One never really know here. 

Driving Surprise

Recently my co-worker Troy was driving his kids to school when one of his car tires came off.  Yep, he heard a loud bang and then looked out his window to see what used to be his back tire rolling on down the street – with his brake drum rolling the other way. 

That was exciting, and the second time he said that had happened to him in Haiti.  His car had just got back from the shop after being repaired, if that tells you anything about the quality one can expect from certain mechanics here. 

Blowout

Also recently, a vehicle directly in front of me had a massive tire blowout that sounded like a gun going off.  The tire came apart in several large chunks that I drove around.

Many vehicles here are in poor condition mechanically, I’ve noticed.

German Tourist

One day I met a German tourist (Frank) at the grocery store… We got to talking (in his broken English) and come to find out he was here looking for a wife.  Yeah, that makes sense to me too, right?  He even had put up a sign outside his hotel with this written, “One man from Europe looking for a woman to marry,” and a phone number listed underneath.  That was bizarre. 

Frank told me I was the first white person he had seen in the three days he’d been here.  He looked pretty lost, far outside his comfort zone.  Later, after returning to Germany, I got an e-mail from him saying he sadly hadn’t been able to find a wife.  He had been introduced to three different ladies, but none of them worked out.  Frank said the deal breaker with one was that she had, “the face of a man,” whatever that means.  I would have thought not being able to speak a word of each others language would have been an earlier deal breaker, but what do I know? Perhaps communication in a marriage is over-rated?

Moto Repairs

One day I did a double take upon passing a motorcycle towing another motorcycle with a piece of twine. Their twine broke (or came apart) while I watched and they had to stop and re-tie it.  Moto’s towing moto’s was a new one. 

I commented my surprise to a Haitian lady I was with and she responded, “What do you expect, you’re in Haiti?  Keep looking and you may see a dog towing a dog.”  I’m still watching for that one.

Grenada Guy

One day in the Western Union Office I overheard a young man in front of me speaking English.  He looked perfectly Haitian, so I was taken aback.  We struck up a conversation and turns out he is from Grenada (a smaller Caribbean island with a population of only 100,000).  Apparently they speak English in Grenada.  This fellow is here working in Haiti as a technician for the cell phone company Natcom. 

I thought he spoke very American – no accent that I could tell.  It was quite entertaining watching him try his few Creole words with the lady behind the counter. 

He looked so Haitian it was comical comparing notes about the place in English.  He would say, “Everything about this place is crazy, like I’ve never had to wait so long at a bank!” Or, “It’s ridiculous they can’t keep the roads fixed up!”

I told him I knew people spoke English in Jamaica too, and was it similar to that in Grenada?  He was like, “Nah, you can’t understand anything those guys say in Jamaica, but where I’m from we speak normal English.” 

Wow, that was a random conversation.

The View out my Windshield

Lastly, here are two pictures I took with my phone while driving around Croix-de-Maison (w/Beth’s truck).  They showcase a local fruit & vegetable market and navigating dusty, congested traffic:

Tomorrow there is a wedding.  I’m going to miss it, but was given the job today to drive the wedding cake out to the church location. I don’t know much about Haitian weddings, but heard that the cake is a big deal. 

Toward that end, this morning I meandered over to the Women’s Center kitchen to watch the skilled Heartline ladies finish icing said cake, surreptitiously snapping photos of them at work (all photos taken with my cheapo cell phone camera):

The cake was 3-tier and quite impressive.  Here is a picture I took after the icing was finished, still at the Women’s Center:

Next, the three pieces of cake were carefully transported into Beth’s pickup (in the cab).  The drive out was about an hour each way and besides the cake and other wedding paraphernalia, we also had four Haitian ladies and myself all in the four-door cab.  They didn’t put anything in the bed, guess it was too dirty back there for wedding shtuph.

After arriving in Kenai, a dusty shanty looking community where many previous tent-city dwellers have been relocated into better housing, the cake was carefully carried into the bridal suite (a plywood structure converted as such for the occasion).

In the following picture you can see the base of the cake has been carefully set down on the table, as well as the top of the cake. 

However, the middle piece was still being carefully held by an unnamed person. 

Moments after this picture was taken, disaster struck…

Ooops!

Yep, I saw it happen right under my nose, the cake just flopped out of her hand and landed ker-plop on the cement floor!

