Hey loves,
No time to update this blog with photos, but you can click here to view the few I managed to upload to Facebook. You shouldn't need an account to look at them:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2153952&id=122500083&l=bade6b1452
Be good!
Love,
Jess
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
hello...
Hey everyone,
I am in Port au Prince at the UN complex doing data entry and management for UNICEF. Except that I'm terrible at MS Excel, so it's slow going!
Just a quick note to say I added two posts (from June 20 and 22). Also, if anything I write seems totally weird...I haven't been rereading things before I post them. If I repeat stuff, or totally fail to explain anything, or seem moody or say anything totally inexplicable...sorry. No time to self-edit, so take it as it comes. :)
Lots of love! Please take care of yourselves - and please take care of each other.
Jess
I am in Port au Prince at the UN complex doing data entry and management for UNICEF. Except that I'm terrible at MS Excel, so it's slow going!
Just a quick note to say I added two posts (from June 20 and 22). Also, if anything I write seems totally weird...I haven't been rereading things before I post them. If I repeat stuff, or totally fail to explain anything, or seem moody or say anything totally inexplicable...sorry. No time to self-edit, so take it as it comes. :)
Lots of love! Please take care of yourselves - and please take care of each other.
Jess
from June 22
Dear friends and family and random voyeuristic strangers who have no idea who I am but read this anyway,
Or, dear no one, because I don’t know if anyone reads this!
Hello again from Ecole Shalom in Croix des Bouquets! I didn’t write yesterday, not because I didn’t have a full and wonderful day, but simply because I was tired and I didn’t get a chance to plug in my computer while the generator was running.
Let me try to make up for it tonight, yeah? Yesterday I was at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage teaching English to the nursing students once again, and playing with the sweet little kiddies. They serenade us with “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” when we walk through the gate; today we tried to teach them “You Are My Sunshine”. Class went well, though we’ve been taking some of the older kids from the orphanage as well and it’s been challenging to cope with the mixed age group and level of comprehension. I think we’d like to try to have separate classes – one for the kids, in their little school area, and one for the nurses, which already takes place out in the front courtyard of the complex.
It’s been fun to return so often to the same place, and build up relationships with some of the kids. I find they’re opening up a lot more with me each day, wanting more snuggles, trying harder to communicate with me. Some of them have started talking a little bit about the family members they lost, how they dream of them at night and wake up sad in the morning. It’s challenging to respond in a way that’s meaningful, especially given the language barrier (though my Creole is improving and my French is coming back to me). I sense that they benefit from one another’s support, though. The older kids take very good care of the younger ones. They’re like a big family. The four women who work at the orphanage are all totally wonderful as well.
After we finished at the orphanage and came home to Ecole Shalom, I had a brief rest and then headed into central Croix des Bouquets with Isara and Caroline (two fellow volunteers). One of our translators, Justaland, decided to come along with us. So I had my first adventure in a public tap-tap! Every other time, I’ve either been in a private vehicle, or walked to where I needed to go. Contrary to what I vaguely remember saying last time I wrote, the public tap-taps are hilarious and amazing. Imagine a big truck with a grated canopy and two benches inside, open at the back. You’re so close to the people across from you that your knees are touching, and the canopy is so low you’re stooping. The whole vehicle throbs with this intense, ridiculously loud music – and I’ve talked to people who wait until a tap-tap goes by that’s playing the right song before they decide to get on. When you get to where you need to go, you bang on the window, jump out the back, toss the driver five gourds and you’re on your way. Except that I’ve never seen a tap-tap come to a complete stop – usually you have to run and jump to get on, and jog along beside it to pay.
So we took the tap-tap into the market, and checked in at the internet cafe. Then, Justaland guided us around downtown Croix des Bouquets, showed us where he went to school, walked us to the edge of a beautiful cemetery, and gave us a tour of all the little stalls and side streets. It was nice to get out and explore the area a little. I am starting to tune out all the random shouts of “I love you, lady!” and “give me a dollar” and “hey sexy girl”, which is nice, because it means I’m cutting out one hell of a distraction. But yesterday, while we were walking in the market, I ignored a group of three men who were calling after me...only to have one of them pull out a megaphone and continue flattering me at great volume until I turned the corner. That was definitely a new one for me!
We returned to Ecole Shalom for an utterly fucking delicious dinner (seriously, you guys have never eaten as good as I eat three times a day...this almost rivals gran’s cooking). Then I just had a quiet night of hanging out at the compound, reading my Mandeville and visiting with people. I went to bed quite early – I was still feeling a little punky from my lack of water – and actually had a really amazing sleep. I’d been sleeping pretty sketchily for the first few nights here – the roosters at night are almost as bad as on Kauai, and the neighbourhood dogs and goats sing a rousing chorus as soon as it gets dark. The night bugs I find soothing, and everything else has started to fade into an oddly comforting (if cacophonous) white noise. I sleep deeply enough now that I dream intensely and remember it in the mornings.
Today, I was back at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage. Every other time I’ve been there, I’ve been teaching English to the Doctor’s nursing students for the majority of my time there. But that’s only Monday-Wednesday-Friday, so today, I wasn’t teaching English! This means I had more time to spend with the kiddies! I’m going to be honest. I don’t really like teaching English. I don’t particularly mind it, and I do really enjoy assisting other people who are leading the class. I love interacting with the nurses, and they’re all complete sweethearts. But I’m not big on teaching. More power to people who enjoy it, because I think it’s awesome and worthwhile! I love working out the lesson plans and staying in the background, but...I will never be a teacher. I guess it’s nice, at least, to be able to decisively cross things off the list, huh?
Anyway, don’t misinterpret that as a complaint, because I’ve had a lot of fun with Bonnie (who is an amazing teacher!) and the nurses. But I realized today, when I had my first full, uninterrupted day at the orphanage with the kids, that I had a really fulfilling day in a totally different way. The layout of the orphanage, at least the outdoor portion, is pretty simple. There is a school area in one corner, with chalk boards and benches; a washing area and tent in the next corner; and along the length of those, a gravel soccer field. The perimeter of the compound is bristly vegetation, ringed with garbage, and the soccer field is full of big rocks and broken glass.
We decided today that we had a big enough team going to the orphanage that we could keep the kids having fun and also do some repairs! So we patched up some huge tears in the wall tent, where many of the children sleep – they told us that, when it rains, several inches of water pour in and accumulate in the bottom of the tent. We also brought garbage bags, and started cleaning up the play area. The older boys were really excited about helping, so they pitched in from the beginning, but even the younger kids started trickling over to lend a hand. Soon, we had the five of us and about twenty kids raking the large rocks out of the soccer field, donning gloves to pick up the broken glass, bagging all the garbage, clearing some of the vegetation, making new goalposts for the soccer field, and repairing the tents.
It’s tons of fun just playing with the kids, but it was also really exciting to see them getting engaged with a different kind of activity. They have a strong sense of pride in their little space, and when we explained to them (through Basil, one of the older boys who speaks some English and good French) why it’s important to keep clean, they were really curious and energetic and all wound up to help us! We’re hoping to propose projects that future rotations of volunteers can pick up, like clearing some of the vegetation to create raised beds for a garden, and more urgently, building some kind of lavatory so the kids aren’t defecating at the edge of their play area.
We returned to Ecole Shalom in the afternoon, got fed and watered up, and then I wandered into town again. I’m getting the hang of public tap-taps, I’m telling you. I can’t wait to show you guys pictures – the tap-taps are the most extraordinarily beautiful works of art. Everyone one is unique, bright, and totally bizarre. I can’t even explain it. The entire truck is painted with a rainbow of colours, often with religious slogans on the window, or lines from love songs. They’ll have sunbursts and paintings of the Virgin Mary and bikini-clad women and cartoon characters and celebrities and everything you can imagine, all of it blossoming in the most intense palette of colours you’ll ever see, all across the cab and the windows and the canopy. Sometimes when they’re packed you’re honestly just clinging to the back bar, standing on the rear bumper as the tap-tap bounces along through the potholes and puddles. All the while blaring dance music and hip-hop, of course.
We’ve discovered a place where you can buy ice-cold Prestige (a Haitian lager) about a five-minute walk from Ecole Shalom, so the last couple of late afternoons a few of us have stopped in for a frosty beer to drink as we stroll home in the rolling showers of rain. I have to say, it’s a refreshing way to cool down after a sweaty, dusty day. We returned from town, with a stop at the beer guy’s shed/cooler, and had a predictably exquisite dinner. Once again I had a chilled out visit downstairs, and tonight a long visit with Justaland (who is baffled by the idea of a small island like Bella Bella, and endlessly amused when I talk about driving boats). Now I’m writing this extremely long journal entry, sitting in the dark in my tent trying to keep my eyes open long enough to end this coherently. Am I doing a good job?
Who knows. I need to get some sleep, though. Tomorrow I’m taking a break from orphanage work to test out a new project for GVN – data entry for UNICEF, as they’re surveying all 5,000 schools in a specific area to gather information about how many students they have, what resources are at hand, how much damage they suffered in the quake, and even just super basic stuff like...are they still open. Once they have all this data, they’ll be able to build a database that will help them to support schools in the Port au Prince area. So, it won’t be very glamorous, but it’ll be a nice break.
The weather has been winding up to something very intense, and I’ll be glad to be inside tomorrow. It’s become increasingly overcast and windy the last couple of days, though still intermittently very hot. I’m told there’s a 40% chance of a hurricane hitting in the next 48 hours, so we’re bracing ourselves for some wicked weather. Wish me luck – Ecole Shalom is very safe and sturdy, but I’d still rather not get flooded out or caught out in bad weather. Hopefully it dissipates without building into something destructive, especially given the untold number of people still living in tents and unstable shelters.
Okay, until next time I write, love to you all, and hey! Shit, time flies, in just one more week I’ll be on the verge of coming home to you.
Huge hugs,
Jess
Or, dear no one, because I don’t know if anyone reads this!
Hello again from Ecole Shalom in Croix des Bouquets! I didn’t write yesterday, not because I didn’t have a full and wonderful day, but simply because I was tired and I didn’t get a chance to plug in my computer while the generator was running.
Let me try to make up for it tonight, yeah? Yesterday I was at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage teaching English to the nursing students once again, and playing with the sweet little kiddies. They serenade us with “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” when we walk through the gate; today we tried to teach them “You Are My Sunshine”. Class went well, though we’ve been taking some of the older kids from the orphanage as well and it’s been challenging to cope with the mixed age group and level of comprehension. I think we’d like to try to have separate classes – one for the kids, in their little school area, and one for the nurses, which already takes place out in the front courtyard of the complex.
It’s been fun to return so often to the same place, and build up relationships with some of the kids. I find they’re opening up a lot more with me each day, wanting more snuggles, trying harder to communicate with me. Some of them have started talking a little bit about the family members they lost, how they dream of them at night and wake up sad in the morning. It’s challenging to respond in a way that’s meaningful, especially given the language barrier (though my Creole is improving and my French is coming back to me). I sense that they benefit from one another’s support, though. The older kids take very good care of the younger ones. They’re like a big family. The four women who work at the orphanage are all totally wonderful as well.
After we finished at the orphanage and came home to Ecole Shalom, I had a brief rest and then headed into central Croix des Bouquets with Isara and Caroline (two fellow volunteers). One of our translators, Justaland, decided to come along with us. So I had my first adventure in a public tap-tap! Every other time, I’ve either been in a private vehicle, or walked to where I needed to go. Contrary to what I vaguely remember saying last time I wrote, the public tap-taps are hilarious and amazing. Imagine a big truck with a grated canopy and two benches inside, open at the back. You’re so close to the people across from you that your knees are touching, and the canopy is so low you’re stooping. The whole vehicle throbs with this intense, ridiculously loud music – and I’ve talked to people who wait until a tap-tap goes by that’s playing the right song before they decide to get on. When you get to where you need to go, you bang on the window, jump out the back, toss the driver five gourds and you’re on your way. Except that I’ve never seen a tap-tap come to a complete stop – usually you have to run and jump to get on, and jog along beside it to pay.
So we took the tap-tap into the market, and checked in at the internet cafe. Then, Justaland guided us around downtown Croix des Bouquets, showed us where he went to school, walked us to the edge of a beautiful cemetery, and gave us a tour of all the little stalls and side streets. It was nice to get out and explore the area a little. I am starting to tune out all the random shouts of “I love you, lady!” and “give me a dollar” and “hey sexy girl”, which is nice, because it means I’m cutting out one hell of a distraction. But yesterday, while we were walking in the market, I ignored a group of three men who were calling after me...only to have one of them pull out a megaphone and continue flattering me at great volume until I turned the corner. That was definitely a new one for me!
We returned to Ecole Shalom for an utterly fucking delicious dinner (seriously, you guys have never eaten as good as I eat three times a day...this almost rivals gran’s cooking). Then I just had a quiet night of hanging out at the compound, reading my Mandeville and visiting with people. I went to bed quite early – I was still feeling a little punky from my lack of water – and actually had a really amazing sleep. I’d been sleeping pretty sketchily for the first few nights here – the roosters at night are almost as bad as on Kauai, and the neighbourhood dogs and goats sing a rousing chorus as soon as it gets dark. The night bugs I find soothing, and everything else has started to fade into an oddly comforting (if cacophonous) white noise. I sleep deeply enough now that I dream intensely and remember it in the mornings.
Today, I was back at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage. Every other time I’ve been there, I’ve been teaching English to the Doctor’s nursing students for the majority of my time there. But that’s only Monday-Wednesday-Friday, so today, I wasn’t teaching English! This means I had more time to spend with the kiddies! I’m going to be honest. I don’t really like teaching English. I don’t particularly mind it, and I do really enjoy assisting other people who are leading the class. I love interacting with the nurses, and they’re all complete sweethearts. But I’m not big on teaching. More power to people who enjoy it, because I think it’s awesome and worthwhile! I love working out the lesson plans and staying in the background, but...I will never be a teacher. I guess it’s nice, at least, to be able to decisively cross things off the list, huh?
Anyway, don’t misinterpret that as a complaint, because I’ve had a lot of fun with Bonnie (who is an amazing teacher!) and the nurses. But I realized today, when I had my first full, uninterrupted day at the orphanage with the kids, that I had a really fulfilling day in a totally different way. The layout of the orphanage, at least the outdoor portion, is pretty simple. There is a school area in one corner, with chalk boards and benches; a washing area and tent in the next corner; and along the length of those, a gravel soccer field. The perimeter of the compound is bristly vegetation, ringed with garbage, and the soccer field is full of big rocks and broken glass.
We decided today that we had a big enough team going to the orphanage that we could keep the kids having fun and also do some repairs! So we patched up some huge tears in the wall tent, where many of the children sleep – they told us that, when it rains, several inches of water pour in and accumulate in the bottom of the tent. We also brought garbage bags, and started cleaning up the play area. The older boys were really excited about helping, so they pitched in from the beginning, but even the younger kids started trickling over to lend a hand. Soon, we had the five of us and about twenty kids raking the large rocks out of the soccer field, donning gloves to pick up the broken glass, bagging all the garbage, clearing some of the vegetation, making new goalposts for the soccer field, and repairing the tents.
It’s tons of fun just playing with the kids, but it was also really exciting to see them getting engaged with a different kind of activity. They have a strong sense of pride in their little space, and when we explained to them (through Basil, one of the older boys who speaks some English and good French) why it’s important to keep clean, they were really curious and energetic and all wound up to help us! We’re hoping to propose projects that future rotations of volunteers can pick up, like clearing some of the vegetation to create raised beds for a garden, and more urgently, building some kind of lavatory so the kids aren’t defecating at the edge of their play area.
We returned to Ecole Shalom in the afternoon, got fed and watered up, and then I wandered into town again. I’m getting the hang of public tap-taps, I’m telling you. I can’t wait to show you guys pictures – the tap-taps are the most extraordinarily beautiful works of art. Everyone one is unique, bright, and totally bizarre. I can’t even explain it. The entire truck is painted with a rainbow of colours, often with religious slogans on the window, or lines from love songs. They’ll have sunbursts and paintings of the Virgin Mary and bikini-clad women and cartoon characters and celebrities and everything you can imagine, all of it blossoming in the most intense palette of colours you’ll ever see, all across the cab and the windows and the canopy. Sometimes when they’re packed you’re honestly just clinging to the back bar, standing on the rear bumper as the tap-tap bounces along through the potholes and puddles. All the while blaring dance music and hip-hop, of course.
We’ve discovered a place where you can buy ice-cold Prestige (a Haitian lager) about a five-minute walk from Ecole Shalom, so the last couple of late afternoons a few of us have stopped in for a frosty beer to drink as we stroll home in the rolling showers of rain. I have to say, it’s a refreshing way to cool down after a sweaty, dusty day. We returned from town, with a stop at the beer guy’s shed/cooler, and had a predictably exquisite dinner. Once again I had a chilled out visit downstairs, and tonight a long visit with Justaland (who is baffled by the idea of a small island like Bella Bella, and endlessly amused when I talk about driving boats). Now I’m writing this extremely long journal entry, sitting in the dark in my tent trying to keep my eyes open long enough to end this coherently. Am I doing a good job?
Who knows. I need to get some sleep, though. Tomorrow I’m taking a break from orphanage work to test out a new project for GVN – data entry for UNICEF, as they’re surveying all 5,000 schools in a specific area to gather information about how many students they have, what resources are at hand, how much damage they suffered in the quake, and even just super basic stuff like...are they still open. Once they have all this data, they’ll be able to build a database that will help them to support schools in the Port au Prince area. So, it won’t be very glamorous, but it’ll be a nice break.
The weather has been winding up to something very intense, and I’ll be glad to be inside tomorrow. It’s become increasingly overcast and windy the last couple of days, though still intermittently very hot. I’m told there’s a 40% chance of a hurricane hitting in the next 48 hours, so we’re bracing ourselves for some wicked weather. Wish me luck – Ecole Shalom is very safe and sturdy, but I’d still rather not get flooded out or caught out in bad weather. Hopefully it dissipates without building into something destructive, especially given the untold number of people still living in tents and unstable shelters.
Okay, until next time I write, love to you all, and hey! Shit, time flies, in just one more week I’ll be on the verge of coming home to you.
Huge hugs,
Jess
from June 20
Dear everybody everywhere,
Hi again from Ecole Shalom, where the rumble of the generator is lulling me into a sleepy, over-sunshined, semi-dehydrated trance. Shit, man, you have to drink water constantly here. I never drink enough water at the best of times – and I’ve been really good about forcing liters of it down my throat every day – but I slacked off today, and I’m paying for it. Bad Jessie.
