Thursday, May 24, 2012

Focus Shift


I have the whine-virus this week and it’s starting to get to me. Being back in the states last weekend messed up my groove. I experience fast internet, reliable electricity, and the all-around awesomeness of predictable first-world life.
I can say with the greatest of confidence that I am very happy here. I like my life here. I love the people I get to do life with. I love the students I am blessed to teach and lead. I have a great job, great coworkers, great bosses, great roommates, neighbors, friends. I am beyond blessed.
But this week has kinda sucked.
On Monday, Katie (roommate Katie) and I had some stuff stolen from our apartment. Katie lost her computer and I lost my iPhone. After being exceptionally annoyed all day, both at the violation of having a stranger in our apartment jacking our stuff, and at our lack of vigilance against such a situation, I thought I might get over it, suck it up, and have a better day the next.
Nope.
I get annoyed when I want to go for a run and have no music, when I want to check something online, set my alarm, take a picture - pretty much anytime I grab for my iPhone and it isn’t there. I have let this incident, this little thing, a piece of metal, plastic, and parts get on my nerves for 4 days now.  I’ve also been annoyed with the incessant heat, the multiple bug bites, and the internet that moves at a glacial pace. 
(If you are a blog “skimmer” and haven’t been reading all the details above, let me sum it up for you: I’ve been a big, smelly, whiner all week long.) 
But, I’m over it. I’m taking the advice of someone smarter than me...Paul.
“Finally, brothers [or whiny American girl in Haiti], whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable - if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me - put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:8-9


This isn't a "pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps" self-speech, but more of a "look-at-how-richly-blessed-you-are-and-stop-focusing-on-your-first-world-problems-you-big-baby" moment. I will choose to focus on God: his love for me, his love for the world, his plan, his awesomeness. I'm shifting my focus from me to Him. 


Good word Paul, good word.

