It's remarkable how friendship can take shape almost by accident. And also, so quickly. Strangers one minute, hardly taking notice of that particular person . . then mysteriously common ground, like-minded views or kind consideration take root. Then the person seems quite familiar. I can't remember a time when I didn't know him.
The priest we met at breakfast ten days ago has been quite incredible in the past week. He has transformed our view of Haiti - at least geographically - by first taking us cross-country to Léogâne (a hill-top district, close to the epi-centre of the terrible tremblement de terre, and poor before and after that travesty) - showing us his 'school' project. Prior to that, to the Justice and Peace meeting that we were so surprised by - when gay rights were high on the agenda which seemed strange . . but then when one thinks about it . . it shouldn't be all that surprising. Of course, poverty is the number one issue but all aspects of human dignity should be considered together. They are all as important as each other. And then yesterday to the beach! Going to the beach - like the pool - feels slightly self-indulgent for a trip of this kind. Initially, at least. But you need days like this. There is an fatigue associated with this kind of travel - the constant surprise and wonder of it all - so detached from my normal expectations of the world. Leisure time is crucial if we are to get through 45 days of astonishment and admiration in equal measure. To be able to waste away a few hours eating, talking and swimming is a great leveller. You certainly notice next day as you feel stronger and ready for the next challenge.
The car journey took us through a few small villages - flat and dry - and always thriving with Haitian 'commuters' and dawdlers . . gainful employment is scarce and so life seems to exist on a much more relaxed basis. And I've seen a steadily more harmonious Haiti in the four visits since the earthquake. Cooperation is much more evident here than back home. When I see this kind of harmony and mutual accord I wonder what on earth caused us to be so individual and competitive in the UK. But you don't find a Utopia anywhere. And back home the problems and issues are just different. When we travel we are confronted by aspects of life that are so much better than we know back home - never the whole package but elements like the weather the clean warm blue sea . . and we may over-idealize the life we are seeing here steeped in colour and filled with intoxicating smells; burning plastics, baking palms and parched earth; foods and pheromones. Personally, I am counting the days with a healthy perspective that being here must come to an end and other responsibilities must resume. I still love it here - and I think I always will, my desire to help them is not a white arrogance but a genuine response to help people that are worst off than myself! I appreciate and have come to love more and more the blend of brokenness and paradise that is Haiti. It might even reflect my own life which has never been perfect but the challenges are there, amidst the triumphs, and I suppose we are judged by how we respond to the challenges all around us - personal and global. And preferably, I believe, in a responsible and loving way. The dark side, which we all have, grows stronger or weaker. Prominent or overpowered. And so it is with Haiti.
The roads to Léogâne were the steepest I've ever travelled . . anywhere. Corsica was dramatic enough. Here the steep ravines would have swallowed up the car. The roads were strewn with deep craters far worse than Cap-Haïtien, in the north of Haiti, which I experienced in my first visit in 2010. The road climbed and narrowed and eventually we reached the school - I was sure we'd have to stop the car and walk before the final summit but I'd forgotten we were carrying a dozen bags of cement, I couldn't lift one of these. We arrived and got down from the car covered in dust and were given a quick tour of the school . . ramshackled and like four garden sheds housing small classes that were in session. The children were immaculately dressed given their obvious hike to school every day. The surrounding countryside was staggeringly beautiful. I'd never seen this Haiti. You could see the ocean on one side of the school and on the other was an endless sea of hills, a rich patchwork of greens and browns with borders all joining together without interruption. And just in front of us a drop of thousand feet to the valley below. It was a view from the window seat of a plane. I felt strangely detached and my memory of it now - four days later- is clearer than when I was there. There was broken hutch and ramshackled stalls in the school garden that felt more like a ghost town were it not for the young children just inside . . they are Haiti's bright future.
Thursday, 6 February 2014
Tuesday, 4 February 2014
Sunday, 2 February 2014
roads and rights
While I seize a moment on the vacant laptop there's a distant racket of female voices and laughter. It's a pleasant backdrop amidst the heat and comfort of the guest-house. The corridors echo. Distant voices - a mosaic of sounds - collide and bubble in a soup of reverberations. Nuns in playful discourse, loud then soft, come and go, melodic and as though rehearsed. The afternoons quieten to a whisper after the lunchtime laughter. All is well in the world within these Herculean walls. The colossus of Rhodes guards the gates invisibly with youngsters at its feet like crabs with firearms and steely eyes. Two pairs of wide steel gates complete the fortress, possibly a thousand acres, with trees and immaculate walls and pathways and open views of a thousand hillside homes - stunning vistas night and day.
Outside this cool room the sun exterminates the foliage. Only the tough survive. The Haitians know to run for shade or sleep from two till four.
