Traffic pulses and one feels carried here and there, in and out of incoming traffic like a twig in a river; chickens climb atop piles of garbage endlessly scratching for food; stray dogs roam, ribs visible and mouths open, panting in the dust and heat; slender, high-cheeked women sway as they move through the masses, huge woven baskets of fruit, laundry, or bread balanced on their heads; men scramble between water tankers and SUVs hawking Cokes or attempting to wash your windows before you can stop them -- your obligation suddenly all too clear. Children in pristine and colorful school uniforms move in bunches, carefree and smiling or stone-eyed and robotic, nonetheless oblivious to what feels like sensory overload.
The smells -- of burning garbage, open sewers, and (rarely) cooking food; the grit -- from unfiltered exhausts an factory smokestacks sticking to my lips and coating my skin as I stand, legs wide apart for stability and hands gripping the welded crossbar behind the cab of an open-bed truck; the noises -- of horns honking, music blaring out of open-air bars, of clutches grinding, and the rattle of Nissan or Toyota trucks lumbering over the roughest city roads one can imagine.
No, there is not much stillness in Haiti.
In twilight women bathe their protesting children in metal tubs outside or collect their clothes from drying lines while men tinker or stroll the streets or restlessly lean on first one crumbling block wall, then another. The night air is filled with calls of "bon soir!", hums of generators, strains of dogs barking and roosters crowing, as well as chants from voodoo temples and Halleluiahs from Christian revivals.
In my experience of Haiti, I did not find rest in comfortable Lazy-Boys or hammocks. Comfort is incongruent with existence there, as is abundance and plenty. Instead there exists an extravagence of shadows: Hunger, pollution, joblessness, and disease darken the doorways of tents and huts, orphanages and schools and cast their pall on Haiti's spirit.
But friends, know this: Haiti is alive! Like a wildflower persisting in the most desolate landscape, hers is an exquisite madness, born of staggering poverty and earth's fury, nurtured by a negligent government and non-existent infrastructure, and abandoned by many who say, "We mustn't be enablers of their present need-based reality."
And beyond these shadows -- beyond these shadows -- Haiti squares her shoulders, rises up, and dances the dance of resilience with dignity and grace.
This is a stirring account of this once-pristine island. Blessings to you, Jenny, for helping us - me - see. Blessings to your group for bringing the possibility of chickens and eggs to the orphanage. May we take your lessons and multiply them. Well written. Compelling.
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