Workouts and Withdrawals

I've started this post three times. Each time, something has stopped me from finishing. Thinking I have saved what I started, I exit safari. Come to find out, I actually haven't saved anything. I am hoping the third time really is a charm.

I've read that after women give birth, their bodies let of a hormone that makes them forget how painful child birthing was. I think our bodies do something similar when we travel. Thinking about my first trip to Haiti, I only remember one piercing coffee withdrawal. I negated the jet-lag, bloating, and extreme fatigue from my memory. Until yesterday, when I felt like a highly sedated version of myself. My first night here was restless and filled with tossing and turning as opposed to sleep. That made yesterday an almost miserable day, in terms of physical health.

Despite exhaustion, I am so excited to be in Haiti. As my plane descended into PAP, I felt as if I was visiting the homeland of dear friends. Returning to them after a short sabbatical away. Haiti is such a magnetic place, such a beautiful place.

I woke up yesterday morning much earlier than I ever wanted to. I agreed to go running with another volunteer only to find out she's a track star from UCLA. Her gazelle-like legs tore through our Haitian community while I huffed and muffed behind her. As she coasted into the compound without a change in heartbeat, I nearly collapsed to her saying, "speed work, you must do speed work." Regret over skipping months of speed workouts joined the lactic acid pooling in my muscles. Speed work. I guess Haiti will start to make up for all the missed workouts.

The majority of the day was spent at the beach yesterday. We squished into a car and hopped and bopped over bumpy Haitian roads for well over and hour before arriving at the beach. After devouring tablet (Haitian peanut brittle) and setting up our beach site, we dipped in to the bath like water. We stopped only when our fish arrived for lunch. My parents will tell anyone that I am a pretty picky eater. Generally, at home, my family eats one thing for dinner and I eat some concoction of my own alongside them. That being said, our fish still had its teeth and eyes, but the aromas arising from it didn't stop me from digging in. My dad would be proud. My mom might be disgusted.

Today, we have kids from the community coming for a day of arts and crafts and sports. I am hoping leftover fatigue expires before they get here...any minute.....

Apologies for incomprehensible thoughts and ideas. As time progresses, quality will progress too...as adaption overtakes fatigue.

"I fell in love again.."

"...I don't mind, I don't mind..."

The last week of school before winter break resembled the final acts of a circus and the consequential cleanup afterwards. My kids were excited and merry, although forced to spend four hours in a classroom taking a test that took most of them one and a half hours (hence the hum drum, necessary "cleanup" metaphor). On the last day of school before break, I had my first period class for 4 hours. While the other teachers hosted movie (or xbox) marathons in their classrooms, I insisted my class do something...merry, academic.

Alas, we read The Gift Of The Magi and made intangible Christmas lists. Lists of things that could not be bought or touched. My first period's poster filled with slogans asking for peace and love and friendship. They want their families home. They want the war in Mexico to end. They want an education...

As the tips of our class' drying out markers grazed the page, it became harder and harder for me to hold back tears.

On the last day of school before break, I fell in love again. With my students. With their benevolence, their kindness, their generosity, their innate spirit of joy despite the burdens they carry. I fell in love with it all, with them all and all of them.

Tomorrow, I leave for Haiti. When I was there in June, I embarked on the most miserable flight schedule that I never hope to take again. Although my 3:45am travel start time tomorrow is less than desirable, I should be Bonswaing in Haiti by late afternoon. Thinking about the first time I was there, I am dreading the baggage free for all in Port Au Prince and hoping that my frequent (and probably) annoying reminders to "not forget me again" are embedded in the minds of the ones who are suppose to pick me up from the airport upon my arrival. However, beyond my few anxieties, I am mostly peacefully anticipating my week away.

The first time I went to Haiti, I fell in love with the people. Their spirit. Their innate joyfulness. Their work ethic. The children who snuggled into me for three hour naps. I fell in love with the "bonjours" in the morning and "bonswas" in the afternoon. The "blan, blan, blan" shouted after me as I strolled the dusty streets intermingled with locals and other volunteers.

Fell in love. Fall in love.

It's incredibly easy to do when the receiver of my falling is humanity. Whether I fall into love with my students' kindness, a strangers passing glance, Haiti's fiery soul, it's easy. Falling in love with humanity is like swan diving off a cliff into seafoam green waters. Falling in love with humanity gives me reason to wake up, reason to fall asleep, reason to smile, to cry, to ask, to receive. Reason to live.

"I don't mind, I don't mind..."

My ever supportive family has donned on me generous gifts to carry with me to Haiti. My friends have sent wise words of encouragement through every (many) means possible. The Universe has given me satisfaction. My soul has given me joy. And, humanity, has given me reason.

"I fell in love again...I don't mind, I don't mind..."

M's Story

This is M's story. M has far too many names to list them all, but even in her vastness, she has been silenced by a nation with its head buried in the sand of the elite's beaches.

M lives on the border of Texas and Mexico. I am M's 8th grade reading teacher. She, like many of her classmates, are multiple academic years behind where she should be. Since she has been told it so many times, she believes the lie that passing a standardized test is all she needs to be successful in school. She was shocked when I refused to respond to her when she asked me questions in Spanish and looked at me in dismay when I told her class that Hispanic college entrance rates were grossly low for reasons mostly out of their control. I could see her trying to wrap her head around the statistics fueling the achievement gap. I could see the invisible tears flowing down her face just as the same invisible tears danced on mine as I told her about the discrepancies in education determined by socioeconomic class. The same way I hated saying, "Where we live is one of the communities securing the achievement gap.." I knew she hated hearing it. Although, as I mustered a charge for me students to "close the gap," I could see M's face brighten as if the hope of her teacher and her classmates awoke a beautiful sleeping spirit within her.

