On the way to rainbows and butterflies

Day five: As a group we have decided to stay in town to interview some people. Unfortunately nobody told the group measuring trees that we weren’t going with them so there is some confusion and, I think, hurt feelings. First we investigate what has happened to last year’s group mango dryers. A severe problem in Haiti is malnutrition. Wouldn’t it be sweet if they had fruit and veggies year round? The dryers are around but not in use, not even the one in the HTRIP manager’s backyard. We talk with the American mechanic at the hospital who has decided to hire half of his recently-fired staff to build mango dryers and sell the product in the market. If they don’t turn a profit in a week, they are fired. This plan has several flaws: it is mango season so why in heck would someone buy a dried one; men do not sell things in the market; the dried mangos aren’t quite dry enough and therefore don’t store well.  Anyhoo, this guy is a character. A veritable genius (Carnegie Mellon robotics anyone?) who refuses to learn Kreyol he nevertheless imparts several insights on the culture:

“Haitians spend the most money on death, school, charcoal, and cooking oil in that order.”

“To figure out the culture here is like trying to psychoanalyze a teenager.”

“The strong survive. The weak die.”

Later that day we interview one of the technicians and realize that we have failed to explain ourselves when he finally asks us who they heck are we.  Oops. The interviews are enlightening. Most of the technicians believe that HTRIP is doing great work and has the interest of the Haitian people in mind. They are generally optimistic and constructive suggestions for future success. On the whole, problems cited are logistical. I hope that as we have provided a forum bring these ideas to the surface…where they will stay and be used.

Day 6: One day we head up to a community whose name I forget but we refer to it as “beyond Barbe,” Barbe being the furthest community that HTRIP is working in. My knees hurt so while the others hike the last few kilometers I endure the bumpiest ride to man. At one point I actually jump out of the jeep because it seems preferable to hobble than jolt. I have a strange crisis at one point. There is a teeny tiny market (ie four women selling tiny sandwich bags of noodles) along the road. Ross stops to buy a bag which prompts me to wonder if in his well-intentioned way of spending money he has just bought someone else’s very needed noodles. I mean these women probably don’t get new supplies very often. I don’t say anything. In “Beyond Barbe” we meet with the community to explain what HTRIP is and how it works. (Or rather we watch the meeting take place.) The way that the program works is that 30 people have to commit to participate the first year and that each year a new 30 will be trained in tree planting techniques. Coming from Bolivia, the least densely populated country in the Western Hemisphere, to Haiti, the most densely populated country, I keep finding myself thinking, “But where will they find 30 people all the way out here?” But there are people everywhere, even where it appears that only goats go. Additionally this land is steep and rocky and completely unsuitable for agriculture…but people plant on the stark hills. We are told that people arrive at the hospital with injuries caused by “falling out of their fields” and I can see how this happens. On the way back down I opt for the jeep once again and share a bench with the boniest man ever. He is so sharp that I wouldn’t be surprised if I have lasting damage.

Day 7: We sit in on a staff meeting. The staff good naturedly correct the American manager’s Kreyol. He handles it gracefully. I know that this week has been stressful. Suddenly 20 nosy graduate students have descended on his town to question the project as a whole and perhaps even his management. I can see how as a young buck faced by Yalies who appear to have more experience he could feel intimidated. We try our darndest to encourage him to apply at FES and remind him that our work has not been on the same large scale as his. Anyhoo at the staff meeting the technicians are encouraged to try chaya, a spinach-like plant that is grown as an ornamental in Haiti but which is superduper nutritious (and yummy!) They also pass around a bag of dried mangoes, completely independent of our nagging about the mango dryer sitting around in the tree nursery!

Day 8: Not only does it rain but also there is a blockade between out hotel and the hospital and HTRIP offices so we just hang out in the hotel. The next day (9!) we are encouraged to escape and so we plan a trip to a local waterfall. This is the only day that my knees and/or ankles do not hurt and I am assured that the hike is only 20 minutes. It turns out to be about an hour and a half so we swim for about a half an hour and head back. It was not the most phenomenally planned outing ever. We had been threatening a talent show for days so that night it was brought to fruition. Somehow we contracted a brass band to play for a bit and then acts included juggling, expanding stomachs, acapella (your very own Loggerythms), and other feats of daring and strength. The dancing begins soon after but as a swollen party pooper I go to bed early.

being talented

the waterfall!

we are easily amused

Day 9: The next morning we leave pretty darn early for the airport where the passport control tells me that I am too pretty to have a damaged passport. You spill one bottle of water and you’re nagged about it for ten years. We are told that all flights out are delayed but we are industrious graduate students. We watch a Bollywood film, pass around an old People magazine, play “guess which Asian persuasion,” and host a finger puppet dance video (after which we are chastised for being too loud). ..and then we fly home.

Postscript: At home I am lamenting the lack of food in my refrigerator when Nara stops by with beer and ice cream.

