Journey Through Haitian Culture

Saturday, June 28, 2014

Haiti

My journey through Haitian culture

Day 1:

I slowly rolled about in my plush bed acting like a caterpillar spinning his cocoon. A loud "BEEP" notified me that my role playing a sleepy caterpillar was over. I flopped out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror, "enjoy this, because it will be the last time for a long time that you have running water, a flushable toilet, and other common luxuries that we take for granite". My lips gradually creased into a smile when I remembered that today was the day I was traveling to Haiti.  A new-found eagerness dawned upon me as I had a quick bite to eat, and was out the door and on my way to the airport. (I won't bore you with all the antics which occurred at the airport, the most exciting thing that happened was a small debacle between an elderly man and TSA agent who informed him that his 17 different types of perfumes were not permitted in his carry-on luggage). As we touched downed a soft mumble of hardly audible French welcomed us to Haiti, as I stepped out the door and on to the runway, a wave of heat and humidity greeted me. I briskly walked over to the transport bus and nearly ripped my jacket trying to get it off so quickly, safe to say I got a few queer looks from my passengers, whom looked as they had never seen a white boy so eager to get undressed. Making it through customs and border control was as simple as could be, and I quickly learned that cutting the line was not to be tolerated, unless of course you were an old nun who had nerves of steel. She simply walked up to the front of the line looked back at the towering native Haitian behind her, smiled politely and before he could say a word she shuffled over to the officer handed her papers over for inspection and was on her way - what a badass. I collected my belongings and headed out into the sea of locals either waiting for loved ones or pestering everyone about a cab ride. My friend Rosedanie Cadet (whom I worked with throughout the duration of my internship) spotted me in the crowd instantly and weaved her way through and gave me a welcomed hug. I told her about my journey as we made our way over to the car, I was introduced to our driver who was on the phone rambling away in creole. At the time, I only could understand maybe a third of what he was saying. As we climbed in the car and made our way onto the streets of Port Au Prince my first impression of the city was the sheer density of people and the amount of traffic there was. There were peopling lining the sidewalks selling food, cleaning cars for spare change, dodging cars crossing the street, mechanics working on motorcycles, and hundreds of people walking. There was extravagantly designed pickup trucks praising Jesus carrying far too many people. I later found out these were taxis driving from location to location - very like the buses I rode on in Togo and Ghana. There were buzzing motorcycles bobbing and weaving their way through traffic.  As we sat in traffic it dawned on me how many cars there were - coming from a city like Paris and Seattle I am used to traffic, but at least in these cities there was some order. In port au prince, it was who ever had the bigger car and the louder horn had the right of way, and even then, it was every man for themselves, it reminded me of when I was in Indonesia worming my way through buses, dodging cars and riding along the sidewalk. As we inched our way through the traffic in the blazing heat and covered by thick blanket of pollution, Rosedanie asked me if I minded making a quick stop to purchase a water pump for the center. We ended up going to four different stores and each store had two security guards with metal detectors and shotguns - gulp. I wasn't surprised at the security theatre as I had seen it before it Mexico. Nothing is more frightening than a burly man with a shotgun pointed at you while his partner frisks you.

We got the water pump at an extortionate price and drove our way back to where we would be living for the next two to three days before making our way to Limbe. We walked through the metal gate riddled with barbed wire. We walked up to the house and were greeted by two dark blond dogs barking and running circles around us. After I bent down and let them smell my palms we became the best of friends. The house was a beautiful four-bedroom home that was owned by Christian missionaries whom Rosedanie knew from pervious humanitarian projects. I am not religious but I would not reject their hospitality. As we sat down to pork chops and salad we discussed our plans for the trip - how we were going to get the learning center up and running, which permaculture techniques to use, how to best teach local farmers about organic farming, which children I would be tutoring in French or English, when I would be an assistant manager for the students during the international agricultural conference, when I would be coaching and training the rugby team, whom I would be meeting from companies trying to help the Haitians and so on and so forth. After creating our agenda, we slithered to our rooms only to be welcomed by a swarm of thirsty mosquitos, I vowed to kill as many as I could before diving into the shelter of my mosquito net. I only managed to get about three. Within five minutes of opening my books I was fast asleep, taunting the mosquitos that buzzed around me.

Day 2: 

I was woken up not by a BEEP BEEP BEEP but by a melodic humming - 'buzzzzzzzzz' - I lethargically swatted away the pest with eyes half closed. The sun was just rising as I laid in my bed making my list of things I needed - toothpaste and a phone were on the top of my list. When I felt, it was an acceptable time, I went down to the kitchen, and greeted Rosedanie with a cup of coffee. We cooked oatmeal with honey and homemade peanut butter. After a quick freshening, up, I packed my bag and we headed out the door to explore Port Au Prince's markets. We walked down the broken cobble stones to the street where we hailed a group taxi and clambered in. The cheapest way to get around Port Au Prince is through public drivers. These 'taxis' are locals with either a van or a pick-up truck with a welded benched in the beds of their trucks and thatched a roof overhead to project their passengers from the worst of the heat. They are elaborately decorated with bright Caribbean colors, sports stars, and many with labels that read "Merci Jesus" (thank you Jesus) or "Le Sang du Jesus" (the blood of Jesus).   The average ride lasts about 10-15 minutes and the drivers travel to designated sites where they let people on and off. The drivers usually hire a friend to travel with them and their job is to ensure that there is no seat empty and that everyone pays. These poor trucks are filled to maximum capacity, then a few more people latch on the sides. The price is 5-15 goudes which is between 3-9 cents. Not too shabby.

Rosedanie and myself travelled to the center of town and toured the National Art Academy. We watched a rehearsal of traditional Haitian dances which was fabulous. Even the largest of the dancers was as light as a feather on their feet, which is far more than I can say about my own dance moves. The dance embodied the struggle of the Haitian people through times of slavery, rebellions and natural disasters. Their bodies were a fluid as water, yet their faces stern as stone even with sweat pouring down their necks. After the rehearsal, we walked through the center, playing leap frog with the traffic. I stumbled upon a river, but not one made of water sadly. This river stretched 500 meters long and averaged a depth of 3 meters deep, and was composed of plastic bottles, bags, empty to go containers, tires, human feces, all sprinkled with urine and dogs rummaging for food. Whatever water there was left was no doubt infested with nasty diseases such as cholera, which is deadly if not treated properly. This was truly a sobering site. I have seen mounds of trash in Togo, trails of litter in Indonesia, scraps thrown for dogs in Mexico, but never a sea of trash accumulating where there was once a thriving river. As I took a photo people hooted and hollered at me saying "what up man?!" followed by a series of questions which were composed of one word; money?  Now I do not mean to say that every single person demanded money off me. Many people gave me a glance then a flash of white teeth appeared as they smiled, most of the children even waved.

As we walked along the streets I couldn't help but admire the soft rolling hills around us. Each hill seemed have housing developments crawling up their sides like moss growing on a tree, only to gently reach down and form the valley we were in. We made our way through the market with our theme music of locals shouting "Eau Eau Eau!" (water water water) or other various products they were selling. We saw everything from plush stuffed animals, bananas, pineapples, nails, cell phones, scraps of wood, plastic toys, and shoes, t-shirts, suit cases, pens and pencils and so many other countless items. We eventually made our way to a compound which featured art work fashioned from recyclable materials. There were a seeming infinite number of sculptures, paintings, drawing, all-encompassing and depicting demonic seeming figures. I asked the artist what they were and he explained to me that some of them were the voodoo gods. Faceless demons with grotesque features striking fear into its followers. We wondered around the slum avoiding rusted tin houses, feces, mud, and family homes. Child flew by us with toys such as plastic bottles on strings, a balled-up bit of straw for a soccer ball, a plastic bag for a kite, or a simple tire to role and play with. But even with so little, they seemed so content, the ecstatic screams of children playing in-between the shanty houses couldn't help bring a smile to my face. It dawned on me that so many people had so much less than me, but probably deserved to have more, or at least a fighting chance.  

After meandering about gazing at the twisted sculptures with plastic dolls molded in them, I began speaking to one of the artist and it turns out he is due to have an exhibition in Paris in Park de la Violette, which it less than a 10-minute walk from my house. I promised I would go and admire his work some more when I am home. He allowed me to take a photo with him and his work before it went public in Paris. The three birds represent his three daughters. He depicted his daughters as birds because birds do not need a visa to travel. But his daughters do, and they are repeatedly denied.

I gave him my thanks and a few dollars for his time and we encouraged him to charge tourists money to visit his 'studio' to help with applications for visas and to help pay for a studio and an art shop. He nodded and said goodbye. As we were walking back I saw an elderly gentleman swatting down, puffing away on a cigarette butt drawing on the back of a cereal box. He made his living by depicting the voodoo gods on the back of Styrofoam and cereal boxes he found in the sea of trash, and selling them.

As we made our way back to the house I was again reminded of the pollution. So much troposphere pollution it could make one gag. We made it home, feasted on some beans, bread and tuna and went for a siesta.  

After dinner with the house, myself Rosedanie, and Rota piled up in a white pick-up truck speckled with dirt and dents and drove along roads riddled with pot holes’ dogs, goats, and street vendors. to meet a few more stakeholders whom would help with the national agricultural conference we were organizing. Austin and Martha - a couple working for World Concern. We spent the good part of two hours discussing the general logistics of the conference such as, marketing techniques to farmers, businessmen, and children. We explored the idea of teaching a photography class to better document projects undertaken by the participants (they requested that I be a student supervisor helping the children I tutored and worked with along). It was determined that myself and Martha, a graphic designer, be responsible for taking videos, and using our computer literacy to compose a final project that the participants worked on showing their progress over the week-long conference. We discussed the time frame and discussed how best to represent our information whether it be dominantly verbally, visually, or a mix of both. After we ended and accorded each other with individual responsibilities we made our way back. The darkness had consumed everything, there were not any street lights only the small flashlights of food vendors penetrated the dark blanket. We drove along a dirt road that had the hills and troughs like that of a stormy ocean. We Finally we arrived halve sea sick from the amount of pot holes we ran over, said our good nights and made our way up to bed. The electricity decided it had had enough at 3:30 am, this meant the fan in my room could no longer keep away the mosquitos or the humidity. It was a long night, but I would have to get used to it, in Limbe there was only a small generator that ran for an hour at night.      

