I asked my mom, dad and sister to jot down a paragraph about their experience here. Here's what they had to say.
Dad:
A vacation in Haiti!!! Friends gave me THE LOOK when I explained that Haiti was our destination. Now, eleven days after returning, I can report that it was a great time. Exiting the airport and seeing the BLAN, Kurt, across the parking lot still ranks as one of the highlights of the trip. Other highlights:
*Visiting with Kurt's (Felix's) co-workers and getting a sense of the mission
*Cool showers out of a 5 gallon bucket
*Gabby's Birthday party
*The beautiful beaches and warm water
*Driving through the DR and having the road blockaded by 40 women and children
*-and them telling us that they wanted our money................ so they could make soup for their husbands/fathers for Father's Day, which was the next day, and then seeing them all laugh hysterically, was wonderful.
*Watching and listening as Kurt conversed with the Haitian people and sensing his pride in this country and its people
*A late night meal by candlelight, roadside in Desarmes--best egg sandwich I have ever had
*Meeting and seeing some of the most beautiful people I have ever met in my life
*Holding our son again
*Meals, travel, conversations, sweating together, laughing, praying and having most of our family together again was just so good!
Now I am looking forward to that motorcycle trip across Haiti!!
Don (Dad)
Mom:
Haiti is such a place of contrasts: Intense poverty, but a wealth of pride in its history and culture. Poor infrastructure, but orderliness with street vendors' merchandise and sweeping of front steps. Lack of organized labor, but Haitians are well-dressed, polite and their children follow suit. We found the people to be lovely and accommodating. The food was wonderful (although we said, "Nyah-ah-ah" to Kurt's offer of a bite of goat stew). Haiti is not for the faint of heart....but one can't help but be impressed by its most important resource: its people.
And Holly:
One of the most impressive things I observed about Haiti was the community. Considering the very little I've learned about Haitian history (about as much as Cuba), I knew enough to realize that the small country has pretty much seen it all. However, despite the amount of violence and danger that we usually associate with Haiti, it is yet another place of community, of homes, of families, of friends. On a normal walk down the street I exchanged more "good mornings" than in my own hometown, and even the most persistent hawkers will share a laugh when possible. The people we came into contact with on our short visit were always hospitable in a way that seemed more customary than merely kind. And while I'd like to say it was because of Kurt's Kreyol that people were so quick to converse, I think it has more to do with the culture. We met a few nationals or second generation Haitians visiting from the States, and each one was so eager to move back to Haiti. This was also common among many Californian Central Americans I've met in the past few years, however the Haitians I met were not doing various hard labor jobs away from their families. These were privileged Haitians who were given the opportunity to leave home and pursue a completely different life. There was a sincere appreciation from the people I talked to that did not dismiss either their American or Haitian culture, but preferred the Haitian lifestyle to that in the States. I realize that this is not the case for all, that many Haitians would probably love to go to America and work, as many families depend on expatriate earnings overseas. Maybe it's because of my own discontent with parts of our culture that I would so gladly live somewhere else that it was refreshing to hear of such appreciation. Either way, the country's political and economic situation are definitely not making people want to stay- it's obviously because of the community and culture. These are of course the most important assets to any country, and in my own experience, Haiti is rich in both.
* * *
I picked up mom, dad and Holly at the Port-au-Prince airport on the morning of the 21st. Right away we drove out of the city and up the interior coast, called the Arcadian Coast. We stopped at a place called Moulin Sur Mer, or windmill on the sea, which used to be a sugarcane plantation, but now is a beach resort and a museum.
I had imagined my family showing up here, being somewhat bewildered by the sights and smells, and I would confidently stride in and show them how Haiti works. But in what became a sort of theme while they were here, I had plenty of firsts, bests, worsts, new experiences and revelations of my own while they were here. For starters, I had never been to Moulin Sur Mer before. I showed up with my family, and walked around thinking that this has to be one of the loveliest places I've seen in Haiti.