Postscripter: I find out I have Lyme disease. Hence all of the ridiculous swelling and soreness.

Postscriptest: And Haiti becomes rainbows and butterflies in my memories.

Of oranges, and walking, and sand.

Day three: Since it is the weekend we have two sort of holiday jaunts planned (it is spring break after all). I think both trips are designed to inspire us and/or show us the true realities of development. On Saturday we first head to the local market to interview people about charcoal and timber prices. The women who sell charcoal all tell us that they have walked three days from the mountains to get to the market. Given that the market is twice weekly I am incredulous. It seems that the woman just want to show how hard they work so we will pay higher prices. Two interesting linguistic things happen. First one of my companions and I lose the group. We try to ask where the other white people are to no response. I can only imagine that the Haitians were thinking “You’re right in front of me you idiot!” Later we try to buy an orange just to practice our Kreyol and haggling. My buddy speaks French so between the two of us we were doing ok but are stymied by explaining the exchange rate. At this point the fruit seller’s son comes up. He has worked in the Dominican Republic and speaks a little Spanish so we (eventually. in front of a gathering crowd of onlookers) negotiate the purchase of a few oranges at a fair price…..which turn out to be the super sour kind that you only use for making juice. No matter, we are still proud of ourselves.

From the market we head to TiFa’s sustainable farm/hotel/conference center. TiFa is a Haitian agronomist who pretends not to speak English and specializes in easily adoptable technologies.  We go on a 15 minute hike across the river (which we are later told likely hosts cholera) to see his fish farm, poultry and exotic birds operation and banana plantation. The fish are carp and tilapia. Carp grow large before reproducing but tilapia must be separated before they procreate in great number. As such, we learn how to sex fish, a skill I will be sure to put on my resume. The birds, ranging from chickens, geese, ducks and Guinea hens to peacocks and parrots, also reproduce continuously as TiFa puts their eggs under criollo hens to be incubated.  The peacocks cost thousands!

 We have a delicious lunch of okra, pickle, eggplant, roast goat, and a salad that looks to me like it can only bring death in that it is tomato and lettuce swimming in a puddle of water. I have been conditioned by Peace Corps to avoid such threats but I am reassured by the fact that TiFa actually has his own water purification plant. Reverse osmosis in the house! Once we are all stuffed and barely waddling we are brought on a “one hour” hike to see some original HTRIP plots designed to see the effects of species compositions and some of TiFa’s own trees. TiFa’s trees have actually been recently burned. Luckily the paths threading through the land have acted as a fire break. Throughout the long and sunny uphill walk we see women walking up with huge baskets on their head. I find it interesting that all of them step off the road to avoid walking between us even though we have left room. For the second time that day a small crowd gathers to see what the heck the “blonds” are up to. Even though we were at least a half an hour late and we could see the bus TiFa makes us walk even further. We later learn that he wonders why we always seem to be in such a hurry.

On one of the paths is a gourd filled with a few coins. One of the interns bends down to pick them up and is fairly tackled by the HTRIP program manager.  Evidently it serves as an offering to the gods and this poor intern came very close to being cursed. Throughout the week he recounts all the bad things that have been happening to him; he blames the gourd.

That evening we head to the hospital director’s house for drinks and casual conversation like real live grownups. The entryway is an old aquaduct that a Haitian tells us is from Columbus’s time although it is actually much more recent. The house is big and beautiful and designed by one of Frank Lloyd Wright’s protégé’s to be hurricane and earthquake proof: the roof is on rollers, the windows are slatted and the supports are concrete. We are treated to a small speech on the artistic stylings of Wright and also his personal proclivities before retiring to bed.

Day four: On Sunday two of us try to go to church. However it is the first time ever that Haiti has instituted daylight savings time so we find ourselves standing in the dark waiting for our escort in vain. We go back to bed before heading to the beach with looks like the entire international aid population of Haiti. The parking lot is packed with Red Crescent, UNICEF, UNDP, and USAID jeeps and the beach is crawling with Uruguayan and Brazilian peacekeepers. I am shocked by the steep entry fee of $20, the food prices on par with NY, and the lack of Haitian staff (most are actually Dominican). We swim out to an inflatable trampoline and I would have floated all day if Papa Gordon wasn’t more worried than I was about me getting a sunburn. On the bus ride home we drive through two parades and one wake….and we are theoretically refreshed for a week of work.

The black boogers of a dusty nation

Day one: orientation. Post breakfast we were regaled with presentations from hospital staff including a particularly long one from the director of the hospital and a not long enough one from the program manager of the Haiti Tree Reintroduction Project (HTRIP). We were then given a tour of the hospital, the prosthetics lab and the community services building including the tree nursery. I am not a too huge fan of hospitals and it felt particularly awkward to be tromping around one that only caters to the seriously ill. The prosthetics lab was fascinating. It was explained to us that after the earthquake resources could not be distributed well in Port au Prince so the clinic and lab was set up in Deschappelles by the Hangar company. Not only can the prosthetics be made in a few hours but they also funded and designed the “Haiti knee” built especially for the hilly terrain of the country.