Beyond teaching M 45 minutes every day, I am also lucky enough to coach M in Cross Country. Per growing up in a grossly undereducated community that lacks any community health movement, M is overweight and generally propelled by nutrients from white carbs, sweets, and fritos. Although, she never uses her weight as an excuse to give up at practice. When other kids are listing excuses as to why they can't run, she asks her workout and begins without argument. Cross Country practice was the first time I realized, M needs to soar. I saw her stride hit the ground as if she were effortlessly walking on lily pads across a pond. Her pony tail trailed behind her as if it were dancing tango with the wind. Watching her run stung my heart because I realized the likelihood that her run might never leave our little border town. It stung my heart because I know the spirit her feet carry are needed in our world.

This realization was undeniably heightened at our first Cross Country meet. As M's race started I saw her keeping up with the pack, but as it continued she fell further and further behind. All of her teammates finished, but M was still far from the finish line. As her team panned the course looking for her, I could sense their worry for their teammate. "Ms. where is M? Is M okay? M works so hard every day, Ms." Soon, the entire team was huddled around me inquiring about their own race and the eventual fate of M. After fielding many questions, one girl interrupted, "There she is! There is M! Ms. can we go cheer for her?" My response, said without thought, was, "You have energy? Why don't you finish the race with her?" Every 7th and 8th grader, boy and girl that had huddled around me sung in unison, "Can we all go? Can we all run with her?" As my voice crackled "yes" their feet turned into turbo packs in an attempt to reach their teammate. M was dead last by a considerable amount, but she didn't finish alone. M finished with her entire team smiling next to her as they patted her back and said, "you can do this, you got this." Through shaking hands, I snapped a picture with my phone and tried unsuccessfully to swallow the growing lump in my throat. Beyond finishing the race with her, M's teammates fought over who would get her water and which one would chase down her gatorade. They returned to me as one, a cluster of beautiful young people.

Watching my team finish M's race as one induced pride in me that I had never felt before. Beyond pride, I felt a more frightening emotion, unmeasurable sorrow. Watching my team as a united group, running alongside their lagging teammate was an undeniable picture of their inherent benevolence. My students, my runners, have spirits that resemble a wide-sky Texas sunset, although their reach is far from similar to that of a sunset. My students beautiful spirits are dogged with educational inequity. Because I work at a school that is fueling the lower half of the achievement gap, I believe this is the wrong time for me to go into the gross happenings of educational inequity. Know, though, that my students are beautiful spirits that are at extreme risk for never touching the world beyond the border checkpoint 60 miles north of here.

The world needs my students. We need people who will run tirelessly next to us when we lag far behind. We need people who are inspired by benevolence rather than dollars. M's story is based primarily one on event, but it is a combination of the story of all of my students. My students, young people with beautiful, united spirits will almost inevitably be veiled by the inequities plaguing education in low income areas. Their hands will create solutions, their minds will solve problems, but their spirits will unite a broken world. We truly cannot allow the dark veil of injustice to stop them from flying...

When they soar, they will ensure we all soar too.

Three Haitian Hospitals and a Police Station Later

6.26.2011

I am fine. My extended stay in Haiti proved to be most adventurous, though. Since half of the house as been gone (including Sam, the national director and our leiason between Haitian and American culture), it’s been rather quiet. “Going out” currently consists of walking to the corner store and getting chocolate cookies ju-mex. I am going a bit stir crazy.

Yesterday, Sam and Cena (two locals; Sam works closely with HAC and Cena is one of our drivers) came to the house to drop off some vegetables that will eventually get delivered to orphanages. After they dropped them off, they were going to head back up to Kempkoff where the main orphanage is to get rice and eggs. Since I was jumping at any opportunity to get out of the house, I rode with them. We had no problems on the way up to the orphanage, Kempskoff is actually one of my most favorite places because it’s in the mountains so the air is cool and crisp and the mountains look as if they are from the Sound of Music.

On the way down the mountain, we had a little accident. Roads in Haiti are limited, as best. They are generally packed with rocks and potholes. There is seemingly no rules of traffic besides “stay out of the way of any car that is bigger than you.” We generally weave in and out of cars, I usually feel as if I am in one of those mind rides at the amusement park, the ones with the moving chairs. All that to say, driving and riding is Haiti never fails to be an adventure. Yesterday, though, we had more than an adventure. As we arrived in PV, a town not far from the compound, cars, people, and vendor stands littered the roads. We were stopped in traffic and one of our friends pulled up next to us. Sam opened the door to get out of the car and talk to him and right as he did, a Moto passed us and ran into the door. The Moto driver was in a frenzy about his moto and his leg. Haiti doesn’t really have an effective ambulance system, so we loaded the guy in our already packed car and took him to three different hospitals. The first two couldn’t take him, but we finally had success at the third. I turned into a child once we got to the hospital; I hated seeing naked children and visibly sick babies. One child had a serious cardiac issue, another was sick with typhoid, another a cut in his head. There wasn’t a waiting room, per se, so all the medical happenings were visible. I spent most of the hour and a half we were there with my head buried in Sam’s dirty shirt. I racked my brain for something I could to help and for the first time in my life I wished that I would have taken the nursing route like so many of my friends. I felt helpless; I couldn’t even communicate with any of the children beyond smiling at them or grabbing their fingers as I passed them.

After Johnny, the moto driver, was checked out and paid for, we dropped him off at his house. Then, we drove to the absolutely nonchalant police station to get the papers for the car. I wasn’t entirely sure what “get the papers” meant, but I acted like I was cool with standing in the rain at the Haitian police station to do it. We were only at the police station for about 30 minutes when they returned the moto, gave us the papers, and declared the incident an “accident” in which no one was at fault.

What a day. The entire time I was riding from hospital to hospital to police station, I reminded myself that I promised to let the story be written. It has been quite an adventurous story.

I will be back in the States Monday and in South Dakota Tuesday morning. This story will continue, in a different facet, but it will continue.