We walked into the buffet area just as the best man was delivering his toast at a wedding reception held there on the beach. It was typically flowery and tedious, and of course in French. We didn't waste much time. After eating we jumped in the warm Caribbean water and just floated around, catching up on everything that we could think to ask. If I remember right, we were the only white folks at the place -- somewhat surprising, considering that it wasn't exactly cheap to get a day pass there. My family looked around at our Haitian beach-mates, remarking about how beautiful everyone was. It's something they continued noticing throughout their stay in Haiti.
After the beach, we continued driving until we arrived in Desarmes. We walked out and bought egg sandwiches on the street, which is always one of my favorite part about visiting the reforestation program, and my dad mentioned it above as well. The next day, Sunday, we woke up for some bread, fruit and delicious Haitian coffee. We took a little hike and looked at the Artibonite river, guided by Esther and Gabriela:
Then we hoofed it over a small ridge to check out the view of Desarmes, and all the trees growing there, thanks in part to the work they've been doing there for the last 20 years.
On Sunday afternoon, Matt and Esther had a party to celebrate the one-year anniversary from when they brough Gabriela home. Check out their blog about the event here. There was pineapple upsdide-down cake, water baloons, bubbles and other fun stuff. The Haitian kids who came with their parents to the celebration were all dressed up, and not quite ready to go crazy with water baloons and the like. Some were more outgoing...
others not so much:
On Monday we drove back to Port-au-Prince in time for lunch at my office. Even though the Hildebrands were running late, everyone there waited until we arrived, after 2:00, to eat. It went well. My boss, Pierre, welcomed my family by telling them that they were much better looking than me. Oh yes, this was another theme: everywhere we went in Haiti, people said the exact same thing, "you parents are so young!" Then, inevitably, about ten minutes later, at least one of the guys would take me aside, put his hand on my shoulder, and discreetly say into my ear, "Kurt, your sister is very beautiful." I never really knew how to respond to this. Thank you?
There was a good mix of me translating for coworkers, coworkers doing as well as they could in English, and my family just speaking English to each other. My mother thanked them for lunch with a box of See's Candies which somehow, miraculously, didn't turn into a box of See's chocolate syrup in the tropical heat.
After lunch, we got back into the car and took a little tour of Port-au-Prince. At the absolute busiest, hottest part of the day, I attempted a drive down Jean Jacques Dessalines (the George Washington of Haiti), which is basically main street. The building facades all rusted and crumbling, traffic at a near standstill, and the street and sidewalks pulsating with human activity. Merchants selling everything from produce to cell phone chargers sat beneath umbrellas, crowds pressed up against them. At each intersection was a mountain of slimy refuse, much of it organic matter trimmed from produce. And there we were, watching it all from the cool, air conditioned bubble of a beige Nissan SUV. As I was focused on not running anyone over -- surprisingly hard, considering we probably never got above 10 miles per hour -- a man was standing outside of the car trying to get my family's attention. I didn't see him, I just heard their responses. "Kurt, this guy just said he was going to kill us." "Wait, what's that mean? He wants to eat us? He wants to kill us and eat us?!" "Oh, and now he's acting all nice like he wants to be friends with us."
This became a big revelation for me. The man in question approached the car windows to get their attention. First, he drew his index finger across his neck. Then he moved his fingertips, clustered together, towards his mouth. Then he smiled, hand held out. My family was surprisingly calm during this confusing display. The very next day, I saw a young boy make the same gesture as we passed. Finger across the neck, hand held out. That's when it all came together for me.
In my nine months here so far, I've been in some fairly dicey situations. Apocalyptic rainstorms, surging crowds, belligerent police, stone-throwing mini-riots. Last night I was at a vodou ceremony (more about that later), which wasn't scary at all, though I can imagine a time in my life when that would have been nothing but heebie jeebies. But, the scariest moment, hands down, happened on an afternoon in February. I was hiking around the hills north of Port-au-Prince with a friend, when we passed a field where two men were working. They were about 200 feet away. When one of the men saw us, he turned towards us, shrugged his shoulders with his arms up in the air -- a machete in his right hand -- and then pretended to slit his throat with the machete, and finally put his arms back up in the air. I have always assumed that the throat-slitting gesture is a fairly universal way of saying, "I am going to kill you" or "you're going to die" or something along those lines. I didn't think he was actually going to come kill me. It just struck me as a very hostile gesture. In my mind, he was saying, "Who do you think you are? You don't belong here, and you're going to learn that the hard way, maybe even the violent way, and there's nothing you can do about it." How wrong I was.