Wall art in the hospital

The cashier

tree nursery!

Day two: much walking. I woke up on day two with both ankles swollen and a sore knee. Despite this, we hiked up to a community called Sous Dupon to see one of the original HTRIP plots and basically interrogate the technicians and property owners. We were told that it was about an hour walk but it quickly became clear that Haitian time doesn’t nearly approximate Greenwich mean time. (In fact, the true calculation is: HT = 2GMT + 7 minutes.) The soil of Haiti has been severely degraded and in many places all that remains is the limestone base so this means that the dirt roads are a blinding white.

The demonstration plot was terraced and protected by live fencing and the trees were in good condition. However, other plots had noticeably lower tree survival with no move towards replanting. It seemed like the farmers were discouraged because without fencing the goats ate all the trees. What can you do?

I was particularly impressed by Ruth the intern. She had a real rapport with all the technicians and was able to translate and phrase our question in a culturally appropriate way. There were certain concepts that we struggled to convey in Kreyol, particularly money and time. In trying to quantify the money lost in exchanging food plots for tree plots, we asked, “If you planted one field full of pigeon peas, for how much could you sell the pigeon peas?” and the answer was generally “Who the heck would only plant one crop?” We also tried to ask more basic questions like what was their income and what did they sell to earn money and were they earning more or less now. We were generally met with “I don’t know” until Ruth asked “How you pay school fees?” So our brief attempt at a socioeconomic study of reforestation projects met with a bit of a roadblock. It would be very important to have someone very familiar with the language and culture design the questions if you wanted to get real answers.

Later that afternoon heading back into town we saw two huge trees. The technicians explained to us that these marked boundaries between landowners but now hold voodoo spirits that prevent the tree from being cut down. In fact, if you tried to cut them down, your hatchet would be swallowed and you might be killed. It was possible to communicate with the spirits through the trees, leaving offerings and such. One technician then said he didn’t believe this because he was Catholic. Haiti, like Bolivia actually, is a fascinating example of syncretism, where Catholicism (or whatever dominant religion) is adapted to feature aspects of the native religion and people who go to church and call themselves catholics might also make offerings to voodoo spirits.

That evening we went to the pool and played sharks and sardines (although what self-respecting shark eats sardines). The notes I took in my journal include the phrase “the black boogers of a dusty nation.” I shan’t expand but I will leave you with that image.

Haiti: of swollen ankles and border crossings

On Thursday March 7 I woke from a vivid malaria-meds-induced dream at 4:45am to find that I had somehow hurt my ankle and also forgotten to pack undies or socks. I hobbled around throwing things in my duffel and set out to meet the rest of the class. Our flight was at 10 but Papa Gordon, as we dubbed our professor for his good natured and fatherly concern, was worried that we would encounter traffic or other unseen barriers like flooding, tornadoes and/or aliens between New Haven and NYC. We didn’t. We arrived bright and shiny to have about 4 hours to kill in the airport. I spent it well, having a Skype interview with a Bolivian NGO for whom I am now working. The flight was normal (I was squooshed in the middle) although there was a palpable excitement among the Haitians to be returning to their beloved country. I’ve never encountered anything quite like it.

We were warned that the airport would be complete chaos and indeed it was. Upon landing we were shepherded to a bus packed to the gills and driven to the terminal where we were greeted by a brass band. Despite having memorized the Kreyol answers to “Vacation or business? How many days? Where are you staying” I forgot them and the customs officer just waved me through. I then set out to find my luggage and was somewhat nervous when I couldn’t. However, before leaving New Haven we had tied pink ribbons to all our luggage and some enterprising young Haitian had gathered it…including some suitcases that although adorned with ribbons were not actually from our group. In a country with such few opportunities and high unemployment, people work however they can; I’m sure we each could have had three men carry our baggage out to our waiting bus. On the bus I was super excited to see our fellow students who had arrived earlier or traveled through the Dominican Republic especially Narita, my partner in crime, who had one of those border crossing stories that become cocktail party favorites. If we grad students had cocktail parties she could spin a yarn involving a stolen cement truck, a blockade, three people and luggage on a motorcycle, and arguing and bribing her way into Haiti.

The bus reminded me a bit of Harry Potter’s Knight Bus. Careening around the streets of Port au Prince, passing slower moving vehicles (or attempting to), with 23 backseat drivers the bus headed north to Deschappelles’s Kay Haiti  where we dined upon the spiciest rice and beans known to man and free beer. Wafting through the air were the familiar smells of burning garbage and dust. (Dust by the way is classified by many Peace Corps volunteers as the fifth food group and I think it has a very distinctive smell that I associate with dry often-developing countries but I wonder if Arizona smells similar.)

By this point both my ankles are swollen which I attribute to serious water retention issues.