Rocks Out of Water

By Nick Caistor
Port-au-Prince, Haiti

Haiti was the first country in the Americas to abolish slavery, when it won its independence in 1804 after a struggle led by Toussaint Louverture. But thousands live a life of near-slave labour because of poverty and social breakdown.

Jeanette is walking up a hill in Petionville, a district in the Haitian capital, Port-au-Prince. She is carrying a huge blue drum full of water on her head. Jeanette is only six, but has to walk 4km (2.4 miles) every day to get the water from the public standpipe.

Jeanette was born in the countryside outside the small town of Hinche in the north of the country. Her parents are among the poorest of the poor in this country where more than half the population of 9m lives on less than 50 US cents (£0.25) a day.

Her father one day told her she was going to stay with (French: rester avec) distant relatives in the Haitian capital. Ever since, Jeanette has become one of the estimated 250,000 children used as near-slave labour in Haiti.

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Another event during the month of January was the annual fèt, celebration, at the Catholic Church in Meno. It was a really big event for my host family because it was their youngest daughter, Kitkit’s, first communion. I still don’t understand all that went on, but I believe the first communion activities began on Thursday and the children had 3 days of classes/preparation with the priest. (Kitkit even skipped school for 2 days.) Saturday morning they attended a church service and then went back to their houses for a reception with family and friends. I regret I didn’t get up to Meno in time for Kitkit’s reception – there were just too many other things going on that same day.

What I did get to see were the nighttime festivities. Hardly anyone in Meno slept that night! My host mother and many other women from the community were at the church making dinner for the priest and preparing to decorate the church for the mass the next morning. Down the hill from the church, surrounding the school, people had set up little stands, with lights, and they were selling all sorts of food items. It felt so lively! I couldn’t believe it – there were 3 different dances set up with 3 different generators, and at about 9:30 at night, 6 men from the community were climbing the Meno mountain, carrying another generator to provide light for the women to decorate the church. Almost everyone was helping with something – it was truly a community effort!

The next morning the mass was beautiful and brought tears to my eyes. The choir sang a plethora of songs and my favorite part was a group of young girls who performed synchronized dances during the music. I love the way communion is done during celebrations at Haitian catholic churches. As the offering plate is passed, everyone’s eyes are focused on a double line of slow moving dancers, rocking back and forth, as they make their way up the middle aisle. They are usually carrying baskets of produce on their heads, which to me, is such a beautiful visual reminder of bringing the very best of what we have been given, and placing it before God.

I wish I had some pictures of the actual mass, but I’m sure they wouldn’t have done it justice. It was so special to have spent the last 8 months living in Meno and then share this important community event with them. Below are two of my neighbors, the littlest, Jilianna, was baptized.

Another treat for me was meeting Leslie, the only SenJan (my host family) sibling I had yet to meet. Leslie lives and works in the Dominican Republic and he came home for the festival. In the picture below, Leslie is standing next to me in the black shirt. These are the 4 youngest SenJan kids, from left to right, Kiki (16), Roosevelt (18), Leslie (23), and Jean Frantz (21).

The last two months have flown by and we finally have time to sit down and update the blog. We had a very busy January, filled with planning for a transformational travel (TT) group, receiving the group, and attending the week long Limyè Lavi annual meeting (Beyond Borders sister organization).

One of the highlights of the month was meeting the TT participants and spending a week with them as they experienced Haiti for the first time. I think they enjoyed their time, and one of the participants has traveled back to Haiti already. In fact, she is in the country right now, and is making plans to open a store selling handmade Haitian arts and crafts.

I certainly learned a great deal while the group was here! Instead of hiring people we didn’t know to make food, we put together a kitchen team of our favorite cooks, our good friend Samson’s girlfriend, Marjory, and our neighbor Dalouse, and someone how I got into the mix too. Cooking here is a big ordeal and it can take 3+ hours just to make one meal. My week was filled with trips to the market with Dalouse, early mornings, and a whole lot of hearing, “No, that’s not how you do it. Cut it like this, or wash it like this…..”

I was exhausted by the end of the week, but thankful for the experience. It was especially neat for the group, as they got to interact with the cooks, help out, and learn how the food was made. We all went away with a deeper appreciation the long hours put into making a delicious meal.

Besides the morning mass, there were a few other Christmas day activities that took place in my community. One being painting the house! Tim and I both think it’s funny that Haitians tend to paint their houses or buildings, fè kay bel, on the actual day of the holiday. In the states we like to do it before hand, so we are able to sit back and enjoy the day, but things don’t really work that way here…and for good reasons.

