This year, tying for the coveted golden rooster prize, were two films: one by Josh Steckley, and one put together by Matthew Van Geest and Esther de Groot.
First, by Josh Steckley, a video montage of life in Dezam, set to the music of an a capella men's chorus that performed at MCC's last team meeting. Critics are calling it a "tour de force" and "cinéma vérité at its finest."
And finally, the cinematic event that has everyone talking: Gabri Walks! Yes, Gabriella -- star of such films as Gabri Stands! and Gabri Tries to Eat a Cat! -- is now fully mobile. Watch out red carpets everywhere! This timeless tale of a baby walking takes a surprising, twenty-first century twist. To find out what, you'll have to watch it yourself. Hint: it makes walking while chewing gum look like child's play, so to speak.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Hallowed ground
Last weekend was my third return to Dezam, where I originally went for a month to learn Creole. The MCC reforestation project holds what it calls "livrezon," or delivery, each year around June. This is when their network of tree nurseries hand out thousands of trees for free to the peasants that live in this part of the Artibonite valley. I drove out with Josh and Marylynn on Saturday, picking up a couple watermelons from roadside stands on the way.
We woke up early Sunday morning to get the word out. Teaming up with tree nursery workers, we fanned out in teams of three or four and visited churches. We talked about the importance of trees, which of course wasn't lost on any of these people. We also informed them that because there had been three days of no rain, the delivery wouldn't happen on Monday morning unless the dry spell was broken. I've never actually been affected by a lack of rain before in my life. Supposedly a few years ago in Seattle was one of the worst droughts the city had ever seen, but the water kept flowing out of my tap the same as ever. Here, just three days without rainfall is enough to disrupt the normal flow of life, and everyone feels it.
Unfortunately, the rain didn't come Sunday afternoon as we had expected. So the livrezon was delayed, and we came up with other plans. Not far from Dezam is a place called Saut d'Eau, literally "jump of water."
A couple of weeks ago I received a care package from my home church, Seattle Mennonite. Among the goodies were a stack of letters written on recycled squares of paper. One of them was from Jennifer Delanty, whose children I taught in Sunday school. Last year, when Jennifer found out I was going to Haiti, she was very excited, and recommended a book to me called Quitting America. It's by a civil rights lawyer named Randall Robinson, who has fought many years for reparations for slavery. In the last few years, he got so fed up with the cynical politics of race in the Unites States that he up and left to live on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts, the birthplace of his wife. Quitting America is a challenging, and sometimes angry book. It has a whole chapter of righteous indignation towards the misery of Haiti, and America's complicity in it. Definitely not for the faint of heart, the proudly white, or the blindly patriotic. And while part of me (regretfully) was put off by his very strong rhetoric and blanket statements, what he said had a ring of truth to it. In the end, while I knew I couldn't truly understand his point of view, I felt like some of my reasons for moving to the Caribbean overlapped with his.
So I was delighted to see a letter from Jennifer included in the care package, the last line of which struck me deeply: "you walk on hallowed ground!"
She's right. I feel it often here. But I rarely feel it as strongly as at Saut d'Eau, which is a vodou pilgrimage site. Each year during Easter week, and at a couple of other times, massive crowds pack into the steep hills that surround the falls, digging their feet into the mud to experience the mystical healing powers believed to be there. Plus it's beautiful and refreshing.
And as always, Gabriela stole the show:
We woke up early Sunday morning to get the word out. Teaming up with tree nursery workers, we fanned out in teams of three or four and visited churches. We talked about the importance of trees, which of course wasn't lost on any of these people. We also informed them that because there had been three days of no rain, the delivery wouldn't happen on Monday morning unless the dry spell was broken. I've never actually been affected by a lack of rain before in my life. Supposedly a few years ago in Seattle was one of the worst droughts the city had ever seen, but the water kept flowing out of my tap the same as ever. Here, just three days without rainfall is enough to disrupt the normal flow of life, and everyone feels it.
Unfortunately, the rain didn't come Sunday afternoon as we had expected. So the livrezon was delayed, and we came up with other plans. Not far from Dezam is a place called Saut d'Eau, literally "jump of water."
