Awesomest camera ever

Here's some photos from my amazing shock- and water-proof camera, which my folks got me for Christmas. The girl is Hillary, who many of you know and love already. My next post will be about our trip to Gonaives.



And you can click on this picture to see a video I took:



Oh yeah, and here's my favorite picture of Gabriela:

Go fly a kite

I just had a lovely experience. April is a windy month in Haiti, and that means that it's kite flying season. Anywhere you drive around Port-au-Prince, you'll see kids on rooftops and hillsides and running around in dirt soccer fields flying colorful, hexagonal kites. Most people who read this blog (though it's so outdated now that I've probably lost even my own mother's attention) know that I'm a bit of a kite fanatic. I've got a few kites at home, mostly the two-string steerable variety. They're a far cry from the very disposable kites you see for sale all over the city these days. They're made with sticks and colored crete paper or cellophane. They usually cost somewhere between 10 and 50 cents, as they come in a range of sizes, from as small as an LP to as big as an umbrella. But the shape is always the same - three sticks tied together at the middle, with a string connecting the tips, wrapped in some sort of material. I've seen kids whip these things together in a minute using twigs and a plastic sack. I've always loved that about Port-au-Prince, and looked at those hundreds of kites fluttering above the slums as a welcome sign. Unfortunately, I didn't bring any of my kites, and besides it seems to be a kid thing. I guess it's kind of a kid thing in the states too.

However, I was getting on the motorcycle to leave the office today when I looked up over the front gate to the roof of a house some ways away, where I saw a full grown man with one hand at hip level and another one in a fist held up, doing a downward tugging motion that could only mean one thing. I was seized with inspiration that if this guy could enjoy flying a kite, or "monte kap" as they say in Creole, on this cool and breezy afternoon, so could I.

I blazed home, since it was already 5:30 and the sun wouldn't be up for much longer. I stopped on the way and picked out a nice blue, orange and black kite. I got to my apartment building and walked up to the roof where I passed some of the neighbor kids, hanging out in their usual spot in the stairwell. "Wow, nice kite!" they admired. "I'm going to go fly it right now, you can come watch if you want," I said, thinking to myself, yes, come and learn from the master.

It was a total debacle. I thought, how hard can this be? I tied the roll of string to the short piece coming out of the center of the kite, and hung it over the ledge of my five-story apartment building, which was plenty windy as usual. The kite kind of went in circles but mostly dove downwards. I reeled it in and tried again and again with no luck. The kids hadn't shown up to watch yet, but I was beginning to attract a crowd of people in the building next door, who were slapping each others backs and laughing at my pathetic attempts. Then I lost the roll of string over the side of the building. Eventually I got the attention of a passerby who knotted the string so it wouldn't unravel anymore, allowing me to pull it back up to the roof. By then the three or four kids from the stairwell had shown up. They could see that I was getting nowhere with this. Humbled, I asked them what I was doing wrong.

Well, duh, my kite didn't have a tail. At first, I thought this was a purely ornamental thing, and therefore unnecessary. But in reality, it's more of a rudder that keeps the kite moving straight up. One girl delegated another to go get something to use for a tail, which in this case ended up being a scrap of lace. Then, it was pointed out that I hadn't rigged up the standard little string harness. Pretty soon, there were ten kids buzzing around, prepping the kite and giving me a remedial course about how this is done in Haiti. The ringleader, a gangly teenager who was as tall as me and clearly the authority in all things kite, was like a master crafstman - a Stradivari of crete paper kites. He attached the tail, tied up the harness, carefully measuring the amount of string needed in proportion to the radius of the kite. Pretty soon, he was flying it, making it do all kinds of cool tricks. At one point, the leash was at least 100 meters long. By then, dusk was fading into evening, the moon was rising, and I was surrounded by a gaggle of kids cheering me on as I took a turn flying, pulling off a couple of loop-di-loops, slowly regaining my kite ego. It was fun.

Here she is:



I'll write soon about other current affairs, like my new job as the representative of MCC in Haiti, my wonderful girlfriend, and the cool underwater camera I got for Christmas.