Simplicity

6.23.2011

Shortly after I moved to Texas, one of my friends got stung by a scorpion in my house. Not long after that, I was stung by a scorpion while I was lying in bed and then again while I was doing the dishes. We found a huge prehistoric-looking bug in our bathroom and spiders and other creatures tip toed around our house incessantly. I had to literally talk myself into sleep each night. I would tell myself, “you’ve been stung by a scorpion and survived, even if you get stung in your sleep, you’re going to be okay.” I was just about to crawl into my tent in Haiti and I noticed two little lizzards chasing each other around the house. Then, I remembered a couple days ago, a rat was crawling on the exposed edges of our rooms. There’s ducks and chickens running around our house and I pet mangy dogs every single day. When it’s time for bed, I crawl into my tent, zip it up, and I sleep until the sun and morning sounds wake me up. The creatures don’t phase me here.

On one of the first days of English class, one of the students said, “On a big dog, you can’t see the fleas, but on a small dog you can.” He then equated that to America and Haiti. He said America is a big dog and we can’t see the problems there, but since Haiti is a small dog, the problems are seen in plenty. As I think about my creature-phobia in America and my peaceful existence with creatures here, I am reminded of that students saying and a little bit embarrassed and very much humbled by my afterthoughts. In America, I have no bigger worries than the creatures in my house. I have clean drinking water, I have access to good food whenever I want it, there is no threat of typhoid, malaria, or cholera. If I don’t remember to wash my hands before I eat, it’s not a huge deal. I don’t have to wear shoes in the shower and I can brush my teeth with water from the tap. These are all pleasures of America, more specifically, my life in America. In Haiti, the trash that litters the street is a reminder of the toxins that poison the water. If I am feeling sick, it could be a serious disease and not a common stomach bug. In Haiti, the clean drinking water we have access to is a gem, a gift that not many are given without cost. People live in tents and most houses are opened. Air conditioning is almost unheard of and access to basic things like internet and phone are limited, at best. In Haiti, there are far greater things to worry about than the creatures in my open walled house.

I’ve made a “To Do” list for when I get home and it definitely includes “Hair Appointment and “Wax ( current Groucho Marx style) Eyebrows.” Things that I haven’t even considered since I’ve been in Haiti because there’s greater things to worry about. I live in America and I believe I live pretty simply, but as my time here winds down and my journey home begins, I am trying to reconcile the truer simplicity that I live in here with my life back home. I am grateful for the drinking water and cleanliness at home, but I want to be able to live grateful for the these pleasures without worrying about the “creatures in my house.” Truer simplicity has been my resonating lesson while in Haiti; the lesson I will bring home.

Extended Stay

June 23, 2011

I have extended my stay in Haiti. Instead of leaving on Friday, I am going to leave on Monday. I’ll get back to South Dakota Tuesday morning, but I’ll be back in the States with internet and phone on Monday!

As I began to say my goodbyes and wrap things up here in Haiti, I felt undone; as if things weren’t completed here, as if my story wasn’t written entirely. I sent a text to a friend back home and she was easily able to change my flight until Monday. I am excited that I get to prolong by goodbyes a few days. I am also excited to have one more weekend in Haiti.

The past few days, we’ve focused mostly on English classes. We’re trying to implement a practice day where the students get to discuss certain topics in English classes. Yesterday, was the first formal day of this practice. It’s really awesome to see how hard the students work to learn English. Even when they don’t know the words, they incessantly search their brain for a vocabulary that will help them express themselves. At the end of class, we had a question and answer forum. They asked if I like Haitian boys better or American boys, if Americans ate more or if Haitians ate more, if I would date a Haitian boy. At the end of class, one of the students tried to ask me out on a date. I think he’s 18, at most, so it was pretty easy to turn him down.

Today, we’re going to the internet cafe to send e-mail a few files to the States. We have English class this afternoon and the rest is still to be written.

A Quiet Ending

June 21, 2011

This morning, 3 of the 5 guys I’ve been spending all of my time with left for a mini vacation in a nearby (3 hours away) town. I’ll be on my flight back to the States by the time they get back. Since last night was our final night together, we stayed up until nearly 3 in the morning, reminiscing about our time in Haiti. I was up before 7 this morning to say “see you later” and consequently have felt exhausted the entire day. I think it’s a combination of the heat, my body’s inability to keep food in (my apologies for the readers with weak stomachs), and lack of sleep, but today I was in a state of minimum coherence more than I wasn’t.

After coffee and an attempt at filling my seemingly bottomless stomach, we had a Creole lesson. Then, Dan and I worked on a template for a HAC newsletter. We still don’t have internet at the compound, power during the day is infrequent, and our computer with the most information was taken to the United States until Sunday. Thus, we reached a bit of a standstill in terms of busy work. I used the lull in time to catch up on sleep. Even though I sweat the second I slip into my tent during the day, I took a good three hour nap before English class.

The afternoon was ordinary; we had English class and ate an amazing dinner (BBQ chicken, carrots, beans, platains, and my favorite Haitian cabbage), and showered. The few of us that are left here are enjoying a quiet evening at home, watching a children’s movie on TV; we’ve become a family.

Since my goodbyes started today, I feel like I’ve finally started to actually reflect on my time in Haiti. Normally, I am such a reflective writer, but since I’ve been here I’ve only been able to record events. It’s as if I am taking so many things in, but I am not fully processing it. I think that’s part of enjoying the adventure, or rather, allowing the story to write itself. Today, though, in my minimum coherence, reflection began, stirring a slew of emotions..

I am certainly excited to go home. I miss having a phone and internet access, I miss having girlfriends to debrief with, and although the food here has been amazing, I would love sweet potato enchiladas or a huge pizza with tons of vegetables on it. I am also pretty excited to be girly for a day or two when I get back. At home, these things have become a part of me and my life; they dictate my days to a extent.

