There’s so much left to do, but getting a stable net connection at SOPUDEP was a major accomplishment . . . Haiti Access sent technicians to install the outdoor wireless modem, and the speed is much much better!

More than that, Paul, Rea, and I had a really terrific morning at the US Embassy, where a friend of a friend works.  Unfortunately, there’s not much time for me to describe it as we are off to another appointment. But later, I’ll have a chance to describe it in more detail.

I am feeling really good about what we’ve accomplished so far this trip, and I’m looking forward to how things unfold in the near future.

I apologize to those who are following this for the lack of detailed updates. It’s been harder than last time to get the time to write.

I knew when I quit watching television and reading newspapers back in the 90s that the media has an agenda, always, even if I can’t discern the wizard behind the curtains, even if there is more than one wizard. I know (by which I mean I believe) that if there is an honest perspective, it is one of an infinite number.

I feel foolish and not a little hypocritical? Is that the word I mean? Like I have temporarily lost my faith and have just rediscovered it. This is interesting to me because I had not previously thought of it as faith. But my faith is: Remember the source. Don’t trust the media.

I got myself all worked up about the coverage of Haiti. Maybe I was lacking drama, but it seemed like a sincere concern. I am so very, very happy that I didn’t completely break faith, that I checked in with folks on the ground, closed my eyes, and came here anyway.

While I don’t doubt that the warnings to stay away are based on a sincere perspective that is perceiving real risks, they seem to be a very tiny piece of truth when considered against the backdrop of Haitian reality. I’m reading that and trying to figure out if I even came close to what I mean. I have so much information that I could not have gleaned from any media source, and I have so much information that *could* be represented in the media that I’m definitely glad to be here.

I’m glad that I am able to work with the school and my friend, to make plans for the future, and to see for myself. I’m learning to write e-mail and post rough drafts to be sure that I’m letting people know I’m okay before generators run out of gas or batteries die or net connections get interrupted.

So anyway, I am surprised how little time I have to write while I’m here, but it’s not a completely bad thing because I’m seeing so much. I am especially interested by the meeting we had with HaitiAccess about the situation involving fiber that’s been run between Haiti and other Carribean locations and how it’s sitting unused after two years. It makes me realize, between how the media presents Haiti and what I see here, that connecting people so they can speak for themselves actually matters even more than I would have thought.

I’ve learned more about what Rea had in mind for this trip. I am here along with two other groups of people who have been supporting projects in Haiti. Rea wants to establish credibility among the people who donate for projects and accountablility for those who receive help. It doesn’t feel like a charity thing at all, and I’m sure it could. So far, it’s been a chance for the groups who received aid to show off what they’ve done.

I have much, much more to write and these are more like placeholders for when I have time to reflect, what we did on which day kind of thing.

Yesterday, we went to the women’s literacy group last night, formed in one of the two poorest areas of Petionville, where they showed the tarp they bought so they could hold class even when it rains, the chalk boards, and the benches.

This morning, I went to the “cyber cafe” which sounds commercials, but which is not. rather it’s community internet access for residents of the popular neighborhood of Bel Air. There wasn’t much for me to do while the handled the electrical, and so I went with another group to talk with a former political prisoner. Above his couch: a photo of Che Guevara, Aristide, and a jigsaw puzzle of Pocahantas. I have a lot to think about from that meeting. A lot, a lot.

Then, I went and helped set up the computers, deciding where the wires would go, etc. All those mini-labs at Churchill made me useful.

Later we went to see a woman whose son was imprisioned for 3 years and died in jail. Another person who was jailed during the same neighborhood sweep, where they say every young male in the area was rounded up and jailed, described prison conditions where a room designed for six held so many people that it was impossible to lie, held there for months. It was in these conditions that her son died. The family can’t afford to get the body from the morgue.

The personal issue which I’m confronting. . . the hope thing, how I stand for someone who somehow can go back to the US and get people to realize that neo-libralism is brutal, somehow I can get people to care, or those who care to vote for the right people so things will change, etc. I don’t even know how to explain that I do what I do, but that I am not that person. It’s hard.

I am super busy and there’s very little city generated electricity. Last time I was here, it was soccer season. My friends told me that there was a lot more electricity during soccer season. And it’s very different this time. I came shortly after the coup, so the improvements made prior to the coup had not yet disintegrated.

Unfortunatly, it means I won’t get to post as often as I’d hoped. I get the chance only if other people are running the generator and I happen to be there at the time. And I’m so busy right now, I don’t even have time to write.  Meanwhile, it’s time to meet with another group of folks at dinner.

Things are calming down for the moment based on the promise of International aid and the removal of the Prime Minister. I spoke with Rea this morning, and she reassured me that it’s safe to come. I have so many questions about what’s going on there, how the news is spread to quell the riots, what if anything feeds people in the interim, how long it takes, how it will be distributed, what’s going to change in customs (if anything). And the bigger question: there seems to be food to be had, only people who can’t afford to buy it. That’s how it was when I was there before. That’s how it is in the US, too.

Anyway, more on all that later. For now, I’m off to the airport.

