Skip to main content

Haiti 2011: June Sixth

I was a little disappointed that I didn't get up to play soccer this morning. On the way to the beach is a green soccer field with netless goalposts on either side. Set next to the ocean, it would have been beautiful to play as the sun rose. Life is slower here, but fulfilling. We painted almost the entire first floor of the children's dining hall. This place is beautiful. Behind the double-gated complex is a mountain lush with green, climbing past clouds. Inside, it seems a world away from Port-au-Prince, and different than Jacmel, also. The children are protected here, fostered, loved. The buildings-- there are three main buildings-- are bright with blues, purples, oranges, and greens around their trims. Kids play soccer on unlevel ground and swing on wood swings, while others might play on a raised playground in the background. Despite the double gates, the place is inviting, though outside it is necessary to be alert. Young men-- most here are young-- sit or stand along the roads as you walk. One or two might greet you. I know this because after our day's work, a staff member-- Zac-- led us on a hike up part of the mountain. We followed an aqueduct along a mud trail with cows and goats greeting us with their calls.

Over half-way up, we were met by a spring that fed the aqueduct, flowing next to a tree towering skyward and clawing down with thick and greedy roots into the earth. Our hike was stopped by a thin, indifferent bull in our path and tied to a tree. The view from there was singularly beautiful, with what seemed like fingers of land pointing toward ocean. We could have been kings and queens there, except that we were reminded of our place by the cow. On the trip, our conversation turned early to the aqueduct's purpose. We were told that people wash clothes and bathe with its water, something we saw first-hand on the way up.

Back home, a teammember-- Corey-- a few of the kids, and myself played volleyball. That was when, for the first time, we got called "blan." It means white man, and can be derogatory. I felt proud.

For all I know, the boy could have been talking directly to me, but maybe not. Corey is African American, but I had read that this didn't matter. "Blan" seems to indicate a person from the American culture. At the time, this didn't matter. It was funny to see in public what I had read about in private.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Heroes

Although we have several examples of heroes in our day, one of the best known is of a woman named Agnes Gonxhe Bojaxhiu (“Gonja Bojaju”), who devoted her life to sustaining the “poor, sick, orphaned, and dying.” Her venue was Calcutta, India, where she served as a teacher until she began to take notice of the poverty there. Seeking to do something about it, she began an organization that consisted of just thirteen members at its inception. Called the “Missionaries of Charity,” the organization would eventually burgeon into well over 5,000 members worldwide, running approximately 600 missions, schools and shelters in 120 countries; and caring for the orphaned, blind, aged, disabled, and poor. As her personal work expanded, she traveled to countries like Lebanon, where she rescued 37 children from a hospital by pressing for peace between Israel and Palestine; to Ethiopia, where she traveled to help the hungry; to Chernobyl, Russia, to assist victims of the nuclear meltdown there; and to ...
2 comments
Read more

The Nice Guy Fallacy

I read part of a poem recently by one of my favorite poets. It reads: I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage The linnet born within the cage That never knew the summer woods. I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time Unfetter'd by the sense of crime To whom a conscience never wakes. Nor what may call itself as bles't The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate'er befall I feel it, when I sorrow most 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. At base, Tennyson contrasted a life of risk, and consequent pain, with one of security. He sides conclusively with the life of risk, and says he fails to envy those who have faced no hardship. I agree with him; and, for good or ill, his words are just as relevant today as they were in the nineteenth century. Like then, there are those today who choose to live their lives with as little risk as...
2 comments
Read more

Comparative Medical Care

One thing I'd like to understand is why there is such a difference between medical costs here and those in Haiti. At the time the book Mountains Beyond Mountains was written, in 2003, it often cost $15,000 to $20,000 annually to treat a patient with tuberculosis, while it cost one one-hundredth of that-- $150 to $200-- to treat a patient for the disease in Haiti. Even if the figures aren't completely accurate, the sheer difference would still be there. Indeed, the United States pays more per capita for medical care than any other country on Earth. My first guess for why the disparity exists is that there is a market willing and able to pay more for medical treatment, so suppliers see the demand and respond with higher prices. According to at least one doctor (go to http://scienceblogs.com/denialism/2009/05/what_is_the_cause_of_excess_co.php), part of the reason is administrative prices here. People here have a higher standard of living, and so the cost of care is shifted to ...
2 comments
Read more