Today we spent our Sunday as we should – at rest. Except we decided to rest at Wahoo Bay Beach. Yes, Wahoo Bay. Nothing you can do, with a name like that you know it’s going to be a riot. Actually, it was a pretty artificial space – a private beach with waiters, a bar, a select few vendors with souvenirs and artwork, lounge chairs in the sand. It was insulated enough that I could just retreat into myself for a bit, though. And the water was just gorgeous. Nothing needs to be said about the resort space – it wasn’t outstanding, but it was nice. I will say, though, that this rotation of volunteers knows how to have a good time.
Highlight of the day: a handful of us hopped in a rowboat and decided to seek out something a little more rooted in reality. So, we paddled around the barrier – yes, the barrier – and along the shore to a public beach where tons of locals were hanging out. It was so much nicer and more real than the bizarre NGO crowd at the resort. Whole families in the water, people cuddling and sleeping in the sun, tons of food and conversation. A group of people were improvising music with amazing instruments – a stick against an empty bottle, two rocks together, a metal grate – and singing in Creole. It was totally amazing. I’d admittedly been imbibing a little, which made it even more relaxing and fun. (Haitian rum is nice, and that’s coming from someone who normally hates rum).
Anyway, lots of dancing! Hymns, love songs, songs about the earthquake, songs about the soccer game – one of the Haitian boys who spoke good English translated lyrics for me as the musicians played. The non-Haitian crowd at the beach was kind of bizarre, though – they were mostly South American, or from Southeast Asia, all men, and all with absolutely no sense of boundaries or personal space. See, local people were grabbing my hand when I walked by and pulling me up to dance and telling me I was beautiful, and that was fine! I like expressive people, so no big deal.
But when the bloated Argentinean men hit me with that disturbing, acquisitive gaze and propositioned me or asked me to become their mistress? Slightly less cool with that. And all the non-Haitian men, most of whom spoke little English, were obsessed with pictures. I’d been warned about that, so it wasn’t unexpected, but every single one of them wanted to pose for a picture with me, or with the other people from my group who came across to the public beach. Anyway, weird.
On the plus side, I discovered two amazing things: this sort of a peanut brittle thing – nuts, and sugarcane, and I think ginger? Which is unbearably sweet and delicious! And conch. Shit, I felt guilty eating it, because it’s probably hideously unsustainable, but it reminded me of abalone. It was pickled in something spicy and intoxicatingly flavourful.
After we decided to retire from the beach, we all got caught up in the open-air bar where they were broadcasting the Brazil soccer game. Now, don’t mistake me, I don’t care a whit for soccer, or any other sport – in fact, I don’t even know who Brazil was playing against. But the spirit of it was totally fun. The whole bar would erupt whenever Brazil scored a goal (they won 3-1). When the game was over, everyone leapt out of their chairs and broke out into this totally hilarious and amazing song and dance. It was unreal. I have pictures that I’ll post when I get home, but trust me...soccer fans are utterly crazy. I love it.
I am developing a secret fondness for long tap-tap rides, especially along the coast and in the rural areas. Today our ride was about an hour and a half each way, heading north through and past Cabaret. I don’t mind the bouncing and jostling so much – maybe it’s the experience on boats in rough weather, and on logging roads. I don’t know how I’d feel about it in one of the small public tap-taps, either – we have a large one, which we cram to capacity, that we hire just for our group. But it’s a really neat experience. The urban spaces are a pretty crazy visual to confront, but the rural areas are breathtakingly beautiful.
Okay, this feels totally disjointed and uninteresting. I am so tired, even I’m not interested in my day right now. Time to sleep off my overdose of sunshine. In fact, I think I’m going to break out my oral rehydration salts, because I know I’m dehydrated and I’m not willing to deal with that horrible, dangerous hangover feeling. Hopefully tomorrow I will have a little more spunk. It’s been a long week – I can’t believe it’s been a week since I arrived. In some moments, it feels like the time has soared by. In others, it feels like I’ve lived my whole life in this space. Ten more days – just ten more days. I can’t even believe it.
Alright folks, I’m going to bed. I’m sending my love to all of you.
Jess
Hi again from Ecole Shalom, where the rumble of the generator is lulling me into a sleepy, over-sunshined, semi-dehydrated trance. Shit, man, you have to drink water constantly here. I never drink enough water at the best of times – and I’ve been really good about forcing liters of it down my throat every day – but I slacked off today, and I’m paying for it. Bad Jessie.
Today we spent our Sunday as we should – at rest. Except we decided to rest at Wahoo Bay Beach. Yes, Wahoo Bay. Nothing you can do, with a name like that you know it’s going to be a riot. Actually, it was a pretty artificial space – a private beach with waiters, a bar, a select few vendors with souvenirs and artwork, lounge chairs in the sand. It was insulated enough that I could just retreat into myself for a bit, though. And the water was just gorgeous. Nothing needs to be said about the resort space – it wasn’t outstanding, but it was nice. I will say, though, that this rotation of volunteers knows how to have a good time.
Highlight of the day: a handful of us hopped in a rowboat and decided to seek out something a little more rooted in reality. So, we paddled around the barrier – yes, the barrier – and along the shore to a public beach where tons of locals were hanging out. It was so much nicer and more real than the bizarre NGO crowd at the resort. Whole families in the water, people cuddling and sleeping in the sun, tons of food and conversation. A group of people were improvising music with amazing instruments – a stick against an empty bottle, two rocks together, a metal grate – and singing in Creole. It was totally amazing. I’d admittedly been imbibing a little, which made it even more relaxing and fun. (Haitian rum is nice, and that’s coming from someone who normally hates rum).
Anyway, lots of dancing! Hymns, love songs, songs about the earthquake, songs about the soccer game – one of the Haitian boys who spoke good English translated lyrics for me as the musicians played. The non-Haitian crowd at the beach was kind of bizarre, though – they were mostly South American, or from Southeast Asia, all men, and all with absolutely no sense of boundaries or personal space. See, local people were grabbing my hand when I walked by and pulling me up to dance and telling me I was beautiful, and that was fine! I like expressive people, so no big deal.
But when the bloated Argentinean men hit me with that disturbing, acquisitive gaze and propositioned me or asked me to become their mistress? Slightly less cool with that. And all the non-Haitian men, most of whom spoke little English, were obsessed with pictures. I’d been warned about that, so it wasn’t unexpected, but every single one of them wanted to pose for a picture with me, or with the other people from my group who came across to the public beach. Anyway, weird.
On the plus side, I discovered two amazing things: this sort of a peanut brittle thing – nuts, and sugarcane, and I think ginger? Which is unbearably sweet and delicious! And conch. Shit, I felt guilty eating it, because it’s probably hideously unsustainable, but it reminded me of abalone. It was pickled in something spicy and intoxicatingly flavourful.
After we decided to retire from the beach, we all got caught up in the open-air bar where they were broadcasting the Brazil soccer game. Now, don’t mistake me, I don’t care a whit for soccer, or any other sport – in fact, I don’t even know who Brazil was playing against. But the spirit of it was totally fun. The whole bar would erupt whenever Brazil scored a goal (they won 3-1). When the game was over, everyone leapt out of their chairs and broke out into this totally hilarious and amazing song and dance. It was unreal. I have pictures that I’ll post when I get home, but trust me...soccer fans are utterly crazy. I love it.
I am developing a secret fondness for long tap-tap rides, especially along the coast and in the rural areas. Today our ride was about an hour and a half each way, heading north through and past Cabaret. I don’t mind the bouncing and jostling so much – maybe it’s the experience on boats in rough weather, and on logging roads. I don’t know how I’d feel about it in one of the small public tap-taps, either – we have a large one, which we cram to capacity, that we hire just for our group. But it’s a really neat experience. The urban spaces are a pretty crazy visual to confront, but the rural areas are breathtakingly beautiful.
Okay, this feels totally disjointed and uninteresting. I am so tired, even I’m not interested in my day right now. Time to sleep off my overdose of sunshine. In fact, I think I’m going to break out my oral rehydration salts, because I know I’m dehydrated and I’m not willing to deal with that horrible, dangerous hangover feeling. Hopefully tomorrow I will have a little more spunk. It’s been a long week – I can’t believe it’s been a week since I arrived. In some moments, it feels like the time has soared by. In others, it feels like I’ve lived my whole life in this space. Ten more days – just ten more days. I can’t even believe it.
Alright folks, I’m going to bed. I’m sending my love to all of you.
Jess
Saturday, June 19, 2010
update
hi guys,
in port au prince having a day of r&r. just added 4 substantial posts from the last few days. love you all.
in port au prince having a day of r&r. just added 4 substantial posts from the last few days. love you all.
from June 18
Dear everybody,
Hi from the GVN compound, where the boys jury-rigged the broken generator so we could have power and running water again!
I didn’t write a journal entry yesterday. Frankly, by the end of the day, I was so physically and emotionally exhausted that I wasn’t in a place to step back and write about my experiences. Even now, I’ll describe them briefly at best, since I’m not sure any time or distance will make it less heartbreaking, you know?
Yesterday morning, I went with four other volunteers to the Good Samaritan orphanage. It was about an hour and a half’s drive, mostly over very rough terrain, in a small town close to the coast. It was a stunning and heartbreaking drive – the intense blue of the ocean on one side, and fields of tarpflower tents dotted blue over the hills on the other. The orphanage is run by a man named Pastor Yves, and our driver was a member of his congregation who was volunteering his time and pickup truck to transport us. (We gave him a thousand gourds toward his gas.)
We stopped at Pastor Yves’ church and met him before continuing on to the orphanage. He was very welcoming and kind, and is clearly doing the best work he can with the limited resources at hand. That said, walking into the orphanage was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to see. There were about forty children – maybe more, since many were too timid to come out from the skeleton buildings. They ranged in age from infants to about ten years old. We’d brought some clothes, which went immediately on to the kids who didn’t have complete sets or whose clothing was so tattered they might as well have been naked. We also brought sandwiches, which they fell on like wee hungry wolves.
We spent about three hours with them – as much as we could spare, given the length of time taken up in transportation. I never could have guessed that I could carry four kids at once – but I don’t think I could have said no when they reached their little arms out. There were a few points where my emotions totally got the better of me – I spent a lot of time with one tiny little girl in a torn yellow dress, maybe six months old. She was fussing, and I was walking her around the yard trying to soothe her. I’m not naturally a kid person, and I racked my brain trying to think of what you say to little ones to calm them down. I asked myself what I say to Landon when he cries. I tell him I love him – what else can you say? So I told her I loved her, and she just looked up at me with these intense, sad, beautiful little eyes.
That’s all they want – that was the difference between Good Samaritan and Dr. Roberts’ orphanage. At Dr. Roberts’, the kids want to play and interact. At Good Samaritan, they want to be loved. They want contact. They just clutch you and stare at you with their heartbreaking unbroken gazes.
I think we were more or less the first GVN group to really go to Good Samaritan – at least, no one who is currently here as a long-term volunteer seems to have been there before. Everyone who went yesterday lobbied for GVN to go more than once a week, and to bring more supplies than we had on hand. Had we known what to expect, we might have been better prepared, and we will be next week. Many of the kids are ill, and we’ll bring what we can for medicine and hopefully also our volunteer with a nursing background. Otherwise, we managed food, multivitamins, some kitchen stores and some toys. But you can just never do enough. You can never bring enough.
So we all had a long cry when we left. I’m so grateful to be here with a group that is really committed to supporting one another. Walking away from that orphanage, disentangling myself from crying children who were calling “mama”...is the most unbearably difficult thing I’ve had to do. But it’s still nothing beside actually living in those conditions. Fuck me, it was a hard day.
Our driver was very sweet and patient, and since we were driving back along the ocean, he took us to a little beach so we could debrief a bit and go for a quick swim. It was so picturesque looking out to sea, with the ocean just so fucking blue it seemed impossible, unreal, and the sky so clear, and huge, rusted out ships anchored in the bay. Turn around to look inland, and you’d see a squalid shantytown, but that didn’t wipe the grins off the faces of the troop of little Haitian boys who came swimming with us and started an impromptu water fight. And we met MacKenzie, a boy from the nearest village who spoke a little English and was amused and curious about the six white girls who suddenly appeared to go swimming on the broken-glass beach. He was very sweet, told me he’d pray for God to keep me safe until I was back home, and to help me to remember him all the way from Canada.
When everyone reconvened back at Ecole Shalom, I think we were all exhausted. Other groups had been to Dr. Roberts’ orphanage and various construction projects in the vicinity. After dinner, we decided to walk to a nearby bar (Bar Optimum) to enjoy a cold Prestige and watch the Lakers v. Celtics game. Not that I know anything about basketball, but it was fun to get out and unwind. The bar was hilarious and amazing, and most of what went down you need never know about. It was dim, with pounding music, a crackling television set and murals on the walls – on the second storey of a dilapidated building about ten minutes away from Shalom.
It was great to have a few cold beers and just laugh. And dance. I am proud to say I showed everyone – we were expecting rain, so I went to the bar in skirts and gumboots, and everyone said I wouldn’t be able to dance in my gumboots. Well, you know what? I can. Every once in awhile, the power would black out, and they’d fire up an old generator to keep us going until it came back on. We were all on the dance floor in the middle of a great song when the power cut out – but we didn’t even fucking notice, because for the thirty seconds that the song cut out, we were all singing so loud that we just kept dancing in the dark. It was a blast.
This morning, I returned to Dr. Roberts’ orphanage with a group to teach the nursing students’ English class with Bonnie again. We’ll be teaching them Monday/Wednesday/Friday next week, and then the following Monday – then the new rotation will have to take over. Class went really well! We were joined by a group of older kids from the orphanage, and ended up with a class of about forty. They really wanted to build their vocabulary, so we covered about fifty objects and how you use them in conversation. Next Monday, we’re hoping to do conversational English and some more vocabulary-building, continue with the same for part of Wednesday, review in the second half of Wednesday’s class, and give them an informal test on Friday. They are very keen to do things as diligently as possible – I’ve never met a North American student that would ask for a test.
Dr. Roberts joined our class again, and I have to say I feel privileged to spend any amount of time with the man. In spite of all the obstacles in front of him, the smile never leaves his face. He told us today that he never thought he’d find such good teachers – he totally melts my heart. And he’s right – Bonnie is doing an incredible job with the teaching, and I am so pleased to be able to work with her.
After our class finished, we were able to join the other volunteers for awhile and play with the kiddies. Then we returned to the compound, where I totally passed out from sheer exhaustion. The heat today has been incredible. This evening, we had a low key time at Ecole Shalom, with a cold beer and a delicious dinner and a long visit by candelight while the boys fixed the broken generator. I had a quick coldwater shower to cool off and peel away a layer or two of grime, and I am very ready to get some sleep.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and we are going to get some R&R. We’re heading into Port au Prince to have a look around, take a bit of a tour. Then we’re planning to have lunch at one of the hotels in the city and just chill out for a bit. Initially, I thought I couldn’t conscionably take breaks for the weekends while I was here...but I’ve realized there is no sense in burning myself out. I’m no good to anyone if I’m sick with exhaustion and emotionally broken up – and the same goes for everyone else. We’ll have a good break tomorrow, head to the beach on Sunday after we go to church with Baby, our translator, and then it’ll be back to work on Monday.
Thinking of everyone, and sending so very much love. If nothing else, the last few days have taught me how profoundly lucky I am to have so many loved ones, and such a strong family, and such kind, sweet, wonderful friends. Someone hug my little sugarbeet Landon George for me, and give the twins a kiss, and tell them I love them. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. I mean it every time. I can’t wait to squeeze them tight and tell them they mean the world to me.
Love,
Jess
Hi from the GVN compound, where the boys jury-rigged the broken generator so we could have power and running water again!
I didn’t write a journal entry yesterday. Frankly, by the end of the day, I was so physically and emotionally exhausted that I wasn’t in a place to step back and write about my experiences. Even now, I’ll describe them briefly at best, since I’m not sure any time or distance will make it less heartbreaking, you know?
Yesterday morning, I went with four other volunteers to the Good Samaritan orphanage. It was about an hour and a half’s drive, mostly over very rough terrain, in a small town close to the coast. It was a stunning and heartbreaking drive – the intense blue of the ocean on one side, and fields of tarpflower tents dotted blue over the hills on the other. The orphanage is run by a man named Pastor Yves, and our driver was a member of his congregation who was volunteering his time and pickup truck to transport us. (We gave him a thousand gourds toward his gas.)
We stopped at Pastor Yves’ church and met him before continuing on to the orphanage. He was very welcoming and kind, and is clearly doing the best work he can with the limited resources at hand. That said, walking into the orphanage was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to see. There were about forty children – maybe more, since many were too timid to come out from the skeleton buildings. They ranged in age from infants to about ten years old. We’d brought some clothes, which went immediately on to the kids who didn’t have complete sets or whose clothing was so tattered they might as well have been naked. We also brought sandwiches, which they fell on like wee hungry wolves.
We spent about three hours with them – as much as we could spare, given the length of time taken up in transportation. I never could have guessed that I could carry four kids at once – but I don’t think I could have said no when they reached their little arms out. There were a few points where my emotions totally got the better of me – I spent a lot of time with one tiny little girl in a torn yellow dress, maybe six months old. She was fussing, and I was walking her around the yard trying to soothe her. I’m not naturally a kid person, and I racked my brain trying to think of what you say to little ones to calm them down. I asked myself what I say to Landon when he cries. I tell him I love him – what else can you say? So I told her I loved her, and she just looked up at me with these intense, sad, beautiful little eyes.
That’s all they want – that was the difference between Good Samaritan and Dr. Roberts’ orphanage. At Dr. Roberts’, the kids want to play and interact. At Good Samaritan, they want to be loved. They want contact. They just clutch you and stare at you with their heartbreaking unbroken gazes.
I think we were more or less the first GVN group to really go to Good Samaritan – at least, no one who is currently here as a long-term volunteer seems to have been there before. Everyone who went yesterday lobbied for GVN to go more than once a week, and to bring more supplies than we had on hand. Had we known what to expect, we might have been better prepared, and we will be next week. Many of the kids are ill, and we’ll bring what we can for medicine and hopefully also our volunteer with a nursing background. Otherwise, we managed food, multivitamins, some kitchen stores and some toys. But you can just never do enough. You can never bring enough.
So we all had a long cry when we left. I’m so grateful to be here with a group that is really committed to supporting one another. Walking away from that orphanage, disentangling myself from crying children who were calling “mama”...is the most unbearably difficult thing I’ve had to do. But it’s still nothing beside actually living in those conditions. Fuck me, it was a hard day.
Our driver was very sweet and patient, and since we were driving back along the ocean, he took us to a little beach so we could debrief a bit and go for a quick swim. It was so picturesque looking out to sea, with the ocean just so fucking blue it seemed impossible, unreal, and the sky so clear, and huge, rusted out ships anchored in the bay. Turn around to look inland, and you’d see a squalid shantytown, but that didn’t wipe the grins off the faces of the troop of little Haitian boys who came swimming with us and started an impromptu water fight. And we met MacKenzie, a boy from the nearest village who spoke a little English and was amused and curious about the six white girls who suddenly appeared to go swimming on the broken-glass beach. He was very sweet, told me he’d pray for God to keep me safe until I was back home, and to help me to remember him all the way from Canada.