There are so many things I’ve meant to do before leaving, but I’ve been really wrapped up in what’s going on (and how I’m feeling) about the trip that I’m about to take to Haiti.

The US Embassy closed on Wednesday, the US government banned its officials from travel to Haiti on Friday, the Prime Minister was forced to step down on Saturday, and missionaries are fleeing. Haitians are starving, Haitians are dying. These things have all been pretty much true both times I’ve gone before. I just never headed there at the precise moment people were headed out, you know?

At the same time, I live in this city, I enjoy the privilege of this country. I believe with all my being that every bit of it is built on the suffering of millions. I don’t think that I therefore cannot enjoy it. I think, “Hell, I would wish what I have for everyone I know: plenty of healthy tasty food, people who love me and whom I love, peace and security to explore my being, a space to dance. Rain, sunshine, and an abundance of greenery.” It’s okay to revel in it and to be in the now. But the truth I experience here doesn’t negate the truth I know that exists there. I believe I need to act on what I know. I need to help others. I need to maintain connections, keep commitments.

The people I work with in Haiti assure me things should be fine for me. I belive them. I believe that my white skin and their loving care will keep me as safe as anyone can be. I’ve had to ask myself seriously, though, if what I have to offer is really worth the risk. I’m not bringing anyone skills. I’m not a doctor or a farmer, I’m not even a reporter type, trying to find the truth and tell everyone so they’ll fix it.

I’m not afraid, much, about what might happen to me. I’m afraid of something happening that would make a hole in the lives of the people who care about me. I’m afraid they would never forgive me for making a worthless sacrifice. I don’t mean that I’m worthless, only that 100-some pounds of food, a little technology, and bringing hope I can’t live up is just so completely not enough.

I want to write some poetic manifesto, something that makes sense of what I feel, and why I’m going, but I just don’t know how. There’s an Alice Walker poem, A Few Sirens, that expresses some of it for me, though. 🙂

Long story short: I’m a little freaked out about the situation I’m flying into. I’m pretty sure that things are going to be just fine. I know that as long as Rea feels like it’s worthwhile for me to be there and is up to the hassle of getting me to and from the airport, I need to go.

I’ll write more about this later, but it’s definitely in my mind as I get ready to leave:

Today I am at home
writing poems.
My life goes well:
only a few sirens herald disaster
in the ghetto
down the street.
In the world, people die
of hunger.
On my block we lose
jobs, housing and breasts.
But in the world
children are lost;
whole countries of children
starved to death
before the age
of five
each year;
their mothers squatted
in the filth
around the empty cooking pot
wondering:

But I cannot pretend
to know
what they wonder.
A walled horror
instead of thought
would be my mind.

And our children
gladly starve themselves.

Thinking of the food I eat
every day
I want to vomit, like
people who throw up
at will,
understanding that whether
they digest or not
they must consume.

Can you imagine?

Rather than let the hungry
inside the restaurants
Let them eat vomit, they say.
They are applauded
for this.
They are light.

But
wasn’t there a time
when food was sacred?

When a dead child
starved naked
among the oranges
in the marketplace
spoiled
the appetite?

I’m glad that I do have a pretty large vocabulary in French since Kreyol and French have many cognates. If not, I’d be limited to criticizing workers or taking Haitian children from orphanages. Seriously, I blindly ordered a book that came with audio some time ago, and in my first lesson, I was taught to say that “They are not able to work slowly there.” By the end, I shall have mastered how to say “The rows they planted are crooked.”

It makes me sad.

I’m preparing for my third trip to Haiti, and while I’ve kept journals both electronic and paper on my previous trips, I feel more inclined to keep it up this time. Writing, for me, is more a way to keep myself company and sort out my thoughts than it is a way of communicating with an audience, so writing online has always been daunting. A few family and friends are interested in what’s going on with me, so I’m giving it another shot.

This trip is to celebrate the sixth year of SOPUDEP school, a project of my friend Rea. I met her first in 2002 on a Global Exchange trip to Haiti. I’m dusting off the old Web site I published for her back then (http://www.sopudep.org) in hopes of getting a tri-lingual site that she can update quickly. (Note: a new donor has stepped up and updated it! Woohoo!) I’ve purchased some medallions that she asked me to bring to recognize students for their academic work, and I’m trying to figure out the most useful things with which to fill my luggage.

I’m studying Kreyòl texts from the previous visits, but it’s much less familiar than all those years of college French that I feel like I’ve completely forgotten until I realize how much I can say in French that I can’t even begin to express in Kreyol.

I’m also trying to find the words to describe what I’ve been doing lately. Dance (danse) that combines mind (espri), body (kò), spirit (lespir), emotion (emosyon). I’m trying to keep my question words clear. For some reason, they just don’t want to stay in my head. I don’t like to think it’s getting older, but it it. That and the threshold where you’ve really interacted with people enough to have the words make sense.

Ki jan ou ye? Byen, mesi, e ou mem?

I’m thinking it’s okay to quit trying to remember how to spell things and focus more on just remembering the words outloud since that’s what I want. But it still bugs me to know I’m spelling something wrong.

Ki jan ou rele sa en Kreyol?

Ki le li ye, souple? Twa.