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.