When everyone reconvened back at Ecole Shalom, I think we were all exhausted. Other groups had been to Dr. Roberts’ orphanage and various construction projects in the vicinity. After dinner, we decided to walk to a nearby bar (Bar Optimum) to enjoy a cold Prestige and watch the Lakers v. Celtics game. Not that I know anything about basketball, but it was fun to get out and unwind. The bar was hilarious and amazing, and most of what went down you need never know about. It was dim, with pounding music, a crackling television set and murals on the walls – on the second storey of a dilapidated building about ten minutes away from Shalom.
It was great to have a few cold beers and just laugh. And dance. I am proud to say I showed everyone – we were expecting rain, so I went to the bar in skirts and gumboots, and everyone said I wouldn’t be able to dance in my gumboots. Well, you know what? I can. Every once in awhile, the power would black out, and they’d fire up an old generator to keep us going until it came back on. We were all on the dance floor in the middle of a great song when the power cut out – but we didn’t even fucking notice, because for the thirty seconds that the song cut out, we were all singing so loud that we just kept dancing in the dark. It was a blast.
This morning, I returned to Dr. Roberts’ orphanage with a group to teach the nursing students’ English class with Bonnie again. We’ll be teaching them Monday/Wednesday/Friday next week, and then the following Monday – then the new rotation will have to take over. Class went really well! We were joined by a group of older kids from the orphanage, and ended up with a class of about forty. They really wanted to build their vocabulary, so we covered about fifty objects and how you use them in conversation. Next Monday, we’re hoping to do conversational English and some more vocabulary-building, continue with the same for part of Wednesday, review in the second half of Wednesday’s class, and give them an informal test on Friday. They are very keen to do things as diligently as possible – I’ve never met a North American student that would ask for a test.
Dr. Roberts joined our class again, and I have to say I feel privileged to spend any amount of time with the man. In spite of all the obstacles in front of him, the smile never leaves his face. He told us today that he never thought he’d find such good teachers – he totally melts my heart. And he’s right – Bonnie is doing an incredible job with the teaching, and I am so pleased to be able to work with her.
After our class finished, we were able to join the other volunteers for awhile and play with the kiddies. Then we returned to the compound, where I totally passed out from sheer exhaustion. The heat today has been incredible. This evening, we had a low key time at Ecole Shalom, with a cold beer and a delicious dinner and a long visit by candelight while the boys fixed the broken generator. I had a quick coldwater shower to cool off and peel away a layer or two of grime, and I am very ready to get some sleep.
Tomorrow is Saturday, and we are going to get some R&R. We’re heading into Port au Prince to have a look around, take a bit of a tour. Then we’re planning to have lunch at one of the hotels in the city and just chill out for a bit. Initially, I thought I couldn’t conscionably take breaks for the weekends while I was here...but I’ve realized there is no sense in burning myself out. I’m no good to anyone if I’m sick with exhaustion and emotionally broken up – and the same goes for everyone else. We’ll have a good break tomorrow, head to the beach on Sunday after we go to church with Baby, our translator, and then it’ll be back to work on Monday.
Thinking of everyone, and sending so very much love. If nothing else, the last few days have taught me how profoundly lucky I am to have so many loved ones, and such a strong family, and such kind, sweet, wonderful friends. Someone hug my little sugarbeet Landon George for me, and give the twins a kiss, and tell them I love them. I’ve been saying that a lot lately. I mean it every time. I can’t wait to squeeze them tight and tell them they mean the world to me.
Love,
Jess
from June 16
Dear all,
Hi from my first full day of work in Haiti! I woke early to the sound of animals in the courtyard and people bustling outside. After a quick breakfast (something like oatmeal, but sweet and thick and delicious, and fresh bread and amazing coffee) we left for the orphanage.
Today we were at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage in Croix des Bouquets. Dr. Antoine Roberts is a Haitian man, a dentist I believe, who is just one of the best people I’ve ever met. After the quake, he founded an orphanage which currently has over thirty kids, and a medical clinic adjacent to the orphanage. Though they are underfunded, they are better off than many such facilities, and through a strong relationship with GVN have activities for the kids and English classes for the nursing students.
Though I hadn’t planned on doing so when we departed Ecole Shalom, I ended up working with a fellow volunteer named Bonnie to teach English to the nurses. For about two and a half hours, we used a makeshift chalkboard set against a tree in the courtyard of the orphanage compound, working from the basics (ABCs) up to more complicated vocabulary relevant to their training (anatomy, medical terms). It was an incredible learning experience. I’ve never taught English before, and had a limited chance to expose myself to Creole before coming to Haiti. I do have a little French, but it’s very rusty (though coming back to me more quickly than I could have hoped). With that as a foundation, and building with their previous exposure to English, we managed to have a good class!
It was almost all women, except for the compound’s security guard and Dr. Roberts himself. Fortunately for Bonnie and I, both men spoke broken but totally intelligible English, and helped us to communicate at some sticky points. I think Bonnie and I made a good team, and I admire her ability to adapt and respond to the feedback from the women today. I feel like body language and big smiles and lots of laughter go a long way, and where that’s not enough, mutual patience and enthusiasm for learning does the trick.
Dr. Roberts is really just an amazing individual. It is so strengthening for me in my own work and my own vision that everywhere I go in life, I meet good people. Knowing and remembering those people even when you’re thousands of miles away brings such strength to you. The challenges of running an orphanage, a clinic and a medical school are undoubtedly immense, but I’ve rarely seen anyone so happy as he was. It’s a good lesson. Remember the goodness in this world, and the people that are working with all their hearts and minds to achieve it.
Anyway, the English class was a lot of fun. The women were quite good about guiding us and giving us feedback, and we tried hard to be adaptive and fit our (improvised) “lesson” to their needs, interest, and existing abilities. We did some basic anatomy with an outline drawing of a human figure – head, arms, legs, hands, feet. When they asked for more detail, we drew in fingers, toes, facial features. We fit the anatomy lesson to the English medical terminology we’d taught them earlier (before you help a patient, you wash your hands; when you have a fever, the thermometer goes in the mouth).
Then it got interesting when they asked us for a diagram and vocabulary for male and female reproductive systems. I swear, it was not modesty that made me hesitate; it was purely the knowledge of my complete artistic failure. Besides, with all the external anatomy, we could clarify by pointing to our own body parts. Luckily, everyone was patient and full of good humour. Bonnie aptly drew the penis and testicles, but I had a little trouble figuring out how you draw a vagina on a makeshift chalkboard, explain about ovaries and the cervix and uterus, and how sperm...well, I don’t need to explain it all to you, and I already had a hell of a time trying to do it once today. But it was a success! All things I’m sure they knew, but attaching the right English names to the parts and processes was challenging for sure. (Not least of all because of the troop of young males hanging out across the courtyard chortling at our awkward lesson!)
After we finished our English class, we rejoined the rest of the volunteers from GVN, who were inside a play area with all the young kids. I realized pretty rapidly on my first day that the little girls at Ecole Shalom were fascinated with hair, and promptly pulled off my bandana and tried to give me braids. Much to their disappointment, my hair is short and very straight, but some of the other GVN ladies had ample locks and curls to satisfy all the aspiring stylists. The little boys promptly pulled me into a soccer game, with two sticks in the ground for goalposts and a mostly-deflated soccer ball for play. When we go back next, we’ll bring them a new ball. If something that simple brings them joy, I only hope I have the sense and the capacity to provide it.
They were also very excited about my camera, so I taught them how to turn it on and off and take pictures. They merrily ran around the yard taking pictures of one another, coming back once in awhile so I could show them the photos. I also have about twenty photos of me smiling awkwardly, half in and half out of the frame, that the wee ones took turns snapping. The last rotation of volunteers had taught them “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and they learned to play “Duck Duck Goose” today, so there was lots of play and lots of singing and lots of kids that were just happy to have contact.
Personally, I found it to be incredibly emotionally challenging when we left. In the moment, with the kids, it was easy to just take things as they came. Kids are so present and immediate, and they draw you into that mentality; it was all about piecing together our French and Creole and English and playing and laughing and dancing. But as soon as we stood up to leave (we had to be back at Ecole Shalom at a certain time) many of the kids became visibly distressed. I think it was even more difficult for the volunteers who spent the whole day with the kids; I only had about an hour with them after the English class. When I was walking toward the gate, one of the little boys – who looked like he was about eight – came up and threw his arms around me and asked me if I was going to come back and play ball with him. I told him I would come back on Friday, and he asked if, when I came, I would take him away.
I don’t know what you say. It’s already been challenging in my life working with at-risk youth and dealing with that set of needs, but this is a completely different ballpark. I know that I want kids, and I also know that having children just completely conflicts with my values. I don’t believe this earth can sustain more people the way the population is growing, and furthermore, as I watch the global situation deteriorating on so many fronts, I don’t know that I want to bring a child into the world without being able to promise them a good life. But there are a lot of beautiful children in this world who need and deserve a lot of love. They don’t have to come from my womb for that to happen.
Still, this is an utterly impractical time in my life for me to think about adoption, and it’s clearly not something I can rationally think about while I’m here, completely emotional. I don’t even know why I’m writing about all this. I guess because it’s just present in my mind. It hurts me really deep to see kids suffering, and know I can only bring them a momentary distraction at best.
I anticipate that tomorrow will be even more challenging. Tomorrow, I will be visiting the Good Samaritan orphanage, which is larger and farther away. This orphanage is apparently destitute, the children packed in tiny tents, never enough food to go around. We’re bringing a ton of multivitamins and sandwiches with us tomorrow along with toys and art supplies. Because of the distance and traveling time, we’re only able to be there for a few hours. I’ve been told to expect that I will come home emotionally drained. I’m grateful that we have such a solid group here, and that we’re able to debrief and share at the end of each day – I may need it tomorrow even more than today.
After we returned from the orphanage today, we were able to relax for a little while over lunch. Then, we launched into Women’s Day! This happens each Wednesday afternoon. Today, we tried to organize an all-female soccer game...with limited success. We had about twenty girls and women show up, most of whom were pretty hesitant about playing soccer. A few of the boys ended up hanging around to help us with goalkeeping and retrieving stray balls. We did laps and stretches, then some fun drills, then had a full game. It was impossible to keep the boys away from the public soccer field, and their obvious soccer skills (and distracting cuteness) made it hard for many of the girls to focus. But we had a lot of fun!
Today was the first day I’ve had any sort of negative interaction with anyone about my ethnicity. One of the teenage girls was, as teenage girls are wont, quite socially aggressive and wanted to show off to her friends. I have become accustomed to people referring to me as blanc, and it doesn’t bother me, but she obviously intended it to be an insult and tried to push me around a little. She was a sassy little firebrand, which was fine – she was unhappy that I knew enough French to keep up with her, and eventually left off. It’s kind of odd – I know there’s no basis, here, for anyone to differentiate, but because I don’t self-identify as Caucasian it was initially really weird to be called blanc. I know it’s more of a descriptor than an insult 99% of the time, and when I stop and rationalize, of course it makes perfect sense. But hey, I’m just a different shade of brown, man...or if I’m half red and half white, maybe I’m just pink. Who knows.
The evening has just been pretty relaxing, hanging around Ecole Shalom and catching up on journals and doing some reading. Bonnie and I are already planning out our English lesson for Friday with the nurses. Tomorrow will be a good day – a hard day, probably, but a good day. I know it.
I’m off to get a good night’s sleep. Love to everyone.
Jess
Hi from my first full day of work in Haiti! I woke early to the sound of animals in the courtyard and people bustling outside. After a quick breakfast (something like oatmeal, but sweet and thick and delicious, and fresh bread and amazing coffee) we left for the orphanage.
Today we were at Dr. Roberts’ orphanage in Croix des Bouquets. Dr. Antoine Roberts is a Haitian man, a dentist I believe, who is just one of the best people I’ve ever met. After the quake, he founded an orphanage which currently has over thirty kids, and a medical clinic adjacent to the orphanage. Though they are underfunded, they are better off than many such facilities, and through a strong relationship with GVN have activities for the kids and English classes for the nursing students.
Though I hadn’t planned on doing so when we departed Ecole Shalom, I ended up working with a fellow volunteer named Bonnie to teach English to the nurses. For about two and a half hours, we used a makeshift chalkboard set against a tree in the courtyard of the orphanage compound, working from the basics (ABCs) up to more complicated vocabulary relevant to their training (anatomy, medical terms). It was an incredible learning experience. I’ve never taught English before, and had a limited chance to expose myself to Creole before coming to Haiti. I do have a little French, but it’s very rusty (though coming back to me more quickly than I could have hoped). With that as a foundation, and building with their previous exposure to English, we managed to have a good class!
It was almost all women, except for the compound’s security guard and Dr. Roberts himself. Fortunately for Bonnie and I, both men spoke broken but totally intelligible English, and helped us to communicate at some sticky points. I think Bonnie and I made a good team, and I admire her ability to adapt and respond to the feedback from the women today. I feel like body language and big smiles and lots of laughter go a long way, and where that’s not enough, mutual patience and enthusiasm for learning does the trick.
Dr. Roberts is really just an amazing individual. It is so strengthening for me in my own work and my own vision that everywhere I go in life, I meet good people. Knowing and remembering those people even when you’re thousands of miles away brings such strength to you. The challenges of running an orphanage, a clinic and a medical school are undoubtedly immense, but I’ve rarely seen anyone so happy as he was. It’s a good lesson. Remember the goodness in this world, and the people that are working with all their hearts and minds to achieve it.
Anyway, the English class was a lot of fun. The women were quite good about guiding us and giving us feedback, and we tried hard to be adaptive and fit our (improvised) “lesson” to their needs, interest, and existing abilities. We did some basic anatomy with an outline drawing of a human figure – head, arms, legs, hands, feet. When they asked for more detail, we drew in fingers, toes, facial features. We fit the anatomy lesson to the English medical terminology we’d taught them earlier (before you help a patient, you wash your hands; when you have a fever, the thermometer goes in the mouth).
Then it got interesting when they asked us for a diagram and vocabulary for male and female reproductive systems. I swear, it was not modesty that made me hesitate; it was purely the knowledge of my complete artistic failure. Besides, with all the external anatomy, we could clarify by pointing to our own body parts. Luckily, everyone was patient and full of good humour. Bonnie aptly drew the penis and testicles, but I had a little trouble figuring out how you draw a vagina on a makeshift chalkboard, explain about ovaries and the cervix and uterus, and how sperm...well, I don’t need to explain it all to you, and I already had a hell of a time trying to do it once today. But it was a success! All things I’m sure they knew, but attaching the right English names to the parts and processes was challenging for sure. (Not least of all because of the troop of young males hanging out across the courtyard chortling at our awkward lesson!)
After we finished our English class, we rejoined the rest of the volunteers from GVN, who were inside a play area with all the young kids. I realized pretty rapidly on my first day that the little girls at Ecole Shalom were fascinated with hair, and promptly pulled off my bandana and tried to give me braids. Much to their disappointment, my hair is short and very straight, but some of the other GVN ladies had ample locks and curls to satisfy all the aspiring stylists. The little boys promptly pulled me into a soccer game, with two sticks in the ground for goalposts and a mostly-deflated soccer ball for play. When we go back next, we’ll bring them a new ball. If something that simple brings them joy, I only hope I have the sense and the capacity to provide it.
They were also very excited about my camera, so I taught them how to turn it on and off and take pictures. They merrily ran around the yard taking pictures of one another, coming back once in awhile so I could show them the photos. I also have about twenty photos of me smiling awkwardly, half in and half out of the frame, that the wee ones took turns snapping. The last rotation of volunteers had taught them “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”, and they learned to play “Duck Duck Goose” today, so there was lots of play and lots of singing and lots of kids that were just happy to have contact.
Personally, I found it to be incredibly emotionally challenging when we left. In the moment, with the kids, it was easy to just take things as they came. Kids are so present and immediate, and they draw you into that mentality; it was all about piecing together our French and Creole and English and playing and laughing and dancing. But as soon as we stood up to leave (we had to be back at Ecole Shalom at a certain time) many of the kids became visibly distressed. I think it was even more difficult for the volunteers who spent the whole day with the kids; I only had about an hour with them after the English class. When I was walking toward the gate, one of the little boys – who looked like he was about eight – came up and threw his arms around me and asked me if I was going to come back and play ball with him. I told him I would come back on Friday, and he asked if, when I came, I would take him away.
I don’t know what you say. It’s already been challenging in my life working with at-risk youth and dealing with that set of needs, but this is a completely different ballpark. I know that I want kids, and I also know that having children just completely conflicts with my values. I don’t believe this earth can sustain more people the way the population is growing, and furthermore, as I watch the global situation deteriorating on so many fronts, I don’t know that I want to bring a child into the world without being able to promise them a good life. But there are a lot of beautiful children in this world who need and deserve a lot of love. They don’t have to come from my womb for that to happen.
Still, this is an utterly impractical time in my life for me to think about adoption, and it’s clearly not something I can rationally think about while I’m here, completely emotional. I don’t even know why I’m writing about all this. I guess because it’s just present in my mind. It hurts me really deep to see kids suffering, and know I can only bring them a momentary distraction at best.
I anticipate that tomorrow will be even more challenging. Tomorrow, I will be visiting the Good Samaritan orphanage, which is larger and farther away. This orphanage is apparently destitute, the children packed in tiny tents, never enough food to go around. We’re bringing a ton of multivitamins and sandwiches with us tomorrow along with toys and art supplies. Because of the distance and traveling time, we’re only able to be there for a few hours. I’ve been told to expect that I will come home emotionally drained. I’m grateful that we have such a solid group here, and that we’re able to debrief and share at the end of each day – I may need it tomorrow even more than today.
After we returned from the orphanage today, we were able to relax for a little while over lunch. Then, we launched into Women’s Day! This happens each Wednesday afternoon. Today, we tried to organize an all-female soccer game...with limited success. We had about twenty girls and women show up, most of whom were pretty hesitant about playing soccer. A few of the boys ended up hanging around to help us with goalkeeping and retrieving stray balls. We did laps and stretches, then some fun drills, then had a full game. It was impossible to keep the boys away from the public soccer field, and their obvious soccer skills (and distracting cuteness) made it hard for many of the girls to focus. But we had a lot of fun!