Day 3:

As we sat over breakfast and discussed last night’s events I noticed that Rota and Joanne were both in fine linen dresses with immaculately brushed hair, fine earrings a smooth black pattered heel. It took me a while to understand but it clicked for me once they began their prayers. It was a Sunday; they were dressed to go to church. As they piled up in their car Rosedanie and I schemed the day’s activities. Since it was a Sunday and most the city would be in church, we would venture to the market and get ingredients for tonight’s feast. We decided it was only polite to cook dinner for our hosts before we departed for Limbe the next day. As we packed our bags we set out along the road. There was a cool summer breeze kissing our moist brows when we arrived on one of the main roads. It was littered with rubble and trash. We trekked along walking adjacent to a seemingly stagnant stream dyed a beautiful bright green thanks to the algae. In the water bobbed plastic sachets which once held pristine water and was now replaced with a perfect breeding ground for the world’s deadliest animal - the mosquito. The farther we walked the bigger the roads became. The bigger the roads became the more trucks with dazzling designs whizzed by us, kicking up storms of dust and covering us head to toe in a deep brown colored dust, edging their way into our eyes and mouths leaving us with a gritty taste. We walked and talked until we stumbled upon a sugar cane museum. We stopped and toured it, admiring the rusted old refinery wheels, with the dusted distillery drums for rum. The sun was beaming down on us causing our droplets of sweat to turn to into beads of salted water running down our backs and clinging to our shirts. This meant only one thing; time for a beer. We meandered our way over to the museums bar filled with a diverse assortment of liqueurs wine and beer, we settled for the local beer - Prestige. It was a lovely golden larger beer crisp with freshness. If it was socially acceptable I would have dumped it over my head but I elected to drink it instead. As we relaxed and laughed until the last molecule of beer had been consumed we resumed our trek. As we walked out we noticed water sachets dangling from trees and shrubs. It apparently warded off the flies - I wasn't exactly sure how they did that but oh well. 

We walked and walked through barren streets with the winding blowing dust in our face. Three little girls waved at us from across the street and I managed to steal a picture of them. We walked adjacent to the United Nations building. We couldn't see over the tall weathered white wall capped with barbed wire. The compound seems to stretch for an over a mile, and hosted the largest concentration of United Nation workers in Haiti. We arrived at the market which was directly across the street from the compound. We bought our food and were on our way out. We head the typical weak whimper of a tired horns juxtaposed by the strong voice of the drivers shouting out their destinations. We squeezed on the back of a truck and drove about half way home before leaping out and walking the rest of the way. We got home, ate our lunch and began to prep for dinner.   

After a quick lunch, we left straight away to Paiton Ville. We squeezed on a tap tap (taxi moto) and buzzed of to a busy city center.  We drove by people camped under twisted sticks holding up ragged tarps displaying their products. We passed abandoned homes that have been scavenged dry and left for the dogs, we encountered men and women with chairs, water sachets, blankets, laundry, food, and many more wonders balanced upon their poised heads. As we walked along I traced a snake made up of shoes and flip flops winding its self all along the sidewalk, yearning to be worn. We hailed two motorcycles to take up the winding road to Paiton Ville. The motorcycle was much more enjoyable than the tab tab's. here you the wind rushing by you cooling you down, you were slower than the cars but more maneuverable through traffic. We dodging goats, dogs, chickens and cats daring to dart across the roads - brave souls.

We reached Paiton ville and admired the scenery, the slums climbing the mountain painted in a dazzling display of vibrant colors - sea foam green, blackberry purple, lemon yellow, blood orange, and sky blue. Everyone made with flimsy tin roofs, and crumbling walls leaving only rubble and dust. We found ourselves walking through a park, at first I wasn't eve's dropping but I heard the word "Blanc" which means white, repeated several times I didn't immediately associate it with myself, but after groups of people kissing their teeth at me muttering the derogatory term in my direction. I feebly managed a smile and was repaid with an uproar of laughter and giggles. I felt abashed, for what exactly I do not know. Little children approached me yanking on my pockets pleading for spare change, they only granted me this courtesy seeing as I was white and henceforth was generally regarded as a walking ATM machine. Being the only non-Haitian made me noticeable to say the least. Many of the vendors stared at me with hungry eyes, barking at me to come over and buy their gum or cell phone or to get my shoes shone. When I rejected their offers they cursed me in names I care not to repeat. Many of the locals were not this blunt, most greeted me with a queer stare and maybe a bonjour or a simple head nod. But everybody stared, young children, the elderly, the drunk, the workers and the beggars - everyone took a moment to look at the white ape who was taking photos of burning trash that billowing white acrid smoke, attacking our throats and stinging our eyes exposing everyone to carcinogenic fumes.

After departing the park abruptly to avoid these outbursts we found ourselves surrounded in a blissful garden slurping away at some cold refreshments discussing how best to connect with the children and how best to divulge to them the importance of a balance between school and sports.

After gazing wide eyed and the diversity of the lush foliage we made our way back home where we cooked a sizzling stir fry for our hosts. We sat down, ate, jested, laughed and then slowly each by each surrendered for the night. It had been a long day filled with challenges, excitement and beauty.

Day 4:

I lethargically packed my bags and threw the luggage into the bed of the bed of the truck. Rota expressed her concern for thieves along the road up to Dr. Kelly’s house where we were o pick up Jupiter, Roseanne’s dog.  I eagerly volunteered to ride in the bed of the truck and ward of the bandits as best I could. We drove along through Port Au Prince through tent cities goats rummaging through mounds of trash, dry and dusted soccer fields ringing with the shouts of children, eager vendors desperate to jump in the back and sell to me, distant shouts of "blanc" and pointing finger, families pilled on a motorcycle, school buses brimming with travelers and oil drums stacked on top filled with goods, and as much as I enjoyed stopping to admire, but it was damn hot. In the back of a speeding truck the wind cools you blowing the humidity away replicating air conditioning, but once the car stopped so did the air conditioning. My body systematically went into a meltdown. In the back of a black metal bed with temperatures of 35 degrees C and mosquitos feasting on your tired body - life is not good.

We arrived at Dr. Kelly’s house and was greeted by bleating goats complaining of the heat, dogs showing you with kisses and staring with longing, hungry eyes, and Rosedanie's three legged Jupiter, valiantly hobbling over. She had recently broken her leg in a scuffle with an intruder and severed all her ligaments and tendons and the leg was deemed useless. The pink scar tissue still fresh with dried blood and dark blue stitches. We made our acquaintance and she seemed to like me well enough. I sat down and let her come over and talked me to the ground, she allowed me to rub her belly and she looked at me with trusting hazel eyes. We arranged the bed of the truck and while doing so a goat leaped up in seat of food. She scurried away when she heard me kiss my teeth. We said our thanks and made way for the long ride to Limbe.

We drove in a valley, and on the hills, tins homes were freckled along the barren slopes. These were homes built after the Earthquake in 2010 - no running water, no electricity, no roads, no stores, only tin homes, claiming a 5ft square spit of land to provide shelter. The hills were still scared with craters carved out by landslides, swallowing wandering horses and lost cows.

We kept on going, the mountains grew, their smooth sides carved out by flowing streams cutting violently like a jagged dagger to plump flesh. At the feet of the mountains was a walled off area, labelled with prayers marked a site of a mass grave for victims of the earthquake. Adjacent to these graves were craters carved out by men prying out charcoal from mines, so large they could swallow 18 wheelers, exposing the cream color bones of the mountains. Just beyond that we passed bright turquoise lagoons leading to the unsettled opaque blue of the Caribbean Sea, topped with blotches of white sea-foam - perfectly picturesque.

We stopped through the Cabernet market which was filled with hundreds of people lining the side walk, selling thick ropes weaved from dried corn husks, mounds of green plantains, pills of plump green mangos, and many other treats. Rosedanie had an extremely kind friend whom brought us a traditional Haitian food - friend pork with deep fried plantain. It was deliciously spicy with ghost peppers, grilled onion, and an arrangement of spices. A hint for all those wanting to try - don't eat the peppers. We cruised along in the shadow of the mountains, past vast fields of lemons, oranges, and plantain farms.

We drove past dark green forests where we caught fleeting glimpses of a rusted tin roof nuzzled in the foliage, accompanied by crystal streams flowing from the mountain like tears. Children playing in the translucent pools, men and women cleaning their clothes, and animals lapping the cool water down until their stomachs were near ready to burst.  The white clouds resting a top the mountains enjoying the scenery, suddenly turned somber, and unleashed a wicked storm. Donkeys sulked in the pouring, and people scrambled back into their homes. As suddenly as the rain appear, it vanished.

Hour after hour passed, until we started to climb these mountains, sweeping corners, sharp gradients, and treacherous roads. We climbed and climbed, with fog and mist engulfing us along with the mountain. So, dark we could barely see three feet ahead of us. We eventually reached the learning center. A small white building with bare concrete floors. The keys appeared to be lost so we had to break the lock to get into our rooms. A tedious task in the dark. We only were permitted an hour of electricity during the night, and if we were lucking we could steal some of the towns electricity. It was a humble abode, with two bedrooms, three beds, a small outdoor kitchen with a stone sink, a beautiful wood carved cabinet who's handled were snapped off, with a dark wooden table with six matching chairs. A back garden with a prolific breadfruit tree, a mango tree, and a few shrubs here and there with a large compost pile in the back corner. We unpacked our bags, made turkey sandwiches and rolled into bed. Loud shrieks and laugher poured out from the bar next door. They had several girls they hired as escorts. They closed early that night. A good night’s sleep was a possibility; it was thwarted by the missionaries singing church hymns at four in the morning. Jupiter was the only one who voiced her complaints. She came into my bed and laid herself down, half on me and half off where she remained until the sun came up, signaling a new day.     