Here, though, they are no part of my life, but I still feel wholly me. I have no phone, rare internet access, and my diet has undergone plastic surgery of sorts, but I am still me. Realizing this has retaught me what makes me me, what makes me tick. I’ve found that shower or no shower, phone or no phone, my ideal diet or one of a foreign foods, it is connecting with people that makes me feel alive. I love that my story has been written by so many people that have come in and out of my life previously. I love sharing that story as I meet new people; it is not a forced conversation, retelling the events of my life, but rather the words that come with natural conversation and genuine interest in other people. I also love that as I share the story that is my own, the new people who come into my life are able to continue my story.

I am brining a beautiful chapter back to the United States with me. The Haitian children have written kindness and innocence into my story. The students in the English class have written persistence and knowledge. The people of the community have written simplicity and carefreeness. Dan has written a realistic perspective. Kevin, fun loving joyfulness. Sam, a formula for balancing life and professionalism. Arnold, reminiscence and serenity. Isiah, friendship. Daphne, independence. The cleaning women and cooks, selflessness. And the country of Haiti has taught me acceptance of life and a relentless pursuit of bettering a community.

This compound has become my home and these people have become my family. I’ve learned to live with more brothers than sisters. I’ve learned to debrief without girlfriends. I’ve, at times, forgotten I even have a phone. I am certainly excited to be back on domestic soil, but Haiti has written itself into my story. I am thankful.

A Quiet Ending

June 21, 2011

This morning, 3 of the 5 guys I’ve been spending all of my time with left for a mini vacation in a nearby (3 hours away) town. I’ll be on my flight back to the States by the time they get back. Since last night was our final night together, we stayed up until nearly 3 in the morning, reminiscing about our time in Haiti. I was up before 7 this morning to say “see you later” and consequently have felt exhausted the entire day. I think it’s a combination of the heat, my body’s inability to keep food in (my apologies for the readers with weak stomachs), and lack of sleep, but today I was in a state of minimum coherence more than I wasn’t.

After coffee and an attempt at filling my seemingly bottomless stomach, we had a Creole lesson. Then, Dan and I worked on a template for a HAC newsletter. We still don’t have internet at the compound, power during the day is infrequent, and our computer with the most information was taken to the United States until Sunday. Thus, we reached a bit of a standstill in terms of busy work. I used the lull in time to catch up on sleep. Even though I sweat the second I slip into my tent during the day, I took a good three hour nap before English class.

The afternoon was ordinary; we had English class and ate an amazing dinner (BBQ chicken, carrots, beans, platains, and my favorite Haitian cabbage), and showered. The few of us that are left here are enjoying a quiet evening at home, watching a children’s movie on TV; we’ve become a family.

Since my goodbyes started today, I feel like I’ve finally started to actually reflect on my time in Haiti. Normally, I am such a reflective writer, but since I’ve been here I’ve only been able to record events. It’s as if I am taking so many things in, but I am not fully processing it. I think that’s part of enjoying the adventure, or rather, allowing the story to write itself. Today, though, in my minimum coherence, reflection began, stirring a slew of emotions..

I am certainly excited to go home. I miss having a phone and internet access, I miss having girlfriends to debrief with, and although the food here has been amazing, I would love sweet potato enchiladas or a huge pizza with tons of vegetables on it. I am also pretty excited to be girly for a day or two when I get back. At home, these things have become a part of me and my life; they dictate my days to a extent.

Here, though, they are no part of my life, but I still feel wholly me. I have no phone, rare internet access, and my diet has undergone plastic surgery of sorts, but I am still me. Realizing this has retaught me what makes me me, what makes me tick. I’ve found that shower or no shower, phone or no phone, my ideal diet or one of a foreign foods, it is connecting with people that makes me feel alive. I love that my story has been written by so many people that have come in and out of my life previously. I love sharing that story as I meet new people; it is not a forced conversation, retelling the events of my life, but rather the words that come with natural conversation and genuine interest in other people. I also love that as I share the story that is my own, the new people who come into my life are able to continue my story.

I am brining a beautiful chapter back to the United States with me. The Haitian children have written kindness and innocence into my story. The students in the English class have written persistence and knowledge. The people of the community have written simplicity and carefreeness. Dan has written a realistic perspective. Kevin, fun loving joyfulness. Sam, a formula for balancing life and professionalism. Arnold, reminiscence and serenity. Isiah, friendship. Daphne, independence. The cleaning women and cooks, selflessness. And the country of Haiti has taught me acceptance of life and a relentless pursuit of bettering a community.

This compound has become my home and these people have become my family. I’ve learned to live with more brothers than sisters. I’ve learned to debrief without girlfriends. I’ve, at times, forgotten I even have a phone. I am certainly excited to be back on domestic soil, but Haiti has written itself into my story. I am thankful.

A New Week

June 20, 2011

I am indifferent about how to assess the pace of time since I’ve been in Haiti. Part of me feels like I’ve been here forever and it’s hard to believe that it was just a bit over a week ago that I arrived. At times, though, life is seemingly turtle-paced; I feel like I’ve waited here more than I’ve done anything else. But, I still feel like I’ve done a lot. The pace of life here is near extraordinary. I don’t mean the pace at which people live, but rather the pace at which time passes. It’s different...or rather, seemingly different.

Yesterday, after breakfast, we piled in the truck and went to the beach. On the way up to the beach, we had a plethora of stops to make. The first hour-long stop was at Western Union. Luckily, it was near a gas station so I was able to get my daily dose of chocolate milk. Afterwards, we stopped to get gas and buy fruit and a peanut brittle like food from the street vendors. Shortly after our last stop, we arrived at the beach. Normally, I don’t swim in the ocean because I am afraid of the current. I think it’s a result of not seeing the ocean until I was 18 years old; it’s hard to teach an old(er) dog tricks, I reckon. The Haiti sun, though, was the greatest form of peer pressure and it took a matter of minutes before I was diving in and out of the waves. I felt like a free little fish. I challenged the guys to races and handstand contests, I ate my weight in fried plantains, and collected smooth stones from the rocky shore. I was told by two separate men that they loved me; I tried, in my choppy Creole, to explain that it’s impossible to love someone you’ve never spoken to. Understandably (because my Creole is less than awesome), they weren’t really comprehending my reasoning. Luckily, I have lots of “big brothers” who helped me out. After hours of swimming (afro-inducing, for sure) and rock collecting, we strolled up to our car, piled in, and drove home (in the rain).

