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!