Day 5:

A bowl of soupy oatmeal washed down with a cup of water to start another day. After a quick "shower" (there was no running water so a shower was taking a buck of water, a cup, and a bar of soap and dumping cup after cup over your head or squatting close enough to the bucket to splash yourself) Rosedanie and I embarked into town. We wandered by the busy market stalls with the typical assortment of goods, watching goats scavenge for unattended food. Little girls coming up and grabbing my hand shrieking "Ma Blanc Ma Blanc!" (My white boy My white boy). I sent them running, giggling away when I flashed them a smile.   We walked down to a Netcom office, where we bartered for a phone. I bought a phone that looked and felt like it belonged in a Barbie playhouse set. I couldn't complain it was only 500 gourdes (roughly $11). 

We found ourselves in a small shack, wolfing down rice and a brownish sauce that had, meat (what kind of meat I am not entirely sure), carrots, potatoes, onions and peppers. It was heavy, spicy, hot and satisfying. The home we were in consisted of a plywood table, a multitude of different types of chairs, and hundreds of nervous flies taking what they could when someone was too lazy to swat them away. The shack rivaled the heat of a sauna, which left all its residents dripping with sweat. Inside we met a history teacher, who divulged the entirety of Limbe's past too me. Apparently, he was speaking French to me. Only a few words here and there were audible, just enough for me to catch a grasp of what he was saying. Eventually I managed to follow and understand.

After lunch we wondered in the heat, making our way to a Gualala Musee which was a museum holding artifacts dating back to the 1700's. We meandered our way back to the house. I was reading my book when a Haitian boy appeared at the door. He explained that he had a French exam tomorrow and he was looking for help. I volunteered to help him study. We settled ourselves down in the garden. We reviewed his notes, gave him some notes of my own and reviewed exam material. I saw myself in him - an impatient senior frustrated at himself. He was intelligent but he rushed, not reading the question through and attempting to answer before understanding the question - which was his downfall. I slowed him down, wrote notes on a piece of plywood that acted as our blackboard. I wrote down ten tips that have helped me in my exam career. He thanked me endlessly and asked if he could come back in two days. He had a math exam that he was afraid he would fail. I told him I would be happy to help with his math work. We walked back inside and greeted a whole new band of boys, glaring at me with wide eyes. It was the rugby team. They analyzed my physique as I introduced myself.

Soon after Zeus himself graced us with booming thunder and ominous clouds. He through down buckets of rain. A muddy river laid waste to anything unfortunate enough to be disregarded in the street, seeping in between shanty houses.

After the rain ceased we cooked dinner. A beautiful array of grilled whole fish, fried vegetables, season black beans, watered cashews, boiled plantains, and freshly squeezed pineapple juice. A good way to cap off the day - that is until the bar next door came to life. My room shares a wall with the bar. That wall offers no protection from the blasting music and drunken shouts. Ugh.

Day 6:

I woke up to Jupiter nuzzling her nose into my chin, trying to get more room on the bed. We lay there while I read my book, and she slouched over me not having a care in the world. After an hour, I rolled out from under her, she glared at me with disappointed eyes that conveyed a sentiment like a school girl pleading for five more minutes in bed. Nonetheless we rose and ate breakfast, I stretched and felt a terrible sore in my back and chest, I blamed it on the century old mattress. I walked to the table and had brown oatmeal with spicy peanut butter.  After breakfast and a bucket shower, we had a meeting with some student volunteers from Canada whom were here for the month. They came at precisely 9 o clock. We sat down and made introductions. Jena was small women with dark brown hair fashion in cornrows. Her skin was riddled with bug bites but she wore the biggest smile I had seen in a long while, a row of blazing white teeth perfectly aligned. It was a welcoming smile. Next was Jessica, a taller blond with similar corn rows. She had light silky sin and the night black dress only emphasized it. Her inquisitive bright sea green eyes seemed to linger longer than the others. Her smile was bright, her laugh warming and her charisma almost palpable. Mathieu was a tall slender young man, a light olive skin tone, a feint shadow of a mustache rested on his upper lip. He was well spoken and enthusiastic to teach. He laughed easily and had a good sense of humor about him. Finally, their friend Fryzel lumbered through the door. He was a native Haitian fluent in English, French, and Creole. He was a sturdy man, with a stubble beard that he wore proudly.  They were all as friendly as one could be (typical Canadians) and were eager to help with the center. We discussed and concluded that they would teach English Thursday and Friday here at the center - I would help when I could and teach French. We would collaboratively teach health seminars regarding the current Chingunka fever (spread by mosquitos), the risk of STI's and AIDs and sexual health, the impending cholera epidemic that occurred seasonally in autumn (hurricane season and general hygiene. We were to print our posters in English creole and French and scatter them around town we did this to inform and empower the locals with knowledge. We exchanged numbers and agreed to meet later that day.

Rosedanie and I then took off on the back of two moto taxis to the university where we met Rota for another brief meeting. Rota allowed us to borrow her car to drive to Cap to get some more supplies. We drove by columns of rusted shipping containers used as stores. Every wall we laid our eyes on was caked with scars and topped with razor sharp barbed wire. Every. Single. One. There were specks of green, yellow and robin egg blue representing the Brazilian and Argentinean flags for the World Cup. We drove over a teetering bridge and beneath us a vast muddy river rushed beneath us devouring the country side. We drove along roads with gaping holes. On the roads laid the remnants of lightly buttered asphalt, where there had once been a smooth paved road. We ran a few errands here and there, increasing our network size.

We pulled up to carbon roots international. They Bagase is burnt in large oil drums, at a temperature that is not quite sufficient to reduce it to dust. Once the smoldering dies out the remains are mixed with corn starch which is coagulating agent. It is then pressed into the balls of charcoal, and they are left to dry in the sun. The charcoal is more sustainable and eco-friendly because it does not require the slaughtering of trees.  It is a carbon sequester, better retainer of water, and provides a healthier environment for the microorganisms living in the soil. I flopped out the car and landed on sore ankles and weak knees - must because I sat in the car a long while. My chest and back grew only worse.

We arrived at Roseanne’s cousin's house to pick up, medicine, tents, books, and many other trinkets. The more I lifted the heavy boxes the sorer my aches grew. I felt like and old man tenderly walking on the soft soles of my feet. My ankles didn't permit much flexibility, my back was rigid, my next was tough, knees buckled and my fingers and wrists cried out in pain at every subtle movement - I was starting to think it wasn't the bed. As we headed for some lunch I grew lethargic and weak. My headache turned into a fever and my eyelids drooped over my tired eyes. these were all symptoms of the Chingunka fever. Not good. As we drove back every bump was agony, every turn was torture, and every whimpering horn left my head pounding louder than any speaker. I nibbled on some food but nothing went down easily. We drove back home but I was still determined to make the meeting tonight. I bought a white a red bracelet from a frail old lady, thinking that karma would come and kick this fever in the ass. It did not. My mood deteriorated, my thoughts became dull, my words were sour.  I took notice of little whilst driving home, the only thing that came to mind was home many people came teeming out of the buildings and streets, nonchalantly walking in front of speeding cars.

I fell asleep and awoke at the university with Dr. Steve attending me. He confirmed that I had Chinkgunka fever. He told me to sleep, drink lots of fluids, and take some Tylenol. I headed his advice as I stumbled into my room, stark and bereft of color. I struggled to conceal myself in the mosquito netting. I got tanked like a fish in a net, gasping for freedom.

My whole body was tender and sore to move. I thought I was being melodramatic until I realized it was a struggle to clamber out of bed. Slurped some soup down, and went into bed. Jupiter came bobbing in, licking my face clean and gnawing at my toes. She fell asleep, her head on my lap, with her one front leg strewn across my belly. Almost as if she was giving me a hug. I found comfort in that and nodded off to sleep.

Day 7:

Not to be melodramatic but that night was probably the worst I’ve slept in a long time. I was wearing a long-sleeved shirt with pants, to try and prevent any mosquitos biting me, and hence spreading the disease further. I couldn't fix my mosquito net properly and in dangled from limp string, groping at me. I was immobilized by pain and woke every 30 minutes to try and adjust myself to the least uncomfortable position. My head throbbed and my body was covered in a thick film of sweat. Yum. But when I woke up, a chucked back two extra strength Tylenol and shuffled my way to breakfast. A few bites of an apple and a bit of mango was all I could stomach. Rosedanie fixed my mosquito netting which I was very grateful for. I felt like a wizened old man, helpless.

I drifted in and out of sleep for most of the day. Jenna, Jessica and Mathieu came over at 15:30. I juiced up on a few Tylenol to help teach English to some locals. As we gathered outside, they say their national anthem and we divided them into beginner and advanced classes. I went with the beginners and helped best I could. They were all so eager to learn -the youngest was 3 years old and the oldest was 53. They knew more than I had anticipated. We worked our way through numbers, family members, foods, months and basic conversational English. They seemed to struggle on numbers the most - especially the teens (thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen and nineteen). 

After we concluded the session for the day and everyone went home, Rosedanie and I had a brief meeting with Rota. I couldn't stomach any food so I went to bed - before I feel asleep Rosedanie gave me this local remedy - a shot of rum with a few local herbs. It burned.