What is left after scraping it off the floor:

After the shock wore off and the ladies recovered from their heart attacks (even I may have covered my mouth in dismay) they tried seeing what the cake might look like demoted to the rank of “two-tier.”  

I thought it looked great, who needs thee levels anyways?  Overkill. 

Then, to my surprise, they went ahead and attempted to fix the remnants of the ruined one!  I was wondering about germs and all from the concrete floor, but guess if we’re following the 30-second rule it was probably still OK. 

Their skill reminded me of that part in Ernest Goes to Jail where Ernest whittles a machine gun out of a bar of soap.

With patience and ingenuity, they contrived the following:

Despite how traumatic it was for the ladies at the moment it happened, I was glad to see the bride-to-be at least appeared unperturbed. Later, on the ride back to town, the humor of the situation set in and I was regaled with peals of laughter from the back seat. 

The only girl who never seemed to snap from her deep funk was the one who dropped it. 

But, I won’t reveal her name

Below is a picture of where the wedding will take place tomorrow. 

The bride-to-be is on the left wearing white. I only met her today, but was impressed at how pleasant and nice a lady she seemed.

An interesting factoid is that after the earthquake one of legs had to be amputated and she now has a prosthetic, but appears to get around pretty regardless!

I’ve heard it said in order to go live in Haiti it’s a nice idea to either be crazy or have a clear calling from the Lord.  And preferably both. 

Not sure if I have either of those, but this past week I’ve had strep throat, which wasn’t near so exciting.  On the mend now, thankfully.  Taking antibiotics.

One afternoon I was out running errands, fighting traffic, and feeling particularly sick (consequently, grumpy).  At one point while walking a short distance was accosted by three different beggars (two young kids and a very old lady), each telling me how hungry they were.  I shrugged them off, being hungry myself, not having eaten all day – for one reason because my throat hurt too bad to swallow! 

As annoying as the beggars were, I got to thinking about them and feeling more compassion… “I’ve only missed two meals today and feel this hungry, wonder how many meals they haven’t had?  I’m sick and grumpy, but I bet they’re often sick too without access to medicine like I have, or to clean water, a comfy bed at night, a refreshing fan, 24hr electricity, the occasional slice of pepperoni pizza, etc.” 

So, after working up my compassion, I went into a nearby store and bought three loaves of bread.  On my way back to my car I handed a loaf to each of them, in turn, as they came up again asking for food.  The kids were happy, but the old lady complained it wasn’t enough. Or perhaps that she couldn’t eat the bread with no teeth, but my Creole wasn’t good enough to know the difference.

I asked a middle-class Haitian who speaks English if beggars often accost her too.  She said, “Yes,” and sometimes she gives them something.  But oftentimes, she continued, people don’t give beggars anything because if one stops to talk to the “awousa’s,” they might find their money and/or important documents gone afterwards. I assumed she was referring to the risk of being pickpocketed. But no, she explained, stuff could be stolen without them even touching you! through voodoo.  I was skeptical, but she assured me this was the truth.   

In some ways voodoo is below the surface; in other ways it is right out in the open.  I took the following picture of bizarre-looking voodoo doll trinkets I saw for sale one day:

While I can’t say I’ve had any of my things disappear through voodoo spells per se, Haiti does seem hard on stuff, in general.  For example, since coming here my trusty Gerber pocketknife has fallen apart, my cell phone cracked open, my expensive pocket flashlight broke, my DeWalt cordless drill locked up (what, DeWalt?!), both pairs of sandals I brought from the States disintegrated (sad days), my shorts now have holes in them and are stained, and my laptop keeps giving me the blue screen of death… heck, even my nose-hair trimmer broke.  Oh well, who needs a nose-hair trimmer anyways? I haven’t cut the hair on top my head in about six months.

Flip-flops are essential though, so after mine bit the dust I went to a local outdoor market to look for a new pair.  Couldn’t find ones the correct size that I liked, but did buy a pair, which is mostly what I’m wearing these days.  They were six dollars.  Though a little small, I feel more like a local wearing shoes that don’t fit.

At that same market I also bought a new hat because I’d lost mine.  Was excited to find a nice, fashionable, brand new baseball cap for only three dollars.  But when I got home realized the bill was sewn on crooked.  I’m guessing it was a factory reject, and therefore made its way to Haiti as a charitable donation.  A charitable donation for me to find scrounging around in a boxfull of caps in an outdoor market. I still wear it frequently; it keeps the sun off.