Monday, May 21, 2012

M ap kouri

I step outside and the air is cool. It hasn’t been this cool out in weeks. The early afternoon rain and the low hanging clouds it left behind must be the cause of the weather change. My other exercise plan didn’t work out today so I decide to take advantage of the cool weather and go for a run. I put on my shoes, grab my phone and keys. I greet our guard as I walk out the gate and onto the busy street. It is noisy today; Saturdays are always busy. I pass the machanns selling produce from baskets on the street. They give me the same strange look I always get when I walk down the street in my running shorts. Shorts aren’t 100% acceptable in the culture here, but it’s much too hot to run in anything else. I make it to the end of the busy street and turn into the alley where the taptaps, old trucks painted and converted into taxis, park and wait for patrons. The alley is quieter. There aren’t many taptaps lined up along the road so I am able to begin my run sooner. I start my timer and begin. The first few steps and the last few steps of any run are the best. I start out slow on this bumpy road. The seasonal rains have washed away the looser dirt on the road so all that remains are large rocks and even larger gulleys and potholes. I continue on my route, my legs grateful as the road smooths and I am able to lengthen my strides. I turn onto another road, my feet automatically know where to take me, they are used to the path. I smell chicken being grilled and hear the sounds of dominos being slapped onto a table. I don’t see many of the people around me, my eyes are focused down trying to avoid the holes and cracks that want to turn my ankles in unpleasant ways.
After a few minutes I turn onto the road on which I will spend most of my time and am greeted with a wonderful gift...silence. Only a few people are walking along this road. I do not bring my iPod when I run. It isn’t smart to run on any street with headphones, but a street in a third world country where you already stick out and are known for having money just because of your skin color makes it an even worse choice. The only noise to entertain me are the thoughts in my head and the rhythmic beat of my shoes on the road. My thoughts are different with each run, but the sound of my shoes is always the same. The soft, muted crunch as I run along in the softer gravel changes to a heavier slap as the road becomes more packed and littered with large, smooth rocks. The beat is the same. It is hard to describe the thrill of a run to someone with words, it must be experienced. That ethereal feeling of the muscles and joints in your lower half working in perfect harmony with the internal systems in your upper half. The sensation of feeling your body working in total sync with the road and nature around you cannot be described, only felt. I enter this feeling along this road. I am transported. I am no longer in Port-au-Prince, Haiti. I am no longer running in a country with a sordid past and a painful present, a country wounded by corrupted leaders and still bleeding from the worst natural disaster in the western hemisphere. No, now I am running along a smooth sidewalk that borders a lake in the pre-dawn light of a Saturday morning. 
A motorcycle honks his horn behind me and awakens me from my daydream and I am instantly reminded of where I am. I turn onto another road. I continue to dodge rocks and end up in a puddle. I try to convince myself that there is only muddy water on my leg with no bodily fluids in it, but one smell and I know I am wrong. I’m getting close to where I will need to turn around and head home. When I run with a friend of mine, we often explore, but on my own I try to stay within the confines of the areas I know. I reach the end of my familiar fence and rest for a second. A little girl around eight years old yells to me from across the street. She asks me if I am “doing sport”. I reply that I am, and that I am tired. She tells me to rest. My return route will take me uphill for most of the way, so I take her advice. I catch my breath, tell her goodbye, and am on my way again. The road is busier now. I breathe in exhaust as a large truck carrying bags and bags of produce drives by, leaving a thick cloud of black smoke in his wake. The smoke from the truck mixes with the dust he kicks up on the road and makes its way down into my lungs. I wonder if I am making myself healthier by running if this is what I am breathing in. 
My thoughts turn to Haiti. When I run I often wonder what people think when I am running. What do they think I am doing in this country? Am I welcome here? Do they find it interesting or offensive that I run around their streets? While some people are concerned about having enough food for their family to eat, I am running. While some are worried about sleeping under a tarp that is beaten by rain and wind each night, I am running. While some are worried about this or that illness that a trip to a Target pharmacy and $12 would cure, I am running. I wonder if it is wrong to run here; if doing this somehow alienates me even more than my skin color and American passport already do. But still, I run. 
As these thoughts rotate through my mind I run past a group of teenage boys. One of the boys breaks off from the pack and runs alongside me, matching my pace in his blue jeans and broken sandals. I ask him if he “has strength.” He replies that he does and I quicken my pace. He matches my pace with ease, so I go a bit faster. We continue in this way until we are both too winded to continue. He asks me where I am running and I respond toupatou, “everywhere.” He laughs; either at my adoption of the Haitian evasiveness in answering questions or at the idea of me running everywhere (or maybe at my unskilled Creole). He says he must go back to his friends. Goodbye. See you. I slow my pace back to what it was before the little race. Instances like this happen each time I run; sometimes it’s a teenage boy, sometimes a little girl, once it was an old man with very few teeth. Each one joins me for a stride or two, laughs, and waves at me as I go along. These instances remind me of why I love it here. 
I come up on the steepest hill in the neighborhood. I muster up my strength after my little race. I get about halfway up and begin to struggle. A couple of old men along the side of the road shout encouragement to me. M ap kenbe. “I’m holding on.” They laugh, surprised I know how to respond. Sometimes I get negative reactions when I run. Usually I am met with confused glances. But many people, a surprising amount, are entertained. They shout encouragement, they smile, the greet me with warmth and welcoming. Often times I will give a breathless bonswa “good afternoon” and receive in return my favorite Creole word, a term of endearment meaning “dear.” Bonswa cherie. These moments keep me running. It may be different from what people are used to, and I pray that it is not offensive. Running is a gift; it moves my soul and allows me to see this country from a different perspective. 
I make it to the top of the hill and am getting closer to home. The afternoon rain clouds are coming down the mountain and getting closer. People begin walking a little faster as a few drops fall down. I welcome the rain; it cools the air and settles the dust, but Haitians don’t like the rain. The machanns begin packing up their stands, ready to leave in case the rain gets heavier. My feet are keeping up their rhythm as they hit the dust, but my body is beginning to feel the miles I’ve put it through. I’ve lost a lot of endurance over the past year. I remember that at this time last year I was able to put down a 10-12 mile run without thinking. That is just one of many areas of life that have changed this past year. 
I turn onto the taptap alley and get closer to the busy street. I slow to a walk and stop the timer on my watch; 5 miles used to not hurt this much or take this long, but even a painful run is a gift. I begin walking up the street to my gate. The ladies ask me if I am “doing sport” and if I want to buy any number of fruits and vegetables they have for sale. I tell them I don’t have money with me but I will come back later. Eating organic is easy here. 
I make it to my gate and rap on it, alerting our guard. A woman walks by holding two chickens upside down by the feet. I follow her with my eyes as she walks past a lady selling mangoes out of the back of her truck. As I wait I look all around the street; a man is peeing in a corner. A big brother is carefully guiding his little sister across the street, holding her hand and protecting her from traffic. The noise from the cars mixes with the passionate conversations happening around; a sound-track to life here in Haiti. The gate opens and I take one last quick glance, drinking in the sights, sounds, and even smells that have become so familiar to my life here. A life I’m still trying to figure out. A life I am loving more and more each day. 