The painting of the house on Christmas was amusing, but not quite as entertaining as watching businesses trying to paint in the mist of the frenzy the day Wyclef Jean paraded around Jacmel in a huge moto brigade. For those who don’t know, Wyclef, who was born in Haiti, is a hip-hop musician (who sings that song with Shakira, Hips Don’t Lie and performed it live at the world cup finals) and is probably the single most popular Haitian figure today. He came to Jacmel at the beginning of December and gave a concert on the beach, gratis, free. It was a HUGE deal here, and anyone who was anyone and could get to the beach for the concert, did. So, instead of painting the week before Wyclef arrived, or even the day before, quite a few businesses where slapping on paint as Wyclef and the crowds were flying through the streets.

Though I don’t have any pictures of the Wyclef parade, here is one of my host father painting the house on Christmas day.

Whenever people have some down time, they like to play dominoes, especially the kids who live in my lakou, immediate neighborhood. Most people had Christmas day rather free and thus it involved a lot of domino playing. Here are some kids from the neighborhood playing. As I’m writing this post, I just heard a neighbor slam down a domino and now all of the men outside are arguing. There’s nothing like a rousing game of dominoes!

After our amazing Christmas lunch, of rice & beans & chicken, Tim and I went visiting neighbors. Many were overjoyed to have Tim sit at their house, for some it was the first time they’d met him. Christmas day, and the day after Christmas, I managed to accumulate quite the assortment of tropical fruit. As always, I was amazed at the generosity of my neighbors and their insistence that I leave their house with a handful of something. Here is a photo of the goods.

Our last stop on Christmas day was the house of Tim’s language helper. Bona is a moun Meno (from Meno), but spends most of his time in Jacmel. Here’s a photo of Tim and Bona.

I couldn’t resist posting a few photos of some kids in my community. I’ve been talking the camera around lately and trying to make sure everyone gets in a photo. These are some of my little friends.

This year, when I think about Christmas day, I won’t remember the food because it really wasn’t any different than the beans and rice I ate the day before. I won’t remember the presents because I didn’t unwrap anything. And I won’t remember celebrating with family because they aren’t here, but I have to admit I missed them a lot! I won’t remember the big celebrations or the glitter and glamour, but the simple, beautiful Christmas morning mass.

I haven’t converted to Catholicism, though I love the catholic churches I have attended in Haiti and have great respect for the work the church supports and carries out. My host family lives in a predominantly Catholic community, and a good percentage of the village, if they are not washing clothes, cooking food, or engaging in other work, attend the services. Mass is a special occasion because it’s rare to have a priest in attendance, but this Christmas, as he usually does, a priest journeyed up the mountain.

The pre-service activities of welcoming the priest and praying the rosary flowed well into the 9 o’clock hour – the supposed start of the mass. You could say it started right on time, Haitian time of course. About 10 o’clock the children from the community school, all dressed in their uniforms, entered from the back door, carrying flowers and singing. Then the drums started, followed by song after song about Nwel, Christmas. There’s something inspiring, almost unexplainable, about music sung to the beat of a hand held drum. When the drum gets going, and the choir sings loud, it’s like the beat of the drum enters your body and rhythmically sways you from side to side. If you aren’t swaying, at least you are tapping your feet.

In between songs, the priest gave a pretty simple sermon, but a few of his comments have stayed with me. He emphasized that Jesus was a poor man, from a poor family, born in a stable with the animals. Haitians can relate to that because they live and work closely with animals. Most families have a few pigs, some chickens, a donkey, and a cow. Part of the daily routine is caring for them – feeding them, changing their grazing area, and making sure they are healthy. No Haitian would think about giving birth in the pigs quarters or on top of hay or grass, which is intended for the cows to eat, but Jesus, a king, was born in a stable. Haitians can visualize the manger scene and can understand what this says about Jesus’ social-economic situation. Even though I’ve glanced at hundreds of nativity scenes, beautiful displayed in remembrance of the stable birth, it’s so hard for me to fathom how poor Jesus’ family was. In fact, I hadn’t really pondered it until recently.

Last weekend all of the apprentices and Anna, our colleague who is working in the Dominican Republic, gathered together for a retreat. We had a relaxing time talking and hanging out at the beach. One of the highlights was hearing a talk that touched on the history, culture, and religion in Haiti. (From left to right: Kim, Leah, Cara, Tim, and Anna.)