Day 8:

I woke up to a booming crunch and snapping of branches. I went outside to help clear out the garden. A man had managed to scurry up the monstrous bread fruit tree to trim away the branches. I gazed in awe. Kennel climbed over 50 feet with three machetes a bundle of rope, and all barefoot. He hacked about the canopy slicing down branches and allowing gravity to rip them down with a thunderous crash. Rosedanie, myself and another man trimmed the branches and sorted them. A menial task compared to our friend who concurred the mammoth tree his fingers like tendrils gripping the near two-foot-long machete pruning away. After sufficient pruning we cleared the yard of derby and set up for our English lessons later that afternoon. A Haitian doctor came by to discuss the severity of Chechnya fever, and how to prevent and treat it.

I was paired with Mathieu and we took the lead on the advanced class. We worked on spelling, nouns, plural nouns and basic sentence structure. They were all eagerly shouting questions or blurting out answers. It was hard to implement the whole 'raise your hand' concept. At the end of our session we said our goodbyes. The three musketeers went home. Robert Fairchild - an engineer working on portable and cheap stoves whom I was introduced to by Rosedanie over a skype call. Robert came in he was taller than I imagined. He stood at about 6 foot 3, with a thick beard peppered with grey hairs. Big glass that covered half his face, busy eye brows, a balding head, a gentle face, a booming laugh, a sturdy voice, and a love for Haiti. We set up his room and walked out to the garden and discussed how to revamp yard. We sat down to dinner and reflected on the day. We were joined by the man whom climbed the tree. He asked if I was a dad and was shocked when I said no. We laughed over dinner and all clambered into our beds one by one, joined by the distinct hum of hungry mosquitos. 

Day 9:

A spicy peanut butter and honey sandwich washed down with a class of water went down for breakfast. There was a meeting with the rugby team to discuss community service actions - that lasted for over two and a half hours. After the meeting Rosedanie, Robert and I sat down to some lunch, and discussed next week’s conference in detail - which field trips we would be taking and so on. After, I called Jessica to see what they were up to. Soon her, Mathieu and two strangers came along. A rather pale skinned American girl by the name of Sarah and a dark skinned German girl named Christina. We walked towards the marche. People in the street stopped to take pictures of the migrating heard of light skinned people. I had several pupils come up to me and say hello - which left some of the other locals flabbergasted. We explored all the nooks and crannies of the market and found our self’s slurping on some beers at a local bar, listening to the shouts of the market, watching people haggle their way to satisfaction. We walked shoulder to shoulder in the thin pathways of the rammed market, being herded by impatient motorcyclists, and traveling sales men bringing their loot about them in wheel barrows. Once we got back we sat around outside and talked about future for long weekends. We decided we all needed to go to the beach for at least one day.

Afterword’s I had a meeting with my French student - he said his exam went well but he was disappointed because most of the stiff we reviewed did not appear on his exam. I helped him with his math before he had to scamper off home to help with the cooking.

After dinner, I trekked over to the hospital to spend some time with Mathieu, Jena, Jessica, Christina, and Sarah. We played cards and chatted and after a long while when our cheeks were sore and a hand wrought from cards we said our goodbyes.

Day 10:

My eyelids fluttered open to the daggers of sun cutting through our windows. I stretched my stiff legs and back and realized I was no longer sore. My fever had also left me in the night only a mild head ache remained. My phone deftly rang in the room of silence at it was a message from   Jessica asking me if I wanted to go on a run. Yes. We went around the market, past groups of devout Christians going to church, past wondering dogs with mange, passing scavenging goats and wondering cows, game of soccer between played between children with nothing more than a golf ball, old men arguing over a game of dominos, and all the way around town to end back at our respective homes. It felt good to get active again. I sprawled in the bathroom and poured buckets of refreshing water over myself.

In the heat of the day Robert and I did some laundry. We each had a bucket filled with water, a half a glass of soap, and our hands. We scrubbed away the dirt, and removed as many stains as we could. We hung them up on limp cloth lines and sat down to lunch - left over plantains from the night before. After lunch we had a long meeting with the executive committee for helping hands normalize. The meeting was half in creole half in French. The meeting subject matter orbited around the importance of environmental sustainability on not only a local or regional level - but a national and international scale.

We sat down to a bowl of fried rice for dinner, and began to pack our bags for the conference ahead. Five days and four nights would be spent at the university during the conference.

Day 11:

The first day of the conference was filled with stressful errands and tedious work. Rosedanie and I early in the morning walked to the markets to find a strip of plywood and some rope. One may think it an easy task but in a Haitian street market, nothing is easily. We searched stand after stand for just over an hour and finally stumbled on a bit of rope and some wood. We took taxi Mottos to the university. Me and my driver were discussing the NBA finals - he had lived in Miami for 23 years before getting deported back. His flip flops soles were practically nonexistent, his tattered shorts barely tickled his knees, his dark shirt resembled a honeycomb with all the holes, but through his wiry grey beard he bore a great big smile. He was a big LeBron James fan and was ecstatic that the tied the series back to 1-1. We shook hands and departed.

We walked into the university and immediately had a meeting with the student volunteers. We began to set up. We cut the wood into two evenly sized posted. We found a hammer and nailed a banner between the two sticks. We went out the large moss green guarded gate to find a place to hang our newly fashioned banner. We found two trees and began. Rosedanie clambered up the latter, a friend Wilsy - another student volunteer - climbed up the mango tree. We tied the ropes good and tight but it’s difficult to manage a project when you have ten to twelve people all claiming they know the best method.  The banner eventually was flapped in the wind and we had a small celebration. After a steaming hot bowl of boullion (soup with carrots, beef, a healthy amount of salt, and plantains) Jan recruited me to help put together welcome packs. We fashioned name tags, sorted books, and made the welcome packs - which had three books in Creole; Kriz Kholera, Dlo Sal, Aksidan (Cholera Crisis, Polluted Water, and Accident Awareness) a chaier d'excercise, a pen, and a few handouts regarding health and safety, the chikungunya fever awareness packet, and two coupons for 100 gourd. We handed them out throughout the day, greeted new comers, and had dinner together. I met people from Florida, The Dominican Republic, and all over Haiti.

 Austin and Martha came from Port Au Prince and helped teach a basic photography class. The student volunteers seemed receptive to the abundance of new information and thanked us graciously after the class was done.

Robert and I went to move into our rooms - a typical college dorm. Six beds in a 3x12m room. The bathrooms were shared. There were no doors on the toilettes, no separate showers - just a raw PVC pipping spewing out a three gallons of water a minute. There were hundreds and hundreds of mangos littering the ground, stray dogs, chickens, pigs and goats feasted on their sweet juices.

We toured the university, it was a large campus and complete with a basketball court, and a soccer field. I learned something interesting that night in dinner - in creole a banana is called a fig and a fig is called a fig Francis. Peanuts are pistache and pistachios are pistache francais, and there are many other examples of this throughout the language. I was speaking to a man at dinner, Saint Houlouse whom was dumbfounded that I didn't believe in God. He refused to talk to me after finding that out and just didn't understand how a white person didn't believe.

The lights went off at 11 - breakfast was at 6:30. No rest for the wicked here in Haiti. 

Day 12: After a brisk shower and breakfast we were off. They started the day off with an hour of hymns and prayers. I attended the registration stand during this period. Afterwards there was a lecture on soil conservation and raising animals. Basic theoretical knowledge nothing too difficult to understand. There is a program within the university that gives a local a calf - that calf is raised. The first offspring of that cow is given back to the university so the program may live on. Afterword’s the local is free to do whatever they want with the cow - sell it, breed it, eat it, etc.

After a long three hours of lectures in the stuffy church we sat down to lunch 0- beans and rice with a fried chicken leg, and juice to drink. The juice was so sugary it was hard to gulp down - but then the heat slapped you in the face as a reminder on how hot it was.

The afternoon was dedicated to workshops. I attended a worming compost workshop dedicated to the efficiency of worms and their many uses. There was a nest of worms hiding in the damp soil while the lecture explained the magnificence of these pink slimy worms. Hands shot up in the air with intricate questions, once answered they desperately jotted down every word repeated to them before they forgot.  Adjacent to us was a workshop on creating an A-frame level which allows farmers to plant on contour and maintain an even water level. This workshop conceited of building equilateral triangles and measuring out the land. Another workshop I visited was given by Dr. Kelly and revolved around the possible diseases animals can not only get but transfer to humans. The final workshop was 'roots without soil' which was bare root transplanting taking place in the nursery. I walked around trying to look like an assistant supervisor not an eager student. I took as many photos as I could of the workshops I attended and answered as many questions as I could in the best creole I could muster, which was not sufficient and I had to switch to French most of the time.

After while I was summoned to help at the book store. The line was out the door and I walked around giving out receipts and guarding the door so we didn't become bitter sardines in a sticky can. I felt like a bouncer at a club minding the door.

After the book store and dinner, we had another few meetings regarding the field trips we took the next day.

Day 13:

My stomach howled like a wolf serenading the moon. Breakfast had been delayed for over an hour before we finally sat down to bananas and oatmeal. We had a lecture from an American who discussed the idea of genetically modified seeds in Haiti. Geno typical altered so as the phenotypes would prove advantageous in Haiti's Caribbean climate. The Haitians had so many questions, the lecture went on an hour and a half over schedule. Whoops. We were late for our field trips. I was assigned as an assistant group leader to go to Kartier Moyen to tour a peanut butter factory and carbon roots international.

We mounted our pick-up trucks, and mowed along the dirt roads in an urgent fashion. Our sparkling white truck transformed to a dull brown machine with a leaking tire after the hour and a half ride through the country side. We were even passed by five locals and three chickens all balanced on one motorcycle. 