Anticipation

Ding, dong. It's the stroke of midnight, Christmas Eve. I'm sitting at gate C14 in Dulles National Airport, where I'll soon be lying down to sleep. Early tomorrow morning, I'll be on my way to San Francisco, and then on home to Medford.




It's not how I planned on spending this Christmas, especially since it's the first time I've been able to travel home in three years. My plane from Miami was late because of weather in Chicago, and through the domino effect of delayed flights, that translated into me spending the night in Washington D.C.

But really, all told, I've got it pretty good. I've seen plenty of people who are much more exhausted, and have been put through much more than I. And I feel the most sorry for the United Airlines customer service people, dealing with countless travelers who are missing their loved ones, stuck on the wrong side of the country, and on the verge of tears.

And the best part of the day by far, was commiserating with a woman on my same flight from Miami to D.C. I was worried about missing my connection to San Francisco, she was trying to figure out what to do since she wouldn't make her flight to Montreal. It wasn't until we were getting ready to deplane that I saw her Haitian passport. So then I got to wish her a merry Christmas in Creole and talk Haiti for a little bit. Most people I know who have lived in Haiti and then visited Miami, New York, or Boston have some story about hearing people speaking Creole on the subway or at a store or something like that, and getting a chance to say hi as an honorary member of the Haitian diaspora. If you ever get the chance, I highly recommend it.

Just being a foreigner in Haiti and speaking Creole is always a lot of fun. I can't count how many times people have been amazed to hear me speaking their language, and tell me stories about other blan they know who lived in Haiti for years and never learned anything other than hello and goodbye. It's always immensely appreciated. If you try speaking French, you're likely to get corrected on a number of things, but say it in Creole and you're golden. But speaking to a Haitian expatriate who might not get the chance to speak their native language often is like showing up at a stranger's house with a rare gift for them, and being warmly received for making the effort.

Tomorrow I'll be enjoying my first white Christmas since I was maybe 10 or 11, if memory serves. To everyone out there who is celebrating Christmas, either alone or with loved ones, blessings be upon you. I hope the season finds you well.

No excuses

Now that I've been so lazy in posting things here that there's only one person even checking it anymore (yes, mom, that would be you), I'm determined to get back on the ball. At the very least, I should point you to the blogs of two new couples who are on the team, who are still relatively new to Haiti and taking it all in. The first is of the Thompsonowaks, Sharon and Bryan, who are from Philadelphia, and now live in Dezam where they work on the reforestation and environmental education programs. The second is Ben and Alexis Depp, who live here in Port-au-Prince. She works at a Haitian human rights organization like me, and he is a photographer for a microfinance organization called Fonkoze.

I know it's normal for people in my situation to spend a lot of time thinking, and communicating with people back home, about the new, exotic place where they find themselves living. But as the months wear on, the mind is less boggled and the senses are less saturated. Crossing the street no longer makes the heart race.

But Haiti is an unending feast of observations. There's no shortage of things to write about. And really, I'm often just as amazed and baffled by this place as I was when I first arrived. In addition, I've just moved into a new place. It's a fresh, new experience. I'll post photos or a video soon. It's an apartment on the fifth and top floor of a large, concrete building. From down the street, the building looks just so slightly off. The up-down lines don't quite run parallel. The floor plan of my apartment would resemble a slice of pizza, with the shower tucked into the tip, followed by the kitchen, living/dining room, bedroom, and finally the terrace as crust. It's got access to a walled-off section of the roof, also shaped like a wedge, where I dry my clothes. And there's a nearly steady breeze which keeps it nice and cool.

