Fourth of July Barbeque!

There’s just something about being in a foreign country that gives that much more value to celebrating the Fourth of July.  Although we had marked the date in big orange crayon letters on Hannah’s hand-made-duct-tape wall calendar since the beginning of the calendar’s creation, we were a little bummed when our plans to celebrate with the only other Americans that we knew in Leogane fell through.  After returning from Sunday morning church service at the Hopital Ste. Croix church, we decided to take a beach trip to celebrate America together.  Little did we know, fate would have it that we were destined to celebrate the 4th of July with fellow Americans.

Hannah, donning her American Flag bandana, helps Genevieve to relieve Missy's hair of it's braids. Valou Beach, 4th of July.

Missy drove the van to a nearby beach in Leogane.  When we arrived at the gated entrance to the beach, we were informed that the beach was “broken.”  Skeptical, and curious as to how a beach can “break,” we followed the gate man’s suggestion to nearby Valou Beach.  There are a few things that beaches in Haiti can’t go without, and Valou Beach appeared to have them all…

1.  Coconuts

2.  Rhum

3.  Merengue/Bachata/Kompa/Haitian rap music blaring through speakers

4. Prestige (Haitian beer)

5.  Bathing suits for rent (?)

6. Football (as in the game that the rest of the world…other than the US…refers to as football)

7.  Lambi (conch)

One thing that Valou beach did not have very many of was blancs.  So when we walked up, the only other group of blancs present waved to us, and made their way over to speak with us.

Kyle, Kelsey, Krista, and Stephanie were four Americans who were living in tents at Valou Beach, volunteering with an orphanage run by two Haitian women, Jessi and Marlene.  Marlene lives mainly in the US, and Jessi lived in the US for many years before moving back to Gressier, Haiti, because she was not happy with the way that the children in the orphanage were being treated.  Marlene and Jessi had arranged for an “American BBQ” for their American guests and made sure to make enough food that they could invite us as well.  We were shocked by the incredibly hospitality that they showed to us, especially since we had only just met them.  And the BBQ was quite a feast!  We had BBQ chicken, potato salad, hot dogs, cake and even chocolate chip cookies!

Some of the children from the orphanage sat and ate with us as well.  The children were very well-behaved, and it was evident how much of a God-send that Jessi was to the children.  It was such an incredible experience to come together with other Americans on the fourth of July while in Haiti, but I couldn’t ignore the unspoken injustices of the situation.  Jessi did not complain about the difficulties associated with running the orphanage, but we gathered from piecing together different conversations that things were certainly not easy.  After the orphanage collapsed during the earthquake, Jessi took all of the children into her own home.  And to make matters more difficult, she had received numerous requests from other orphanages who had either lost their buildings or their administrators during the earthquake to take in more children.  She explained to me, “There’s not an option.  The children have nothing.  It’s not an option to turn them away.”

I can still see the face of one young boy who sat with us at the table in my mind.  This particular boy was taking music lessons from one of the blancs in their camp.  The teacher told Jessi to tell the boy that he could eat all that he wanted in Creole.  Jessi did so, and the boy graciously and quietly took a few bites of food without saying a word.  I spoke to the boy in Creole, asking his name, his age, and introducing myself to him.  He shyly answered my questions.  I was sitting next to Jessi, so when the man came over to Jessi and asked her what it would take for the boy to be brought into the orphanage, I heard the conversation.  Jessi quietly explained that nothing could be done.  The man, who did not even remember the boy’s name, insisted that he would do whatever needed to be done.  Jessi tried to explain that it was not so simple.  Although she gave the boy food, clothing, and looked after him, the boy’s guardians refused to sign some paper allowing the boy to officially be under her care.

The situation made me very aware of the fact that I am a foreigner here in Haiti, and that regardless of my intentions, I do not and cannot understand all of the complicating factors of life, and I cannot even begin to assume that I know what is best for my Haitian friends.

When we were getting ready to leave, the boy silently walked with us to our van.  As I turned to climb in the back seat, he asked me in Creole, “Do you have to go, now?”  It broke my heart to climb into the van, and I can still see his eyes, unmoving, watching us drive away.

Camp d'Amitie

This past week, we traded our GPS device and our verbal autopsies in for a box of chalk and a pile of sticks…

Due to damages, chaos, and fear of re-entering any building with a roof during the weeks following the goudou goudou,  many Haitian schools put their classes on hold.  To make up for the missed time, most schools extended their school year well into the summer.  As a matter of fact, most of the schools are just now, halfway through July, wrapping up the 2009-2010 school year.