Today was the first day I’ve had any sort of negative interaction with anyone about my ethnicity. One of the teenage girls was, as teenage girls are wont, quite socially aggressive and wanted to show off to her friends. I have become accustomed to people referring to me as blanc, and it doesn’t bother me, but she obviously intended it to be an insult and tried to push me around a little. She was a sassy little firebrand, which was fine – she was unhappy that I knew enough French to keep up with her, and eventually left off. It’s kind of odd – I know there’s no basis, here, for anyone to differentiate, but because I don’t self-identify as Caucasian it was initially really weird to be called blanc. I know it’s more of a descriptor than an insult 99% of the time, and when I stop and rationalize, of course it makes perfect sense. But hey, I’m just a different shade of brown, man...or if I’m half red and half white, maybe I’m just pink. Who knows.
The evening has just been pretty relaxing, hanging around Ecole Shalom and catching up on journals and doing some reading. Bonnie and I are already planning out our English lesson for Friday with the nurses. Tomorrow will be a good day – a hard day, probably, but a good day. I know it.
I’m off to get a good night’s sleep. Love to everyone.
Jess
from June 15
Dear all,
Hello from my first full day in Haiti! And it was a pretty full day, though my first bit of work won’t happen until tomorrow.
Today we spent the morning in orientation, going over the code of conduct for volunteers, house rules, and a crash course in Haitian history and customs. Locals Baby and Samuel gave us our first formal Creole lesson (though the girls yesterday taught me a few key phrases like “I love you” and “shake your booty”). Then we heard in more detail about the different projects currently taking place in and around Croix des Bouquets.
What I didn’t realize is that GVN’s presence in Haiti is fairly recent. Though the other camp in Jacmel is more established, the camp here in Croix des Bouquets is very new, and the program here at Ecole Shalom is still very much in development. It’s an exciting time to be here, as new projects are being proposed over meals, after random connections made throughout the day.
After a delicious lunch (pasta in a thick, fishy broth and fresh veggies), we all hopped in a tap-tap for a bumpy drive into the center of Croix des Bouquets. There, we changed a little money and explored the marketplace. It was a bustle of constant movement and bright colours, with music blaring from passing tap-taps punctuating the commentary on the World Cup games coming from various television sets scattered throughout different buildings. After a bit of a walk, we settled into a cafe so we could email home, and ended up staying on to watch a bit of the game and have an ice-cold Prestige (a delicious lager) under the shade of a bright tarp roof.
We got back after an inevitable mechanical adventure (our tap-tap broke down in the middle of a crowded street, and I think it started up again by sheer collective will). Just in time: the first rains of our trip came shortly after we returned. It was a beautiful downpour. Upstairs in Ecole Shalom is one unfinished section, with wooden beams stretching up to the roof but no outer wall. As the water poured down from the tarp roof, we quickly discovered the pressure was more than enough to lean out over the courtyard, clutching the beams, for an impromptu shower. It was so completely spontaneous and refreshing – and guilt-free, as I’d hesitated even over my thirty-second shower last night for fear of depleting the limited resources.
After we dried ourselves up, we met on the lower level of the compound to discuss in greater depth the different projects we’ll each be assigned to tomorrow. There are several: a well-established orphanage (Dr. Robert’s Orphanage), a more needy and underdeveloped orphanage (Good Samaritan Orphanage), a housing construction projects (Homes for Haiti/Haitian Gardens), a medical clinic, a new construction project to build a disaster-proof Geodome for the collective storage of medical supplies, and various English classes.
Tomorrow, I will go with a group to Dr. Robert’s orphanage. We’ll see tomorrow what the routine is like, but veteran volunteers have told me it’s very focused on play and just positive, loving interaction with the kids. I think I can manage that! The little girls I met yesterday certainly made it very easy – they have a very sweet curiosity, a huge desire to learn and interact, and very little fear or hesitation. This was good for me, as I was quite hesitant myself, not wanting to impose myself or confront any big boundaries with no context or experience under my belt. I didn’t get a chance to pause – as soon as I stepped out the door, the darling little girls and their older sisters pulled me right into a halting but happy Creole/French/English conversation. The focus on family, on stories and on the home is a familiar enough foundation for those of us on both sides of the cultural gap.
Anyway, I won’t know what the experience will be like until tomorrow! So I will reserve my comments until then. After our meeting, we had the most utterly fucking delicious dinner I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know how they season the salads here – they’re a sort of coleslaw, but with the perfect balance of chili and lime and something I can’t quite figure out. Spicy and divine. We also had these delicious cakey things...I don’t know what they are, but they seemed to be fried and made from a plantain paste. But the topper was chicken that was just...too delectable to accurately describe. It was rubbed with the most amazing spices and seasonings, barbecued and blackened, but still totally tender and...shit. I’m sorry, guys, you will never eat anything as delicious as what I ate tonight.
It’s been a fairly relaxed day, which is nice, but I’m looking forward to launching into something new tomorrow. On Wednesdays, Ecole Shalom hosts a women’s gathering in the afternoons. It’s a chance for women and girls to let their hair down without any gender pressure; like it or not, the male presence in mixed groups, at least at this compound, often seems to be domineering or at least distracting. Anyway, longer-term volunteers say it’s been a great space for women to chill out and relax.
Tomorrow, when I come back from a morning at the orphanage, I will help to organize a women’s soccer game! There is a large soccer field at the Ecole Shalom compound, and the men and boys are often playing, but women don’t join in their games. We’re organizing stretches, laps, drills and then a full game! It should be a blast. God knows I am not athletic in the least and I’ve got no experience playing soccer, but I’m totally game. I will update you tomorrow night with a list of my sport-related injuries (to body and pride).
It is only 8 PM, but I am totally exhausted. It’s partly mental, I think; around 7 in the evening, it gets dark very rapidly after beautiful, intense, fruit-bright sunsets. As the heat begins to slowly ease and the space is suddenly darkened, I find it very easy to fall asleep to the hum of the generator. I’ve been doing a bit of reading, in my spare moments, which partly seems to be a vestigial connection to something that’s totally not part of my life right now...and partly seems to make an odd sort of sense.
Mostly I brought poetry, things I can read and reread, but I also brought an old copy of Mandeville’s Travels. It was published in 1919 – so, ninety years ago – and though I didn’t realize it when I bought it, it’s never been read. It’s all in Middle English, which means that I am reading it slowly and savouring every sentence, but it’s also a neat and tactile interaction with my book because I’m sitting with a knife in my lap and cutting the sealed quartos of the book to turn the pages.
For those of you unfamiliar with my obsession of the last nine or ten months, Mandeville’s Travels is a thirteenth century travel narrative detailing the voyage of an English knight through the Holy Land to India and China and back to England again. Though the author adopted “Mandeville” as a pseudonym (pseudopersona?) and essentially plagiarized much of his account, it is rooted in a literary tradition spanning herbals, genuine travel accounts, encyclopedias, hagiography, and many other types of writing.
In his “travels” (or what he represents as his travels), Mandeville describes the places and people he encounters with incredible detail. What seduces me is the botanical narrative, and the rich vegetation that permeates the text. Often one reads descriptions of unusual fruits, plants, exotic animals – things modern travelers still encounter, and still struggle to describe. Now, as I am in a context where I’m doing the same thing – seeing sights I never could have imagined, and rediscovering things (like mangoes!) in their native environment only to realize how different they are...I feel even more of a kinship with Mandeville.
Initially, I found the Travels interesting because Mandeville seems in many senses to share my travel values. That is, the things I most appreciate about traveling and the things I tend to notice strike some people as unusual. I have a passing interest in monuments, historical places, beautiful architecture – but I am more allured by the idea of peoples, the rich variety of culture, and the incredible natural beauty all around me. I tend to spend most of my time examining native flora, overturning stones on the beach to pick out their different qualities, looking at how people interact with their environment in meaningful ways. The Mandevillean style of traveler, even if invented in this text, is totally sensible to me. Especially now, I enjoy vicariously experiencing the exotic, and exploring someone else’s attempt to define it and express it.
Okay, it’s twenty past eight and I am ready to curl up and fall asleep. We have an early start to the orphanage tomorrow, and I want to be well-rested. I am thinking of everyone often, though not too often – sorry guys, but Haiti is just so rich and absorbing. With the warm air in my lungs and the sharp scents in my nostrils and the dirt on my feet and the spicy food in my belly...all the energy I have left will go toward digesting my day, eyes closed, stretched out in my little tent. It’s been a good day. Love to you all.
Jess
Hello from my first full day in Haiti! And it was a pretty full day, though my first bit of work won’t happen until tomorrow.
Today we spent the morning in orientation, going over the code of conduct for volunteers, house rules, and a crash course in Haitian history and customs. Locals Baby and Samuel gave us our first formal Creole lesson (though the girls yesterday taught me a few key phrases like “I love you” and “shake your booty”). Then we heard in more detail about the different projects currently taking place in and around Croix des Bouquets.
What I didn’t realize is that GVN’s presence in Haiti is fairly recent. Though the other camp in Jacmel is more established, the camp here in Croix des Bouquets is very new, and the program here at Ecole Shalom is still very much in development. It’s an exciting time to be here, as new projects are being proposed over meals, after random connections made throughout the day.
After a delicious lunch (pasta in a thick, fishy broth and fresh veggies), we all hopped in a tap-tap for a bumpy drive into the center of Croix des Bouquets. There, we changed a little money and explored the marketplace. It was a bustle of constant movement and bright colours, with music blaring from passing tap-taps punctuating the commentary on the World Cup games coming from various television sets scattered throughout different buildings. After a bit of a walk, we settled into a cafe so we could email home, and ended up staying on to watch a bit of the game and have an ice-cold Prestige (a delicious lager) under the shade of a bright tarp roof.
We got back after an inevitable mechanical adventure (our tap-tap broke down in the middle of a crowded street, and I think it started up again by sheer collective will). Just in time: the first rains of our trip came shortly after we returned. It was a beautiful downpour. Upstairs in Ecole Shalom is one unfinished section, with wooden beams stretching up to the roof but no outer wall. As the water poured down from the tarp roof, we quickly discovered the pressure was more than enough to lean out over the courtyard, clutching the beams, for an impromptu shower. It was so completely spontaneous and refreshing – and guilt-free, as I’d hesitated even over my thirty-second shower last night for fear of depleting the limited resources.
After we dried ourselves up, we met on the lower level of the compound to discuss in greater depth the different projects we’ll each be assigned to tomorrow. There are several: a well-established orphanage (Dr. Robert’s Orphanage), a more needy and underdeveloped orphanage (Good Samaritan Orphanage), a housing construction projects (Homes for Haiti/Haitian Gardens), a medical clinic, a new construction project to build a disaster-proof Geodome for the collective storage of medical supplies, and various English classes.
Tomorrow, I will go with a group to Dr. Robert’s orphanage. We’ll see tomorrow what the routine is like, but veteran volunteers have told me it’s very focused on play and just positive, loving interaction with the kids. I think I can manage that! The little girls I met yesterday certainly made it very easy – they have a very sweet curiosity, a huge desire to learn and interact, and very little fear or hesitation. This was good for me, as I was quite hesitant myself, not wanting to impose myself or confront any big boundaries with no context or experience under my belt. I didn’t get a chance to pause – as soon as I stepped out the door, the darling little girls and their older sisters pulled me right into a halting but happy Creole/French/English conversation. The focus on family, on stories and on the home is a familiar enough foundation for those of us on both sides of the cultural gap.
Anyway, I won’t know what the experience will be like until tomorrow! So I will reserve my comments until then. After our meeting, we had the most utterly fucking delicious dinner I’ve ever had in my life. I don’t know how they season the salads here – they’re a sort of coleslaw, but with the perfect balance of chili and lime and something I can’t quite figure out. Spicy and divine. We also had these delicious cakey things...I don’t know what they are, but they seemed to be fried and made from a plantain paste. But the topper was chicken that was just...too delectable to accurately describe. It was rubbed with the most amazing spices and seasonings, barbecued and blackened, but still totally tender and...shit. I’m sorry, guys, you will never eat anything as delicious as what I ate tonight.
It’s been a fairly relaxed day, which is nice, but I’m looking forward to launching into something new tomorrow. On Wednesdays, Ecole Shalom hosts a women’s gathering in the afternoons. It’s a chance for women and girls to let their hair down without any gender pressure; like it or not, the male presence in mixed groups, at least at this compound, often seems to be domineering or at least distracting. Anyway, longer-term volunteers say it’s been a great space for women to chill out and relax.
Tomorrow, when I come back from a morning at the orphanage, I will help to organize a women’s soccer game! There is a large soccer field at the Ecole Shalom compound, and the men and boys are often playing, but women don’t join in their games. We’re organizing stretches, laps, drills and then a full game! It should be a blast. God knows I am not athletic in the least and I’ve got no experience playing soccer, but I’m totally game. I will update you tomorrow night with a list of my sport-related injuries (to body and pride).
It is only 8 PM, but I am totally exhausted. It’s partly mental, I think; around 7 in the evening, it gets dark very rapidly after beautiful, intense, fruit-bright sunsets. As the heat begins to slowly ease and the space is suddenly darkened, I find it very easy to fall asleep to the hum of the generator. I’ve been doing a bit of reading, in my spare moments, which partly seems to be a vestigial connection to something that’s totally not part of my life right now...and partly seems to make an odd sort of sense.
Mostly I brought poetry, things I can read and reread, but I also brought an old copy of Mandeville’s Travels. It was published in 1919 – so, ninety years ago – and though I didn’t realize it when I bought it, it’s never been read. It’s all in Middle English, which means that I am reading it slowly and savouring every sentence, but it’s also a neat and tactile interaction with my book because I’m sitting with a knife in my lap and cutting the sealed quartos of the book to turn the pages.
For those of you unfamiliar with my obsession of the last nine or ten months, Mandeville’s Travels is a thirteenth century travel narrative detailing the voyage of an English knight through the Holy Land to India and China and back to England again. Though the author adopted “Mandeville” as a pseudonym (pseudopersona?) and essentially plagiarized much of his account, it is rooted in a literary tradition spanning herbals, genuine travel accounts, encyclopedias, hagiography, and many other types of writing.
In his “travels” (or what he represents as his travels), Mandeville describes the places and people he encounters with incredible detail. What seduces me is the botanical narrative, and the rich vegetation that permeates the text. Often one reads descriptions of unusual fruits, plants, exotic animals – things modern travelers still encounter, and still struggle to describe. Now, as I am in a context where I’m doing the same thing – seeing sights I never could have imagined, and rediscovering things (like mangoes!) in their native environment only to realize how different they are...I feel even more of a kinship with Mandeville.
Initially, I found the Travels interesting because Mandeville seems in many senses to share my travel values. That is, the things I most appreciate about traveling and the things I tend to notice strike some people as unusual. I have a passing interest in monuments, historical places, beautiful architecture – but I am more allured by the idea of peoples, the rich variety of culture, and the incredible natural beauty all around me. I tend to spend most of my time examining native flora, overturning stones on the beach to pick out their different qualities, looking at how people interact with their environment in meaningful ways. The Mandevillean style of traveler, even if invented in this text, is totally sensible to me. Especially now, I enjoy vicariously experiencing the exotic, and exploring someone else’s attempt to define it and express it.
Okay, it’s twenty past eight and I am ready to curl up and fall asleep. We have an early start to the orphanage tomorrow, and I want to be well-rested. I am thinking of everyone often, though not too often – sorry guys, but Haiti is just so rich and absorbing. With the warm air in my lungs and the sharp scents in my nostrils and the dirt on my feet and the spicy food in my belly...all the energy I have left will go toward digesting my day, eyes closed, stretched out in my little tent. It’s been a good day. Love to you all.
Jess
from June 14
Holy shit guys, I am in Haiti. Not even just a little bit...I am totally here.
I am sitting in my tent, on the unfinished second storey of Ecole Shalom. I can hear goats and roosters over the breeze through the tarps, and the clamour of voices, and wee beautiful kids playing and singing. It is perfect and surreal – I look forward to digesting it more when I’ve had some rest.
The flight from Miami to Port au Prince was short and stunning. I sat next to a completely sweet young man who told me all about how afraid he was the first time he boarded a flight to America (he now goes to university there). He was baffled by how calm I was, since I was flying to Haiti for the first time. I was baffled too, but I think it was exhaustion rather than calm.
Immediately after deplaning I happened to meet the only other GVN volunteer on my flight. (These things happen quickly when it’s time to fill out customs cards and you’re the only one with a spare pen.) We made our way out together.
Stepping off the plane, I was hit with that beautiful, intimidating wall of tropical heat that stops you for a moment with an almost physical force. A crowded bus carried us to the section of the airport where we stepped through customs and waited, in a chaotic crush of people, for our bags to appear. I have to say, in a pinch, the airport at Port au Prince is more organized, more efficient and less stressful than flying through Heathrow – never mind the points for character!
I feel fortunate, since I was so witlessly exhausted after the flight, that everything I brought fit into my rucksack. Anyone struggling with a luggage cart was swarmed by local men eager to help out – come hell or high water – for a couple of dollars. Since I was self-sufficient, I didn’t have to be aggressive.
I and my fellow GVN volunteer were fortunate to find our organization’s reps almost immediately on exiting the airport. In the gorgeous, maddening storm of people, it was a relief to quickly find some friendly faces. We brought our gear to a waiting tap-tap (a sort of hired vehicle, in this case with a large covered truck bed and benches in the back).
While we waited for a third volunteer to arrive on a later flight, one of the GVN reps took us for a walk to buy plastic bags of cold water. You get the hang of it fast, especially when you’re thirsty – just bite a small hole in the corner of the bag and squirt the cool water into your mouth.
The tap-tap was fun. I guess I had two things to my advantage: lots of experience bouncing along logging roads, and the fact that my, uh, ample bosom requires an iron-clad brassiere at the best of times. Otherwise, the trip might have been less entertaining.
Not that it was without its initial jarring moments. Every time we stopped, little kids would crowd around, most of them barefoot and barging traffic, to call us “friend” or “sister” and blessing us and asking for money. It doesn’t matter where you go in the world, the thought of children left wanting makes me profoundly sad. Today was no exception. Still, I don’t believe that handouts are a sustainable solution to any deep-rooted problem. I hope I can find some other way to give back positively instead.
We drove past a few smaller camps on our way to Croix des Bouquets, and many damaged buildings. But the rubble had largely been removed, or become overgrown with verdant, insistent plant life. Clusters of people on the sides of the street sold fruit, water, sunglasses and other sundry bits of merchandise. Vehicles wove with a sort of mad grace in and out of streets and traffic patterns. And everything – walls, windows, buildings, cars – is filled to the point of bursting with vibrant artwork and bright graffiti.
We arrived at the compound after about a twenty minute ride. Ecole Shalom is beautiful, more luxurious than I could have dared to anticipate. The outer grounds have a large community soccer field. Inside the gates is an outdoor schoolyard, with long, low tables, tiny chairs, and cracked chalkboards. Inside the school is a communal area, where an amazing lunch was served: spicy fish stew, fresh bread, watermelon, and the best coffee I have ever tasted. It is so dark, and earthy, and flavourful – so rich I could only have a small cup, and divine even in the heat.
