With fourteen days left I have lost all sense of urgency and yet there is so much to do and think about. I'm still on track to get all I want to achieve - but I do wonder how quickly the next two weeks will race by. I do want to meet a few more of Father's contacts. A business women and two other priests have been mentioned by him. Plus a visit to the orphanage at Jérémie (on the south east tip of Haiti - the only on I haven't been to), another home run by the sisters. In addition I'm painting one mural at the big school in the playground and two canvases, one for the sisters and the other for parish of St Teresa.
The parish of St Teresa in Petionville is a big parish run by Father Desca. The building was destroyed by the earthquake. And for four years there has been a campaign to raise money for its reconstruction. A German charity and an American organisation have so far offered two thirds of the estimated cost. In Father Desca's words, 'We're not ready to build . .' It's a huge and tireless undertaking - and spoken of with real enthusiasm and conviction. But many projects in Port-au-Prince are ready, and re-building is about to begin in many churches that were demolished that January day. 57 Catholic churches were destroyed. There are about 300 Catholic priests in Port-au-Prince. The church here is strong and the bishop of Port-au-Prince was recently made a cardinal. Pope Francis, I know, feels greatly concerned for countries like Haiti where the problem of poverty is in crisis.
Two visits to the mountain district of Léogâne and I love it. I've decided I'd love to camp there on the next visit. The trip is about two hours each way by car. Down from Petionville, the road continues downtown flat and congested. The road narrows slightly and clears as you exit Port-au-Prince. Then it's a clear run for the last forty minutes into the town of Léogâne. Then the car sweeps left for the hills. After a long climb with striking views down and across, Haiti looks beautiful. The trees seem to growing with great urgency and potency. There vast plains of green, great swathes of plantain and banana. When one really gets into the hills the only traffic on the steep roads are bikes and walkers. They all know Father and call out to him with smiles and waves. He's helped build a small school on a hilltop that desperately needs support.
We pass huts for homes along the way that are artfully constructed with precious materials. Immaculate yards with red polished earth - dotted with urchins and washing bespangle - and the car engine children stand to attention. Then cry out, 'mon père. . ' and mothers with wide grins and mules moving urgently away from motor. The sky is blue, the sun is hot - ' . . these are peasants', Father tells me. How that doesn't translate into my language! The school was closed and we dropped off rice and beans for next week's school meals. Then we shot off back down hill for a slightly easier return than the bouncy climb up. The breeze through the now open window carries sweet and dry smells of hot soil and baking caramel . . from somewhere and no where. I feel such a peace here mixed with a burning affection for such simplicity and plainness. And humility.
Sunday, 9 February 2014
surprise, delight, dislike, or pain
Sometimes it feels like riding the rapids, with such force and such velocity. Sometimes I can hardly pause for thought, at times there's such a rush of adrenaline, a surge of emotions as one simply tries to compute, to go along with it all, to understand the extremes that people know everyday. Extremes, that for them, there's no escaping.
The rapids then give way to calm and warm; floating in reef pools in a dream-like oasis of crystal blue and stillness. The noise of Haiti evaporates for a moment. This place gives me such peace and contentment, the likes of which I've rarely experienced. And how can that be amidst so many extremes, drifting from the din there's music, weird and irrational? And there's been five weeks of it. The comforts of staying here, the good food, the swims in crystal waters each strike a discord with each new picture of poverty we see from the air-conditioned safety of each trip. The theatre and drama of Port-au-Prince never grows dull - I'm never going to acclimatise - I wish I could do something that eases this great 'lack'.
From the rich to the poor; the secure to the disappointed . . I want to understand and make some sense of the great diversity here. And yet why should I stare and gawp and not just accept what is here and my position in it all? Every country has great diversity, with a complex order of things - with so much variation one cannot hope to see things simply and consistently - and this is true especially in Britain - I travel that country with indifference and acceptance. Though here I can't look at things with indifference, everything is upside down and inside out. There are hilltop villas overlooking Port-au-Prince with jewels for eyes. White symmetry, sweeping opulence. And downtown, close to the waterfront, the anachronistic splendour of festooned timber peeping out of concrete and corrugated metal work. Industry and commerce now bullies its way through to its relentless goals. At one end of the scale I see grime and sweat, firelight and filth. They have their stress and comforts. At the other extreme there's a bloated excess and great relief not to poor. I must stop looking for the harsh contrasts that exist . . just like only knowing Haiti for the earthquake is a rough approximation. There are harsh contrasts but there are great swathes of the unexceptional and acceptable. Masses of normality and contentment.
I've seen empty river ways filled with rubbish. Commonplace for them but horrible for me. The market days are swarming with horrendous riot and energy. For them its just a Saturday.
Friday, 7 February 2014
Thursday, 6 February 2014
rich soil on a dirt track
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.
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.
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