We spent last night walking around the compound, reflecting on the roof, and decompressing after our active day of swimming. This morning, our Creole teacher came back and I had my first lesson from a native Creole speaker. This new week is a good week.

A Cold(er) Night

June 19, 2011

I’ve been in Haiti a week and last night, I felt like I was home with a family. The only other girl volunteer flew back to the states on Friday, leaving me with a handful of guys to hang out with each day. Sam’s, the national director of HAC, cousin is here. I love her company, she’s like my older Haitian sister. There are women who work in the kitchen and other women who are in and out each day helping with the different programs. Mostly, though, it’s me and the guys, who have become like brothers to me.

Last night, we met up with some friends who work at the US Embassy and we went to a party at Mango lounge, a club in PV. PV is seemingly the hip city where people go to go out. There were a plethora of people there; locals, people from multiple NGOS. I felt like I was at a party of the world. It was crowded and sweat-filled and it took mere minutes before I was dancing. By the end of the night, I was drenched in sweat (more so than when I go running) and I smelt like a mixture of perfume and multi-cultured people. On the walk up to our car, I accidently snapped my glow stick on me; it would have been a hit in the club, but it wasn’t as awesome on the street.

We piled in the car and drove up the Haitian mountainside to an orphanage/ hostel, our home for the night. As we drove up the mountain, the air consistently declined in temperature. Once we reached our nightly home, it felt like a fall day at home. I was in Heaven. It was so nice to actually want a sweater and covers as opposed to being as naked as possible. We climbed the uneven stairs to our room, we each chose a bunk bed, and after some slight reflection we fell asleep for the night.

At the orphanage/ hostel, we picked up vegetables that we later delivered to other orphanages in the area. HAC and another organization have worked out a deal with local farmers. The farmers sell their vegetables for above market price in the market with help from HAC and the other organization. In return, they have to donate some of their vegetables to Haitian orphanages. It offers a really unique connection between the peasant farmers and orphaned children. This morning, we delivered the vegetables. At the first orphanage, kids ran up to us and grabbed our hands and smiled so brightly. The eyes of these children are filled with so much hope; it’s inspiring. I feel like it’s typical to realize how self-centered we can be when we see people who are happy with so much less than us. I certainly felt that way at the orphanage, but I learned something else from those beautiful children. Happiness comes from within. Any of those children could be bitter about their current hand in life, but instead they smile and they laugh and they connect with each other and with other people. Those beautiful children have so much to teach us.

When we got back to the compound late this morning, we had guests waiting for us. Today, we’re giving 10 goats to local families so they are here, excited to embark on a new venture. We also had a director from another organization here to negotiate a potential women’s center on nearby land. I feel like there has never been a lack of people who want to help or who want to work to better themselves. People are lovely, inherently lovely I believe. Although sometimes we get caught up in ourselves and our lives, I believe people at their core want to love and connect.

I am looking forward to a restful afternoon. Even more, a restful weekend. Love to all from Haiti.

A Haitian BBQ....of sorts.

June 17, 2011

We woke up early this morning to go to the city market to buy goats. Oy, oy, oy.

After a bumpy ride to the market (seriously, there are few paved roads and even those are filled with dips far beyond the size of an American pothole), we were greeted by goats, cows, chickens, vendors, and tons and tons of people. At the market, we bought eleven goats to give to families near the compound. I was only minimally part of the goat buying experience. I spent most of the my time by the car taking in the scene...

In the two-ish hours we were there, I saw enough animals slaughtered to make me never want to eat meat again. Designated butchers would whack pigs in the head until they were submissive enough to slaughter. At one point, they cut a pig in half and all his insides fell to the ground. There were bleeding cows walking around as their owners tried tirelessly to kill them. One cow got away causing temporary chaos in the market place. I was covered in ash and dirt and animal stench by the time we had our goats bought and loaded in the truck.

I was mildly mortified by the only market experience, but grateful for the experience nonetheless.

When we got back to the compound, we tied the goats up in the back and I preceded to wash my hands better than I’ve probably ever washed them in my life. Then, I showered and now I feel like a new person.

I love that I am getting to experience things that Haitians experience every week. I don’t feel like HAC is a separate entity, but rather a part of the community we’re in. I feel like there’s a lot more I could say, but I am running on little sleep and slight dehydration. More updates to come soon. Much love from Haiti.

A Brief Cool Respite

Lapli! Lapli!

June 16, 2011

It’s raining (Gen Lapli)! It’s been a hot (almost) week in Haiti and until today, it was dry. The rain acted as a catalyst for a decrease in temperature and an increase in smiling faces. Beyond that, nothing too exciting has happened today.

Soon, the English class students will be arriving. I gave one of the local teachers my copy of the Alchemist because he wanted me to teach him how to read. We started reading it together and I sent him home with an assignment to read and summarize at least 7 more pages. I am always teaching....always learning.

Today, a student from the primary school told me he liked me. In my best Creole, I told him I was too old for him. Having young children around all the time makes for wonderful entertainment. I wonder if they’ll get sick of the “blan” before it’s my time to leave.

Last night, Dan and I went for another run. It started to thunder and lightening and clouds graced the sky making darkness fall a lot sooner than expected. This time, we ended going further away from the compound than the first time. Once we reached the main road, we made the climb up the hill to the corner store by the entrance to the compound. Running here is an adventure even if we don’t get lost because the roads are full of bumps and puddles as well as drivers who seemingly make the rules of the road. Our run ended up being an hour long and we arrived back at the compound to a gathering of community members and volunteers.