After lunch I set up my living area. I have a single tent, which seems like an unparalleled luxury. Upstairs, the unfinished roof is covered with taut grey tarps, the walls half-completed so that the vegetation creeps over the bricks and the breeze sneaks through in the evening. My tent is tucked with another single into a little sort of alcove. We have rudimentary flush toilets and showers which work when the generator is on in the evenings. I unpacked my bag into my tent, sorted through my little pile of belongings, and stretched out for a bit of a nap.
I woke up restless early in the afternoon, and made my way outside where some of the senior volunteers were conducting English lessons for Haitian men. The female volunteers were relaxing in the yard with a group of women and children. I didn’t make it halfway out the door before a gaggle of little kids clustered around me, tugging at my clothes and jewelry, tugging me down to sit in their tiny chairs and playing with my hair. The women were very friendly, and between their scraps of English and my scraps of French, we managed to have a pleasant introduction.
Also, N.B.: I have yet to see a Haitian woman who isn’t utterly beautiful. True story.
One woman had quite strong English, and through her the others asked me lots of questions about Canada, my family, my travels, and what I think of Haiti. It’s easy to be honest. It’s stunning here. It’s a different kind of place than I’ve ever been or imagined, but it’s breathtaking in ways I’m only beginning to understand. The mountains are so stark and stunning, and the heat intensifies all your senses so you just feel inundated, all the time, by sharp smells and bright colours and harshly musical sounds.
One of the veteran volunteers was going with the group of women and little girls to “see their houses”. They have an intense sort of domestic pride; as soon as they knew my name, they were all issuing personal invitations to visit them in their homes. I tagged along, by which I mean half a dozen little girls attached themselves to my arms and any bit of clothing they could grasp, and tugged me along behind the women. We popped in and out of houses, as they introduced me to their friends and mothers and sisters. Most everyone we passed was extremely cordial. Though it is taking me some time to get used to people’s unabashed gazes, and tactile need to reach out and touch you.
The range of domiciles I visited in my whirlwind tour varied greatly. Some were small tents bursting with an improbable number of mattresses; some were reduced almost to rubble, just barely enough still standing to remind you of a house; some were very intact, with beautiful bits of old furniture and reams of gauzy curtains everywhere. Regardless, all of the women were completely hospitable, completely humble, and full of quiet pride in their home spaces.
At the last house, the flock of little girls announced they were going to dance for us, and pulling out a radio, burst into graceful little choreographed routines in the dusty courtyard of the home. Five of them leapt and twirled and pivoted in perfect pattern and time, first to a pop song by Shakira, then to some organic, percussive, exuberant music on another radio station. The kids here are constantly moving, and they seem happiest when they’re skipping to a beat.
We returned just in time to relax quickly before dinner. I had arrived early in the day with two fellow volunteers; several more came throughout the rest of the day, and we joined the long-term placements and the previous session’s volunteers who will depart tomorrow for our evening meal. We had an amazing sort of goulash-y dish, which I understand had rabbit in it along with thick-cut vegetables, and a delicious but incredibly spicy coleslaw. I know I’ve only sampled two meals, but I can’t believe how good the food is here. Two local women cook all three daily meals for the compound, and it is delicious. I’ve never really been one for spicy food, but I think I’ve realized it’s because people at home don’t know how to cook with spices. Here, the flavour is sensational.
We have power by generator for a couple of hours each night, and I gave in to the temptation of a quick, cool shower before bed. It’s amazing to hear through the rough-cut open spaces that pass for windows the sound of distant traffic, night bugs buzzing, animals rustling in the yard and trees shifting in the breeze. The water was just cool enough to be refreshing (for the thirty seconds I stayed in!) and now I feel ready to sleep for a month.
Tomorrow we have an early start for breakfast, then our orientation. I am curled up in my tent, typing by the light of my headlamp, completely embraced by the heat of the night. It’s not oppressive – which surprised me. I’m such a west coast girl; normally I am a wilting violet in the heat. I’m having to be careful about drinking lots of water, but so far I seem to be coping well with the temperature. There’s a slight breeze rippling through my mosquito netting, and I’m going to head to bed and hope for sweet dreams of all my loved ones a trillion miles away.
Goodnight!
I am sitting in my tent, on the unfinished second storey of Ecole Shalom. I can hear goats and roosters over the breeze through the tarps, and the clamour of voices, and wee beautiful kids playing and singing. It is perfect and surreal – I look forward to digesting it more when I’ve had some rest.
The flight from Miami to Port au Prince was short and stunning. I sat next to a completely sweet young man who told me all about how afraid he was the first time he boarded a flight to America (he now goes to university there). He was baffled by how calm I was, since I was flying to Haiti for the first time. I was baffled too, but I think it was exhaustion rather than calm.
Immediately after deplaning I happened to meet the only other GVN volunteer on my flight. (These things happen quickly when it’s time to fill out customs cards and you’re the only one with a spare pen.) We made our way out together.
Stepping off the plane, I was hit with that beautiful, intimidating wall of tropical heat that stops you for a moment with an almost physical force. A crowded bus carried us to the section of the airport where we stepped through customs and waited, in a chaotic crush of people, for our bags to appear. I have to say, in a pinch, the airport at Port au Prince is more organized, more efficient and less stressful than flying through Heathrow – never mind the points for character!
I feel fortunate, since I was so witlessly exhausted after the flight, that everything I brought fit into my rucksack. Anyone struggling with a luggage cart was swarmed by local men eager to help out – come hell or high water – for a couple of dollars. Since I was self-sufficient, I didn’t have to be aggressive.
I and my fellow GVN volunteer were fortunate to find our organization’s reps almost immediately on exiting the airport. In the gorgeous, maddening storm of people, it was a relief to quickly find some friendly faces. We brought our gear to a waiting tap-tap (a sort of hired vehicle, in this case with a large covered truck bed and benches in the back).
While we waited for a third volunteer to arrive on a later flight, one of the GVN reps took us for a walk to buy plastic bags of cold water. You get the hang of it fast, especially when you’re thirsty – just bite a small hole in the corner of the bag and squirt the cool water into your mouth.
The tap-tap was fun. I guess I had two things to my advantage: lots of experience bouncing along logging roads, and the fact that my, uh, ample bosom requires an iron-clad brassiere at the best of times. Otherwise, the trip might have been less entertaining.
Not that it was without its initial jarring moments. Every time we stopped, little kids would crowd around, most of them barefoot and barging traffic, to call us “friend” or “sister” and blessing us and asking for money. It doesn’t matter where you go in the world, the thought of children left wanting makes me profoundly sad. Today was no exception. Still, I don’t believe that handouts are a sustainable solution to any deep-rooted problem. I hope I can find some other way to give back positively instead.
We drove past a few smaller camps on our way to Croix des Bouquets, and many damaged buildings. But the rubble had largely been removed, or become overgrown with verdant, insistent plant life. Clusters of people on the sides of the street sold fruit, water, sunglasses and other sundry bits of merchandise. Vehicles wove with a sort of mad grace in and out of streets and traffic patterns. And everything – walls, windows, buildings, cars – is filled to the point of bursting with vibrant artwork and bright graffiti.
We arrived at the compound after about a twenty minute ride. Ecole Shalom is beautiful, more luxurious than I could have dared to anticipate. The outer grounds have a large community soccer field. Inside the gates is an outdoor schoolyard, with long, low tables, tiny chairs, and cracked chalkboards. Inside the school is a communal area, where an amazing lunch was served: spicy fish stew, fresh bread, watermelon, and the best coffee I have ever tasted. It is so dark, and earthy, and flavourful – so rich I could only have a small cup, and divine even in the heat.
After lunch I set up my living area. I have a single tent, which seems like an unparalleled luxury. Upstairs, the unfinished roof is covered with taut grey tarps, the walls half-completed so that the vegetation creeps over the bricks and the breeze sneaks through in the evening. My tent is tucked with another single into a little sort of alcove. We have rudimentary flush toilets and showers which work when the generator is on in the evenings. I unpacked my bag into my tent, sorted through my little pile of belongings, and stretched out for a bit of a nap.
I woke up restless early in the afternoon, and made my way outside where some of the senior volunteers were conducting English lessons for Haitian men. The female volunteers were relaxing in the yard with a group of women and children. I didn’t make it halfway out the door before a gaggle of little kids clustered around me, tugging at my clothes and jewelry, tugging me down to sit in their tiny chairs and playing with my hair. The women were very friendly, and between their scraps of English and my scraps of French, we managed to have a pleasant introduction.
Also, N.B.: I have yet to see a Haitian woman who isn’t utterly beautiful. True story.
One woman had quite strong English, and through her the others asked me lots of questions about Canada, my family, my travels, and what I think of Haiti. It’s easy to be honest. It’s stunning here. It’s a different kind of place than I’ve ever been or imagined, but it’s breathtaking in ways I’m only beginning to understand. The mountains are so stark and stunning, and the heat intensifies all your senses so you just feel inundated, all the time, by sharp smells and bright colours and harshly musical sounds.
One of the veteran volunteers was going with the group of women and little girls to “see their houses”. They have an intense sort of domestic pride; as soon as they knew my name, they were all issuing personal invitations to visit them in their homes. I tagged along, by which I mean half a dozen little girls attached themselves to my arms and any bit of clothing they could grasp, and tugged me along behind the women. We popped in and out of houses, as they introduced me to their friends and mothers and sisters. Most everyone we passed was extremely cordial. Though it is taking me some time to get used to people’s unabashed gazes, and tactile need to reach out and touch you.
The range of domiciles I visited in my whirlwind tour varied greatly. Some were small tents bursting with an improbable number of mattresses; some were reduced almost to rubble, just barely enough still standing to remind you of a house; some were very intact, with beautiful bits of old furniture and reams of gauzy curtains everywhere. Regardless, all of the women were completely hospitable, completely humble, and full of quiet pride in their home spaces.
At the last house, the flock of little girls announced they were going to dance for us, and pulling out a radio, burst into graceful little choreographed routines in the dusty courtyard of the home. Five of them leapt and twirled and pivoted in perfect pattern and time, first to a pop song by Shakira, then to some organic, percussive, exuberant music on another radio station. The kids here are constantly moving, and they seem happiest when they’re skipping to a beat.
We returned just in time to relax quickly before dinner. I had arrived early in the day with two fellow volunteers; several more came throughout the rest of the day, and we joined the long-term placements and the previous session’s volunteers who will depart tomorrow for our evening meal. We had an amazing sort of goulash-y dish, which I understand had rabbit in it along with thick-cut vegetables, and a delicious but incredibly spicy coleslaw. I know I’ve only sampled two meals, but I can’t believe how good the food is here. Two local women cook all three daily meals for the compound, and it is delicious. I’ve never really been one for spicy food, but I think I’ve realized it’s because people at home don’t know how to cook with spices. Here, the flavour is sensational.
We have power by generator for a couple of hours each night, and I gave in to the temptation of a quick, cool shower before bed. It’s amazing to hear through the rough-cut open spaces that pass for windows the sound of distant traffic, night bugs buzzing, animals rustling in the yard and trees shifting in the breeze. The water was just cool enough to be refreshing (for the thirty seconds I stayed in!) and now I feel ready to sleep for a month.
Tomorrow we have an early start for breakfast, then our orientation. I am curled up in my tent, typing by the light of my headlamp, completely embraced by the heat of the night. It’s not oppressive – which surprised me. I’m such a west coast girl; normally I am a wilting violet in the heat. I’m having to be careful about drinking lots of water, but so far I seem to be coping well with the temperature. There’s a slight breeze rippling through my mosquito netting, and I’m going to head to bed and hope for sweet dreams of all my loved ones a trillion miles away.
Goodnight!
Thursday, June 17, 2010
hi guys
dear all,
hi again from haiti. i don't know how i'm going to get on the plane to come home when it's time for my flight.
i can't even think of how to succinctly describe my experiences so far. it has been very positive, if emotionally challenging.
please just know that i am happy, and well, and thinking of you all, spending most of my time at orphanages with beautiful children and teaching english to nursing students. a good test of my ability to do anatomical drawings on makeshift chalkboards!
i am keeping a proper journal that i will add in when i can. until then, so much love.
jess
hi again from haiti. i don't know how i'm going to get on the plane to come home when it's time for my flight.
i can't even think of how to succinctly describe my experiences so far. it has been very positive, if emotionally challenging.
please just know that i am happy, and well, and thinking of you all, spending most of my time at orphanages with beautiful children and teaching english to nursing students. a good test of my ability to do anatomical drawings on makeshift chalkboards!
i am keeping a proper journal that i will add in when i can. until then, so much love.
jess
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
hi all,
i am writing from a cafe in croix des bouquets where locals are watching an intense world cup match! will not be able to update regularly of course, but keeping a detailed journal to update later.
suffice to say everything is beautiful in a way i have never experienced before. i am completely in love. and i will write when i can.
i am very happy with my organization, love our accommodations, feel totally spoiled by the local cooking, and the kids are completely heart-melting and sweet. the sense of family and of stories and of dignity and history is amazing...will make sense to anyone with strong heiltsuk roots for sure.
thinking of you all frequently and with love,
jess
i am writing from a cafe in croix des bouquets where locals are watching an intense world cup match! will not be able to update regularly of course, but keeping a detailed journal to update later.
suffice to say everything is beautiful in a way i have never experienced before. i am completely in love. and i will write when i can.
i am very happy with my organization, love our accommodations, feel totally spoiled by the local cooking, and the kids are completely heart-melting and sweet. the sense of family and of stories and of dignity and history is amazing...will make sense to anyone with strong heiltsuk roots for sure.
thinking of you all frequently and with love,
jess
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Twelve
Okay,
This is the last time I will definitely be updating. No promises once I leave. If I don't get online, by choice or by circumstance, I'll update on my return based on my handwritten journal.
Love to you all!
Edited at 2:30 AM Bella Bella-time to say that sleeping on the floor at the airport sucks. I am still in Miami for another hour or so. I have been here so long I'm beginning to think I dreamed my entire personal history. Was I actually born here, in the dust and debris around the water fountain? Was I raised by that vaguely female voice from above gently reminding me that I cannot travel with liquids in my bag? I don't know anymore. I am losing my identity to the constantly-blaring CNN and the smell of burnt, cheap coffee and the repeating pattern on the dirty carpet...
So: yes, excited to leave, or I would be if I weren't so concerned about the kink in my...well, my entire body. Good riddance, Miami airport. I hope we never do this again. Oh, wait...I have a ten hour layover on the way back, too. Huh.
This is the last time I will definitely be updating. No promises once I leave. If I don't get online, by choice or by circumstance, I'll update on my return based on my handwritten journal.
Love to you all!
Edited at 2:30 AM Bella Bella-time to say that sleeping on the floor at the airport sucks. I am still in Miami for another hour or so. I have been here so long I'm beginning to think I dreamed my entire personal history. Was I actually born here, in the dust and debris around the water fountain? Was I raised by that vaguely female voice from above gently reminding me that I cannot travel with liquids in my bag? I don't know anymore. I am losing my identity to the constantly-blaring CNN and the smell of burnt, cheap coffee and the repeating pattern on the dirty carpet...
So: yes, excited to leave, or I would be if I weren't so concerned about the kink in my...well, my entire body. Good riddance, Miami airport. I hope we never do this again. Oh, wait...I have a ten hour layover on the way back, too. Huh.
Eleven
So,
Gmail's suggestive advertising is mocking me:
"How to fall asleep - Restalex.com - Let Restalex get you to sleep now and tomorrow. Guaranteed to work."
YEAH, THANKS, JERK. Seven more hours in this airport and the floor is cold, man.
Gmail's suggestive advertising is mocking me:
"How to fall asleep - Restalex.com - Let Restalex get you to sleep now and tomorrow. Guaranteed to work."
YEAH, THANKS, JERK. Seven more hours in this airport and the floor is cold, man.
Ten? I think this is ten.
Guys,
It is so cold in the Miami airport. I'm not even joking with you. PLEASE TURN OFF THE AIR CONDITIONING.
Well, yes, I am in Miami. I've been here for awhile. I don't know what time it really is, because my laptop, my watch and my mobile all have different times on them now. I think it's going on to 8 PM at home. You've all just settled in for your Sunday evening after a nice dinner, tucked in your warm houses, all that jazz.
I am sitting in this frigid and neglected wing of the airport, which is so quiet and completely abandoned that I can make out the distinct audio feeds from at least six televisions scattered across the waiting areas in this part of the building. Every time someone does walk by, the muffled thud of footsteps is so quiet it doesn't even pretend to echo.
I kind of like airports at night, though. You get to see their skeletons, and imagine what they look like in the bustle of the day without actually having to combat the crush of people and the wall of noise. I remember flying into Lihue last December, and stepping into the open-air airport, and just feeling the wave of sultry nighttime heat. I remember everyone huddled in hushed excitement as we stepped off our long flight, shook out our tension, stretched into helpless yawns and tried like little kids at Christmastime to keep our eyes open against the night while we waited for our bags.
I mean, my bag never came, unluckily for me, but that actually didn't bother me too much. I was pretty content to just stretch across our duffel bag of camping gear and smile to myself in the dim airport with the night bugs buzzing just outside the ring of light, while Ian had a helpless conversation with the lone airline agent in the airport about where my belongings might be. I don't think the stupid smile ever left my face. When we went back the next day to look for my bag, it was a completely different place: hectic, rushed, cacophonous. All the things I'd rather imagine than experience. But at night, it was lazy and beautiful.
This is a totally different species of airport, of course. Lihue was intimate, well-loved, a little derelict. This place is sprawling. At least it seems so now, when whole stretches of it are empty. And it's cold in here. But there's still something appealing about being here on my own, stretching out my aching muscles, imagining how the face of this place changes in the morning, in the afternoon. What it will look like when I'm gone. I own it alone right now, and that's kind of cool, don't you think?
Okay, I'm going to go for a walk to warm up. We'll see how self-conscious I feel when I get my blood pumping a little faster -- it would be nice to stretch out and do some yoga to undo the last bits of tension from the flight.
I'll probably write again later. I can't seem to stop. Love to you all!
Jess
It is so cold in the Miami airport. I'm not even joking with you. PLEASE TURN OFF THE AIR CONDITIONING.
Well, yes, I am in Miami. I've been here for awhile. I don't know what time it really is, because my laptop, my watch and my mobile all have different times on them now. I think it's going on to 8 PM at home. You've all just settled in for your Sunday evening after a nice dinner, tucked in your warm houses, all that jazz.