The days start slowly after breakfast without specific plans. Sister Gisele, displaying her customary smile, entered the room and said, Father would be here in twenty minutes to collect us. I'm not sure if she meant twenty minutes because it was a long wait in eager anticipation. We didn't mind - he might be running late for a whole host of reasons. He had a plan. I welcomed it - getting out and about is why we're here - to meet the world and his wife and if we find some new purpose then great! We watched and waited from the rooftop.
The car hurtled in to view with a cloud of chalk dust billowing in its wake, we hopped abroad and we were on our way in a flash with little explanation or greeting. This was exciting. Then he announced he was taking us to meet the Belgian priest.
After a twenty-minute drive through city streets and broken pathways we arrived at a cool yellow chalet at the end of a quiet street. It was a clean, two-story building with lots of painted iron work, tropical greens and tidy paths.
By contrast, and en route, life in all its colour and chaos swarmed around us. The car cut through fields of colour and swarms of bodies carrying on regardless of slow moving traffic. Horns pummelled the oblivious and the deaf. Wheelbarrows stacked with sugarcane, sharpened spears fit for battle. Heads laden with goods - balancing acts - carriers with perfect pose. Shoulders for balance: broad and adept. Countless people sitting and selling. Each person, indigenous and in perfect belonging; all playing their parts as extras on a set governed by Equity and indifference. No one is self-conscious or deviant: everyone is a collective. Each playing their part: the consumer and supplier acting out their conviction with indifference and certainty. A bus load of extras pass through the chalk dust on a dollar a day nonchalant and expectant. Though this isn't a film set . . but the players walk their route cheerfully compliant.
As we passed through unguarded gates we could see an open reception area a little way ahead. There sat a solitary figure - was this the priest, I wondered? Our guide and chauffeur nodded and walked on through. Then into another large 'L-shaped' room with twenty people, or so, gathered, as though in conference. The presentation was about to begin.
Outside this cool room the sun exterminates the foliage. Only the tough survive. The Haitians know to run for shade or sleep from two till four.
The days start slowly after breakfast without specific plans. Sister Gisele, displaying her customary smile, entered the room and said, Father would be here in twenty minutes to collect us. I'm not sure if she meant twenty minutes because it was a long wait in eager anticipation. We didn't mind - he might be running late for a whole host of reasons. He had a plan. I welcomed it - getting out and about is why we're here - to meet the world and his wife and if we find some new purpose then great! We watched and waited from the rooftop.
The car hurtled in to view with a cloud of chalk dust billowing in its wake, we hopped abroad and we were on our way in a flash with little explanation or greeting. This was exciting. Then he announced he was taking us to meet the Belgian priest.
After a twenty-minute drive through city streets and broken pathways we arrived at a cool yellow chalet at the end of a quiet street. It was a clean, two-story building with lots of painted iron work, tropical greens and tidy paths.
By contrast, and en route, life in all its colour and chaos swarmed around us. The car cut through fields of colour and swarms of bodies carrying on regardless of slow moving traffic. Horns pummelled the oblivious and the deaf. Wheelbarrows stacked with sugarcane, sharpened spears fit for battle. Heads laden with goods - balancing acts - carriers with perfect pose. Shoulders for balance: broad and adept. Countless people sitting and selling. Each person, indigenous and in perfect belonging; all playing their parts as extras on a set governed by Equity and indifference. No one is self-conscious or deviant: everyone is a collective. Each playing their part: the consumer and supplier acting out their conviction with indifference and certainty. A bus load of extras pass through the chalk dust on a dollar a day nonchalant and expectant. Though this isn't a film set . . but the players walk their route cheerfully compliant.
As we passed through unguarded gates we could see an open reception area a little way ahead. There sat a solitary figure - was this the priest, I wondered? Our guide and chauffeur nodded and walked on through. Then into another large 'L-shaped' room with twenty people, or so, gathered, as though in conference. The presentation was about to begin.
Saturday, 1 February 2014
out and about
After weeks of broken communication and lots of light-hearted misunderstandings it was refreshing to speak with someone that could speak English so precisely and have such insight. I know I was enjoying the bubble of being abroad and living without the constant stream of language, but there comes a time when we long to have some explanation of the way of life here. Some reasoning of the unique behaviour here; a reasoning of the patters and shortcomings of Haiti. Father Desca's friend, and remarkable man and a priest, with a great insight about Haiti, its personalty and problems. He sat with us for about half an hour and I really hope we get chance to talk again.
Meanwhile, Father Desca took us around in his comfy pick-up truck with its formidable traction and air conditioning. We visited Delmas - a great expanse of districts stretching to the airport. Dusty roads, undulating with numerous obstructions and bends in the road. Then onto to Cité Soleil which was our main destination. Father agreed to take us to a school in this extremely impoverished district - an area well-know not least because Mary's Meals do some of their great work here.