After we showered, we went to a nearby city, PV. We spilt a hamburger, drinks, and conversation with volunteers from other organizations. We hit up a gas station, equipped with an ATM and CHOCOLATE MILK on the way to Croix-des-Bouquets. I love chocolate milk. Just like a child, after I drank my milk, I feel asleep on the roller coaster like car ride back to the compound.

I had to take my second dose of anti-malaria meds yesterday, which induced vivid dreams and night sweats. Coupled with polka dot-like mosquito bites on my legs, I had a very restless night of sleep.

Hopefully, internet will be more constant soon so I won’t have multiple days worth of updates at a time. Sa sife pou jodi-a.

Mwen Byen (I am well)

June 15, 2011

I’ve had three Creole lessons since I’ve been in Haiti. I’ve learned how to greet people, ask their name, tell them I’m tired (a near constant here), tell them I need coffee please. I can count, list the months of the year, and say the days of the week. Our Creole teacher actually has typhoid so I’ve been learning from a fluent French speaking volunteer. He’s been super helpful and necessarily patient with me.

My body has finally adapted to my decrease in coffee intake. At home, I drink 5 or 6 cups a day. Here, I drink 1 1/2. For the first three days, I had a constant headache. Today, though, my head doesn’t hurt at all; thank goodness.

Yesterday, Dan (another volunteer) and I went for a run. We had set out to get our blood flowing, but ended up getting a titch lost, which made for a long(er) run. It was so fun, though. People seemed so happy to see two blans running by them waving and chirping “bonswa, bonswa.” As we got further and further away from the compound, we had a perfect view of the beautiful Haitian mountains. They look like clouds on the ground. We arrived back at the compound just as the others were starting to worry about our safety. I felt a little bad coming back happy and sweaty as they were starting to sweat with worry over us. It was, though, one of the best runs I have ever been on.

We spent last night on a small rooftop balcony discussing Haitian development and human rights issue in Haiti and all over the world. Sometimes I feel like I am so far from home, but other times I feel so close to home. I think it’s because at home and here I am surrounded by beautiful caring people. We (people) share many commonalities; it’s so easy to snuggle into a new community because people here and people at home are internally the same, beautiful.

Today, I wrote a letter for HAC that we are hoping to send to organizations in hope of getting a mini mobile computer lab for Ecole Shalom school here. I loved writing the letter and later editing it with two other volunteers. This work is so fun for me. Soon, we are going to go on goat visits. HAC gifts Haitian families with a female goat. The families are taught how to take care of the goat and make a profit from it and then are expected to give one goat back to HAC and give another goat to another family in need. So, when we go on our goat visit in a minute, we’ll check up on the goat and the family to make sure that they are honoring their end of the bargain. Every service HAC provides is accompanied by educational services as well. It cultivates the inherent hardworking spirit of Haitians as well as encourages their eventual independence.

We still don’t have internet at the compound so I am writing updates on Word that I will later upload to my blog (hence, multiple posts in a day).

Sa sife pou jodi-a (This is all for today). Much love, dear friends!

A More Complete Update

June 14, 2011

It’s morning. I’ve been running and had two cups of Haitian (strong) coffee. I feel energized and as close to normal as I’ve felt since I’ve been here. I’m taking advantage of my refreshedness to write a (hopefully) much better update.

The Compound

In my past updates, I’ve talked about the “compound;” this is the place where I have been spending most of my time in Haiti. It is in the city of Croix Des Boquets, set off the main road in a small community of people. The compound is surrounded by a wall that is left open most of the day, but closed at night. It is cement with exposed windows (some have metal bars, but most are just gateways to the outside). I have my own little “room” on the second floor of the compound. It too has an exposed window and no complete walls so my normally naked self has had to cover up. There are four other people living on the second floor with me; we each have our own rooms, but have to move in and out of each other’s rooms to get around. My area is super organized, with every article of clothing having it’s own special place on a makeshift shelf in my room. I sleep in a tent that came equipped with a sleeping mat and sheets and I have a bright green insect repelling sleeping bag that I snuggle into each night. We have running water so I’ve gotten to shower every day (that’s more than I shower at home). We also have filtered drinking water, a huge perk in a cholera ridden country. Although I am living with far less amenities than I have at home, I feel really lucky to be here. At the compound, we have far more than most Haitians have.

The Food

I love the food. We are given three meals a day at the compound; it is primarily traditional Haitian food, but once in a while we’ll have a sandwich or french fries. I’ve eaten a lot of rice and beans and vegetables. Most night with dinner we have cabbage salad; it is made with cabbage, carrots, vinegar, jalopenos, and pepper. It is my favorite food here. For breakfast, we usually have an oatmeal type food, eggs, tomatoes, and bananas. I love bananas here; they taste like a solid smoothie that doesn’t induce freezer burn. The tomatoes are also a vast upgrade from tomatoes in the States. They are succulent and sweet; they have the savoryness of a vegetable, but the tartness of fruit. Amazing. I am well fed here, I feel spoiled.

The People

Everyone, especially the children, love the “blan.” Blan means white in Creole, so I am “blan, blan, blan.” Many people have told me, “I’ve never seen anyone like you.” I know most of them have seen Americans and white people because there has been such an influx of aid offered in Haiti from around the world. Regardless, they are curious about the new “blan” in their community. While waiting for the “tap tap” (an open endedish truck, comparable to America’s mass transit system) a young boy rode his bike by us and made kissing lips at me. En route to the tap tap, a young boy (probably two years old) ran up to us and said, “Hi, I love you, I love you.” Last night, we were walking home from the internet cafe and a group of children ran up to me, speaking in Creole and touching my (very dirty) hair. I took my camera out of my bag and a photo shoot ensued. Soon, two older girls with a child came to join the fun. I took pictures of them and then they insisted on taking pictures of me. In English, they knew how to say, “Hi, what is your name.” In creole, by heart, I know how to say “bell” (pretty) in Creole. So, we knew each other’s names and we could agree that the pictures we took were “bell.” This morning, while running, one young girl latched on to my shirt and another on my arm and ran with us for a bit. It makes me wonder what the “blan” means to these beautiful Haitian children. I think the same way I am attracted to them, they are attracted to me, fueled by an inherent desire to connect with difference.

