtaining a visa (particularly if you are a Haitian who is young, male and single/without any children) is nearly impossible, I remained skeptical. And yet, when our translator went to the embassy regarding procurement of a visa for this conference, he was swiftly denied: despite having a job and family here, the fact that he is single and has no children indicates (at least to them) that he really has no reason/incentive to return to Haiti. Thus, he would not be permitted to leave.

I found this all out yesterday, when he stopped by the clinic. I knew his meeting in Port-au-Prince was on April first, and I had thought about him at that time, wondering how everything had gone. When he told me the news (and the embassy’s reasoning) he was visibly upset… I just felt so bad. It seems so silly to me. Yes, the government should worry about losing someone like him: bright, innovative and hardworking. But, at the same time, this was an experience of a lifetime, one that might better enable him to actually make a difference here at home. I don’t know, for lack of a better phrase, it just seems so very unfair (I know, I know, thank you captain obvious).

On a lighter note: The power went out a good 25 minutes early last night. Big deal, right? Well, of course, for the first time since my stay here I forgot to bring my head lamp into the bathroom with me while I was taking my shower. Granted every time I had brought it with me, “just in case,” I didn’t need it… until last night, of course, when it was still sitting on my headboard. Luckily, I was nearly finished, doing one last rinse of my hair (milk pitcher in hand secondary to water pressure that is the equivalent of someone spitting). Still, it was quite difficult to locate my towel/not kill myself as I made my way to my room in the near pitch blackness.

As I wasn’t yet tired, I worked on finishing book number eight by candlelight. I love carrying this oil lamp around… makes me feel so medieval. Though perhaps if I lived in a castle, it would be a little cooler (literally and figuratively)…

Blan Fét

I was watching one of the few House episodes I have remaining, when I was startled by the sudden buzzing of my oh-so-fabulous Nokia Digicel phone (it is highly reminiscent of the one I had in high school, minus the antennae, and complete with a very cool version of the snake game… but I digress). Seeing as I don’t get all that many callers, particularly in the evenings, I was somewhat surprised, but after picking up (which as many know, I never seem to do), was quite glad to have done so. Turns out some of the other Americans in town (who Jackie was oh-so-kind to introduce me to) were planning a get together for the following evening, or as Nathan explained, “us blans are planning a party.” The reasoning for a random party on a Wednesday night? The impending departure of two of these said blans the following day. Considering my packed schedule/extremely exciting nights, I eagerly agreed.

Around 6:30ish last evening I moto-ed it over to the hospital compound where they all reside, special reserve Haitian rum in hand. We had a delicious dinner (I have now eaten there some four or five times and am continually impressed/especially pleased… it is quite nice to have some fresh vegetables in addition to the typical Haitian fare of beans and rice). A little after 8PM we strolled over to the dance hall/night club, Ka—they had convinced the owners to open especially for the occasion. The turnout was considerable; in addition to the six of us blans and our Haitian acquaintances, there were dozens of other regulars ready to dance. And, shockingly, I took several turns on the dance floor, myself (whether or not I would actually call it dancing is another matter, but regardless, thank you Mr. Barbancourt). In between, I definitely enjoyed watching everyone else glide gracefully and effortlessly in ways I can only dream of moving.

We did have a minor 5 minute blackout mid-party, but since the sudden cessation of electricity is a common occurrence everyone just casually waited it out until the generator was quickly fixed. Interestingly, most cell phones down here have a pretty powerful flashlight (so I learned last evening), an extra feature that is consistently put to use. Two other fun things to note (1) our party planners decided to drive their microwave over to the dance hall, so as to supply every table with some popcorn and (2) although most of the guys here are considerably less sketchy than those typically found lurking at clubs/bars in the States (the fifty year-old with a come-over in the city, for example, or the line of lurkers that predominate along the walls of Franklin street, planning their sneak attacks from the sidelines), it is still nice to know one has at least two decent excuses—“Sorry, I don’t have a cell phone/phone number” (which is actually possible) and “Oh, I’d love to meet up but alas I’m leaving the country.”