Not sure why we sometimes think it’s OK to send rejects as donation items.  Recently, a guest showed me a purse she wanted to donate and asked if I knew someone whom we could give it to? perhaps one of our Haitian staff?  Problem was, one side of the purse had an obvious hole with the inner stuffing coming out.  I was like, “Well, I don’t know…”  Noticing my hesitation, she said, “Well, that’s OK, I’ll find someone to give it to before I leave.”  In my head I was thinking, “Is that the type of gift you would want for yourself?”

On the other hand, I can’t be too harsh, I just admitted to giving out loaves of baguette bread to beggars, and that’s not the type of meal I normally eat.  Though the loaves did look yummy.  I’ve always enjoyed French bread, as this picture of a younger me shows (taken in France, ironically):

While I’m on the topic of food, Melissa and our Haitian staff arguably make the best pizza on earth.  About once every couple weeks we’re treated to their crackerjack culinary arts.  It’s always a highlight, anticipated many days in advance. 

These pictures from last Tuesday:

Ok, so this post turned out eclectically random.  But that’s ok, I just felt like writing.

Filling stations in Port-au Prince have been out of gasoline for five days.  That’s 3 million people with no gasoline. 

They say the reason is because an oil tanker from Venezuela is two weeks late.  Probably Venezuela forgot to send out the boats after Hugo Chavez died. 

The prediction is we’ll have more by Sunday. 

In the meantime, traffic is thinning out on the roads.  Diesel is still available, so most vehicles out running now are diesel.   

Our cars were out by like Wednesday.  For some reason we always run them on quarter tank anyways so it didn’t take long.  So much for preparedness.  Except then, in a back corner somewhere, a few extra gallons were found yesterday, so we dumped them in our Montero.  Now we’re back in business! 

Except today Ryan and I got stuck at the hardware store because the Montero wouldn’t start.  The starter is bad.  We just took the starter out last week and brought it to a starter repairman.  He repaired it, but now it’s broke again.  I’m not thinking he did a very good job.

John and Pierre came and towed us home.  That was exciting, getting towed halfway across Port-au Prince.  I was driving the Montero getting towed (with no power steering or power brakes) and Pierre (red hat and shirt below) drove the pickup truck pulling us.  Sometimes Pierre drove faster than comfortable, all while dodging traffic and potholes.  At one point he drove off the road to avoid some obstacle… without slowing down! 

Ryan was with me and couldn’t watch.  He kept trying to occupy himself looking down on his phone.  He did take the following pictures though:  

Ryan and I are always getting into adventures (and he takes the pictures, thanks Ryan!).  In the photo below, I’m arguing with a HNP (Haitian National Police) over a tail light that was burnt out.  He wanted me to pay “a little something” in exchange for not getting a ticket.  I refused, but also didn’t want a ticket either – it’s a big pain and plus they take away your drivers license.  He didn’t want to write a ticket, just receive a bribe.   We both stalled about five minutes.

It’s hard knowing just what to do in these situations.  I wish the police would be decisive and either give me a ticket or give me a warning.  Instead, they stand around hemming and hawing, trying to get cash. 

One ploy is to pretend to not know Creole.  Unfortunately, I do know some, and when the policeman pictured below asked me for “de mil gourde,” I about went through the roof.  That’s $50 US and there was no way I was handing $50 to a highway robber.

Eventually I won and he let me go with only a warning.

To prevent this type of thing from happening again, I took it upon myself to fix all the lights on the 4runner.  Front hazard light, back tail light, and one of the headlights were all burnt out.  Now everything works. 

Naturally, a good number of cars in Haiti are missing lights and the police do nothing about them.  But they do enjoy picking on “blans” since they can frequently obtain bribe money out of ‘em.

Well, I’m still having fun driving around the Caribbean.  Finally got my picture taken behind the wheel:

“I still find each day too short for all the thoughts I want to think, all the walks I want to take, all the books I want to read and all the friends I want to see.”

– John Burroughs

Many aspects of Haitian life are intense.  Sometimes Haitians drive their cars like maniacs.  Sometimes they worship the Lord like maniacs.  Today I had the opportunity to witness both.