I am sitting in this frigid and neglected wing of the airport, which is so quiet and completely abandoned that I can make out the distinct audio feeds from at least six televisions scattered across the waiting areas in this part of the building. Every time someone does walk by, the muffled thud of footsteps is so quiet it doesn't even pretend to echo.
I kind of like airports at night, though. You get to see their skeletons, and imagine what they look like in the bustle of the day without actually having to combat the crush of people and the wall of noise. I remember flying into Lihue last December, and stepping into the open-air airport, and just feeling the wave of sultry nighttime heat. I remember everyone huddled in hushed excitement as we stepped off our long flight, shook out our tension, stretched into helpless yawns and tried like little kids at Christmastime to keep our eyes open against the night while we waited for our bags.
I mean, my bag never came, unluckily for me, but that actually didn't bother me too much. I was pretty content to just stretch across our duffel bag of camping gear and smile to myself in the dim airport with the night bugs buzzing just outside the ring of light, while Ian had a helpless conversation with the lone airline agent in the airport about where my belongings might be. I don't think the stupid smile ever left my face. When we went back the next day to look for my bag, it was a completely different place: hectic, rushed, cacophonous. All the things I'd rather imagine than experience. But at night, it was lazy and beautiful.
This is a totally different species of airport, of course. Lihue was intimate, well-loved, a little derelict. This place is sprawling. At least it seems so now, when whole stretches of it are empty. And it's cold in here. But there's still something appealing about being here on my own, stretching out my aching muscles, imagining how the face of this place changes in the morning, in the afternoon. What it will look like when I'm gone. I own it alone right now, and that's kind of cool, don't you think?
Okay, I'm going to go for a walk to warm up. We'll see how self-conscious I feel when I get my blood pumping a little faster -- it would be nice to stretch out and do some yoga to undo the last bits of tension from the flight.
I'll probably write again later. I can't seem to stop. Love to you all!
Jess
Nine / Quick note
Hey guys,
With an embarrassing level of difficulty due to technological ineptitude, I have finally figured out how to allow anonymous comments on my posts.
You shouldn't need an account to leave feedback anymore, but if you're commenting without an account, do me a favour and sign your name in the comment?
Jess
With an embarrassing level of difficulty due to technological ineptitude, I have finally figured out how to allow anonymous comments on my posts.
You shouldn't need an account to leave feedback anymore, but if you're commenting without an account, do me a favour and sign your name in the comment?
Jess
Eight
Dear sirs and madams,
Hi from the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, where I found a giant store full of items that say "Don't Mess With Texas". You'd think a small selection would be enough, but apparently not! Ah, well, variety is the spice of life, after all.
The first part of today's travel went fairly smoothly. Airplanes are much less fun when you don't have someone to lean on and mould into a personal pillow. Well, I could have, but I don't think the elderly lady beside me would have appreciated it.
I am thinking about my wee sugarbeet Landon George today, sitting by an airport window looking at all the huge, bright airplanes running on the tarmac. I'm missing my little "matala enthusiast" a whole ton. Someone at home give him a squeeze for me today, and tell him his auntie loves him.
Okay, it is about quarter to one at home and in my brain, and I haven't eaten anything all day. I am so tired -- seriously, I think that halting, neck-achy sleep you get on airplanes is actually worse for you than just staying awake. But things are just fine, here.
Ahaha, shit, moment of realization: I've been wondering why everyone who walks by me looks so totally baffled. I guess it'd be the glaring bumper sticker on my computer that reads, "CHARTER FISHING IS AN ORGANIZED CRIME". A little out of place in Texas, maybe.
I am off to find some food, then to apply myself to some work that I have certainly left to the eleventh hour.
Thinking of everyone, and will probably write again from my disastrously long layover in Miami.
Jess
Hi from the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport, where I found a giant store full of items that say "Don't Mess With Texas". You'd think a small selection would be enough, but apparently not! Ah, well, variety is the spice of life, after all.
The first part of today's travel went fairly smoothly. Airplanes are much less fun when you don't have someone to lean on and mould into a personal pillow. Well, I could have, but I don't think the elderly lady beside me would have appreciated it.
I am thinking about my wee sugarbeet Landon George today, sitting by an airport window looking at all the huge, bright airplanes running on the tarmac. I'm missing my little "matala enthusiast" a whole ton. Someone at home give him a squeeze for me today, and tell him his auntie loves him.
Okay, it is about quarter to one at home and in my brain, and I haven't eaten anything all day. I am so tired -- seriously, I think that halting, neck-achy sleep you get on airplanes is actually worse for you than just staying awake. But things are just fine, here.
Ahaha, shit, moment of realization: I've been wondering why everyone who walks by me looks so totally baffled. I guess it'd be the glaring bumper sticker on my computer that reads, "CHARTER FISHING IS AN ORGANIZED CRIME". A little out of place in Texas, maybe.
I am off to find some food, then to apply myself to some work that I have certainly left to the eleventh hour.
Thinking of everyone, and will probably write again from my disastrously long layover in Miami.
Jess
Seven
Hi, imaginary friends!
Okay, so I am all checked in at YVR. I am so grateful to Kathy and Hamar and their beautiful daughters for taking care of me in Victoria, and to my cuzzies Gary and Melissa for feeding me and giving me a place to nap last night. It does wonders to reduce stress when you don't have to worry about all the little things at the start of your trip. Thanks, guys, and much love.
So, my first flight is from Vancouver to Dallas, which I vaguely remember as being a pretty nice airport? I have about three hours there, then I fly to Miami, which I know nothing about. Once I get to Miami (at 9:35 PM), I get to sit in the goddamn airport until 6:55 AM. This doesn't reflect too well on my ability to book flights, but I assure you, it was unavoidable.
Does anyone know why on earth there are birds in the Vancouver airport? Are they tame? Are they pets? Are they wild? What species are they? Why the hell are they whizzing around by the US departure gates?
So, everything has gone smoothly so far this morning. I caught the Canada Line out to YVR, which was fast and smooth and cheap and awesome. It baffles me how many cities lack convenient public transportation to their airports. Congratulations, Vancouver, this almost sort of does something to mitigate the fact that I secretly hate you.
I am flying with American Airlines, which I've never done before, so I'm reserving judgment until later. I tend to have mixed luck with airlines. Either they are amazing, or they are abhorrent, or somehow both at once. What ever happened to mediocrity? I think Air Canada ranks the lowest (surprise, surprise). Terrible customer service, expensive food, uncomfortable planes, no interest in their customers. I liked Alaska Airlines when we flew to Kauai, but I think I just secretly like red eye flights. My bags did disappear both ways, but I don't think that was their fault. Plus, hey, free mai tais.
But guys? If you ever go to New Zealand for any reason? Fly Air New Zealand, because it was ridiculously good. Everyone was so competent and friendly, and the food was better than I've had in most restaurants (lamb on an airplane, what the hell). Free booze, an amazing selection of artsy movies and great music, everything was just perfect.
I don't have much to say right now, given that I am half asleep and nothing has really happened yet. So I am going to tell you a cute airplane story.
A couple of winters ago, Ian and I decided we would go to New Zealand for a couple of months in the spring. He planned our trip while I was in the midst of final exams and wrapping up my undergraduate degree. Neither of us is particularly romantic, so when Ian found a flight that essentially eliminated Valentine's Day, we decided to go for it! We flew out of Vancouver on February 13, and with the flight time and the time change, we arrived on February 15 in Auckland.
We were quite smug about outmaneuvering the gods of commercialized love, and by the time our flight date rolled around, I'd really forgotten all about the significance of the day. But Ian is a clever creature. He calculated with as much precision as was possible on an international flight the moment when we'd be in a timezone, in the air, where it was technically February 14.
He woke me up out of my awkward, contortionist airplane sleep-mode to tell me he loved me, and the sly thing somehow produced a box of chocolates in mid-air...much to the utter delight of the stewardesses and all the lady passengers sitting around us. (Aww...he loves me!)
Okay, now I realize that my chocolate prospects on this Dallas flight are rather low. Especially because my sweetheart is...where are you today? Still in Haida Gwaii? And I don't think romance is part of American Airlines' service package. But you never know!
My departure is looming. Of course I am nervous. I'll be the first to admit it: when I hauled myself into the skytrain at half past five and pulled away from the last familiar face I'll see for a few weeks, I surveyed my situation - an empty, rattling car filled with weak morning light, and me sleep-deprived and suddenly alone. And I definitely got choked up. (Sorry, mom, I know you don't like to read that.)
There's so much about this trip I can't rationalize. People keep telling me they're proud of me and that I'm brave and good, and I love them for it, but I don't feel worthy of the accolades. I can't really explain how or why I decided to go, because I don't know. It seems like yesterday that I was holed up in my room, curled up in front of my desk, avoiding my Chaucer research and thinking to myself suddenly, "What if I..."
The intervening weeks have flown by, and I'm kind of relieved that I've been too busy to think hard about any of this. I've come to accept that I don't make decisions with my brain. Depending on the situation, I make them with my hands, with my heart, with parts of me I don't even recognize or understand. We'll see if that fact leads me astray here - it never has before. I don't know what the coming days will bring, but I trust that they will challenge me, and I will find goodness in them.
Thanks for everything you've done to help me prepare for this moment, in the small ways I can. I'm going to sign off, call my sweet mama, and get ready to board my flight. I love you guys.
And I secretly love the airport birds, too.
Jess
Okay, so I am all checked in at YVR. I am so grateful to Kathy and Hamar and their beautiful daughters for taking care of me in Victoria, and to my cuzzies Gary and Melissa for feeding me and giving me a place to nap last night. It does wonders to reduce stress when you don't have to worry about all the little things at the start of your trip. Thanks, guys, and much love.
So, my first flight is from Vancouver to Dallas, which I vaguely remember as being a pretty nice airport? I have about three hours there, then I fly to Miami, which I know nothing about. Once I get to Miami (at 9:35 PM), I get to sit in the goddamn airport until 6:55 AM. This doesn't reflect too well on my ability to book flights, but I assure you, it was unavoidable.
Does anyone know why on earth there are birds in the Vancouver airport? Are they tame? Are they pets? Are they wild? What species are they? Why the hell are they whizzing around by the US departure gates?
So, everything has gone smoothly so far this morning. I caught the Canada Line out to YVR, which was fast and smooth and cheap and awesome. It baffles me how many cities lack convenient public transportation to their airports. Congratulations, Vancouver, this almost sort of does something to mitigate the fact that I secretly hate you.
I am flying with American Airlines, which I've never done before, so I'm reserving judgment until later. I tend to have mixed luck with airlines. Either they are amazing, or they are abhorrent, or somehow both at once. What ever happened to mediocrity? I think Air Canada ranks the lowest (surprise, surprise). Terrible customer service, expensive food, uncomfortable planes, no interest in their customers. I liked Alaska Airlines when we flew to Kauai, but I think I just secretly like red eye flights. My bags did disappear both ways, but I don't think that was their fault. Plus, hey, free mai tais.
But guys? If you ever go to New Zealand for any reason? Fly Air New Zealand, because it was ridiculously good. Everyone was so competent and friendly, and the food was better than I've had in most restaurants (lamb on an airplane, what the hell). Free booze, an amazing selection of artsy movies and great music, everything was just perfect.
I don't have much to say right now, given that I am half asleep and nothing has really happened yet. So I am going to tell you a cute airplane story.
A couple of winters ago, Ian and I decided we would go to New Zealand for a couple of months in the spring. He planned our trip while I was in the midst of final exams and wrapping up my undergraduate degree. Neither of us is particularly romantic, so when Ian found a flight that essentially eliminated Valentine's Day, we decided to go for it! We flew out of Vancouver on February 13, and with the flight time and the time change, we arrived on February 15 in Auckland.
We were quite smug about outmaneuvering the gods of commercialized love, and by the time our flight date rolled around, I'd really forgotten all about the significance of the day. But Ian is a clever creature. He calculated with as much precision as was possible on an international flight the moment when we'd be in a timezone, in the air, where it was technically February 14.
He woke me up out of my awkward, contortionist airplane sleep-mode to tell me he loved me, and the sly thing somehow produced a box of chocolates in mid-air...much to the utter delight of the stewardesses and all the lady passengers sitting around us. (Aww...he loves me!)
Okay, now I realize that my chocolate prospects on this Dallas flight are rather low. Especially because my sweetheart is...where are you today? Still in Haida Gwaii? And I don't think romance is part of American Airlines' service package. But you never know!
My departure is looming. Of course I am nervous. I'll be the first to admit it: when I hauled myself into the skytrain at half past five and pulled away from the last familiar face I'll see for a few weeks, I surveyed my situation - an empty, rattling car filled with weak morning light, and me sleep-deprived and suddenly alone. And I definitely got choked up. (Sorry, mom, I know you don't like to read that.)
There's so much about this trip I can't rationalize. People keep telling me they're proud of me and that I'm brave and good, and I love them for it, but I don't feel worthy of the accolades. I can't really explain how or why I decided to go, because I don't know. It seems like yesterday that I was holed up in my room, curled up in front of my desk, avoiding my Chaucer research and thinking to myself suddenly, "What if I..."
The intervening weeks have flown by, and I'm kind of relieved that I've been too busy to think hard about any of this. I've come to accept that I don't make decisions with my brain. Depending on the situation, I make them with my hands, with my heart, with parts of me I don't even recognize or understand. We'll see if that fact leads me astray here - it never has before. I don't know what the coming days will bring, but I trust that they will challenge me, and I will find goodness in them.
Thanks for everything you've done to help me prepare for this moment, in the small ways I can. I'm going to sign off, call my sweet mama, and get ready to board my flight. I love you guys.
And I secretly love the airport birds, too.
Jess
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Six
Guys,
Traveling alone can be super challenging. I need to start being sharper and bolder than I usually am. When I’m traveling with Ian, for example, I know that when I falter, he will pick up the slack. I know that in moments of doubt, when I’m second guessing myself, he’s there to reassure me and help me make decisions. The companionship is a comfort and a safeguard.
I sense that there’s something special about traveling alone, though. For one, you learn to rely on yourself more, to be completely independent when the situation calls for that. For another, you teach yourself to reach out and network and seek support from strangers and unfamiliar resources when you find you can’t do it all alone. It’s humbling. I am humbled by the knowledge of my own limitations, just as I am empowered by the knowledge of my own capacity. Does that make sense?
I think it does. I can do a lot on my own. I can be resourceful. I tend to be calm in moments of crisis. I slip up sometimes, and it’s been awhile since I was responsible to myself in this way. Hell, I think that, never mind sharing the responsibility with a partner, it’s also significantly easier to be in charge of others in situations like this. When you know that other people are relying on you, you approach things with a different awareness and a different attitude. When you’re alone, when you’re the only one who suffers from wrong decisions and when the rewards you find are all your own as well, sometimes it’s harder to habitually be really honest with yourself about what you lack and how you’re going to find fulfillment.
I want to learn to rely on myself more. I also want to learn to be more forgiving of myself when I make mistakes.
I’m writing this from the ferry, bound for Tsawwassen, with the sky clear as a blank page and the cacophonous solitude of being alone in a crowd punctuated often by my insistent friend, the BC Ferries rep on the PA system. I’m signing off at 7:30 PM, and will post this when I can.
Jess
Traveling alone can be super challenging. I need to start being sharper and bolder than I usually am. When I’m traveling with Ian, for example, I know that when I falter, he will pick up the slack. I know that in moments of doubt, when I’m second guessing myself, he’s there to reassure me and help me make decisions. The companionship is a comfort and a safeguard.
I sense that there’s something special about traveling alone, though. For one, you learn to rely on yourself more, to be completely independent when the situation calls for that. For another, you teach yourself to reach out and network and seek support from strangers and unfamiliar resources when you find you can’t do it all alone. It’s humbling. I am humbled by the knowledge of my own limitations, just as I am empowered by the knowledge of my own capacity. Does that make sense?
I think it does. I can do a lot on my own. I can be resourceful. I tend to be calm in moments of crisis. I slip up sometimes, and it’s been awhile since I was responsible to myself in this way. Hell, I think that, never mind sharing the responsibility with a partner, it’s also significantly easier to be in charge of others in situations like this. When you know that other people are relying on you, you approach things with a different awareness and a different attitude. When you’re alone, when you’re the only one who suffers from wrong decisions and when the rewards you find are all your own as well, sometimes it’s harder to habitually be really honest with yourself about what you lack and how you’re going to find fulfillment.
I want to learn to rely on myself more. I also want to learn to be more forgiving of myself when I make mistakes.
I’m writing this from the ferry, bound for Tsawwassen, with the sky clear as a blank page and the cacophonous solitude of being alone in a crowd punctuated often by my insistent friend, the BC Ferries rep on the PA system. I’m signing off at 7:30 PM, and will post this when I can.
Jess
Five
Dear wonderful people, who may in fact be imaginary, that I assume to be reading this blog,
I am sitting in the Swartz Bay ferry terminal. I consider this to be punishment for an incredibly stupid thing I seem to have done.
Okay, so let’s make some allowances here: every time you travel, something goes wrong. It’s a universal law. You don’t know what it will be, you just know something will happen. Still, if you’re responsible, you try to do everything you can to mitigate potential disasters.
I have tried hard to be super-organized with my trip. This is a little challenging, because I don’t know exactly what kind of tools and resources I’ll need when I’m in Croix des Bouquets, so there hasn’t been a point – and there never will be a point, until I’m there, or maybe until I’ve returned – that I’m sure I am prepared.
Anyway, I feel like I’ve foreseen everything I was ever likely to foresee, and done everything I can to get my shit together. Anything I missed will have to be mitigated by my resourcefulness, the powers that be and by ability to get by. Still, I guess the universe saw me smugly congratulating myself – or maybe I should stop trying to pin my own stupidity on an inexorable, unseen force that might not even exist anyway.
Long story short, when Cayce delivered me to the ferry terminal, I left my mobile phone in her car. I realized this after I’d bought my ferry ticket and walked downstairs, set down my bag and started rooting for my phone to call my cousin Gary in Vancouver about a ride. I turned my daypack out and sorted feverishly through the heap on the floor, and I sat there and thought about where my phone might be. And then, with complete clarity, I could visualize it sitting in the car, in the little tray on the passenger side door.
My parents, in a stroke of utter genius, got a toll-free number several years ago to cut down on the phone costs for my brother and I when we were away at school. Turns out they still have it – God knows I didn’t have any quarters for a payphone. (Hi, mom. Sorry I’m such a little girl sometimes, but I’m glad that after 23 years of this, when I decide to regress and act like a wee baby, you still react with calmness and love and make everything better.)
Now, I asked my parents what to do. They called Cayce’s mobile, and I think it is probably at her house. They called my mobile, but no one other than me is attuned to it – the “ringing” is actually Leonard Cohen quietly crooning the opening lines of “Suzanne”. The best reason I like it is because it doesn’t bother anyone – I’m the only one who notices my phone ringing. That fact was clearly working against me today, because Cayce didn’t hear my phone ringing as she drove back into Victoria.