What I realized that day when the little boy made the same gesture, is that in Haiti, it doesn't mean "I'm going to kill you," it means "I'm dying." So the man standing outside of our car that day wasn't telling my family that he wanted to kill and eat them, he was telling them that he was starving to death, he needed food, and he needed them to give him either food or money. The scary machete guy was just asking me for some money, nothing more, nothing less. Amazing what a little miscommunication will do. It still chills me to think about the impression that machete guy left on me. It was always there, in the back of my mind. Anytime I felt like I was getting really comfortable in Haiti, this red button marked REMEMBER THE MACHETE GUY would start blinking and beeping. Nice to know it was unnecessary. That's not to say that Haiti is Disneyland, but it's good to realize when your own fears have been unfairly projected onto other people.
Anyway, as intense and interesting as the main street tour was, we all breathed a sigh of relief once we got out of the hurly burly of the downtown market. Our tour of Port-au-Prince continued the next day when we drove up into the mountains overlooking the city, where it looks so much more peaceful:
The two nights that we slept in Port-au-Prince, we stayed in Bethany's apartment, which is right next door to mine. As luck would have it, a blown transformer had knocked out all the power on the block. (to this day, we haven't gotten power back.)
I've gone weeks with only one or two hours of power a day, but I'd never been stuck with absolutely no electricity, at least not until my family came to visit. But we made the best of it. We lit candles. We took bucket showers (no power means no pumping the water up to the tanks on the roofs, which means no running water). And generally we crashed out pretty early.
On our last night in Port-au-Prince, I was lucky enough to introduce my family to the Assalis, the family from which I rent a studio. I was worried that my landlady would be out of town and unable to meet them, but her trip was delayed, so they got to meet her after all. My mother came bearing gifts: aplets and cotlets, which my landlady loves, and smoked salmon. They couldn't have given us a more gracious reception. Madame Assali chided me for not letting her cook us a big Haitian dinner. She called her 15-year-old daughter Tarah, who spends the school year in Tampa Bay, down to entertain the family in English. While they were all chatting, Madame pulled me into the parlor boutique that she runs out of her house. It's an aromatic little showroom where she sells fancy French perfumes and toiletries and designer clothes and shoes and that kind of stuff. She made me pick which fragrance of body wash my mom would most appreciate: citrus or lavender. I protested that it wasn't necessary, and she wouldn't hear anything of it. She wrapped it in newspaper and then wrapping paper and a little bow, all the while going on and on about how great my family is, how young my parents look, how gracious and perfect my mother is, how I really should have told her earlier so she could cook dinner, on and on. Just as we were finally about to go deliver this little gift, Monsieur Assali showed up.
Robert: What's that?
Russa: It's a gift for Felix's mom.
Robert: What about his dad? Why is everybody always giving things to moms? What about dads?!
Russa: Alright, let's wrap up this [very fancy looking hygiene product].
Robert: That's what I'm talking about!
Me: Please, really, you don't need to-
Robert and Russa: Nonsense!
-- the wrapping rigamarole ensues again, we're on our way out again --
Russa: But what about Holly? We can't just give Felix's parents these gifts and leave Holly with nothing! What about this lotion?
Robert: Yes, good idea! Wrap it up!
Me: Honestly, please, please don't worry about it.
Russa: I can't believe you didn't give me the chance to cook for your family!
At this point, my 75-year-old, charming, toothless landlord sidled over to me, put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Felix, your sister really is very pretty."