We arrived at the pristine air conditioned building, only to tour the cracked dirt fields in the noon’s heat when the sun heaved rays of heavy heat, and the humidity made the air thick and your closes sticky with sweat. There were field of experimentation peanuts, little green sprouts clinging to the crusted brown dirt with fissures slicing their roots. These peanuts were cross bread - aimed to maximize yield and minimize water intake. After everyone was near ready to pass out, skin red with rage moistened by beads of desperate sweat, we trotted inside to cool off. The factory was immaculate. Beautifully polished steel machines tore up peanut husks, giant fires roasted their seeds, and a large mixer to turn them into a creamy brown peanut butter. The mixture was packed with added essential vitamins a minerals to combat infancy malnutrition.

Onto the subject of nutrition, we all clambered back into the muddy trucks and headed to the cafeteria. Rice and beans with a leg of chicken, and juice so sugary it made your teeth scream out for mercy and sent your insulin levels through the roof - a quarter inch of raw sugar caked the bottom of our classes, and that was the sugar that didn't dissolve.

We toured carbon roots international after words, an organization I greatly respect. The fonder, Ryan Deleany is a home-grown Seattleite which is maybe why I am so biased. But his organization does create carbon neutral carbon (by using the organic disposable waste from sugar cane distilleries). His dirty green press produced perfect briskets of coal, round up in tight white bags to be sold at the market. The coal they produced was cheaper, cleaner, and burnt longer than the traditional coal and his business was taking off.

After the long trip, back we sat down to dinner. Sandwiches which appeared to have ham, butter, and a bright pinkish red spicy paste. I think there was some evidence of lettuce but if there was it was drowned in the pink ocean of sauce. After dinner, we immediately sat down to watch "Taking Root - the Vision of Angary Maathai" An extremely powerful film on how the simple act of how plating trees changed Kenya. We discussed the movie, and gave a few brief presentations before the night came to an end.

After the lights turned all everyone scattered like cockroaches and scurried back to their room. A long day in the sun made frail walking skeletons of us all.

Day 14:

My tender red skin burned in the light. I took a little too much color in the sun, but after a nap it turned to a nice olive brown tan making me look more Italian than ever, with my pathetic facial hair scuffing up my face I was ready to represent Italy in the weekends football. We started the day with more lectures. There were some fascinating ones about compost toilets, seed germination, more from the peanut butter factory, A frame level's composting and many others. But I couldn't help noticing many of the delegates weren't paying close attention. It is tough for somebody to listen to four hours of continuous lectures and be expected to remember all of it. People don't need to be told what to to-do, they need to be shown what to do. They need to go out and have somebody there to guide them, to correct their mistakes, to tell them how great of a job their doing, that's how to get their attention, not in some stuffy church.  Myself and a few other volunteers presented an over view of each of the field trips taken the day before. I went up and introduced folk, spoke in French and had my friend Rosaline translate for me. We presented in front of around 60 people, nothing to big but I had been trained to fear no audience, these students hand not. Their hands trembled as they held their notes, the microphone fumbled in their hands, their voices became strained and alien, I felt badly for them really. I have always felt comfortable presenting in front of crowds, even in French. The trick is to make the crowd laugh, get them on your side so they are more forgiving.

During our presentation, a sharp blood curdling screamed sliced through the air. A goat had been slaughtered for our lunch, and clearly it had suffered. We ate goat with manioc. We sat down shoulder to shoulder, and ate. The only sounds to fill the stark hall was the crunching of tough cartilage, the slurp of spicy soup, people sucking bones dry, and laugher. ground grumbling belly filled laughter. Lean muscled arms clasping each other's broad shoulders, sharp chins dotted with dribbles of juice, and everyone brandishing crooked white, brown and yellow smiles. One thing in Haiti that I learned, eat all you can when you can, because you don’t always know when the next meal may come. 

After lunch at the meetings everyone began to disperse. I assumed my post at the book store, making change and haggling away. After a few hours, their People began to gather for the World Cup's first game. That's all the only conversation than lingered on people’s lips. Around eighty of us gathered up and huddled around two small twelve inch screens, like campers around a fire. I could barely see the screens, and ended up more listening to the game than seeing it but it didn't matter. The atmosphere was incredible. Throughout the match emotions were flying, people cried and screamed, ran and danced, and when the final whistle blew signaling that brazil was victorious there was a parade, motorcycles honking their horns, even goats seemed to bleat happily in sea of swarming Haitians, I walked by a wizened lady I walked by was doing her best not to let rivers of joy filled tears stream down her face. Everyone clambered into the dinner hall and discussed the game. Little kids played outside kicking rocks in the street screaming GOAL GOALLLLLL and NEYMARRRRRRR. That sight could put a smile even on the die-hard Argentina fans. Everyone was smiling, talking singing and being as friendly as once can be. 

After dinner, we had more presentations and more songs, but everyone’s mid where are the games tomorrow. Cameroon was playing the next day and there were many Cameroon, Ghana, and Cote divorce fans. Everyone sat restless while we whizzed through the final presentations. I filmed and was given a certificate for my help in the conference. After a few chapters in my book I faded away to my bed. I found three ticks in my sheets, waiting for me. I kindly crushed them and sprayed my bed till it was damp and the room reeked of DEET. Then I sprayed it some more. Mosquitos are one thing, I don't mind ants, fly’s, spiders, geckos, bats any other animal that you may find slinking about in your room and sharing your bed. But ticks or leeches...no.

Day 15: As I climbed out of the chilly shower on the bare stone floor dripping wet, I rubbed water out of my eyes looked around for my shampoo and towel. Both had been stolen. Damn it. I dried myself with an old shirt and basked in the sun for a bit. After breakfast and a lengthy number of goodbyes from new friends we headed off. Jupiter, Rosedanie, Robert and I packed the car and drove off to Limbe. We needed gas and stopped at a gas station buzzing with over 50 moto taxis. It was like parting the Red Sea backing up into the crowd of annoyed motorcyclists. I jumped out of the car to keep an eye on the things in the back. Screams of Blanc came my way, but none were asking for money, nor taking any interest in taking our stuff, and if they did nobody showed it. They were to fascinated with the three-legged dog in the back. They asked me hundreds of questions; what happened? Where did you do the operation? How long did it take? Is she mean? Will she bite? Can we take her out to see how she walks? How old is she? What's her name? Is she from America? Where do you live? What is your name? Why do you keep her? Does she bite? She would be a terrible fighting dog non? Why do you keep her? Why? No but seriously, why do you keep her? And so, on and so forth. I answered each one as best I could and made 50 new friends. Each smiling and shaking my hand, prying their fingers to grope Jupiter. She snarled and barked at them, which only made they giddy with laughter. Poor Jupiter. I had to stop two guys from opening the door. Finally, we filled up and were on our way. It was no quick escape; more motorcyclist had blocked us in trying to steal a glance at the wonderful dog.

At home, we had tuna sandwiches, and I snuck away to watch the World Cup. A fuzzy screen, the barely distinguished colors but it was enough to know when someone scored. I am a USA, Italy and French fan myself but I was happy to see Spain lose 5-1, I admire the Spanish team don't get me wrong, but they have had so much glory in the last six years it was time to share the love. I was surrounded by Spanish supporters though, many of the Haitian were displeased with my laughter, and shot dirty glares in my direction, but it didn't matter. I was the only Netherlands supporter there and made that very clear from the start. Of the game, even after Spain went up 1-0 early in the game. Everyone boasted in my face at that and I did the same after it was 1-1 and 2-1, but by the fifth goal the excitement died out.

Only five students turned up to our English class, it was short and sweet. We reviewed sentence structure, plural noes, and basic verb conjugations. We even sang "my sunshine" at the end. Well they sang it, I just smiled.

After a dinner of miso soup, we sat and discussed the weeks plans. I headed off the next morning to the beach with Jessica, Mat, Sarah, Jenna, and Christina.

Day 16:

Rosedanie and I were up early for my first rugby practice.  We marched towards the field through the already busy town. We walked through a dry stream, rocks threatened to break an ankle if one wasn't too careful. I could tell we were close from the shouts from the children. It was a barren ground, with mules, horses, goats and cows grazing. There were around 30 guys starting up a soccer game, gallantly dodging the manure left by the animals. The cracked dry ground was rugged, and riddled with dirt patches, manure, and wondering kids and animals. The soccer players paid no mind. Each person wore a different style of shoes, some had brand new cleats, some wore flip flops, some wore boots, and some went bare foot. The players dodged the manure, screaming and diving, reenacting the drama than is the World Cup. Our rugby boys slowly drizzled in. Their age varied from seven to twenty-two, and they came in all shapes and sizes. The youngest was eager as ever, the older boys a little more solemn, their eyes still thick with sleep, and their mouths opened only to yawn.  After half an hour, we were eight people - including myself. We went for a 15-minute warm up run, followed by 10 minutes of stretching. Myself and the team’s captain - Michael, led the warm up. After I designed a mini cardio session, ten push-ups, followed immediately by ten burpees, then a 200-m run. I didn't want to make it too difficult for the little ones, but challenging enough for the older boys. It ended up being challenging for everyone, even the older ones began to struggle, while the younger ones danced about smiling and giving me high fives. By the end of the fourth set everyone was dripping in sweat, but feint smiles across their faces let me know they were proud they completed it. Next we moved into some ball handling skills. We worked on technique and rapid passing to encourage team work. We drilled simple plays into their determined minds, and laughed and laughed. After a few water breaks we set up into two four on four teams and played a competitive but amicable game of tough rugby. Many of the football kids lingered to watch and interview us after. We walked back all sweaty, children swarming around us, quizzing me to see who I supported in the World Cup, who I thought was the best player in the world, who I thought would win, and so on and so forth. We got back to the house, and had a meeting with some Americans whom were running and orphanage down here and we wanted to see how we could help. After the meeting, I kicked the soccer ball around with the kicks. They were astonished that I could do simple tricks like around the world and interviewed me about my own game, where I liked to play, who I thought I played like, who would I be if I could be one player, what position I played, and so on and so forth. I had to say my goodbyes to them and hustle over to meet the crew to go to La Cormier. It was beach time. We giddily piled in the back of a rusted old white pick-up truck and zoomed off to the beach. We drove over the mountains, over streams and through market towns. We passed crumbling slums with rusted tin roofs and rotting wood, and the families most valuable possessions were the clothes on their backs, a bucket for water, and a knife for cooking. We then pulled up to the beautiful white sandy beaches, warm Caribbean water teeming with fish and sea urchins, immaculately painted buildings, a tennis court, volleyball netting, a fully stocked bar with a flat screen TV. People sucking on lobster tails, drinking ice cold cocktails, and laughing shouting and not giving a care in the world. It was amazing the difference there was - not even five minutes away their we families bathing in dirty river water, then drinking that same water. There were families carrying water up the near vertical hills, only to cook a meek soup with plantains and onions, maybe rice if they were lucky. Naked children running around doing errands for their families, old women collecting bundles of fire wood, and men repairing their homes as best they could. That perspective turned the mood a bit sour.