Mom, dad, you are much more prudent and cautious than I am. Left to my own devices, I probably would have evaluated those five minutes I had left before the ferry boarding, and said “fuck it”. I would have come to the uneasy conclusion that there was nothing I could do. After all, people got along fine without mobile phones not so long ago, and it probably won’t work in Haiti anyway – I was only bringing it to make my life easier during my travel on either end of Croix des Bouquets. But you’re probably right. If there’s any way, within reason, that I can depart with the most comprehensive possible suite of tools at my fingertips...I should probably do it.
But I am actually totally second-guessing myself. Cayce got all the way back home before she got any of my messages, and the poor thing is currently driving all the way back out to the Swartz Bay ferry terminal, where I’ll be waiting for the next sailing at 7 PM. Just to deliver that tiny, devilish bit of plastic and screws and pixie magic.
Poll: what would you have done? Said “shit, guess I’d better just move on with my life”? Decided without hesitation to do the sensible, cautious thing and wait for your phone to be delivered to you?
Oh, I know the answer. You wouldn’t have forgotten the damned thing in the first place.
So, here is my completely embarrassed, wholehearted, public apology. Sorry, Cayce. You are a saint for picking me up at the airport, driving me around to run my errands, bringing me out to the ferry today, coming back out just because I’m an idiot. I’m serious. You’re a saint. I will falsify a set of astonishing miracles associated with your benevolent presence on this earth, and I will ensure you are beatified and canonized and that you become the first living person to ever be declared a saint. Unless you walk through the door in a few minutes and smack me. But even then, I’ll still be grateful.
Okay, my computer’s battery is dying, and I will post this when I can get online. It is written around 6 PM on 12 June: the day Jessie proved Ian right in his accusation that her cursory situational surveys smack of an impatient, boyish way of looking for things. Things like mobile phones, when she’s making sure she has all her belongings with her.
Update: Cayce and Rachel just brought me my phone, and they didn’t smack me, so sainthood it is!
Friday, June 11, 2010
Four
Hey folks,
This is the eve of my last full day in Canada. In 36 hours, the next stage of my trip will begin!
Victoria has been a completely chaotic space for me. If you're here and you're someone I love, I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to visit with you. On the other hand, I'm grateful that I've been incredibly busy, because it's kept my mind off the niggling voice of doubt and fear.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. I mean, I have all those standard answers. "I'm going to Croix des Bouquets." Or, "I'm going to Haiti to volunteer." But I have no real way of anticipating what the challenges are going to be. Still -- I have no way of anticipating what the rewards will be, either. And I refuse to be so fixated on the former that I completely miss out on the latter. You know?
In my mind -- and this may not make sense, and I may prove myself wrong -- this feels like going bungee jumping. When Ian and I stopped at Kawarau Bridge so he could do his jump, I said to myself -- as I've always said -- "God knows I would never do that." Somehow, the next day, we were back in that parking lot (thanks to my sneaky sweetheart) "just to see how I felt". Even when I had paid for my jump, stood there with receipt in hand, walked up to the bridge under my own power, shuffled to the edge of the dive platform, my brain was not capable of actually, meaningfully processing the thought "I am going to jump".
When I was teetering at the edge of the platform, with that bright-milky water sparkling forty-three meters below me and the cord knotted around my ankles, I had one moment where I reacted with pure animal instinct. I'm not going to pretend I was brave, that I actually jumped. I lost my balance and fell off that platform. (Couldn't quite match Ian's fearless swandive from the day before...showoff.) From the moment I fell free until the moment I hit the end of the rope, just inches above the river, I can't remember a thing.
I can describe it objectively, because I watched it happen to other people, but I have no sense that it happened to me. There are a couple of fragmentary images I retain -- the slack rope above me as I hurtled downward, the cord growing increasingly taut -- the face of the spotter as he leaned over the platform to watch my jump, growing closer as I bounced back up -- the utter, maddening, incredible blue of the water when I was finally hanging still, upside-down, at the end of the rope.
But you know what? There is no part of my brain that can categorize the experience. Even though I took all the steps to make it happen, under my own power, and even though I did it, there is no compartment in my brain for sensations like that, for experiences that are just totally beyond my ability to foresee, to understand in the moment, to fully comprehend. I can discuss it intellectually. I am really fucking glad I did it, and it was amazing. But I reacted on the most basic, impulsive, animal level to the experience.
And it changed me in ways I don't totally understand, in the different sort of vertigo I experience at great heights now, in the way I perceive the colour blue, in my faith that I can go into something cold and experience it without trying to understand it and process it without comprehending it. I'll never go bungee jumping again. But going to Haiti is another flavour, in my mind, of the same delicious thing. I'll never replicate this experience either. (I'll never try.) And I'll come home, I know it, with my eye already roving in search of the next challenge, the next impulse, the next wild moment of utter abandon that taps into parts of me even I don't know.
Okay, less philosophical now, huh? Today I spent some time with some really wonderful people that mean a great deal to me. There are so many people in my life who are just so great. Do you ever stop and think about that? If I saw you today, hello, and thanks for making time for me, because it was really good to see all of you. To everyone I didn't see, don't feel excluded; Rome wasn't built in a day and I wasn't able to see everyone I wanted to see today either, but Rome might certainly be populated with speed and efficiency by all the rockin' people in my life.
I also retrieved my antimalarial pills, which decided to chill out in Bella for a couple of extra days without me. I'm glad they decided to join me for the remainder of my trip, and hopefully hold up their end of the bargain and keep me from coming home diseased. (Thanks mom and dad for shipping them down!) And I've stocked up on stuff: a ton of multivitamins and art supplies, for now, more stuff tomorrow!
I keep waiting for the moment of crisis and panic when I realize I've overlooked something of great import. Things are going suspiciously well. Oh, and I bought the coolest thing ever today. You're going to love this. When Ian and I were in New Zealand, we occasionally crashed in hostels that offered secure compounds to lock up our bags. When we sprang for a hostel, it was actually more cost-effective for us to get a private double room, so we didn't usually need the compounds. I don't remember why we did on this occasion -- I think it may have been on our arrival in Christchurch, when we dumped our bags and went exploring before we even checked into our room.
Anyway, that is all unnecessary preamble! For whatever reason, I was putting my pack into the secure compound and saw a couple of other folks' bags that had these personal security systems! They're made of a flexible wire mesh that stretches out to fit snugly around your pack, closing it in with the netting and locking with a padlock. It's slashproof, so it would take someone with tools and determination to saw through it! And it's designed so that you can also lock it around a solid object, just like you lock up a bike, so sneaky people can't even just make off with it and figure out later how to get into your pack.
I understand I will be staying inside a monitored, gated property, on the second floor of a building, with many other people. And I'm not bringing anything that I can't live without if the worst should happen and I lose everything. But if I can ease my mind with a little bit of extra security, why not? And also, it looks completely badass. It's shiny and it's tough.
Oh, and with due advice from Kat (in the form of "do itttttt") I bought the books I'll have on hand to fill my evenings! In addition to the thrilling "Mandeville's Travels, translated from the French of Jean d'Outremeuse" (no sarcasm, it's thrilling!), I am bringing four slim volumes:
Leonard Cohen's Book of Mercy ("You do not know how to bind your heart to the skylark, or your eyes to the hardened blue hills.")
Jorge Luis Borges' Poems of the Night ("The universe of this night / is as vast as oblivion, as precise as fever")
Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet ("We have no reason to mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors, they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abysses belong to us; are dangers at hand, we must try to love them.")
and a volume of John Keats' love letters and poems to Fanny Brawne ("I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.")
I can't tell you why I chose them. They're slim, they're beautiful, their covers are attractive. The typeface is pleasing, and the paper has a particular weight to it. And the words are breathless and flawless.
Okay, that's enough. That's nothing, and that's enough.
It's almost 1 AM as I actually post this; I am whittling down the precious few hours of sleep that my schedule has afforded me, typing in this infernal little box. Goodnight!
This is the eve of my last full day in Canada. In 36 hours, the next stage of my trip will begin!
Victoria has been a completely chaotic space for me. If you're here and you're someone I love, I'm sorry that I haven't had a chance to visit with you. On the other hand, I'm grateful that I've been incredibly busy, because it's kept my mind off the niggling voice of doubt and fear.
I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. I mean, I have all those standard answers. "I'm going to Croix des Bouquets." Or, "I'm going to Haiti to volunteer." But I have no real way of anticipating what the challenges are going to be. Still -- I have no way of anticipating what the rewards will be, either. And I refuse to be so fixated on the former that I completely miss out on the latter. You know?
In my mind -- and this may not make sense, and I may prove myself wrong -- this feels like going bungee jumping. When Ian and I stopped at Kawarau Bridge so he could do his jump, I said to myself -- as I've always said -- "God knows I would never do that." Somehow, the next day, we were back in that parking lot (thanks to my sneaky sweetheart) "just to see how I felt". Even when I had paid for my jump, stood there with receipt in hand, walked up to the bridge under my own power, shuffled to the edge of the dive platform, my brain was not capable of actually, meaningfully processing the thought "I am going to jump".
When I was teetering at the edge of the platform, with that bright-milky water sparkling forty-three meters below me and the cord knotted around my ankles, I had one moment where I reacted with pure animal instinct. I'm not going to pretend I was brave, that I actually jumped. I lost my balance and fell off that platform. (Couldn't quite match Ian's fearless swandive from the day before...showoff.) From the moment I fell free until the moment I hit the end of the rope, just inches above the river, I can't remember a thing.
I can describe it objectively, because I watched it happen to other people, but I have no sense that it happened to me. There are a couple of fragmentary images I retain -- the slack rope above me as I hurtled downward, the cord growing increasingly taut -- the face of the spotter as he leaned over the platform to watch my jump, growing closer as I bounced back up -- the utter, maddening, incredible blue of the water when I was finally hanging still, upside-down, at the end of the rope.
But you know what? There is no part of my brain that can categorize the experience. Even though I took all the steps to make it happen, under my own power, and even though I did it, there is no compartment in my brain for sensations like that, for experiences that are just totally beyond my ability to foresee, to understand in the moment, to fully comprehend. I can discuss it intellectually. I am really fucking glad I did it, and it was amazing. But I reacted on the most basic, impulsive, animal level to the experience.
And it changed me in ways I don't totally understand, in the different sort of vertigo I experience at great heights now, in the way I perceive the colour blue, in my faith that I can go into something cold and experience it without trying to understand it and process it without comprehending it. I'll never go bungee jumping again. But going to Haiti is another flavour, in my mind, of the same delicious thing. I'll never replicate this experience either. (I'll never try.) And I'll come home, I know it, with my eye already roving in search of the next challenge, the next impulse, the next wild moment of utter abandon that taps into parts of me even I don't know.
Okay, less philosophical now, huh? Today I spent some time with some really wonderful people that mean a great deal to me. There are so many people in my life who are just so great. Do you ever stop and think about that? If I saw you today, hello, and thanks for making time for me, because it was really good to see all of you. To everyone I didn't see, don't feel excluded; Rome wasn't built in a day and I wasn't able to see everyone I wanted to see today either, but Rome might certainly be populated with speed and efficiency by all the rockin' people in my life.
I also retrieved my antimalarial pills, which decided to chill out in Bella for a couple of extra days without me. I'm glad they decided to join me for the remainder of my trip, and hopefully hold up their end of the bargain and keep me from coming home diseased. (Thanks mom and dad for shipping them down!) And I've stocked up on stuff: a ton of multivitamins and art supplies, for now, more stuff tomorrow!
I keep waiting for the moment of crisis and panic when I realize I've overlooked something of great import. Things are going suspiciously well. Oh, and I bought the coolest thing ever today. You're going to love this. When Ian and I were in New Zealand, we occasionally crashed in hostels that offered secure compounds to lock up our bags. When we sprang for a hostel, it was actually more cost-effective for us to get a private double room, so we didn't usually need the compounds. I don't remember why we did on this occasion -- I think it may have been on our arrival in Christchurch, when we dumped our bags and went exploring before we even checked into our room.
Anyway, that is all unnecessary preamble! For whatever reason, I was putting my pack into the secure compound and saw a couple of other folks' bags that had these personal security systems! They're made of a flexible wire mesh that stretches out to fit snugly around your pack, closing it in with the netting and locking with a padlock. It's slashproof, so it would take someone with tools and determination to saw through it! And it's designed so that you can also lock it around a solid object, just like you lock up a bike, so sneaky people can't even just make off with it and figure out later how to get into your pack.
I understand I will be staying inside a monitored, gated property, on the second floor of a building, with many other people. And I'm not bringing anything that I can't live without if the worst should happen and I lose everything. But if I can ease my mind with a little bit of extra security, why not? And also, it looks completely badass. It's shiny and it's tough.
Oh, and with due advice from Kat (in the form of "do itttttt") I bought the books I'll have on hand to fill my evenings! In addition to the thrilling "Mandeville's Travels, translated from the French of Jean d'Outremeuse" (no sarcasm, it's thrilling!), I am bringing four slim volumes:
Leonard Cohen's Book of Mercy ("You do not know how to bind your heart to the skylark, or your eyes to the hardened blue hills.")
Jorge Luis Borges' Poems of the Night ("The universe of this night / is as vast as oblivion, as precise as fever")
Rainer Maria Rilke's Letters to a Young Poet ("We have no reason to mistrust our world, for it is not against us. Has it terrors, they are our terrors; has it abysses, those abysses belong to us; are dangers at hand, we must try to love them.")
and a volume of John Keats' love letters and poems to Fanny Brawne ("I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen.")
I can't tell you why I chose them. They're slim, they're beautiful, their covers are attractive. The typeface is pleasing, and the paper has a particular weight to it. And the words are breathless and flawless.
Okay, that's enough. That's nothing, and that's enough.
It's almost 1 AM as I actually post this; I am whittling down the precious few hours of sleep that my schedule has afforded me, typing in this infernal little box. Goodnight!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Three
Hey guys,
I have arrived in Victoria! The first (short!) leg of my journey was smooth, and to my great fortune, my beautiful sister Cayce was waiting at the end of it. Cayce understands probably better than anyone else my compulsion to travel, and last night marked our brief reunion after an autumn, winter and spring of her living in Bordeaux, France. Hi, Cayce!
I've just received an update from GVN about my placement in Haiti. I will be based in a place called Croix des Bouquets, which I'm assured is a short drive from the airport and which my ever-helpful Lonely Planet describes as "a market town east of Port au Prince" which "is filled with a cacaphony of braying cattle, goats, pigs and horses accompanied by the cries of hawkers". The book is eight years old (I bought it more for background than for on-the-ground use), so it would be out of date even before the earthquake, but it sounds like it should an interesting space.
I'll be posted at a school called Ecole Shalom. The bottom floor of the two-storey building is used to conduct classes for children. The second floor is incomplete, with only a tarp roof, and this is where I will be staying with my fellow GVN volunteers and a group from another volunteer organization called Haitian American Caucus.
There's a variety of amazing-sounding things that happen in, out of and around this place. I'm looking forward to bringing my good energy to their sports and arts programs, assisting at their medical clinics, helping to teach English and assist with their school curriculum, and participating in their drop-ins for women and children.
The GVN email mentioned an individual in Croix des Bouquets who believes in the value of challenging youth to find their success in life. He is trying to work through sports and the arts to push Haitian youth to excel. Last year, he facilitated a large soccer tournament. I understand it was a very positive event which he will replicate this year. Now, he is also trying to initiate a writing contest for youth. You know what? It doesn't matter where you go in the world. You'll always find someone who shares your deepest values. And it brings great strength to me in my own work to know there are good people, strangers though they be, who strive for the same success and integrity wherever they happen to be in this world.
There is a long list of "wants" and "needs" coming out of Croix des Bouquets. I have limited resources, but I'll bring what I can. If any of you feel inspired to help, please contact me, and I'll find a way to shuttle supplies or funds.
They are requesting medical supplies (multivitamins [adult and children's]; pedialite; monistat; antibiotics; condoms; syringes; tylenol; baby wipes; IV supplies; bandages; cold/cough medicine; and antiseptic wipes). They are also in need of educational and sport supplies (ESL exams; ESL teaching books; white chalk; notebooks; pencils; colouring books; chalkboard erasers; soccer balls; volley balls; an air pump with a needle for sports balls; dolls; kids' games [indoor and outdoor]; beads; and seeds for a garden).
I'll bring what I can, and all those of us who have been placed at Ecole Shalom have also received this list. But we can only carry so much, you know? When I figure out how to make it work - think about sending a little care package in the mail to your brothers and sisters in another part of this wide world? It'll make you feel good. I promise. There are lots of ways you can help, and I know I'm just giving you one more to choose from, but the above supplies respond to a need that is already present in one community, and rather than trickling funds through non-profits (though this is also good!) will serve some immediate practical use.
It's a beautiful day in Victoria. I woke up at 6:30 AM to the sun shining through my window and birds singing in the trees outside. The sunshine seems to follow me wherever I go. And hell, when it's overcast, I'll keep carrying it inside me. I feel good.
Today, I'll be running errands around town, picking up some last minute supplies and items to donate and taking a moment to breathe -- appreciate the best things this town has to offer me -- and haunt some of my old favourite places. I thought to myself earlier, "I can't believe that I used to live here, just six weeks ago". But you know what? I move around too much for that.
My home is in my culture, and I carry it with me wherever I go. I live in all the places that matter to me. I'm so lucky that, for brief and meaningful spurts, I've had a chance recently to "live" for a bit in Hakai, Koeye, Kitimat, and now Victoria again. I'm glad I've had some real time in Bella Bella. And I'm looking forward to seizing that idea, dad, of just being where I am, while I'm there. It'll be Haiti, for awhile. I can't anticipate what it's going to be like. Even the duration is out of my hands now. But I look forward to just being there, and seeing what kind of good things will happen.
People keep telling me that this is going to change me, change my perspective and my awareness of the world. I just want you to know, if you're reading this, that it already has. I had no real idea, until now, what a truly incredible support network existed all around me. When I decided to do this, no one gave me any negative feedback. Everyone mobilized, with a speed and a passion that totally floored me, to help me make this happen. You helped me to fundraise, you asked me challenging questions, you told me you loved me, you kept me strong. You're keeping me strong. I am already changed, simply by the knowledge that my loved ones, my community, and even strangers who have no reason to feel invested in this...have stood up and made a positive contribution.
You guys totally inspire me. Whenever the challenges in my life prey on my human weakness and make me question the goodness in this world, I'm going to remember what you've done for me, and it's going to make me strong again. That's a great gift, and one I don't take for granted.
