Education

So I just got back from my first delegation with work. Some delegations go to do training, some go to do monitoring. Mine was the former. We drove to the southeast corner of the country and stopped at schools along the way to step in for a couple hours and educate kids on their rights. Every school I've seen so far requires uniforms. They're different for boys and girls, though coordinated, and the girls always wear ribbons and ties in their hair that match the uniform colors. I was amazed at the age of some of the students. One class had at least four in their thirties - and yet they were wearing the same uniforms as the youngest kids. The reason for this is that a lot of kids are forced to quit school when they're young to help out on the field or move to the city or whatever, and then they decide to pick it up when they settle back down, which can take over a decade, apparently. Better late than never.

The delegation included myself, two coworkers, and our driver. The driver's name is Mesguerres, pronounced "mezgeh" - a literal translation is My Wars. I'm not sure that there's a non-literal translation, but I'd love to know why someone would name their child My Wars. He's built like a bouncer and he shaves his head bald. One night at dinner he asked me how many beers I could drink. I told him that I didn't know because I'd never counted. I asked him how many he could drink. 15. Last night we went out to find an internet cafe in Les Cayes, where we stayed both nights. It was like having a bodyguard. When I got my computer, he pulled up a chair next to me and watched intently as I wrote.

I've noticed this in general, that Haitians aren't shy about looking over your shoulder if you're reading or doing something on the computer. Normally this is a pet peeve, as I'm sure it is for most every North American, but I'm getting used to a different definition of privacy. At my home, the woman who does cooking and cleaning for my landlady comes to clean my place, my dishes and my laundry twice a week. I felt really, really wierd about this at first. Well, I guess I still do, in the sense that I don't want to get too comfortable paying someone to do things that I have the time and ability to do. It's just one of those moral quandries for westerners living in poor countries everywhere. I may not like the way it looks, but I don't miss worrying about laundry, and the fact is that it would be highly resented if I chose not to employ a housekeeper.

But, the point I was going to make, is that when she cleans, she goes through absolutely everything I own. She isn't sneaky about it, she's just looking for ways to tidy up as much as possible. She'll find my jeans crumpled on a chair, and she'll take out the pocket change and leave in in nice little stacks, by denomination, on the counter. When it began to sink in to me, after the first couple of cleanings, just how much she was sifting through all of my stuff, I got nervous. Should I be hiding my important documents, just so I know that they won't get moved around? And if so, where? But that was a while back. More and more, I'm getting over the idea of having my own domain where I control everything. It's actually kind of freeing. And I've still got more space to myself than the vast majority of Haitians. So the real problem remains the moral one. Is there some way for me to let my housekeeper know, even symbolically, that I don't consider myself better than her? I always thank her when I see her, but I feel like I owe more to the person who has to empty my used toilet paper. In case that didn't make sense, I'll close with this little detail of life in Haiti, and most poor countries that have weak sewage systems. You don't flush the paper. You put it in a wastebasket by the toilet. The amazing thing is that it doesn't smell bad. But don't worry, I'll try and retrain myself before I come visit you.