Monday, May 14, 2012

Uh-mur-i-cuh

I’m glad I don’t live in America full-time. I’m proud to be an American, land of the free, home of the brave and all that, but I am very glad (especially in an election year) to live somewhere else. But, even with that, I love coming back for a few days. I arrived Wednesday night and by 11am Thursday morning I had already gone to Starbucks, Target, a real doctor, and Chick-fil-a. It was awesome. 
I changed my flight to come back a day early so I could see a doctor about my lip. I was worried about the way it was healing; it was still very swollen, looked infected, and was quite painful. I went to the doctor first thing Thursday morning. She told me it was very infected and that the medicine I was on wasn’t strong enough. 3 of the 4 stitches had already fallen out by the time I got to the doctor’s office and the other stitch wasn’t eally dong anything, so she took it out. I walked out with a prescription for some strong antibiotics and I was on my way.
I made it to sweet home College Station Thursday afternoon. I went by and visited the people at the office I worked at right after I graduated college and saw everyone and all the changes that had happened around campus. 

Then, it was time to visit family!! My parents knew I was coming; I had called from MIami so I could get my insurance information, but my grandparents had no idea I would be there. It was great to surprise them and see everyone. That night we went out for delicious Mexican food and had an early night.
My parents brought the dog!!
Delicious Chimichanga!!
Friday was big graduation day! We braved the crowds as thousands of people crammed into Reed Arena (the campus basketball arena) for one of 6 graduation ceremonies happening that weekend. After many, many, (many, many) names were called Chase walked across the stage and received his diploma! 

Waiting for the graduates to come in.
There he is!
Got the diploma!!



Chase and his girlfriend.
The whole family (yes, my eyes are closed. boo).

After another family dinner, a good night’s sleep, and a few more hours with family on Saturday I headed back to Dallas. I visited some more family, got some gifts (mostly candy) for people here on campus and relaxed in my nice, big, queen sized bed in the air conditioned house with quiet streets outside one last night. 
I had a mostly uneventful flight back to Haiti and am so glad to be back. I love the people here and I love how normal the sights, and smells, of Port au Prince feel. Every time I fly back I feel a little more comfortable navigating the craziness of the airport and the bumps in the street are so familiar. I am so lucky that I have not one, but two, homes. One more month at this home and then flying back for a summer in the other. I can’t believe how fast this year is going!