We lay down engulfed in our books, drinking in the sun, and munching crashing warm waves. We devoured a beautiful lunch but there was still a foul taste lingering in our mouths.  We washed it down with cocktails and glued our eyes to the England Italy match. I think I was the only supporter and got sharp glares every time I celebrated, or cried out. It didn't matter, Mario Balotelli sealed the victory with a bullet of a header in the second half. I bought everyone a around of shots and the binge drinking commenced. We played in the sand, drinking away on exotic cocktails, smoking cigars and exchanging embarrassing stories. We laughed and cried and laughed some more. We met some locals, Stephan and Kevin who joined our antics. We went to their house for a mini after party, but eventually Sarah called in quits, and we all soon filled in after her. We snuggled up in our beds, and all this almost, almost, got the thought of the suffering families who had so much less than us out of my mind, but not quiet.

Day 17:

We all drooped over our food, some feeling worse than others. Our eyes were bloodshot, our heads throbbing, our throats dry, our stomachs churning, but our smiles stood strong. We all told stories from the night before, laughing and nursing down a few sips of water and bites of bread. I shared half my omelet with this plump shamelessly begging miniature pinchers that reminded me so much of my dog back home. We became instant best friends and she followed me around. Even after she realized I didn't have any more food to give she played around, and laid down at my feet, then she took her leave, in search for another tourist to feed her. For lunch, I tried conch which was wonderfully rubbery and spicy.

We baked in the sun, put our toes through the sand and floated aimlessly in the crystal-clear water one last time, packed up and headed back to reality. I got home in the late afternoon, help cooked dinner, and slumped away to my bed to recover. A great, great weekend.

Day 18:

We hacked away at branches and cleared rocks from the garden. The birds were chirping and the sun hadn't had a chance to scorch us yet. We were clearing the garden and making a new compost pile. Myself, Alexson, and Georgie (members from the rugby team) dug a 3-foot cubed hole, slicing through roots with our newly fashioned picks. Sparks would fly when we slammed them into rocks. We dug and dug. Then began to fill the hole with manure, leaves, and other organic waste. Robert and I made Hadley for picks and hoes with the branches from the breadfruit tree. We also fashioned a new ladder from new two by fours. We made it notches in the frame so that the steps were depending Solley on the strength of the nails (which were to short anyways - we asked for 2"1/2-3" nails and we only got 2 inch nails). We made it work and Robert and I fashioned the best damn ladder in Haiti, compared to the rotten wood awkwardly framed ladder anything was an improvement.

We sat down in the late afternoon to have a meeting revolving around the development stages of a new design of women's hygiene. Our goal was to make affordable pads, that local women could make to help supplement their family. We met with Dr. Malkin, Jess, Mat, four local women keen to help, and myself. We tossed around ideas, but they kept coming back to using biodegradable materials to help reduce pollution. I was brought in mostly for marketing and environmental strategies, but it seemed to me everyone here didn't have much experience developing. The women were adamant that no one would use a reusable pad, I agreed, but even if some women did use it, they would only be able to wash it in the public stream and that would be beyond unhygienic which many members of the meeting overlooked. Everyone also seemed to fantasize that they could use inexpensive, completely biodegradable containers to sell them in and that it would still be cheaper than everything else on the market. One trick that I have learned in my marketing experience and interviews with CEO's of NGO companies is that people don't want to change their tradition, people will do whatever is easier, people will listen to their peers, and impoverished people are always looking for the more economical option. What people were spitting in this meeting was a wonderful fantasy, but not realistic. I got up and made my meticulously planned speech. I shed light on the fact that modern technology has only come so far, there is not a product that is more easily accessible or cheaper than plastic. I suggested we use recycled plastic for our packaging, it’s still more environmentally friendly than new plastic. I suggested we do not change the way people buy our product. Nothing happens overnight and to establish a loyal customer basis you must generate satisfaction, and that takes time. I suggested we give women incentives, for example if they bring in 100 plastic bottles we will give them a discount on our product, these plastic bottles could be reused, recycled, or sold to a company that specializes in recycled plastics.

Haiti is a distraught developing country; people are more concerned about their next meal than saving the environment. If we wanted to market this product appropriately we can't use the status 'it's better for the environment, so you should pay more for it'. No. That would work for the one percent of the rich Haitians but not for the general rural public, and our underlying goal is to leave it in the hands of Haitian women to help stimulate the local economy.

This meeting lasted about three hours and I think we made sufficient progress to progress into the next stages of the project.

After dinner, I went to watch USA vs Ghana in the World Cup, I want African countries to do well because they're small nations, and it means more to them than to most Americans but being half American I wanted America to win. America won 2-1 with and 86th minute goal. It was bitter sweet, and I slinked into my bed. It had rained for a few hours and there were some flash floods, and overflowing in the drains. It left a foul smell in the air and cooled down the temperature. But this meant there would be millions of bugs buzzing about the next day. Yuck.

Day 19

We all jumped on the back of a moto taxi and drove through the country side, through dry river beds, and through flowing steams, crossing crumbling bridges to the foot of the mountain. We drove by houses lined with thick cacti, naked, men women and children bathing in the icy mountain stream, Stubborn family homes clinging onto the side of the mountain, with children gaping at the white boy.

We climbed the mountain, dodging mangos hurled down with scary velocity from the trees, slapping mosquitos, and dancing across the river bed. We climbed and climbed through the mountain, passing herds of bleating goats, and smiling elders shepherding them across the mountains. Litter children catching crabs and crayfish in the river, men hacking down trees for timber, and women carrying down bundles of plantain down to the local markets. 

We finally reached our destination. A blue shack hidden behind looming trees. We walked inside and there was a certain aroma to the rooms, with crazed drawing, burn marks, dried candle wax, dozens of half empty alcohol bottles, and an assortment of dried herbs. Roseanne’s cousin was a voodoo priest and he used this holdfast as a temple. We gathered some chicken wire and gardening tools and climbed back down. I scampered up a mango tree but none of them were ripe. We marched down and picked up a half clay half metal stove that Robert had designed, its rusted based soiled my shirt and shorts but it was no matter.

We made it home, quickly washed the dirt that caked to our skin, and were off to Cap. We piled in a Tap Tap and buzzed down the road. In Cap, we sat down to lunch on the beach, it was a cool overcast day, the winds stirring up the mountains of trash on the beach as the waved lapped up and washed away the stragglers.

 Robert and I had a meeting with the Universite Roi Henri Christophe's President, Dr. Edourard Noisin. He was a visionary and had countless ideas on how to ameliorate the schools. His father started the school back in the 80s and now his son is taking over. He was a stout man no taller than 5 foot 11, with a Rasta hat on, a baggy green shirt, dark brown eyes, wide ears and a warming smile. His presence was felt throughout the room and he had great pride for Haitian culture. He spoke fluent English, French and Creole, we bounced between the three languages throughout our meetings with civil engineers and environmentalists. We toured the school, it was under redevelopment but it had some amazing potential to rival the universities in Port Au Prince. There were four floors and they were building a fifth. The building was robust, and had a brutalist style of architecture. The stair cases were open, and evidence of construction littered the building. We saw four of five kittens tied up to chunks of wood with mounts of untouched rice and beans next to them. They weighed no more than a kilo and couldn't have been older than three weeks. They, like every other animal in Haiti, were malnourished. Their skin was so tightly stretched across the skin you could count every rib, every vertebrate see the hip bones bounce up and down when they waddled around, fruitlessly struggling to free themselves from their dirty rope chains. I sat down next to one of the kittens and got some meet from the cafeteria. She hesitantly gazed at me, then the meat, then at me again, and grabbed the meat so quickly out of my hand I thought she was going to take a chunk of finger. But after she wolfed it down a notable purr rose from her vocal cords and she plumped herself in my lap, toying with my fingers and rubbing herself down. She climbed along my arm and settled herself in the palm of my hand, where she made her bed. I wish I could have popped her in my pocket right there, and taken all the other stray kittens, cats, dogs, goats, chickens, cows, horses, and any other animal (besides those damn mosquitos) home with me, but I figured customs may have a slight issue with me bringing a farm home.

She meowed and meowed when I stirred to leave, she dug her little claws into my forearm, forbidding me to leave, but I pride myself away and continued with the meetings. Robert and I gave him suggestions on how to build the school, so it would be both economically feasible and environmentally sound. In his gratitude, he bought us each a beer (he ended up buying me two but refused to let me pay) and we continued our discussions. Rosedanie joined in the end and we made our way back to Limbe. On the way, we spoke to the hustlers on the street, ushering people into tap taps, just to get a bit of change. A few came up and asked for money, we relentlessly denied them, and after a while they gave up and just came over for a chat. We jested and jokes, and laughed about the difference in cultures. We watched people on a hill throw down buckets of trash and watched them land on scavenging pigs and goats. After a while, our new friends became our protectors, the shooed off other people trying to come and talk to us, telling them we weren't for sale, and that they couldn't ask us for money. In the end, we thanked him kindly, bought some water off his friend and gave him the change. It wasn't much but it was all I had.