Love,
Jess
PS: My antimalarial pills were retrieved! By someone else. After I was on the plane. (Thanks, mom!) Now it's a race against time to see if they arrive before I leave...
I have arrived in Victoria! The first (short!) leg of my journey was smooth, and to my great fortune, my beautiful sister Cayce was waiting at the end of it. Cayce understands probably better than anyone else my compulsion to travel, and last night marked our brief reunion after an autumn, winter and spring of her living in Bordeaux, France. Hi, Cayce!
I've just received an update from GVN about my placement in Haiti. I will be based in a place called Croix des Bouquets, which I'm assured is a short drive from the airport and which my ever-helpful Lonely Planet describes as "a market town east of Port au Prince" which "is filled with a cacaphony of braying cattle, goats, pigs and horses accompanied by the cries of hawkers". The book is eight years old (I bought it more for background than for on-the-ground use), so it would be out of date even before the earthquake, but it sounds like it should an interesting space.
I'll be posted at a school called Ecole Shalom. The bottom floor of the two-storey building is used to conduct classes for children. The second floor is incomplete, with only a tarp roof, and this is where I will be staying with my fellow GVN volunteers and a group from another volunteer organization called Haitian American Caucus.
There's a variety of amazing-sounding things that happen in, out of and around this place. I'm looking forward to bringing my good energy to their sports and arts programs, assisting at their medical clinics, helping to teach English and assist with their school curriculum, and participating in their drop-ins for women and children.
The GVN email mentioned an individual in Croix des Bouquets who believes in the value of challenging youth to find their success in life. He is trying to work through sports and the arts to push Haitian youth to excel. Last year, he facilitated a large soccer tournament. I understand it was a very positive event which he will replicate this year. Now, he is also trying to initiate a writing contest for youth. You know what? It doesn't matter where you go in the world. You'll always find someone who shares your deepest values. And it brings great strength to me in my own work to know there are good people, strangers though they be, who strive for the same success and integrity wherever they happen to be in this world.
There is a long list of "wants" and "needs" coming out of Croix des Bouquets. I have limited resources, but I'll bring what I can. If any of you feel inspired to help, please contact me, and I'll find a way to shuttle supplies or funds.
They are requesting medical supplies (multivitamins [adult and children's]; pedialite; monistat; antibiotics; condoms; syringes; tylenol; baby wipes; IV supplies; bandages; cold/cough medicine; and antiseptic wipes). They are also in need of educational and sport supplies (ESL exams; ESL teaching books; white chalk; notebooks; pencils; colouring books; chalkboard erasers; soccer balls; volley balls; an air pump with a needle for sports balls; dolls; kids' games [indoor and outdoor]; beads; and seeds for a garden).
I'll bring what I can, and all those of us who have been placed at Ecole Shalom have also received this list. But we can only carry so much, you know? When I figure out how to make it work - think about sending a little care package in the mail to your brothers and sisters in another part of this wide world? It'll make you feel good. I promise. There are lots of ways you can help, and I know I'm just giving you one more to choose from, but the above supplies respond to a need that is already present in one community, and rather than trickling funds through non-profits (though this is also good!) will serve some immediate practical use.
It's a beautiful day in Victoria. I woke up at 6:30 AM to the sun shining through my window and birds singing in the trees outside. The sunshine seems to follow me wherever I go. And hell, when it's overcast, I'll keep carrying it inside me. I feel good.
Today, I'll be running errands around town, picking up some last minute supplies and items to donate and taking a moment to breathe -- appreciate the best things this town has to offer me -- and haunt some of my old favourite places. I thought to myself earlier, "I can't believe that I used to live here, just six weeks ago". But you know what? I move around too much for that.
My home is in my culture, and I carry it with me wherever I go. I live in all the places that matter to me. I'm so lucky that, for brief and meaningful spurts, I've had a chance recently to "live" for a bit in Hakai, Koeye, Kitimat, and now Victoria again. I'm glad I've had some real time in Bella Bella. And I'm looking forward to seizing that idea, dad, of just being where I am, while I'm there. It'll be Haiti, for awhile. I can't anticipate what it's going to be like. Even the duration is out of my hands now. But I look forward to just being there, and seeing what kind of good things will happen.
People keep telling me that this is going to change me, change my perspective and my awareness of the world. I just want you to know, if you're reading this, that it already has. I had no real idea, until now, what a truly incredible support network existed all around me. When I decided to do this, no one gave me any negative feedback. Everyone mobilized, with a speed and a passion that totally floored me, to help me make this happen. You helped me to fundraise, you asked me challenging questions, you told me you loved me, you kept me strong. You're keeping me strong. I am already changed, simply by the knowledge that my loved ones, my community, and even strangers who have no reason to feel invested in this...have stood up and made a positive contribution.
You guys totally inspire me. Whenever the challenges in my life prey on my human weakness and make me question the goodness in this world, I'm going to remember what you've done for me, and it's going to make me strong again. That's a great gift, and one I don't take for granted.
Love,
Jess
PS: My antimalarial pills were retrieved! By someone else. After I was on the plane. (Thanks, mom!) Now it's a race against time to see if they arrive before I leave...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Two
My trusty pack. It's traveled with me through England and Scotland, all across New Zealand, around Kauai and the length of the Na Pali Coast, up to Koeye Lake and Ellerslie Lake and all around our territory.
It's an old friend. Even if it is impractically large, given how short I am...
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
One
Hey guys,
This is my last night in Bella Bella before I spend a few days staging in Victoria and Vancouver on my way to Haiti. I depart from Vancouver at 8:50 AM on Sunday, June 13.
Currently, my clothes are in a giant heap on my couch, I haven't pulled out my trusty rucksack yet, and I have no idea whatsoever where my antimalarial medication has wandered off to. I secretly love pre-travel panic, simply because I know that in a few days time, all the wee decisions that seem so huge now? Will be completely moot.
I'll be left on my own, to fend as best I can with the resources at hand. My own wits and creativity will get me where I need to be (I hope!)
There are a few things I can't imagine traveling without: a headlamp, my trusty AdventureTowel (because we've all read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), and a blank notebook waiting to be filled with all my neurotic, rambling thoughts on my experience of traveling.
Every other time I've traveled, I've gone with a friend, a partner. I'm the first to admit that I'm terrible with logistics; I don't have nearly the patience required to research flights and insurance policies, book accommodations, plan a navigable route. Once I'm on the road, I tend to rely on instinct instead, and be responsive to my surroundings and the roads that open up before me. I won't pretend that's the best approach to travel, but either way, this will be the first time I'm missing a travel companion who can bring the skills I lack to our trip. It'll be a good test.
I'm pretty proud of myself. Small tasks for some of you, maybe, but I did my research and picked an organization that was reputable and shared my values. I found flights at a reasonable fare that will get me where I need to go in the most timely way possible. I've organized all my travel vaccines and medications (with the momentary exception of my missing antimalarial!) and found a travel insurance policy that's suited to my trip. I'm halfway packed, and most importantly, I'm really fucking excited about this.
Not all of you know the background to my decision to go to Haiti. And not all of you care, but if you don't, please let me discourage you now from wasting your time reading this. If you're not interested in my self-reflective drivel, pour yourself a glass of wine, kiss someone beautiful, or do whatever will be a better use of your time! I won't be offended. I won't quiz anyone when I get home to see who read this. I'm doing this for myself, and while I appreciate the amazing support I've received so far...I won't insist. Seriously.
When the earthquake hit Haiti in January, it made me sick, right in my heart, right in my belly, right in the absolute center of me in a way that I couldn't explain or rationalize. I couldn't even watch the news coverage. It just totally broke my heart. Maybe it's just that this was the first time that I pulled my head out of the sand, stopped being a kid, realized that there was a wide world around me full of good people who were hurting. I don't know. Whatever it was, it struck me, hard. Like a lot of people, I'm sure, I hung my head and said "I wish there was something I could do."
Then I moved on with my life.
Come March, I was in the middle of research papers and wrapping up my second semester of grad school. (Sorry, Dr. Mitchell, I have to admit Troilus and Criseyde was the driving force here.) Just as a bit of preface, I've never been sure that I wanted to pursue an MA, at least right away, and when I decided to accept the offer of admission to UVic, I did so hesitantly. I've never been sure that it was the best decision at this time in my life, but I've duly devoted myself since enrolling in the program. However, by March, I had realized clearly that academia was of little interest to me.
With all the huge amount of respect due to scholars and academics -- that is not a life I am capable of leading. I'm committed, I'm meaningfully engaged with my research -- but I felt like I'd spent the previous seven months hiding behind a desk, buried in my reading, in an insulated space that had little or no connection to the "real life" that used to exist for me in the wider world. As I struggled with my final paper, I realized I needed to do something to shake myself out of that scholarly sleepiness. I need to wake up.
Those of you who hold me dear and tolerate my quirks know that I sometimes make very impulsive decisions. But you know what? Those impulses have brought a lot of beautiful things into my life. I asked myself what would challenge me, put my mind and body to work in real time, break my heart and mend it again and remind me of why hard work and good energy are critical components of a life well-lived. And I found myself wandering through the labyrinthine internet, looking at opportunities for global volunteerism.
That little seed that was planted in my mind and my heart, amidst the visceral images of rubble and devastation, began to germinate. I paused my academic research for a few days, and turned to an intensive study of different volunteer organizations working in Haiti. In the end, I settled on the Global Volunteer Network, and held off on my Chaucer paper until I'd submitting my pre-screening application.
The turnaround time was fast. I'm not sure Ian knew what to make of the babbling and the happy tears when I burst out of my room and told him I was going to Haiti, somehow, some way. (I hadn't even told him I was thinking of applying!) And mom and dad, if you're reading this: I know it wasn't easy to suddenly hear me talking about this wild idea that had roots only I understood. But you, and Cayce when you were all the way in France, and everyone else -- it means the world to me that you didn't hesitate.
Since I first announced my intentions to my friends and family, the level of love and support I've received has been completely overwhelming to me. I am surrounded by people who have such deep generosity, such strong hearts -- people who amaze me and empower me. You're all wonderful. I couldn't have done this without you.
Please, don't misunderstand me. I will be in Haiti for just two weeks. Two weeks is a remarkably short period of time, when you look back retrospectively. I'm not going to change the world. I'm not going to fix anything. But for two weeks, I am committed to giving myself and all my able body and good energy to any challenge that is presented to me. I am eager to learn, to gain insight into a place and a people that is completely unknown to me. And anyone who has spent time in Koeye will know that two weeks can be more than enough time for good things to happen.
I have always completely believed in the value of traveling. It is one of three components that I think are critical to my profession, my skills, my values and my identity. First, I feel privileged beyond expression to have such a deep connectedness to my homeland and my Heiltsuk culture. My roots and heritage, the ceremonies and traditional practices in which I participate -- they give me great strength. Second, I am grateful for my education, for the opportunity to leave my community for a short time and return with academic training that legitimizes the work I do.
Those two things cannot exist in isolation, and they are completed by a third kind of learning that has been invaluable to me in my life. Travel has presented me with challenges and experiences that offer incredible new insight into my own culture and worldview. I have met many people on many journeys, and learned something from every one of them. Whether it is the educational experience of logistics and navigation in unfamiliar landscapes -- the sheer awe, wonder and curiosity that shape my response to new and wild places -- or the beautiful similarities and beautiful differences that mark my interaction with other people and other cultures -- travel has opened my mind and my heart to new experiences that have helped me to grow as an individual and continually seek bigger challenges and greater insight.
For all of you Heiltsuk kids who have said to me, "I wish I could do something like this": let this be a document that resounds, you can. And you should! And I commit myself to be a resource for you, both personally and professionally, should you desire something like this for yourself.
To everyone who has stepped forward to date, with kind words, donations, support, love, questions, admonitions, high fives...thanks, guys. I still would have done this even if you all thought I was crazy, but I much prefer to get on that first plane tomorrow knowing you'll be holding me in your thoughts with warmth and affection. I'm carrying you with me, wherever I go.
Love,
Jess
PS: To all you inquiring minds, I didn't do too swell on that Chaucer paper. And if anyone sees my fucking antimalarial pills...
This is my last night in Bella Bella before I spend a few days staging in Victoria and Vancouver on my way to Haiti. I depart from Vancouver at 8:50 AM on Sunday, June 13.
Currently, my clothes are in a giant heap on my couch, I haven't pulled out my trusty rucksack yet, and I have no idea whatsoever where my antimalarial medication has wandered off to. I secretly love pre-travel panic, simply because I know that in a few days time, all the wee decisions that seem so huge now? Will be completely moot.
I'll be left on my own, to fend as best I can with the resources at hand. My own wits and creativity will get me where I need to be (I hope!)
There are a few things I can't imagine traveling without: a headlamp, my trusty AdventureTowel (because we've all read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy), and a blank notebook waiting to be filled with all my neurotic, rambling thoughts on my experience of traveling.
Every other time I've traveled, I've gone with a friend, a partner. I'm the first to admit that I'm terrible with logistics; I don't have nearly the patience required to research flights and insurance policies, book accommodations, plan a navigable route. Once I'm on the road, I tend to rely on instinct instead, and be responsive to my surroundings and the roads that open up before me. I won't pretend that's the best approach to travel, but either way, this will be the first time I'm missing a travel companion who can bring the skills I lack to our trip. It'll be a good test.
I'm pretty proud of myself. Small tasks for some of you, maybe, but I did my research and picked an organization that was reputable and shared my values. I found flights at a reasonable fare that will get me where I need to go in the most timely way possible. I've organized all my travel vaccines and medications (with the momentary exception of my missing antimalarial!) and found a travel insurance policy that's suited to my trip. I'm halfway packed, and most importantly, I'm really fucking excited about this.
Not all of you know the background to my decision to go to Haiti. And not all of you care, but if you don't, please let me discourage you now from wasting your time reading this. If you're not interested in my self-reflective drivel, pour yourself a glass of wine, kiss someone beautiful, or do whatever will be a better use of your time! I won't be offended. I won't quiz anyone when I get home to see who read this. I'm doing this for myself, and while I appreciate the amazing support I've received so far...I won't insist. Seriously.
When the earthquake hit Haiti in January, it made me sick, right in my heart, right in my belly, right in the absolute center of me in a way that I couldn't explain or rationalize. I couldn't even watch the news coverage. It just totally broke my heart. Maybe it's just that this was the first time that I pulled my head out of the sand, stopped being a kid, realized that there was a wide world around me full of good people who were hurting. I don't know. Whatever it was, it struck me, hard. Like a lot of people, I'm sure, I hung my head and said "I wish there was something I could do."
Then I moved on with my life.
Come March, I was in the middle of research papers and wrapping up my second semester of grad school. (Sorry, Dr. Mitchell, I have to admit Troilus and Criseyde was the driving force here.) Just as a bit of preface, I've never been sure that I wanted to pursue an MA, at least right away, and when I decided to accept the offer of admission to UVic, I did so hesitantly. I've never been sure that it was the best decision at this time in my life, but I've duly devoted myself since enrolling in the program. However, by March, I had realized clearly that academia was of little interest to me.
With all the huge amount of respect due to scholars and academics -- that is not a life I am capable of leading. I'm committed, I'm meaningfully engaged with my research -- but I felt like I'd spent the previous seven months hiding behind a desk, buried in my reading, in an insulated space that had little or no connection to the "real life" that used to exist for me in the wider world. As I struggled with my final paper, I realized I needed to do something to shake myself out of that scholarly sleepiness. I need to wake up.
Those of you who hold me dear and tolerate my quirks know that I sometimes make very impulsive decisions. But you know what? Those impulses have brought a lot of beautiful things into my life. I asked myself what would challenge me, put my mind and body to work in real time, break my heart and mend it again and remind me of why hard work and good energy are critical components of a life well-lived. And I found myself wandering through the labyrinthine internet, looking at opportunities for global volunteerism.
That little seed that was planted in my mind and my heart, amidst the visceral images of rubble and devastation, began to germinate. I paused my academic research for a few days, and turned to an intensive study of different volunteer organizations working in Haiti. In the end, I settled on the Global Volunteer Network, and held off on my Chaucer paper until I'd submitting my pre-screening application.
The turnaround time was fast. I'm not sure Ian knew what to make of the babbling and the happy tears when I burst out of my room and told him I was going to Haiti, somehow, some way. (I hadn't even told him I was thinking of applying!) And mom and dad, if you're reading this: I know it wasn't easy to suddenly hear me talking about this wild idea that had roots only I understood. But you, and Cayce when you were all the way in France, and everyone else -- it means the world to me that you didn't hesitate.
Since I first announced my intentions to my friends and family, the level of love and support I've received has been completely overwhelming to me. I am surrounded by people who have such deep generosity, such strong hearts -- people who amaze me and empower me. You're all wonderful. I couldn't have done this without you.
Please, don't misunderstand me. I will be in Haiti for just two weeks. Two weeks is a remarkably short period of time, when you look back retrospectively. I'm not going to change the world. I'm not going to fix anything. But for two weeks, I am committed to giving myself and all my able body and good energy to any challenge that is presented to me. I am eager to learn, to gain insight into a place and a people that is completely unknown to me. And anyone who has spent time in Koeye will know that two weeks can be more than enough time for good things to happen.
I have always completely believed in the value of traveling. It is one of three components that I think are critical to my profession, my skills, my values and my identity. First, I feel privileged beyond expression to have such a deep connectedness to my homeland and my Heiltsuk culture. My roots and heritage, the ceremonies and traditional practices in which I participate -- they give me great strength. Second, I am grateful for my education, for the opportunity to leave my community for a short time and return with academic training that legitimizes the work I do.
Those two things cannot exist in isolation, and they are completed by a third kind of learning that has been invaluable to me in my life. Travel has presented me with challenges and experiences that offer incredible new insight into my own culture and worldview. I have met many people on many journeys, and learned something from every one of them. Whether it is the educational experience of logistics and navigation in unfamiliar landscapes -- the sheer awe, wonder and curiosity that shape my response to new and wild places -- or the beautiful similarities and beautiful differences that mark my interaction with other people and other cultures -- travel has opened my mind and my heart to new experiences that have helped me to grow as an individual and continually seek bigger challenges and greater insight.
For all of you Heiltsuk kids who have said to me, "I wish I could do something like this": let this be a document that resounds, you can. And you should! And I commit myself to be a resource for you, both personally and professionally, should you desire something like this for yourself.
To everyone who has stepped forward to date, with kind words, donations, support, love, questions, admonitions, high fives...thanks, guys. I still would have done this even if you all thought I was crazy, but I much prefer to get on that first plane tomorrow knowing you'll be holding me in your thoughts with warmth and affection. I'm carrying you with me, wherever I go.
Love,
Jess
PS: To all you inquiring minds, I didn't do too swell on that Chaucer paper. And if anyone sees my fucking antimalarial pills...
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