The retreat ended with a bang. Our good friend and colleague, Samson, had four friends visiting from Port-au-Prince. They cooked a huge meal for all of us and made sure that we helped out. Here is Tim making the dessert.

Before eating we got a huge lesson on how to eat at a fèt, party. We all helped to serve one another as part of the learning process. It basically comes down to this. You eat everything during the first round, except for the rice, which you save for last. We had so much food that hardly any of us got to the rice.

Totally unrelated to the weekend retreat, we moved into an apartment on Monday. This is the view from our bedroom window. Not too shabby! The view is great, but the apartment can get warm and there are quite a few mosquitoes. I guess you can’t have it all.

Over the past month I’ve been trying to spend as much time as possible in Meno. Splitting my time between the city, Jacmel, and Meno has worked out nicely as Tim’s schedule has slown down considerably and he’s had time to journey up the mountain for a few visits.

About 2 weeks ago as I was walking along a dirt path, returning to my host family’s house, a trail of young children came tearing out of my neighbor’s house, pleading for me to take their picture. I had no idea why today of all days they were set on posing in front of the camera. Since I was sweaty and tired, I politely made an excuse and said I would take their picture another day. As a final plea, the mother of the house came out and asked if I wanted to see the new baby. My friend Nadj, whom I would ask almost every day, when she was going to fè piti la, make the little child, had given birth just the day before. Now it all made sense. I went to get my camera and we took pictures, not only of beaming mother and child, but all members of the household performing their respective activities.

Nadj, overjoyed, gazing at her day old son. Nadj lost her first baby just a few minutes after it was born, an ocurance all too common in Haiti. The infant mortality rate here is 71.65 deaths per 1,000 live births, the highest in the Western Hemisphere. Even when women know they are experiencing complications in child birth, they often wait 2-3 days before going to the doctor (usually too long to save the child or the mother) because they do not have money to pay for the medical services. I’m so glad Nadj, with the help of the local midwife, was able to deliver her son without any complications.

Most of the rest of Nadj’s family, her father is standing back center, and the rest are sisters, nieces, and nephews.

Here you can see Nadj’s father, Jan, making charcoal, a common practice in the countryside. As one of the very few options to make a little money, rural peasants cut down precious trees, stack the wood under soil and leaves, light it on fire, and let it smolder for a few days. They take the end product, charcoal, to sell as cooking fuel in the city. Haiti is over 98% deforested, which has lead to soil erosion, desertification, and dangerous flooding during tropical storms. While most people are aware of the environmental problems associated with cutting down trees, they precede simply to survive. People live in absolute poverty and cook with the most affordable resource, wood-they don’t have to pay a monetary fee to cut down their own trees. In the cities, the majority of people cook with charcoal (made from wood) unless they are able to afford a gas burning stove and the cost of refilling the gas tank.

Odet, Nadj’s mother, and sisters were busy making akansann, a corn derivative, that I wrote about in a former post entitled Living on Less that a Dollar a Day. Here you can see the yellow corn gum and the way they package it inside of plantain leaves. They sell three of those for 5 gouds, or 13 cents.

It seems hard to believe that 5 years ago I began my own apprenticeship in rural Haiti. I still vividly remember those first days and all of the excitement and nerves. Those same feelings came back to me over the course of past few weeks as I installed our two newest apprentices into their new host communities. I am happy to report all three apprentices–Kim, Cara, and Leah–are doing a wonderful job and are to be commended for their willingness to step out of their own culture to experience the rigors of another. Their host families and communities are to be commended as well for receiving them with such hospitality. I can say with confidence that all three apprentices are in good hands! Here is a picture of Leah and her host family the Sen Jeans. (Sen Jean, Leah, Madam Sen Jean, Kikit, Roosevelt)

Meet our two newest apprentices:

Kim Montroll

Before moving to Haiti with Beyond Borders Kim Montroll lived in Washington D.C. and worked as Co-executive director of Good Shepherd Ministries, an organization which seeks to build and provide authentic community and quality educational opportunities for children in need. She has a B.A. in Geology, a Masters in Agronomy, and a Law Degree from Vermont School of Law. She comes to us from the Washington D.C. faith community Church of the Savior. In addition to two previous trips to Haiti Kim has also traveled to Europe, India, and Nicaragua.