Meanwhile, Father Desca took us around in his comfy pick-up truck with its formidable traction and air conditioning. We visited Delmas - a great expanse of districts stretching to the airport. Dusty roads, undulating with numerous obstructions and bends in the road. Then onto to Cité Soleil which was our main destination. Father agreed to take us to a school in this extremely impoverished district - an area well-know not least because Mary's Meals do some of their great work here.
fracture and splendour
The media drives home a particular message. I can see how tempting it is to endorse the views of the press, to repeat them, reiterate and perpetuate ideas that are widely accepted. Like rumours that have a long shelf life, ideas that are often quite pertinent and salient. But these headlines don't always reflect the real character of a place or event. Many died as a result of the earthquake, yes! Though many more - millions, in fact, survived the earthquake!
They get stronger each day.
And although I read everywhere that Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere . . and true it may be quite the poorest . . but there is so much more to the place. The headlines are shorthand but unless you can witness the longhand, the backstory and the detail, then one can miss the true meaning of the Haitian character. Haiti is phenomenally rich in culture. It has a complex history of turmoil, feuds and revolution.
The place has a deep and striking complexion.
I realised a few days ago how much we view Haiti through the devastation of the earthquake. It's understandable but rather superficial. I do it too; afterall, my first visit was itself a (crude and naive) response to that natural disaster and it was all I knew of Haiti. The effects of the earthquake were the beginnings of my empathy for the place and its people - not sympathy, but a simple and human compassion . I became personally 'drawn here' because of that event and subsequently 'captivated' once I'd experienced the place and spent some time here. But to think of it now only in terms how the character of Haiti was altered after that awful event is only a fraction of Haiti's great story. Its recovery since that January four years ago has been itself a remarkable episode but I am fascinated by the failings here and the endemic attitudes towards wealth, the white man, justice and corruption that is, at best, held in abeyance. Reprisals are common towards the police and so they act with great caution, if at all. The government operates in a way I'm only beginning to understand. One story in particular, a shocking demise for a high ranking judge that questioned and tried to change the endemic nepotism or financial corruption here. This despite the relatively positive reports one hears about the new leader.
Many people have followed the fortunes and failings of this 'lawless' place. They have labelled it as a failed state: suspicious of the voodoo and the mystique of black Haiti with its slave origins, ignoring the cultural and historical foundations of these. There is a western ambivalence about a black country that seizes (or steals) its independence from France or Britain or a civilised state.
Last Saturday Piere Desca talked to us across the breakfast table. There were two Haitian priests joining the sisters for early morning breakfast - one was a priest that had said Mass earlier at the convent and Father Desca. Fr Desca was warm and cheerful and we quickly got chatting about our visit and our interest for Haiti. He quickly invited us to join him one day, out and about. He is the parish priest at St Teresa's in Petionville and the Justice and Peace director for the diocese.
They get stronger each day.
And although I read everywhere that Haiti is the poorest country in the western hemisphere . . and true it may be quite the poorest . . but there is so much more to the place. The headlines are shorthand but unless you can witness the longhand, the backstory and the detail, then one can miss the true meaning of the Haitian character. Haiti is phenomenally rich in culture. It has a complex history of turmoil, feuds and revolution.
The place has a deep and striking complexion.
I realised a few days ago how much we view Haiti through the devastation of the earthquake. It's understandable but rather superficial. I do it too; afterall, my first visit was itself a (crude and naive) response to that natural disaster and it was all I knew of Haiti. The effects of the earthquake were the beginnings of my empathy for the place and its people - not sympathy, but a simple and human compassion . I became personally 'drawn here' because of that event and subsequently 'captivated' once I'd experienced the place and spent some time here. But to think of it now only in terms how the character of Haiti was altered after that awful event is only a fraction of Haiti's great story. Its recovery since that January four years ago has been itself a remarkable episode but I am fascinated by the failings here and the endemic attitudes towards wealth, the white man, justice and corruption that is, at best, held in abeyance. Reprisals are common towards the police and so they act with great caution, if at all. The government operates in a way I'm only beginning to understand. One story in particular, a shocking demise for a high ranking judge that questioned and tried to change the endemic nepotism or financial corruption here. This despite the relatively positive reports one hears about the new leader.
Many people have followed the fortunes and failings of this 'lawless' place. They have labelled it as a failed state: suspicious of the voodoo and the mystique of black Haiti with its slave origins, ignoring the cultural and historical foundations of these. There is a western ambivalence about a black country that seizes (or steals) its independence from France or Britain or a civilised state.
Last Saturday Piere Desca talked to us across the breakfast table. There were two Haitian priests joining the sisters for early morning breakfast - one was a priest that had said Mass earlier at the convent and Father Desca. Fr Desca was warm and cheerful and we quickly got chatting about our visit and our interest for Haiti. He quickly invited us to join him one day, out and about. He is the parish priest at St Teresa's in Petionville and the Justice and Peace director for the diocese.
Friday, 31 January 2014
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