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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.
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