Kim is currently living the rural village of Lazil, a community in the mountains of Fondwa, Haiti. Her host parents (pictured here) are Belange and Be-Mari Desir. When asked about her interest in the Apprentice in Shared living Program she says, “My experience in India impacted me in ways that I am still experiencing today. It awakened in me the reality that all lives are connected. It awakened in me a hunger to live a life with authentic mutually liberating relationships with those who are marginalized by poverty, and to be part of a larger movement/dream of justice, to be part of a larger vision for change and hope and equality. Most important…it awakened in me a hunger to follow the loving, nonviolent Jesus. I hope to continue my learning and living out these lessons in Haiti.”

Cara Kennedy

A native of Chicago IL, Cara spent the past 6 years at Arizona State University, where she graduated this past spring with a PhD. in Mental Health. While in Arizona she was active within the refugee community there, working to provide mental health services for refugees arriving from places such as East Africa and Bosnia. She is interested in using her time in Haiti to learn about the mental health issues of individuals who suffer at the hands of structural violence, human rights abuses, war and conflict, and unjust global/international policy.

Cara, pictured here with her host family, is living in the community of Nan Dal–just down the mountain from Leah. She lives with her host father Gabriel, his wife Madam Gabriel, and their daughter Beatrice.

When asked about what she appreciates about the apprenticeship program, she says, “I appreciate that this approach also means that I as a newcomer would be allowed and encouraged to spend a considerable length of time in building relationships and growing in my understanding of Haiti. This time feels necessary for me to begin to humble myself, to develop language and cultural understanding, to recognize, examine, and peel away some of the trappings of my own culture, and to begin to widen the lenses through which I view my surroundings, experiences and interactions. All of this feels necessary so that truer communication and cooperation can begin.

Welcome Kim & Cara. We appreciate your presence with us.

Click Here to view photos from Leah’s Host Community, Meno.

We also have a new mailing address which can be found on our Contact page. This address is for letters only. We are not able to accept packages at this time.

In late August I spent quite a bit of time thinking about culture shock as we were approaching our first trip home to the states. How would I feel driving on smooth roads, dining at tasty restaurants-and having hundreds to choose from-and popping my laundry into a machine, walking away, and having it clean and smelling fresh with such little effort?

We’ll, after reflecting on our time in the states, I’ve been surprised about what shocked me. It was eerily familiar to drive a car and race along the freeway. I thoroughly enjoyed eating a variety of foods and indulging my taste buds with specialty coffees, ice cream, and chocolate. (Hummm. Bet you can’t guess what I missed! The number of food choices was a little overwhelming. My first purchase was a subway sandwich and I spent about 5 minutes just trying to pick out the bread.) Both Tim and I rejoiced that we could wash clothes and prepare lunch in under an hour – two tasks that can take all day in Haiti. I found myself extremely grateful for all of the material things I’ve always taken for granted. I don’t think I ever felt guilty for partaking in these little luxuries, only sad that so many people in this world do not have the means or access to enjoy them.

What troubled me the most was commercial advertising and people’s stereotypes about Haitians, two things that didn’t really bother me, or I didn’t notice, before we went to Haiti. When you leave your own culture for an extended period of time – and immerse yourself in another – upon returning, you see your culture through a new set of lenses. After living in rural Haiti, where everyone knows each other, shares with their neighbor, and talks in proverbs like “cooked food has no owner”, American culture screams greed! While in California I must have seen the same Macys commercial about 5 times. The gist of it was, give a little and get a lot. If you donated $5 to a charity you would receive 20% off everything in the store and could shop till your hearts content. Bravo to Macy’s for supporting local charities, but the whole commercial is just weird to me. Since when do we give – a present, a monetary donation, or an hour talking with a friend in crisis – to receive anything in return?

Even more disturbing, though something that I prepared myself for, were the comments people made about Haiti and Haitians. The numerous blanket statements that slipped out of people’s mouths made me shudder as I realized how misunderstood Haiti is. The morning after we arrived in Seattle, I sat in the dentist’s chair, defenseless, as the hygienist purged her impression of Haitians to me. “My friend lives in Miami and one day pointed out a group of Haitians to me. They looked so mean and angry and are often the ones involved in crime and drugs. I hear that they are a tough, hostile people, but I guess I don’t blame them – they are probably reacting to how the rest of the world has treated them for so many years.”

She had one thing right, throughout history Haitians have been treated pretty badly, but in my experience they are some of the most hospitable, welcoming, loving people. Haitians have welcomed me into their homes, given up their bed for me, and shared their food, often eating a smaller portion that might have been their only meal of the day. How did they get such a bad wrap?