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

Incredible Community

I am writing this post from the Port-au-Prince airport. I was supposed to fly out tomorrow afternoon, but this morning I changed my plan. A good friend suggested I extend my trip by a day and get my lip looked at by a doctor in the states. Not that I don’t trust the nurse that stitched me up (for the record, I don’t), but one stitch has fallen out and the swelling hasn’t gone down. As much as I enjoy looking like a big tough boxer-man, I would rather not spend the rest of my life with Angelina-Jolie-lips. I want my normal bottom lip back. So, I decided to leave a day early so I could visit a doctor. If I had kept my flights the same, this would have been virtually impossible. I am flying to Dallas, driving to College Station to see my little brother graduate from college, then driving back to Dallas and flying out early Sunday. Every minute is scheduled on this whirlwind trip and attempting to fit in a doctor’s visit would have been impossible. 
But, then some friends came in. My good friend Tina, who suggested a doctor look at my lip, called American Airlines, talked to people, gave up some airline miles, went above and beyond and got me on a flight a day early. My aunt in Dallas scheduled a doctor’s appointment for early tomorrow morning, I think before the office is technically even open! My friend Damon left work in the middle of the day to drive me to the airport. Several other teachers gave up their free periods to cover my classes. 

I hate asking for help. I absolutely hate it. I like to be self-sufficient and take care of myself. But, I don’t think we were built to operate that way. We were built and designed for community and one of the ways God shows his love for us and provides for us is through the community he puts in our lives. I get that in a touchy-feely emotional way. I love how God loves me through the fun, loving interactions I have with the community around me. But, sometimes I get a little uncomfortable when it moves past fun, and emotions into tangible acts of love: money given, time sacrificed, etc. But that is just one more way that God shows his love and provides for us.
Today I am in awe of His love for me and the community he has placed around me. I have great a family in the states and a great family in Haiti. I am blessed.

Monday, May 7, 2012

Snitches get Stitches

Not the best post title because this story has no snitches, but it does have stitches…
Sunday is frisbee day. Last semester a group of teachers and others in the area would gather on our dirty, nasty field on campus and play Ultimate Frisbee. We would run, jump, and play each and every Sunday afternoon. We haven’t been able to partake in this glorious Sunday afternoon ritual for months because our field has been in the process of getting artificial turf installed. Last week the turf was finished and we were cleared to bust out the frisbee again. 
So yesterday afternoon we got the frisbee and assembled on our brand new turf. The field was so smooth, so squishy, so great to run around on and play like we hadn’t been able to in months. Teams were divided up, 4 on 4, and play began. After one team had scored, not 15 minutes into the game there was a collision; my mouth & jaw with another player’s ankle. I can’t give any more detail than that because I honestly don’t remember. All I remember was pain in my lip and jaw and blood everywhere. For the record: I distinctly remember not  spitting the blood on the field! We walked off to the side and rinsed my mouth out. The consensus was that I would need stitches. Ben walked me across the street to see if Miquette, our resident nurse, was around. She wasn’t and we decided I needed to visit Hopital Lespoir to see if they thought I needed stitches and to get them if I did. 
Someone tracked down the keys to one of the school cars and Jill decided to go with me (many offered to go, but eight white people walking into the hospital would draw a lot of attention). Jill has been learning to drive standard transmission (what all of our school cars are) but was a little nervous about driving on main roads, so I volunteered. We got directions to the hospital and off we went. We got there in about 10 minutes and the parking lot was mostly empty, thankfully. 

Jill and I walked in and the blood on my face (which wasn’t terribly shocking) gave the lady at the front desk a start. Shouldn't she be used to people coming in bloody and bruised? She ushered us into the emergency room and showed us to the nurse waiting there. The nurse examined my lip with all the tenderness of a battering ram. A man walked in (about my age, not the seasoned doctor I was hoping for) and examined my lip. I had asked the nurse if I would need stitches and she nodded her head yes in a way that communicated “yes, you idiot.” The doctor (I’m assuming that’s what this guy was) spoke with the nurse in very hurried Creole, but what I could gather from their conversation was a glimmer of hope that I would not need stitches. I have never had stitches and didn’t want Haiti to be the place I experience that blessed event for the first time. The doctor looked at me and said “nou pa bezen fe sa.”…”we don’t need to do that.” I threw my hands up in the air in jubilation!
I'm assuming this says "Emergency Room."