Most of us slept on the way home, and once we were back we climbed into bed and fell asleep before our heads hit the pillow.

Day 20:

We all were up early to work on the garden. We slapped on our gloves and begun the tedious task that lay ahead of us. Myself and Keno began to turn the compost. The ash had increased the pH of the pile making it more basic, which turned the Nitrogen compounds into Ammonia, giving it an awful stench. We wrapped tattered bandanas around the lower half of our faces in a feeble attempt to reduce the smell. We built a barrier for a slumped over avocado tree and trimmed the banana trees to allow more light into the garden. We lugged rock and stone from the beds, began to weed, and made firewood. As a rewards, we feasted on coconuts, Kenol would hold them in his left hand, swing his toned arm down with just enough force to split the coconut but not his hand. If I tried than I would be short one hand. I Lay my down on the ground and meekly hacked away at it till half the milk had drizzled out. None the less I eagerly gulped it down, and scrapped the meat away.

Jessica, Robert, Sarah and I went to the marche and to the bank. We stumbled across patches of people all crowded around a screen watching the World Cup. Jessica had to pry me away from each crowd - I just wanted to check the score. We aimlessly wondered about until we realized we were late for our meeting. We met with Madam Chery whom was to help sow the hygienic pads. We scoped out the room, a dark room bereft from color, and no air circulation, they would need a fan or two. We spoke with the of the head nurses of the maternity ward, and she believed that there was a market for reusable pads with new mothers. We discussed some basic logistics such as how much they would cost to make and sell, how would we plan to sow them, who would fund the project and so on and so forth.

We had a rugby practice from five to seven pm. We watched a mass of Haitians gathering for a soccer game, and they quizzed me about my own game and asked if I wanted to play - I would have loved to but we were late for dinner. When walking home with the kids all hanging off my arms, and the older boys and I talking I noticed that not so many people looked at me as a total stranger. Little girls waved, and came up for a conversation, mothers said hello, groups of guys whom normally shout abuse, came over and shook my hand, or gave me a curt nod.

We had a quick meeting with the boys discussing the practice, and even quicker dinner and an early night for all of us.

Day 21: 

We raced down the road to the citadel, all piled in the back of a pick-up truck with back packs on our laps, wincing each time the driver couldn't avoid a pot hole. We drove through town and I got talking to a few locals, I asked them about their jobs. Most of them sold items at the market, some rented motorcycles to be taxis, some rented wheel barrows for the day and would haul whatever needed to be hauled to wherever it needed to go for the right price, others worked at super markets, or were teachers. I even met a computer science professional who specialized in web design. I bought a hand of bananas from a reserved young lady, and we all munched on those.

We road up to the gates of the monstrous ruins of Henri Christophe’s humble abode. There were torn down bridges, and towers like gnarled knuckles reaching for the sky, a grotesque tree winding its way to tickle the clouds, and screaming children buzzing about in the ruins. We were immediately swarmed but vendors and desperate moto taxis. Some people even got violent and they fought over who had the right to sell to whom, or who got to drive us up the mountain. They fought and fought until finally we all were shoved on a moto and up we went. Up and up and up over rugged cobblestones, winding up the mountain like tendrils on stems. The road was slick with water and polished limestone, making it treacherous, but none of the drivers seemed to notice. Each had a stern cool glaze to their eyes and they nonchalantly whizzed up the trail. Once we reached the top we were again swarmed by vendors eager to sell, and this time we were greeted with the smell of tired horses. Each seemed to skinny to carry a person up the last mile and a half of vertical road. We all declined politely but that didn't stop them from coming up. They didn't believe all of us could make the journey up. To their dismay we trudged up the mountain, our faces glistening with sweat, each bead seemed to wink as it caught the sun’s rays. After about a forty-five-minute hike we reached the top. We were above some low hanging clouds here and the mist cooled us down, as we toured the fortress the day began to clear. We could see Cap Haitian from the top, and a range of rolling mountains and gushing rivers. We posed like typical tourists, read the historical signs, mourned the 20,000 Haitians that died building the fort, played with the cannon balls, and the 242 cannons. We visited the toilets, which was a hole in the ground and a shear 200 foot drop down. We circled the vast drums than collected rainwater, visited the dank dungeons which were deprived of light, they imprisoned lazy 'volunteer slaves’ there. We hiked back down and again were bombarded with sales pitches and cool beverages. We picked up some bricks, and steel sheeting for our stove workshop.  We buzzed of to lunch, sang in the car all the way home. Once we got back we immediately started up our English classes. There were students who were making vast improvements, and weren't shy to ask questions.

Fritznel and myself went over to the hospital to hang out with the others. We tossed cards around only half paying attention, reminiscing on the beach, indulging in gossip, and even telling creepy ghost stories. The time flee by and before I knew it my phone rang and Rosedanie notified us than it was time to come home.

Dinner was left over sandwiches from lunch, and bed came shortly after.

Day 22:

The loud crack of branches, muffled shuffling of logs, and looping waves of metal echoed throughout the garden as Robert and myself set up for a stove workshop. Slowly, the garden was cleared, our outside classroom set up, and students began to trickle in. We had nine students. Robert gave a knowledgeable lecture on the efficiency of stoves. He explained different types, the rocket stove made from clay fired bricks and sheet metal, the gasifier stove made from thick acrylic and heavy metal, even the traditional Haitian stove which was just a pile of rocks with deep orange coals burning beneath. He explained the differences in cost, efficiency, how much energy they produce, their durability, and so on and so forth. My job was mostly a teacher assistant, helping Robert with whatever he needed, whether it be explain something differently, translate, or take a student aside to help them understand better. He didn't call upon me often, throughout my English classes I have seen that Haitians are not particularly fond of participatory learning. They more sit, listen, give a curt nod every so often, avoid answering questions, until the end. Then each of them have at least five questions to ask. Today we went over the theories of the stoves and the science behind them. The lecture lasted around three hours and the students seemed eager to come back tomorrow for the practical workshop.

Rosedanie left for the afternoon so I dug into the donated computers. I cleared the machines, installed new software, set up new accounts, parental control, made word and excel documents outlining different steps on how to work each computer, and so on and so forth. I dug up and old projector, got that working and hooked it up to a century old dell computer. It still worked, it just took more than a while to start up. I set up the printer and configured it with each laptop. I had a fully operational four computer, one protector, one printer, and a solid Wi-Fi learning center established before lunch. Win.

After lunch myself Fritznel, Mat, and Jessica, moved so equipment over to the hospital. We moved an old sowing machine for the reusable pads, boxes of cloth, and extra needles and strings. Robert and I retreated to our beds, he took a nap and I became engrossed in my book, but we locked the gate just so nobody would come in unannounced. Rosedanie was still away in Cap Haitian when we stirred. We wondered where she was, but didn't put much thought into it, we were plenty capable of running the English class without her.  I went to go unlock the gate but I couldn't find the key. Robert and I turned the house overlooking for it but it seemed to elude us. In a final desperation, we called Rosedanie to ask her where the spare key was, turns out the spares were back in Seattle, and took the only set of keys with her to Cap. Oops. We had locked ourselves in. Rosedanie said she would be back at 2 pm at the latest - myself, Jessica, Mat Jena, Rosedanie and a lovely lady named Ellen (who was head of the feminine hygiene project) were to meet in regards to possibly using banana fiber as an eco-friendly material. Everyone turned up at two, but Rosedanie. We couldn't let any of them in, and we couldn't get out. We postponed the meeting until after the English class at 4. Four pm rolls up and both the beginners and advanced students are impatiently waiting outside the gate but Rosedanie was still not here. Finally, at 4:30 she was back with the keys, and we dive straight into English class. Despite the slight set back, we had a fantastic English class. Everyone was eager to learn, everyone participated, and everyone fully understood the different tenses of verbs and could comfortably use them in a sentence. I checked in with Jena and Jessica whose beginners class was learning body parts, counting to 100, and basic conversation. As I waltzed to their section of the garden, and few of younger rugby boys greeted me by yelling random body parts, numbers, and animals. It made everyone laugh and it appeared as if their class was going smoothly as well. At the end of our class we messed around and went over the World Cup teams, and predictions for upcoming games. Everyone seemed to have a good time with that. After the class, each member came up to shake our hands and thank us for our time. They all wore thick grins and sore cheeks from the laugher and I was no better off.

We all cooked dinner, rice with grilled pumpkin, and settled down. The bar next door seemed to be particularly loud tonight but I didn't let that dampen my mood.

Day 23: 

The rugby team and I jogged around the empty field, avoiding goats, and manure. We jogged and stretched and ran through waves on attack, and how to set up a defensive line. After two hours, we gathered up and scrimmaged. I separated the teams as evenly as possible, but it’s difficult when there are a few six year olds matched up with a few twenty-two year olds. After rugby practice I quickly showered and rushed over to help Robert with the practical lessons for the stove workshop. There were less students today which turned out to be beneficial. Each of the students got a task to complete to make the stove. The jobs ranged from measuring diameters, slicing sheet metal, bending the sheet metal, and assembling all the pieces. Robert designed it all and I helped supervise. All the students found a new sense of pride when the stove was completed the deep red of the clay fired bricks encapsulated in a gleaming cocoon of sheet metal. To demonstrate it’s efficiency, we cooked lunch on it. Chicken with stir fry vegetables. 