A couple of weeks ago I received a care package from my home church, Seattle Mennonite. Among the goodies were a stack of letters written on recycled squares of paper. One of them was from Jennifer Delanty, whose children I taught in Sunday school. Last year, when Jennifer found out I was going to Haiti, she was very excited, and recommended a book to me called Quitting America. It's by a civil rights lawyer named Randall Robinson, who has fought many years for reparations for slavery. In the last few years, he got so fed up with the cynical politics of race in the Unites States that he up and left to live on the Caribbean island of St. Kitts, the birthplace of his wife. Quitting America is a challenging, and sometimes angry book. It has a whole chapter of righteous indignation towards the misery of Haiti, and America's complicity in it. Definitely not for the faint of heart, the proudly white, or the blindly patriotic. And while part of me (regretfully) was put off by his very strong rhetoric and blanket statements, what he said had a ring of truth to it. In the end, while I knew I couldn't truly understand his point of view, I felt like some of my reasons for moving to the Caribbean overlapped with his.
So I was delighted to see a letter from Jennifer included in the care package, the last line of which struck me deeply: "you walk on hallowed ground!"
She's right. I feel it often here. But I rarely feel it as strongly as at Saut d'Eau, which is a vodou pilgrimage site. Each year during Easter week, and at a couple of other times, massive crowds pack into the steep hills that surround the falls, digging their feet into the mud to experience the mystical healing powers believed to be there. Plus it's beautiful and refreshing.
And as always, Gabriela stole the show:
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
End chapter one
Wow, the time has flown by since my last blog entry. A lot has happened, including the passing of the seven month mark for my time in Haiti. Things feel different, in a good way. There's a sense that I've made one lap around the track, and I'm left wondering if the chapters of this trip will come in roughly half-year increments.
The first fun news is that Josh and I went to see our friend Jacky Chery graduate from seminary. You may remember him as my first Creole tutor from my first week in Port-au-Prince. Josh and I were delighted to find out that he was actually the president of his class, and therefore he gave the keynote speech. And best of all, the speech totally didn't suck! It was even relevant and inspirational. Not that I would expect any less from Jacky, but if you told me I was going to a Protestant seminary graduation to hear a keynote speech in French, I would prepare myself for a bunch of flowery blah blah blah about bringing the gospel to the unenlightened masses, and very little about the day-to-day realities of most Haitians. But Jacky put me and my expectations to shame. Here's us post-ceremony:
I feel I should point out our matching undershirts. I've never been an undershirt guy. I never really understood the point. They just add a layer of insulation, making you hotter, and won't even protect against pit stains. But since I've been here, I've never once gone to work without one. Unless you have air-conditioning (less common here than in cold-to-mild Seattle) you're constantly sweating in Haiti, even if it's just a little bit. So the undershirt comes in handy. I even wear it around the studio as I'm cooking or reading or whatever. I'm that guy. Along with my occasional indulgence in a shoe-shine, it's one of those things that make me feel like I'm living in another era altogether.
When I got home from Jacky's graduation, this was sitting on my mosquito net waiting for me:
So as I was saying, it feels like a chapter is closing. As a random example, tonight here at the guesthouse, where I blog when I can, I ran into Eileen. She was one of the first people I met here back in November, though it was very brief and I hadn't seen her since. She's on her way back home to British Columbia now, and it was good to catch up.
Another person I saw here in my first weeks was an MCC volunteer named Rebecca Bartel. She lives in Columbia and works on advocacy, lobbying North American governments to stop financing one of the most murderous conflicts on Earth. She was at the end of a two-month trip to learn about Haiti and start thinking about how to do advocacy here. We had a few good discussions, at times resembling debates. Right away she impressed me as exactly the kind of person I imagined working with when I signed up with MCC. We kept in fairly close e-mail contact. So anyway, she came back to Haiti three weeks ago for a week of vacation, and then a bunch of time working with Josh and Marylynn on their vision for advocacy.
Before she arrived, we started planning out a weekend trip for anyone who was interested. In the end, it was Rebecca and Jessica and me. We planned to do a big loop from Port-au-Prince to Jacmel on the southern coast, and then up the mountain to magical Seguin, and then back down the mountain to return to the opposite side of Port from which we departed. And we planned to do it all on public transportation or our own six feet.
And off we went. After a beautiful trip through the mountains on a not-so-bad bus pumping nonstop konpa beats, we landed at the beach. Jess made friends:
I made a coconut:
And later we landed at a lovely hotel where Rebecca made a balm for her sunburn with fresh-picked aloe.