Then there were the religious comments, sadly, comments that I have heard many times while mingling in Christian circles. After attending church on Sunday morning we were talking in the foyer with an older gentleman and he said something about how dark Haiti is spiritually, especially with all of that Voodoo. Tim handled the situation very well by saying, “Actually, Haitians are some of the most spiritual people I know. They have taught me a lot about what it means to live out faith in the mist of very difficult circumstances.” The gentleman’s reply, “Well, it must have changed a great deal in the last 20 years,” made us laugh, but in sadness.

We probably heard similar comments at least 3-4 times, especially from people who have been to Haiti on short-term trips, for 2 weeks to 3 months. I always hear this one, “I could just feel the darkness all around me.” I’ve thought about these comments a lot, especially as one who lives in a rural Haitian community, surrounded by those professing Protestant, Catholic, and Voodoo faiths. Never once have I thought of my community as dark or spiritually dead. I feel the darkness of poverty and the vast suffering, but when it comes to religion, I’ve been exposed to a deeper faith. In the mist of difficult, long days my host mother attends church every Sunday and gathers to pray with other community members every Wednesday for 3, sometimes 4 hours. One of the most touching moments was when the prayer group took up a collection of coins, whatever people could give (most of these families live on less than a dollar a day) to help those in the community who were sick and could not afford medication.

My host mother does not practice Voodoo, she is Catholic, but some of the conversations I’ve had with her and her family are very interesting. They all denounce voodoo. For example, my host brother quit playing on the community soccer team because some of the guys asked the ougan, the local Voodoo priest, to make a magic powder so they would win. He wouldn’t have anything to do with that, but at the same time he and the whole family hold beliefs like people can turn into animals in the middle of the night or a spirit can come steal your young baby, views that I believe have there roots in Voodoo. I by no means claim to understand Voodoo or that I have interpreted these situations correctly, but am learning that Voodoo is not only a religion, but also a part of Haitian culture.

A good friend of Beyond Borders, who has been giving cultural/spiritual/historical lectures on Haiti for many years, and practices voodoo himself, has found many similarities between Voodoo and Native American spirituality. In fact, Tim and I recently toured The National Museum of the American Indian in Washington D.C. and could definitely see connections between Haitian culture, Voodoo, and Native American beliefs & practices. In one of the many not-so-Christ-like-times in church history, Native Americans had bibles and Christianity thrown at them. These days we seem to honor and respect their religion and culture and even make efforts, however small they may be, to preserve ancient Indian practices and traditions. Why does it seem like many North Americans cannot do the same for Voodoo? To add to what I asked at the beginning of this post, how did both Haitian people and their religion get such a bad wrap? Is it because it is mystical and different from our beliefs? Is it because we don’t understand it or have never taken the time to learn about it? Is it because of racism?

These sorts of inquiries are a great paradox to me because further understanding is accompanied by surmounting questions and answers that drift farther and farther away. The only clarity I can muster out of my recent experiences is the need for us, humanity, to make better whole-hearted attempts to learn about those who are different from us. Wouldn’t we all – Muslims, Christians, homosexuals, abortion activists, Republicans, Democrats, immigrants, the rich & poor- have our fabricated stereotypes shattered by befriending those of different beliefs, instead of gossiping about them from a distance. I am constantly convicted of my inability to do this. A good friend recently challenged me not blame all of the world’s problems on America. She further commented that the World Bank and the IMF, institutions that I view with a critical eye, are doing some great things. Do I know anyone who works for the World Bank? No. Could I give an in-depth analysis of their programs? No. Needless to say I’ve started doing my own World Bank research and am trying to view my findings with an open mind.

I’ll end this long post with a beautiful example of something my father did to choose understanding over disastrous stereotypes. Many of you know that my sister has a young daughter named Jadrianne, but you may not know that Jade’s full name is Jadrianne Elizabeth Tupaca Robinson. I’m not lying- this is what is printed on her social security card. When I first saw her SS card I was a bit appalled, not understanding why Jade’s father insisted that Tupaca be one of her names, named after Tupac Shakur, the infamous, controversial rapper. To Jade’s father, an African American, Tupac was a loved musical artist and hero, something that is no doubt challenging for upper-white-middle-class folk to comprehend. Instead of sneering at the name, like I did, my father bought a book about Tupac and began to read about his life and music in an attempt to understand how this man could be so important that a father would name his daughter after him.

I recently saw the book lying around my parent’s house. When I first saw it about 2 ½ years ago I thought, how odd, but neat that my father would read about the life of Tupac. When I saw it again this time I thought, if only we all thought this way the world would be a much better place. In fact, next time I am in Seattle I should pick up the book and read it myself.