Skip to main content

Haiti 2012: June 2

Today was much easier this year than was true of the same day on our last Haiti trip. We took a red-eye flight, and some of us stayed up all night. Once we arrived in the Port-au-Prince airport, I thought we would have to battle the baggage assistants who want to help carry luggage in exchange for gratuity. We were so prepared to face this that we met for a huddle to devise our strategy mere feet from the terminal exit and the awaiting cadre of red-shirted men. One male would walk on each side, and others would surround those carrying the luggage while we made our way toward the waiting van. It was for nothing, though, because only a moment after we left the building, the director of the orphanage met us and asked the aids to take our bags. This was so much more peaceful than our experience last year, when we had to protect our luggage and repeat "No" firmly. There was no battle of wills this year, no competition for luggage, and I was grateful.

The drive to the orphanage was less striking compared to last year. I had seen the poverty, experienced the pollution of Port-au-Prince, so I had the chance watch for differences between what I saw last year and what I saw this year. At one point, I saw a beautiful and new play area for children. It reminded me of what I'd learned of the problems that grew out of the earthquake: women and children, especially, were vulnerable in the tent cities that rose out of the rubble of the earthquake because there was no police or structural protection from sexual exploitation and slave trafficking, respectively. The U.N., fairly visible in the country, responded by creating "safe spaces" for women and children. This sizable playground, I thought, might be one of them.

After around four hours, we were greeted by the familiar, if nuanced, orphanage. Set against a mountain that explodes with green and dominates the landscape, the orphanage seemed somewhat scarred this time, with its new and unpainted additions. Still, those who came last year couldn't help but be nostalgic, thinking of our first-year experiences. After nine-and-a-half hours of flying, and little sleep, it wasn't long thereafter that we went to sleep, and slept soundly.
Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Savior

This wasteland cold and dark runs free Its fearful creatures speak to me One fateful day one nudged my hand To set my eyes upon a tree He knew I could not understand For I was in his native land His signs became our common speech To lead me through the deadly sand Now stuck I saw him me beseech He could not lift me out to reach The firm foundation of a cave Outside the boundaries of this beach Withal, the beast became more brave To risk his own my life to save To carry me, its life it gave To carry me, its life it gave. This poem was inspired by Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." That poem, like this one, has four four-line stanzas of eight syllables per stanza. Its rhyme scheme is AABA BBCB CCDC DDDD.
Post a Comment
Read more

Ghosts

Exercising at a gym seems to be pretty important in our culture, but it's kind of weird to see the social dynamics when you're there. Usually, if you're running an errand, you see others doing the same thing, going about their days and focusing on what's in front of them. The same thing happens at the gym, only everyone is relatively stationary. They don't really go anywhere, except from one machine or area to another. One might think this lends itself to lots of interaction between members, especially since they're all there for the same purpose, but it isn't true. Not only do people generally avoid talking to one another, but they also avoid even looking at one another. It is as though there is no one else there, even though there are dozens on any given day. Most people follow this unwritten rule, unless something in the environment-- say, two people wanting to use the same set of weights-- gives them common ground to interact, or unless they've alr...
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