The most interesting part, for me, has been living without an inverter and batteries. The state power grid generally gives about six hours of electricity every 24 hour period. People of means usually have an inverter system, which charges 4-8 car-size batteries during those six hours, and then provides energy, hopefully, for the rest of the time. When you're using a system like this, florescent lights and energy-conscious habits are not a proud badge of environmental stewardship as much as they are a very practical strategy for keeping the lights on. Living like that was interesting for those 18 months in my first apartment. But now, I'm trying something new. I'm seeing how the other half lives, even if only in a limited capacity. After all, most people in this city can't keep typing on their laptops that have their own built-in battery, connected to someone else's wireless internet that is itself connected to an inverter, as I am doing right now. But it is an interesting exercise in appreciating randomness, because you never really know when the power is going to come on. Or if it's going to come on at all. Sometimes a good 48 hours will pass with no power at all. And when it does come on, you can hear a collective shout of joy from the surrounding houses. Now I'm one of those happy shouters. The state power company is called EDH, for Electricité d'Haiti, and their logo is a big lightning bolt over a gear. Fitting, I think, because the role EDH plays is much like that of Zeus - lounging on his cloud, lightning in hand, arbitrarily deciding when to strike. The difference, I guess, being that people look forward to the lightning that EDH sends. Today, it was already on at 6:30 when I got home, which is much earlier than usual. I think it was because there was a big soccer game on. And I have noticed that customarily in the week before Christmas there will be very little electricity each day, but then it comes nonstop for a solid 24 hours at least. The gods of EDH are apparently not without sentimentality.

Summer round-up

There's been no shortage of drama for me in Haiti, nor for Haiti in general, for the last three months. The MCC team has gone through some big changes, including the resignation of our country director, the arrival of four new service workers, and the celebration of 50 years of MCC in Haiti.

I moved out of my apartment, fell in love, busted my tail working on a huge grant proposal from the European Union, and got malaria. These items are listed chronologically, not in order of significance.

And Haiti? Well, let me tell you. Haiti, which generally has a conservative attitude towards homosexuality (as I've noted here before) managed to end up with a prime minister who is a lesbian. What's more, this is after several other candidates for the position, nominated by President Preval, were rejected by Parliament on technicalities. Prime ministers here go through much of the same process as nominees for the supreme court in the United States.

Not that the prime minister's private life is anyone else's business, but it's kind of an open secret. While Prime Minister Pierre-Louis has publicly denied these rumors - to not do so would be political suicide - every media outlet in the country held an open debate all summer about whether or not Haiti would be ruined if its government was being run by a homosexual.

The turning point came about halfway through the summer, shortly before the Senate was set to debate whether or not to confirm the nomination. One day I showed up at the office and went to say hello to the director, Pierre. In his office was a woman standing up and screaming into a telephone while Pierre held his hand over his mouth and gave me a look that said, "don't ask." I came to find out that the woman was the mother of a sixteen-year-old girl who had been raped by a sitting senator. It just so happens that this senator had said on the radio, just a couple days prior, that his Christian faith would prevent him from voting to confirm a known lesbian to run the government. Apparently the United States does not have the market cornered on shocking levels of hypocrisy among it's elected leaders. I can't say for sure that this turned the tide, but I think it took the wind out of the sails of those who were trying to make a moral case against the nominee.

And then, right around the time that the new prime minister was assembling her cabinet, a series of devastating hurricanes and tropical storms hit. Many of you have written to check in on me and express your grief at the images you've seen or the stories you've heard. Thank you. I've been fine. Port-au-Prince was not hit very hard other than Hanna, which caused a few trees to fall over. One day on the way to work I actually had to ride my motorcycle over a fallen telephone poll. But Gonaives is in especially dire straits. Just yesterday MCC sent a delegation out to survey the damage and determine how aid money could be spent. They had to switch vehicles about seven times because of damaged bridges, flooded roads and the like. The photos they brought back are heartbreaking. People are living on their roofs. The streets are filled with water. Some actually had a flowing current.

In the midst of the onslaught from Hanna, the UN actually abandoned its post in Gonaives. But for the people without tanks and amphibious vehicles, it's been a day-to-day struggle living on their rooftops and occasionally foraging through the mud in what used to be their living rooms and bedrooms for salvageable belongings. According to the official count, there have been 700 bodies recovered. The receding waters may reveal many more. It's unlikely it will approach the 2,000 killed by Tropical Storm Jeanne in 2004, though by all reports the flooding this time has been worse.

Please continue to keep Haiti in your prayers. Some of you have written asking how you can help. It's been frustrating being right here, and yet having few options for ways that I myself can help the victims. As relief efforts get more organized, I'll post information here for those of you who would like to contribute.