Sitting on that pristine beach, it was a little daunting to think of going up the mountain to Seguin, only to have to hike at least four hours the next day to get home. But we decided to buckle down and do it. We woke up Sunday morning and after breakfast we took tap-taps (pickup truck with benches in the back and a canopy) to a little town called Peredo. From there, we hired three moto-taxis to drive us up to Seguin. These were not dirt-bikes or the puny little scooters that serve as taxis in the flat cities. These were chromed-up road hogs. Not quite Harleys or anything, but they flew up the mountain. We ascended quickly on the mostly unpaved road, going in and out of rainshowers and feeling the temperature drop dramatically with each big gain in elevation. Jess and Rebecca's drivers were racing each other while my guy hung back a little. I thought to myself, yeah, that's right. We've got nothing to prove. I'm glad my guy's a little more prudent.
Then about a kilometer from the Seguin market, my driver managed to run right over the top of a rock. The only big loose rock in the middle of a flat, wide road, it was about as big as a canteloupe with a sharp point on top. The impact jolted me sideways and immediately blew out the back tire, and it could have been all over right there. But somehow the driver regained control and I hung on and we rolled to a stop. He honked his horn and I whistled constantly as we watched the other two bikes roar on up the hill and out of sight. As we started walking the bike up the hill, my driver removed his shades to reveal a left eye that was completely clouded over and surely blind. I asked him if he had blown out tires like this before, and he said yes, three other times. I didn't ask if the whole half-blind thing was a cause of all these wrecks, or perhaps a result of one of them. I just made small talk until the girls turned around and came back down to meet us.
We hiked the rest of the way to the lodge where I have stayed two other times. About halfway there, the rain started dumping on us and a woman graciously welcomed us onto the covered porch of her very, very humble house. I think we probably sat there for about twenty minutes. At least twenty minutes. Almost totally in silence. I've said it before, but there's just something about Seguin that inspires reverence and tranquility. Eventually the rain eased up enough for us to go and I thanked the kind woman with some treats made of sesame seeds and cane syrup.
Just past the house, we walked through a maze of giant rain-sculpted rocks:
The explanation I've heard is that these rocks used to be covered by soil, but had become exposed after years of erosion. An ugly reality behind a beautiful thing. It's a little sophmoric, but I feel as if almost everything I observe in Haiti can become a metaphor for Haiti itself. I'll just leave it at that.
Once we arrived at the lodge we changed into dry clothes and drank some tea made of fresh-picked mint leaves - the unofficial arrival ceremony in Seguin. Rebecca sipped.
Jess bundled.
I connected.
We headed out to watch the sunset. On the way, we ran into Eliphete, the cook for the lodge. He's also the guy that loaned me his boots last time I was in Seguin, after mine were stolen from the side of a stream where I went swimming. Good guy.
Here's some dusk pictures.
And us taking it all in.
I could go on and on about that half hour or so looking out from our little spot on top of a hill. In Creole, there's a phrase to describe when something "hits you": "Sa frape m". It comes from the same word "frappé" that appears as the highest setting on most blenders. What hit me that night is that I can't share my experiences. I can try, as I'm doing here. But all I wanted up there was to put my arm around my brother, my sister, my pastor, my high school English teacher and every other person that has ever shared a connection with me, just to hold them and look out and drink it all in. And part of me wonders, as I've been here for half a year now, even if I could have all of you wonderful people here with me, would you see it the same way I do? I'm sure we could all appreciate Seguin together. But I get frape'd sometimes looking out over downtown Port-au-Prince, or the mountainside slums, or the endless street scene on the way to work. I remember when I first got here, trying so hard to appreciate it; trying not to think that it was all so ugly, or sad, or whatever. Now, it's just home, and it's full of beauty. Whew, maybe I should check back in on this in six months.
So anyway, the next day we took the long way out of Seguin, stopping to see some caves on the way:
Winnie, who runs the lodge at Seguin, recently went into the caves with some American geology professors. He said they went about four kilometers in(!), walking at times through enormous caverns, and sometimes just barely sqeezing by.
Then we hiked for a few hours, which flew by. At the end of the road, just at the point where we usually start the hike going into Seguin, I got this shot of almost the entire road:
Just over that last saddle where you see it zig up the mountain is where the road meets up with the pine forest.