 Then after lunch we had a meeting with Ellenn and the women's hygiene team, to finalize some details regarding the upcoming construction and distribution technique classes. This was an attempt to empower the women with a new set of skills, highlight sustainable practices and provide them with new jobs.

After dinner, I set up the hooked up the projector to the computers and the rugby boys filed in and we watched Invictus. The only downfall being the bars speakers were louder than ours, and the subtitles were half cut off the screen so it was difficult to keep up with the movie. But nonetheless we watched it and then marched off to bed.

Day 24:

Robert and I set right off to work. It was his last day in Limbe and we wanted to make the most of it. We built a bench work bench from the spare two by four, and a raw piece of lumber, we built chicken wire posts from the bread fruit tree trimmings, we built new handles for more rakes, hoes, and shovels. We chopped fire for our newly fashioned rocket stove, cleared the yard of all the debris, built a shelter for the new water to avoid the worst of the weathering did our laundry, built new clothe lines and polished up the stove, all before noon. I quickly showered, and got a call from Jessica, they were headed to the beach and wanted to see if I would come. I came happily. I needed to be back before five because I had a presentation for the Rugby team and their parents but I wouldn't be long. We clambered in the car. There was myself, the three Canadians, Ellen and three Haitians. James was a tall, broad shouldered, thick armed, Haitian with an intimating scare under his right eye, which made him look like he was snarling at you. He greeted me with a firm handshake, my hands were engulfed by his. In the passenger seat was Andal, a wide eyed, older Haitian blabbering away on the phone.  The driver was Esland, a tall thin man, who was more focused on chewing his toothpick than driving. These three guys owned the bar next door to us and we promised to go visit. But first - beach time. We drove through the mountains to a small public beach. It was a clear, hot sunny day when we arrived. The rippled black sand was matched by stacks of disregarded trash and clothing. The beach was lined up with children, families, naked drunks, normal drunks, couples in the water, babies running about, stray puppies, dogs and pigs, and plenty of vendors We plumped ourselves down and each selected a fish from a pot swarming with flies. They deep fried it with plantains and peppers. We wolfed it down, chasing it down with rum and coke. James bought a liter of rum and each of us a bottle of coke - he took "Toro" which is a local energy drink with his rum. We meandered over to our towels, and sloppily plopped ourselves into the water - making sure not to spoil our rum and coke. We floated in the water for hours, and told story after story after story. The beach had massive speakers that blasted music for everyone to enjoy.

At 4:30 we wistfully took one last gaze at the beach, and solemnly climbed back in the car. The minute we walked in the door parents and rugby players started filling in the door and before I knew it I was giving a presentation about how playing four sports taught me effective time management. Most of the children seemed impressed but the parents were unamused. They didn't want their children sacrificing school time for sports. I carefully tried to explain that there is time for both but only two thirds of the parents seemed to bob their heads in agreement, others scoffed and dismissed it. Overall I thought it was a successful presentation   For Roberts last night we went to Baliba bar to feast on goat and fresh tomatoes. Rosedanie introduced us to Laila, an eight-year-old native Haitian girl, who moved to the United States with her family when she was two. She had a weak voice, and a timid smile which exposed her gap teeth. After a few minutes of questions, she opened right up. Her and I had some staring contests, which she won everyone. She found my smile 'amusing' and every time I laughed she laughed harder. We saw a beetle that was the length of my pinky, and as thick as my ring and middle finger. She tried to catch it to put it in my hair but thankfully it was quicker than her. She laughed and laughed and introduced us to some of her friends. Who promptly asked if I would either buy them a beer or give me money. They were no older than 12 and I had to respectfully decline. After dinner, we stumbled home and found our beds quick enough.

Day 25:

We woke up and walked Robert to the bus station and said our goodbyes. Not a very sentimental goodbye but a solid farewell nonetheless. Today there wasn't much planned. Today we mostly relaxed. At around three pm we piled up in an old Toyota (so old the steering wheel had to be taped on, the clutch was nearly burnt out, it had a problem starting, wouldn't shift past third gear, the wind shield was spider wed of cracks, there were no seat belts, no mirrors, no electronics, none of the gauges worked and I could go one forever). But it ran nonetheless and it served the purpose. We picked up a ladder from the university and went around Limbe taking down banners from the Agricultural conference. After we returned the car and the ladder we went home. Outside the bar was James, Nadal, Esmond Ellen, the three Canadians and a small crowd of Haitians. They were playing a game where there were two slanted platforms with a gaping hole in the center, twenty feet apart from one another. The aim of the game was to throw bean bags onto the platform. One point for landing on the platform, three points for getting it in the hole. First one to 21 wins. Simple enough. before long it seemed as if we had half of Haiti watching us play We played and drank for hours until it was too dark to see. We stayed at the bar the rest of the night before heading to bed.

Day 26:

The sharp clank of steel on gravel became a customary sound in the morning, it was coupled by the snap of branches, anguished filled screams from ants biting our bare feet and shouts of instructions in French and creole. We began to install the chicken wire French, setting of posts and clearing areas for beds. I trimmed the banana leaves and solidified the posts.

After breakfast, I sat down and to an inventory of the books. I organized them into five groups; Francis, English Coloring books, English Exercise Books, English Resource books, Agriculture, and Health. There were over a hundred books and I went about my business methodically. I inserted the data into an excel document. I recorded the name of the book, the author(s), and the quantity. It took little over an hour but at the end all the books in the house had been sorted, recorded, and restocked in their respective groups.

In the late afternoon, the towns electricity came on so for the two hours it was on I continued to format the computers, updated software, expanded my instruction manual in the word document, and played around to make sure everything ran smoothly. I had the fan on to make sure none of the computers overheated.

At 5pm we had rugby practice, we were 14 players today, including mat and Jessica who decided to join our training session. We worked mostly on kicking and reviewing some basic tactics. It was a short and sweet practice. We had a run at 5:30 am tomorrow so I didn't want to tire them out too much.

Day 27:

In the dark, four of the rugby boys waited outside the gate, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and their mouths yielding to tired yawns.   Patrick (17 years old), Georgie (14 years old), Dely 10 years old) and Edlin (13 years old) were all ready to go. Jessica and I led the pack. It was so dark outside we had to be weary where to run, the potholes could easily break and ankle, wrist, or even a leg they were so deep. We had run four kilometers before the sun revealed itself, illuminating our way. We ran on the side of the roads, jogging past dumbfounded stares, crooked smiles, and nervous animals. We choked on the emissions from the trucks and were covered in soot by the time we were half way. I planned to run for an hour and wasn't on distance. At 30 minutes, we had run seven kilometers, I didn't want to push any of them too hard so we kept the pace relatively relaxed. We jogged back, and winded our way through the streets. The last 100 meters or so we raced back, and in 55 minutes we ran 13.5 km. Every single one of us glistened with sweat.

By 9 o'clock the whole team was back working on the garden. We turned beds, clear weeds, and moved stones until 11:30 when I stopped to make spaghetti for the team. We all cracked open a soda and sand our teeth into the food. We reconvened later that day and had a full rugby game of 7vs7. Mat and Jena came along but Jessica was still recovering from our run. The game was competitive but amiable. A few curses here and there, one or two temper tantrums, but nothing to cause concern. Each team had its own set of fans, mostly soccer players or children who came to watch every practice. They even learned our names and were shouting encouragement from the sidelines. After two thirty minute halves the game concluded with a score of 5-4. We waltzed through town with our heads held high and a heard of children and supporters behind us, blabbering about the World Cup. We stumbled upon a game of street futsal, and I joined in. Everyone seemed to be impressed that a white boy could keep up with them. We played hack sack with a few younger children. The sack was two plastic bags filled with rice and tied tight together. We played barefoot, and this game was more competitive than our rugby. I attributed it to the fact that Messi had scored two goals in Argentina’s victory over Nigeria in the World Cup, and everyone wanted to replicate this feat.

As the sun went down we went back to base camp and had a meeting about what community service the kids could do. They concluded on planting trees in and around the city and I was in full support of that. 

A long day was capped off early. We were all to meet at 6 the next morning with a recent graduate from the University, he was an agronomy student coming to help with the garden.

Day 28:

Jackie was a soft-spoken man. He spoke fluent French and a bit of English so we got along just fine. He timidly whispered instructions to the boys whose boisterous jests drowned out the instructions. Once I echoed his words the boys and I got to work. It was still early, only quarter past six in the morning. After we measured out the beds Jackie again mumbled a few instructions. It wasn't until he realized that the kids weren't going to lash back at him that he finally began to bellow our instructions, which lit a fire under the feet of the kids. By nine we had finished a bed, built two tire pots, a worm farm, built a gate, and lined the perimeter of the garden with chicken wire.

The worm farm was my doing. I found a shady corner of the garden, and the boys and I built an elevated platform, the bottom layer of rocks, and then four thick branches to stabilize the tire. We used fresh banana leaves to line the tire. We chopped up old fruits and mixed in compost.  The idea is that once the worms eat their way through the banana leaves, it will collapse on itself and make a small mound, the rocks and the branches act as the container. Not a very professional or conventional worm farm, but it will serve its purpose. 

Jena and Jessica came over and we worked through some ideas for the women's hygiene program and found a few documentaries outlining the health issues around the subject. They left to go teach the women how to sow with ellen, and I was left to clean the garden.

I skinned my knee at the rugby scrimmage the previous day. At the time, I didn't even give it a second thought. Towards the late afternoon it began to get a bit runny, and attracted unwanted flies. I elected to go a clean it. Fewer flies would land on it, but there were still who braved through my misguided swats.

Had party, cake, beer, rum, had the rugby boys over, played music, danced, drank moonshine, gave me Mamba and Cassava bread, went to St. Peter's day festival, had our own security team, met a guy from the Dominican Republic, spoke spangle went home.