At long last, photos from the motorcycle trip with my dad and John Mills way back in April. If it's going too fast, hit pause and go through at your own pace. You can click on pictures to see them full size.

The whole world is watching

I had to post this article Lindsay sent me. It's a piece by Al Jazeera on rice imports to Haiti.

The missionaries

Catching up a little bit...I'll fill in some of the highlights of the last three months. One of them was during the motorcycle trip with my dad and John Mills. I'll get photos up here soon. But let me tell you what happened on our first stop. Halfway between MCC's reforestation office and the city of Mirebalais is a beautiful waterfall called Saut d'eau, or Sodo in Creole. It's also a sacred Vodou site. Here's a post about the first time I went there. So my dad and John and I are riding up this very steep, rough road to get to the falls and we passed a bunch of pasty white folks. As we got off the motorcycles and walked down to the falls we were talking about this group and wondering who they might be.

"Missionaries," my dad said.

"Really? Are you sure?"

"Oh yeah. You can just tell."

So, we got down to our skivvies and climbed up the rocks to get behind the falls. It was gorgeous, as always. I pointed out the half-full bottles of rum and candles and other little effects that had been left there as offerings. Nobody really knows what to expect from a Vodou holy site, and my dad and John were just taking it all in.

I looked down below and the white people started filing in and staking out an area near one of the lower falls. I noticed that one of them had a good number of tattoos, which is when I started to doubt my dad's theory. Then they circled up and held hands and appeared to be singing. I thought, maybe dad's right. But the sound of the falls was so loud I couldn't tell if it was kumbayah or what.

When we decided to hit the road, we went back down to where our clothes were. There I found a woman I know who is a travel agent for groups coming to Haiti. I asked her who these mysterious white people were. She informed me that it was a group of Vodouisants from Philadelphia who were here to be initiated as priests (houngan) and priestesses (mambo). That's right, white Vodou people. I've known for a while that there is a lot of academic interest in Vodou, and even the rare white person who will participate in ceremonies and undergo possession. I was not, however, aware that there were enough non-Haitians practicing Vodou in the whole United States, let alone Philly, to justify a group initiation of about 10 new houngans and mambos. I suppose they could be going back to Philly to minister to Haitians living there, but I reeeeeeeeeally doubt it.

I love telling Haitians that story. Some aren't surprised at all, but most of them give a kind of laugh like "what are those crazy white people going to do next?"

Back and fat

I'm back in Haiti all safe and sound after three and a half weeks in the states. I guess I never got around to all that blogging I was going to do, but someday...

I definitely need to write about the political thing. Over the course of my trip back home, Obama won the nomination and Haiti is now has a good case of Obamamania, or whatever you call it. I can't count how many times I heard people here tell me that the United States is too racist to ever elect a black president. That might rub a lot of my fellow U.S. citizens the wrong way, but you hear it a lot around here, and as far as anyone knows, they could be right. We won't know until November. But, something really changed after he won the primary. While people in the states were getting frustrated with Clinton's refusal to concede, Haitians were just coolly waiting to hear the catch. Many were sure that Clinton would eventually win, despite Obama's lead. And so many were genuinely surprised at the outcome.

As for me, it's good to be back. Most every Haitian friend I've seen since coming back has been lavishing me with praise for putting on weight while I was back in the states. It's a Haitian thing. When you haven't seen someone in a while, and you want to tell them that they're looking good, you tell them that they're getting big. They mean it literally, but it's complimentary because it's seen as a sign of health and happiness. As far as I can tell, it works the same way as "have you lost weight?!" in the U.S. They use the word "gwo" which means to get bigger, and is sometimes used interchangeably with "anfòm" which means "in shape." (I'm definitely not in better shape.) Even if there is no real change, people will say that you've filled out. The fact that I did pack on a few pounds only adds to the excitement. Here's some of the comments:

"You're so fat!"
"Wow, you're huge!"
"Even your face is getting nice and fat!"
"Did you join the U.S. Olympic team while you were over there?"