I have loved my time here and I am grateful there is lot of time left. I wish everyone could experience this with me. I hope my updates serve as a taste of my experience. Until next time, love and peace to you all.

A Lesson Learned, A Lesson Taught

After a ride on a partially open ended truck to the internet cafe, I am working though shoddy connections to write a quick update.

I love Haiti. I am not sure if it's the inherent spirit of resilience or the beauty of the people or the desire for betterment among my Haitian "family," but this truly is a magical place. It's crazy to think that a land littered with trash, ridden with disease, and thought extremely dangerous by most has captured my heart. It has beautifully marked me.

This morning, we had these wonderful banana-ish things for breakfast, oatmeal, and (thank the good lord) coffee. Another volunteer and I spent the morning scanning files in order to receive funding for HAC in Haiti. I also had a mini Creole lesson, which I'll be happy to share when I get back to the states.

This afternoon, I helped teach an English class for Haitians who have a very (very) limited command on the English language. It was humbling to see their effort in learning a language so different than their own. It made me think of my students in Texas and how hard they have to work to get caught up. And then, I thought about how I was always ahead, I always had more than enough. Most people consider me a hard worker, a lot of people might say I am a "good" person. Really, though, the effort I need to put into life is minimal compared to the strife a lot of people overcome daily.

After the English class, I hopped into another class for slightly more advanced English speakers. They knew how to woo a girl because for the first few minutes it was a broken record of, "you very pretty, you very pretty." We hashed out some common American phrases (including BYOB) and I parted with them to go to yet another more advanced English speaking class. Here, I answered multiple questions about American women and how to woo them. I told them to take them on adventures and hikes and then treat them to a picnic. Their curiosity was so genuine, we had a lot of fun talking about dating and love and relationships. They were shocked I wasn't married; I told them I didn't want to be tied down and they said, "Yes, NaTalie, you need to be free." I agree, for now, free is me. We ended class sharing what we would do if we could do anything. Every thing one of them shared a desire to help those who needed help. Amazing, right? A people so in need still see the need for help in others.

The story, today, taught me a lesson on loving and giving, simplicity and selflessness.

Much love, ya'll.

Here

I am in Haiti. The internet at our compound is out, so blog posts may be few and far between. As of now, though, I have much of a story to share.

So, I arrived at Dulles airport in DC Friday night to find out that my Saturday morning flight to JFK was cancelled. A wonderful Delta worker rebooked me on a flight, leaving from Reagan airport. She equipped me with a taxi voucher and directions and sent me on a 45 minute taxi ride across DC. Saturday morning, I gathered my stuff, rechecked by pack, and flew to JFK. From JFK, I took a flight to Port Au Prince, Haiti. Immediately, in Haiti, my "follow the story" sentiments were challenged. After my turtle-paced customs experience, I found my 45 pound backpack in a frenzy of other passengers attempting to get their bags in disorderly baggage claim system.

I was told that after I got my bag, I could exit the airport and walk to the right where I would find a team of people holding a HAC sign. I exited the airport, per the help of a porter and went to a place where every other person on my flight met their group. I, however, could not find anyone holding a HAC sign. Realizing that I was in Haiti, I figured the people who were supposed to pick me up got stuck in traffic or had problems getting to the airport for whatever reason. For the first hour, I kept telling myself this. After an hour (and denying many offers of help from porters), I started to worry (and shed a tear). I finally let two men help me. Long story short, they bought me a calling card and I called my roommate from Texas (no way was I going to call my mom and trigger a mini amber alert). Jess sent an e-mail to the director down here, who was able to get the number of the porters I was with and arrived at the airport shortly thereafter. Breath taken, sentiment reminder: this is the story, follow it.

After a nap, shower, and amazing Haitian cuisine, I toured the compound I'll be staying at and mingled with some of the other volunteers and staff. Saturday night, we went to a Haitian house party. Those of you who know me, know I love to dance. After eating and having two Haitian beers (so good), I took the hands of Haitian men and danced. It was so much fun. At first, it was awkward (Texas has got me accustomed to two-stepping and we weren't two stepping last night). By the end of the night, I was dancing with anyone and everyone and loving all of it. At one point, I danced with someone who "wasn't with my crew," but was quickly taken away from him and told that in Haiti, "we only dance with our crew." I ended the night drinking water out of a plastic (purified) bag and falling asleep on a shoulder next to me in the car ride home. Back at the compound, I climbed into my tent and slept soundly until morning. First Haitian Night, success. Story followed. Self satisfied.

Today, we had a women's group meeting at the compound. The beautiful kids that are gracing this blogpost are the wonders I spent my afternoon with. I got to entertain the kids while the women met. One baby fell asleep on my shoulder, I felt so legit. They taught me some Creole and I taught them some English, we colored a lot, and took ample pictures. I can't tell you how many times I was beckoned by, "You, phOto." Children are so amazing; I laughed so much with them.

I am dirty, I probably smell (but I can't tell because my nose is so desensitized), there is dust in my eyes, ears, and mouth, but I am happy. So happy I followed this story.

Marked

Normally, I would not be so apt to broadcast a self-taken picture of my face on the internet. I promise there's purpose to this picture.

This morning, I woke up with a new freckle. Those of you who know me, know that I have always had a mole under my left eye. Today, though, it was joined by a new dark freckle located on the most dominant part of my already dominant left cheek bone. The picture's purpose, thus, is to introduce my new freckle.