So we finally got out of there after being showered with gifts. We stashed them in my apartment and then headed out for dinner. Before we could open the front gate, my landlady called me back over.
Russa: Felix, Tarah just told me that it's your mom's birthday today!
Me: Yes it is.
Russa: Well, I just gave your family welcome gifts, but I had no idea it was your mother's birthday!!
Me: Oh, no, please, madame, don't-
Russa: I have to give your mother something! Would she like this painting?
Me: Of course she would like it, but it really isn't nec-
Russa: It will be wrapped and waiting for you when you get back from dinner.
* * *
On day five we took a bus to the Dominican Republic. The music was way too loud. It was all Dominican music until we got to the chaotic border crossing. Once we left Haiti and were driving across the smooth-paved Dominican freeway, it switched to Haitian music.
We found a hotel in Santo Domingo, across the park from the first cathedral built in the western hemisphere.
There were a lot of firsts in Santo Domingo. First hospital; first monastery; first fortress; first paved road; tallest building of the 16th century and that kind of thing. Dominicans are very proud that this was the first island where Christopher Columbus chose to settle down. We walked right by the house where Columbus' son lived for many years, as well as the house of Cortes, where he lived before he set out to destroy the Aztec civilization of Mexico. I couldn't help thinking that this island is so full of history and tragedy. European colonization started here. The utter annihilation of the indigenous population was done first here - I wonder if Columbus would be celebrated as much if even a tiny fraction of those Taino and Arawak people had survived the 16th century. The intercontinental slave trade started right here. The only bright spot is the Haitian slave revolt, the only successful one in history. And even after this, Haitian society went to war with itself, slavery began again in earnest, this time with Haitian masters. It also invaded the Dominican half of the island, and was later kicked out. A hundred years later the Dominican dictator Trujillo ordered the killing of 20,000 Haitians who were living on the Dominican side as field workers. Both sides of the island have had more than their share of tragedy, and they have nursed a steady grudge towards each other, despite the fact that their economies are completely intertwined. Haitians provide no less than 90% of all agricultural and construction labor in the Dominican Republic.
But anyways, I should really wrap this up. We hit the beach, we snorkeled, we ate delicious seafood, we drove many miles through the lush Dominican countryside. It was relaxing and wonderful. We stayed at one beach with, literally, boatloads of white folks getting shipped around like cattle, boozing all the way. We were a little more low key. We hired a fisherman to take the four of us out to an island for swimming and snorkeling.
Then we drove from the south coast to the north coast. Instead of a beach packed with pasty whitefolks, we found this beach where, with a couple exceptions, you couldn't see anyone on that entire stretch of sand in either direction. Mom and I were out in the waves when an official coast-guard looking guy showed up and told Holly that we shouldn't get too far out, because there were sharks in the water. Maybe that explains why the beach wasn't so crowded.
That night, the random hotel we found in the middle of nowhere served us a big, beautiful Dominican dinner, family style. Dad and I followed it up with island-made stogies. The next couple of days took us back to Santo Domingo and then back to Port-au-Prince, and then, for my dear family, back to the mainland. I still can't believe how quick it all flew by. It took me no time at all to get comfortable with them being here. But when they left, I became so aware of how much I had missed them in those first 9 months, and how much more I would miss them now that they'd visited and seen my life here.
So to console myself, two days after my family left I went on a dirt-bike trip with the other MCC guys. We spent three days and two nights up in the central plateau. Except for me getting giardia, and Brian getting a flat tire, it was a pretty smooth ride. We spent a couple afternoons at a waterfall called Bassin Zim. Here's me almost plowing over Josh as I dive off the rocks.
Here's what the falls look like from above, where there are three more pools:
And here's the whole thing. Those light colored dots near the middle of the photo are me and Brian, to give you a sense of scale.
Here's what we looked like when we got back. No Brian doesn't have an identical twin, this is a composite of two photos.
And just to bookend this post with another significant Gabriela life event, her baptism was held on the day after we got back from the bike trip. You can read about it on Matt and Esther's blog here.