One man, a senator who visits my office from time to time, came through today. I haven't seen him in a couple months, but he took one look at me and said "you must have just come back from the states."

All of these exchanges were in Creole. But my favorite one was with one of my colleagues who always practices his English on me. "Welcome back. You are fat. No no no no! I'm only joking. (20 seconds of laughter and knee-slapping) You're not fat. You are heavy. Yes, that's right. You are overweight."

I think that in my colleague's English course his teacher probably told the students that it's impolite to use the word "fat," and that the words "overweight" or "heavy" should be substituted. I hope the teacher at some point lets the class know that North Americans don't take kindly to being told they've put on weight, no matter what euphemism is used.

Waiting for Bubba

Last night I was on my way to use the bathroom and the secret service told me to hold on and wait while President Clinton finished up in there. A little context: I am back at home in Medford, Oregon right now for vacation. My sister got married on Saturday in a beautiful service at a winery. Here she is on her way to the altar with dad (who also performed the wedding):



Here's the new husband and wife:



And here's the three Hildebrand kids all together:



What can I say? The wedding was perfect. Everybody cried a lot. And then everybody danced a lot. The bride and groom arrived at the reception with my sister driving a creamsicle colored 1960s Vespa, and her new husband in the sidecar. Yes, a Vespa with a sidecar.

It was of course a big day for my sister. Kind of a big day for me too, just in the fact that it was my first time back in the states since I left for Haiti in November 2006. And it was my first time back to my hometown since August 2006. The wedding was a flood of faces that I haven't seen in two, four, even ten years. Naturally everyone was asking me what it felt like to be back and whether I was freaking out or not. I generally told people that if I had gone straight from Haiti to some random place in the states for, say, a conference, and had to stay in a hotel and be surrounded by strangers, I probably would have gone nuts. But, being surrounded by family and friends made it possible for me not to miss Haiti too much. My digestive system couldn't be fooled though. It's still in open rebellion against non-Haitian food.

I'm hoping to spend some of my time back home on this blog and fill in some of the big gaps since I haven't been very good about blogging for the last few months. For now I'll just finish the story about the former president.

If you're following the US democratic primaries, you'll know that tomorrow, May 20th, is Oregon's day to vote. It sounds like Barack Obama may clinch the majority of pledged delegates. Over the weekend he held a rally in Portland that was the biggest in US political history. Bill and Chelsea Clinton were campaigning in Southern Oregon over the weekend, giving a talk at the state university in Ashland (just south of Medford) on Sunday. A neighbor and friend of ours owns a restaurant in Medford - and we got word that the Clintons would be eating there Sunday night afterwards. So after all the friends and family and the bride and groom left town on Sunday, mom and dad and I decided to go down and try to get a look at the former president.

Once we heard he had arrived, I left the outdoor patio to walk through the restaurant to the bathroom and get a glimpse on the way. I squeezed by Chelsea, and then I saw the big, pink-faced man himself. He was dressed just like he is in the picture below, which came from the Medford newspaper:



I was going to walk by and pretend I didn't recognize him, but before I got there, he turned around and went to go take a leak. So I ended up waiting outside the bathroom. A burly secret service guy told me to step back away from the door. And so I stood and waited. When the door opened up, and the security detail turned around to lead him to the dining room, I waited for just the right moment and grabbed his collar and slammed him up against the bathroom door and shouted in his face, "Because of your craven political posturing Haiti has become dependent on subsidized rice exports from the United States! Thanks Bill! Now the country is starving and protesting and rioting and the prime minister lost his job because of forces far beyond his control! Forces that you helped set in motion! Haiti's food problems are more your fault than his! Shame on you! SHAME ON YOU!!!" That's when I got the tasered.

Kidding, of course. I just let him walk by and then took my turn in the bathroom. But I do wish I could have told him that. If you want to read more about the factors that created Haiti's current crisis with food prices, here is an article that gives a good analysis of the situation, though it doesn't specifically name Clinton's role in forcing Aristide to drop tariffs in 1994.

I'll write more this week about the motorcycle trip in Haiti with my dad and his friend John, and also about how Haitians are viewing the US presidential race.