Here's another view from the road:
Every little cluster of trees conceals a house or group of houses. And absolutely everything else is worked as farmland. Here's how:
So that was the trip. The day after we got back, Jess found out she would be leaving Haiti two months ahead of schedule because of an illness in the family. Here's her second-to-last day:
Left to right is Stephanie (a Belgian volunteer), Esaie (Isaiah--funniest guy ever) and Viles (pronounced Vee-less). My desk is just on the other side of that indoor window.
Here's Jess and Rosie at the going away party:
The next day, Jess and Rebecca flew out of Port-au-Prince on the same flight. And just like that, I'm now the only native English speaker in the office. This would have been a little scary even three months ago, but I feel like I'm taking it in the stride. Beth is out of town this week, so I'm riding a motorcycle to work instead of the usual grey Toyota pickup. Pictures of that whole scene next time!
The first fun news is that Josh and I went to see our friend Jacky Chery graduate from seminary. You may remember him as my first Creole tutor from my first week in Port-au-Prince. Josh and I were delighted to find out that he was actually the president of his class, and therefore he gave the keynote speech. And best of all, the speech totally didn't suck! It was even relevant and inspirational. Not that I would expect any less from Jacky, but if you told me I was going to a Protestant seminary graduation to hear a keynote speech in French, I would prepare myself for a bunch of flowery blah blah blah about bringing the gospel to the unenlightened masses, and very little about the day-to-day realities of most Haitians. But Jacky put me and my expectations to shame. Here's us post-ceremony:
I feel I should point out our matching undershirts. I've never been an undershirt guy. I never really understood the point. They just add a layer of insulation, making you hotter, and won't even protect against pit stains. But since I've been here, I've never once gone to work without one. Unless you have air-conditioning (less common here than in cold-to-mild Seattle) you're constantly sweating in Haiti, even if it's just a little bit. So the undershirt comes in handy. I even wear it around the studio as I'm cooking or reading or whatever. I'm that guy. Along with my occasional indulgence in a shoe-shine, it's one of those things that make me feel like I'm living in another era altogether.
When I got home from Jacky's graduation, this was sitting on my mosquito net waiting for me:
So as I was saying, it feels like a chapter is closing. As a random example, tonight here at the guesthouse, where I blog when I can, I ran into Eileen. She was one of the first people I met here back in November, though it was very brief and I hadn't seen her since. She's on her way back home to British Columbia now, and it was good to catch up.
Another person I saw here in my first weeks was an MCC volunteer named Rebecca Bartel. She lives in Columbia and works on advocacy, lobbying North American governments to stop financing one of the most murderous conflicts on Earth. She was at the end of a two-month trip to learn about Haiti and start thinking about how to do advocacy here. We had a few good discussions, at times resembling debates. Right away she impressed me as exactly the kind of person I imagined working with when I signed up with MCC. We kept in fairly close e-mail contact. So anyway, she came back to Haiti three weeks ago for a week of vacation, and then a bunch of time working with Josh and Marylynn on their vision for advocacy.
Before she arrived, we started planning out a weekend trip for anyone who was interested. In the end, it was Rebecca and Jessica and me. We planned to do a big loop from Port-au-Prince to Jacmel on the southern coast, and then up the mountain to magical Seguin, and then back down the mountain to return to the opposite side of Port from which we departed. And we planned to do it all on public transportation or our own six feet.
And off we went. After a beautiful trip through the mountains on a not-so-bad bus pumping nonstop konpa beats, we landed at the beach. Jess made friends:
I made a coconut:
And later we landed at a lovely hotel where Rebecca made a balm for her sunburn with fresh-picked aloe.
Sitting on that pristine beach, it was a little daunting to think of going up the mountain to Seguin, only to have to hike at least four hours the next day to get home. But we decided to buckle down and do it. We woke up Sunday morning and after breakfast we took tap-taps (pickup truck with benches in the back and a canopy) to a little town called Peredo. From there, we hired three moto-taxis to drive us up to Seguin. These were not dirt-bikes or the puny little scooters that serve as taxis in the flat cities. These were chromed-up road hogs. Not quite Harleys or anything, but they flew up the mountain. We ascended quickly on the mostly unpaved road, going in and out of rainshowers and feeling the temperature drop dramatically with each big gain in elevation. Jess and Rebecca's drivers were racing each other while my guy hung back a little. I thought to myself, yeah, that's right. We've got nothing to prove. I'm glad my guy's a little more prudent.