Since I've had a day filled almost entirely with pondering (an eventual 20 hours of traveling is a catalyst for thought), I've attempted to interpret the message my new freckle, gracing me on the day of my departure to Haiti, may be sharing.

I've concluded this: I can be marked, whenever and by whatever. The most dominant (physically) or secure (innerly) part of me can be marked. These marks do not taint me, but instead enhance me. These markings are what create me, they individualize me. My freckle is a physical mark, probably brought on my sun exposure and my irresponsibility relating to sunscreen application. Regardless, I still like it. I still think it enhances a feature I didn't think could be enhanced. Other marks, the ones that ink my inner self are brought on by adventure. The connections with people that change my mindsets or broaden my perspective, the markings that inspire me to learn the stories of others and the markings that fuel my moving spirit.

I am happy to be marked, not simply by freckles, but by people and their pens on my story. I am two flights into my trip, a taxi ride from one DC airport to the other, and about to embark on a tile floor sleepover next in close proximity to a man with really smelly feet (I need the outlets in this locale). When I awake in a few short hours, I'll fly to NYC and then to Haiti. In Haiti, I will eagerly pursue pens of people who will mark me, continue my story.

My newest freckle is my newest reminder to embrace change. Beautiful change.

Travel Lightly

The first dose of anti-malaria meds are in my system, my hardly used backpack is filled with clothes, school supplies, a sleeping mat, and an insect-repelling sleeping bag, and I am readying myself for a four layover, eventual red eye flight to Haiti. I love going places, I was, after all, made to move.

A few weeks ago, I was unnecessarily nervous to meet up with a new friend. As I talked to my good friend in Texas about my nerves, he gave me what would become resonating advice in my life. He said, "Natalie, follow the story." As someone who loves to write and loves to go into unfamiliar situations, this advice plucked the strings of my being.

Many people have asked me, "What will you be doing in Haiti?" My most common response is, "learning the stories of the country. Essentially, I get to hang out with the people." Of course, while I am there, I'll be helping in a school, helping out in English classes, doing varying service projects that need hands, but I am going to Haiti to learn the stories of the people and allow them to write my own for a time. I am following the story, the story that is this adventurous life.

I've learned that sometimes the best expectation is no expectation at all. Rather, I approach things with the idea that life will take me, humanity will teach me, and through Universal trust, I will learn and grow and I will experience goodness. Tomorrow, I leave for Haiti. Tomorrow, I follow the story that will begin a new chapter in this life.

A Booming Voice

It started with a rule. No Gum In School. Every day, my students would ask why they couldn't hew gum. They would list multiple reasons why gum would benefit them as students and they would culminate their arguments with the promise that chewed gum would always end up in the garbage can as opposed to the desks or walls. Personally, I never have a problem with my students chewing gum, but since the school's policy was No Gum In School, I enforced it in my classroom. After two weeks of "ayy, Misss, let us chew gum," I told my students this: your voices are amazing and if you want something changed, like a rule, you have the power to do that with your voice, and if you combine your voices, you're even more powerful. With that, I found various studies on the internet that detailed the ways gum has helped students in school. I had my students read the studies and write letters to our principal with the mission of persuading him to change the rule. No Gum In School.

After that, anytime my students wanted to change something I had the same response, "Use your voice. Your voice is powerful. Your voice can instigate change." I tried so hard to instill my students with the idea that words can be the most powerful medium in change. Words can bridge gaps and change communities. I tried so hard to encourage my 14 year olds to find their voice.

Sadly, in this effort, I've forgotten to use my own. I've watched injustices happening every single day. I've seen students treated unfairly, I've seen students forced to believe that their academic worth is bound in a test score. I've heard people say awful things about my students. I've watched my students' minds dulled by simple crossword puzzles and videos...

And I haven't said anything...

I haven't lived a life of affluent privilege, but my life has been a constant gift. People have been beyond generous in creating and cultivating me as an individual. When I've needed friends, they've come in bounties. When I've wanted parental guidance, I've had two biological ones and hundreds of others to lead me. I've never not had enough, I've never been hungry or cold or naked. I have never had reason to doubt that my voice isn't valuable because so many people have encouraged me to speak.

For most of my students, that is not the case. My students do know hunger and tiredness, they know the feelings of worthlessness and defeat. Some don't have parents some have parents who are forced to work miles away just to make ends meet. They have multiple reasons to believe their voice isn't valuable, but yet, they recognize injustices inherently and they use their voices to make change. My students, with a minute vocabulary, speak wonders; they understand compassion and kindness far more than I can comprehend at times.

My sweet students deserve more than this world will ever be able to give them.

I'll clear my voice and I'll speak for them.

A Song To Be Sung

I'm not amazing musically; actually, I'm not musical at all. I love music, but I can't sing it or play it. But, I think everyone has a song that if sung, fulfills their life. I'm not talking a song that someone hears on the radio and shouts, "OHHHHHHHH, that's my jam!" Rather, a song sung by individuals who pursue their passions, or at least pursue to know their passions. I think our songs can only be "sung" by us but can be listened to by many. When I learn the stories of others and write them down, I feel like I'm singing. When I feel like I'm singing, I feel like others can learn their songs too. It's like were birds or at least have the capabilities of being birds...we can all sing different songs but still sound harmonious together.I don't think life is about being rich or powerful, but rather learning my song, perfecting it, singing it, and encouraging others to sing their song too. I don't really love teaching, but I love watching kids learn to sing and for that, I'll write lesson plans, track data, and come before school and stay after school...I believe their songs are too beautiful to not be sung. So, although I am not musical, my life is undefiably defined by rhythms and melodies. When I write, I don't feel like I'm thinking; words hit the page and at times, I surprise myself. That is why I think my song is written to the tune of many people's songs. I love my song.


If nothing else, we're here to encourage singing, we're here to hear...