It was technically my day off.  Last time I had one such it was spent sleeping through the entire thing (and the next night), getting in nearly 36 hours total, only arising to eat, the effort of resting having worked up a special appetite, as I recall.  This time I should have done the same… especially since I’m sick with a cold.  Instead, I decided to go a-visiting and a-exploring. I have my whole life to sleep, but who knows how long I’ll live in Haiti?

This morning I availed myself to the cultural experience of walking around downtown.  One nice thing about Port-au Prince is that, for the most part, people leave you alone.  Downtown here doesn’t have much tourism… which means not many tourists… which means the locals aren’t naturally tuned in to the “bugging foreigners” setting.

I kept an eye out for street kids, of which I saw a number.  I’ve heard that many of the kids who sniff glue live in the Port-au Prince cemetery, so I visited there too.  One of the friendly gate-workers gave me a tour.  I was proudly showed Papa Doc’s tomb, of which only a remnant of busted concrete remained.  No doubt at one point there was an imposing monument on that base. 

Around (and in) the cemetery are shopping stalls where one can buy long-wick candles and voodoo dolls and such.  A massive tree in the cemetery had a great number of just such dolls pinned to its trunk.  Not sure what the significance was, guessing to torment ones enemies in the afterlife with the tingly-winglies.  In retrospect, I should have asked my tour guide.  Instead, I remember telling him something like I’m a Christian and don’t believe in that pokey-needle-jazz.

Later, I drove onwards to Carrefour to visit my pastor friend Watson and his family.  Twas a pleasant afternoon getting caught up, the timing of my visit being particularly fortuitous.  For one thing, turns out he was preaching a revival meeting this evening.  I attended that, driving his family to the service, saving them tap-tap rides, for which they were grateful.  The service was lengthy, the worship was heartfelt, and when Pastor Watson got up front to speak, he first called me up to say a few words to the revival-ee’s.  Ugh, hate when they do that.  Don’t you love being put on the spot in front of several hundred people?

I’ve attended quite a few Haitian services now, in diverse locales and denominations, and though I haven’t understood a word yet (because I don’t speak Creole), I do notice most the sermons are delivered in the same emotional tenor: imagine Tony Evans speaking Haitian Creole.  Except that he’s on steroids. 

By the time all the hoopla with Church was done, it was night time, and I was still in Carrefour, a long way from home.  After driving Watson and Co. back to their ranch (think Silver Springs Apartments with none of the amenities, comforts, or niceties) which included navigating a few tight alleyways on a steep gravel road, I embarked on the pilgrimage home, which turned out to be eventful in its own right.

For starters, there were three police checkpoints I went through.  Two were relatively painless, but at the third I was forced to negotiate with the law quite some time. They were threatening to give me a ticket because one of my headlights was burned out.  I wish they would have been decisive, just giving me a ticket or giving me a warning. Instead, they hemmed and hawed around hoping I’d give them some money. Rather than money, I gave them my solemn promise to fix the headlight first thing.  One policeman began openly asking for a bribe.  Then another came up and wanted to throw the book at me, which I didn’t appreciate.  Then a third policeman came up and the question was asked, “So what do you want us to do to you?”  How are you supposed to answer a question like that from an officer of the law?  I thought, then replied something to the effect, “Just give me a warning and let me go.”  Eventually they did. Ask and you shall receive.

Crossing downtown Port-au Prince at 8pm is an eerie time.  The roads are clear enough of traffic you can move along, like 30 mph.  That’s just fast enough to jar your teeth out when you hit the potholes. However, tons of people are still out.  In fact, at one point I passed a mob of perhaps a hundred or so running down the street en masse.  They were yelling, and some were carrying torches.  I gave them a wide berth and kept moving. 

Another hazard are manholes missing the covers. I narrowly avoided rolling into several of these… though a car directly in front of me was not so lucky and may have wrecked its suspension. But the real road-hazard doozie for today was at one point on the way home I was surprised upon suddenly coming upon a concrete barrier across my lane!  As it loomed from the dark, I stopped just in the Nick of time, as is my custom.  If my attention had been diverted even a second, the 4runner would have been “totaled toast.” Never in my life has something similar happened in America.

There was more too, but I’m getting tired, and this is getting long, and tomorrow is another day, and I’ll try making my next post more spiritually edifying.  Just wanted to get a few notes jotted about the day before I forgot everything.