Then about a kilometer from the Seguin market, my driver managed to run right over the top of a rock. The only big loose rock in the middle of a flat, wide road, it was about as big as a canteloupe with a sharp point on top. The impact jolted me sideways and immediately blew out the back tire, and it could have been all over right there. But somehow the driver regained control and I hung on and we rolled to a stop. He honked his horn and I whistled constantly as we watched the other two bikes roar on up the hill and out of sight. As we started walking the bike up the hill, my driver removed his shades to reveal a left eye that was completely clouded over and surely blind. I asked him if he had blown out tires like this before, and he said yes, three other times. I didn't ask if the whole half-blind thing was a cause of all these wrecks, or perhaps a result of one of them. I just made small talk until the girls turned around and came back down to meet us.
We hiked the rest of the way to the lodge where I have stayed two other times. About halfway there, the rain started dumping on us and a woman graciously welcomed us onto the covered porch of her very, very humble house. I think we probably sat there for about twenty minutes. At least twenty minutes. Almost totally in silence. I've said it before, but there's just something about Seguin that inspires reverence and tranquility. Eventually the rain eased up enough for us to go and I thanked the kind woman with some treats made of sesame seeds and cane syrup.
Just past the house, we walked through a maze of giant rain-sculpted rocks:
The explanation I've heard is that these rocks used to be covered by soil, but had become exposed after years of erosion. An ugly reality behind a beautiful thing. It's a little sophmoric, but I feel as if almost everything I observe in Haiti can become a metaphor for Haiti itself. I'll just leave it at that.
Once we arrived at the lodge we changed into dry clothes and drank some tea made of fresh-picked mint leaves - the unofficial arrival ceremony in Seguin. Rebecca sipped.
Jess bundled.
I connected.
We headed out to watch the sunset. On the way, we ran into Eliphete, the cook for the lodge. He's also the guy that loaned me his boots last time I was in Seguin, after mine were stolen from the side of a stream where I went swimming. Good guy.
Here's some dusk pictures.
And us taking it all in.
I could go on and on about that half hour or so looking out from our little spot on top of a hill. In Creole, there's a phrase to describe when something "hits you": "Sa frape m". It comes from the same word "frappé" that appears as the highest setting on most blenders. What hit me that night is that I can't share my experiences. I can try, as I'm doing here. But all I wanted up there was to put my arm around my brother, my sister, my pastor, my high school English teacher and every other person that has ever shared a connection with me, just to hold them and look out and drink it all in. And part of me wonders, as I've been here for half a year now, even if I could have all of you wonderful people here with me, would you see it the same way I do? I'm sure we could all appreciate Seguin together. But I get frape'd sometimes looking out over downtown Port-au-Prince, or the mountainside slums, or the endless street scene on the way to work. I remember when I first got here, trying so hard to appreciate it; trying not to think that it was all so ugly, or sad, or whatever. Now, it's just home, and it's full of beauty. Whew, maybe I should check back in on this in six months.
So anyway, the next day we took the long way out of Seguin, stopping to see some caves on the way:
Winnie, who runs the lodge at Seguin, recently went into the caves with some American geology professors. He said they went about four kilometers in(!), walking at times through enormous caverns, and sometimes just barely sqeezing by.
Then we hiked for a few hours, which flew by. At the end of the road, just at the point where we usually start the hike going into Seguin, I got this shot of almost the entire road:
Just over that last saddle where you see it zig up the mountain is where the road meets up with the pine forest.
Here's another view from the road:
Every little cluster of trees conceals a house or group of houses. And absolutely everything else is worked as farmland. Here's how:
So that was the trip. The day after we got back, Jess found out she would be leaving Haiti two months ahead of schedule because of an illness in the family. Here's her second-to-last day:
Left to right is Stephanie (a Belgian volunteer), Esaie (Isaiah--funniest guy ever) and Viles (pronounced Vee-less). My desk is just on the other side of that indoor window.
Here's Jess and Rosie at the going away party:
The next day, Jess and Rebecca flew out of Port-au-Prince on the same flight. And just like that, I'm now the only native English speaker in the office. This would have been a little scary even three months ago, but I feel like I'm taking it in the stride. Beth is out of town this week, so I'm riding a motorcycle to work instead of the usual grey Toyota pickup. Pictures of that whole scene next time!
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