The nurse came over and began to clean out my lip, which means she began to squeeze my lip attempting to get all the blood in my body out of that one cut (which she did very well). She began to look alarmed and called the doctor over. He took one look in my mouth and then took back the wonderful words he had just spoken: you need stitches. Bah!
Questionable looking bottle of brown goo.
They laid me on the table and got out the stitch kit. The nurse-lady was getting step by step instructions and the stitches kit she opened up had directions similar to those you get when you buy a desk from IKEA so I was getting a bit nervous. The nurse lady got the anesthesia ready and jabbed it into my lip a few times and instantly my lip went numb, hooray!
Doc checking things out.
She then moved into place to do her sewing. She had the most unsure look I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face, ever. She would glance back at the doctor every other second or two desperately searching for affirmation that she was doing her job correctly. He was chatting animatedly on his phone and would give her a nod every once in a while. After a few minutes and four stitches, two of which made me feel like a fish being dragged into the boat after being hooked, we were finished. I sat up and got confirmation from the doctor that we were done. The only instruction he gave me during this whole ordeal was “No kissing for one month.” Didn’t tell me how to clean it, didn’t give me a list of “dos” or “don’ts”; only “no kissing.” Thanks doc.

Jill and I settled the bill and got some medicine from the lady at the front desk and a few minutes and $7 US later we were headed home. My lip is disgusting, hurts a little, and will probably look a little funny after the stitches come out, but it was quite an afternoon! Thanks Jill for sharing the adventure with me!

WARNING: Semi-disgusting picture below...






yuck! pre-stitches

still yuck! post-stitches

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Citadelle LaferriƩre: A Photo Journal

If you ever end up in Haiti and want to travel to the Citadel, let me know. It is worth the bumpy ride.

We arrived at the little town that sits at the base of the mountain on which the Citadel resides. We drove up to the parking lot in front of the Sans-Souci Palace where Henri Christophe lived. We parked and were  greeted with MANY men who wanted to be our guides and help us up to the Citadel. We visited the information booth and purchased entry tickets, but declined a guide ($60 US for a guide!). We drove up an exceptionally steep hill to the second parking lot. Parked and paid a guy to guard our car, declined handmade trinkets from many women, found a guide and walked up a slippery stone path for about twenty minutes until we reached the Citadel.

It was a very foggy day with low hanging clouds so the large fortress almost popped up in front of us. The fog gave the fortress an eerie look which was kind of pleasant, but I would like to go back again so that I can see the amazing view of the surrounding mountains. We read somewhere that on a clear day you can see the coast of Cuba, 90 miles away, from the Citadel.

Here is a photo journal of our visit around the Citadel....


Nathaniel, Josiah, and Jill doing their "tough" faces.

Outside the Citadel.

Creepy fog....


There are 365 cannons at the Citadel.


Each of the cannons had a different design etched on them.  
This area held the gunpowder.





Lots of cannonballs.



Even more cannonballs!


Great friends to travel with!
From L to R: Josiah, Nathaniel, Me, Jill, Kellyanne, Wilson

View of the surrounding mountains on the hike down.
Fun facts about the Citadel:
  • Is is the largest fortress in the Americas and is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site
  • Was built as part of a fortification system along with Fort Jacques and Fort Alexandre
  • Was built by 20,000 workers between 1805-1820
  • Built as defense against a possible French invasion which never happened
  • Walls of the for tree rise up 130 feet and the entire complex covers an area of 108,000 square feet
  • The stones were fastened with a mortar mixture that included quicklime, molasses, and the blood of local cows and goats
  • Large cisterns and storehouses were designed to store enough food and water for 5,000 defenders for up to one year