Now that official classes are no longer in session at Petit Vilage, they have begun hosting “Camp d’Amitie” (Friendship Camp) for children ranging from ages 3-18.  At camp, the children spend most of their time singing, dancing, and playing games.  When Julie offered to teach ballet at the camp, Bernadette (the woman who was coordinating the camp) was thrilled!  There were way too many children at the camp for Julie to try to teach all of them at once, so Shilpa, Julie, and I split the children, roughly according to age, among ourselves.  Shilpa didn’t share Julie’s passion for or experience with ballet, so she taught her group Raas, a type of Indian dance where the dancers perform repeated rhythmic movements with sticks… at least until the campers decided that they preferred breaking the sticks to dancing with them…

Those of you who know me might assume that I taught my group salsa… not quite…

Teaching ballet to three year olds is one thing, but I wasn’t sure how happy parents would be when their children returned home from camp dancing salsa.  Had I known at the time that they start teaching the children Kompa, a Haitian partner dance that is very similar to merengue, before they even begin kindergarten, I still do not think I would have elected to teach salsa.  Salsa is hard enough to teach to adults…when the teacher and students speak the same language…and because we only had two translators (Eunide and Robinson came to camp with us) and three different groups, one group did not have the aid of a translator.

Mwen rele Pwofese Jilia

Sooooo…the only rule for my group was that only English was to be spoken…  Mwen rele Pwofese Jilia, epitou nap aprann angle jodiya… (My name is Professor Julia, and we are learning English today).  Ok, so that wasn’t entirely true.  I was actually surprised to realize how much Creole we have learned just by being here in Haiti.  It certainly helps that we live with a Haitian family, and that our work here requires that we speak in Creole (with the help of Eunide and Robinson) with Haitians each and every day.  I soon realized that I had acquired at least enough Creole to teach the Abc’s, 123′s, Hello and How are you’s, body parts, foods, colors, etc.

A few of my students... Edison is the one wearing the white jersey

Many of my students have had exposure to English as part of their school curriculum.  In response to one of my questions during class, Edison, one of my better students explained to me in very rapid Creole that he could understand me only if I spoke very slowly.  When I explained to him that I could only understand him if he spoke Creole very slowly, it was as if all of us had this great epiphany (which seems as though it should have been much more obvious to both sides).  We all tried to be more conscious of our enunciation of words and rate of speaking.

Two of Julie's favorite students

The Haitian version of Tug-of-war...I still don't really understand the rules. Eunide beat me by running at me. I thought I had won because I pulled her towards me, but she was the one who was awarded a tootsie roll?

Musical chairs to Kompa music

"Jackie Chan" (as his insisted that we call him...this child also claimed to be my husband?) and Robinson with the "ti machin" that the campers gave him as a birthday present

Bernadette asking the kids questions at camp. Correct answers earn candy!

My camp friend at "Friendship Camp"

Breakfast at the Cyvadier, Jacmel, Haiti

Our second day in Jacmel, we awoke, had breakfast, bid adieu to the Cyvadier, and headed in the direction of Bassin Bleu, a hidden grotto located in the hills above the city of Jacmel.  We took the van as far as we could, picking up Emille and Denis (two of our Haitian friends and employees of FHM) along the way,  and then hiked the rest of the way to Bassin Bleu, accompanied by a few local guides.

Although I was aware that we would be hiking, I was completely unaware of the adventure upon which we were to embark.  We set out with our backpacks filled with zaboka (avocado), fromage (cheese), and mamba (peanut butter), and our towels.

Let the hiking begin!

The hike was more educational than I had anticipated.  We were walking with a few local Haitian guides, who were as intent on learning English as we were learning Creole.  As we walked, they would continuously point to everything along the way and say the name of each thing in Creole, wanting us to repeat the name in English.  But the educational part of the hike wasn’t all words.  Perhaps the most lasting knowledge that we acquired included a few reasons why the Haitians are so fond of motos and one possible reason for carrying belongings on top of one’s head…

…Motos can cross rivers without flooding…

Note the "motocrossing" in front of Genevieve, Julie, and Shilpa

…Carrying your belongings atop your head keeps them from getting wet when crossing a river…

When in Haiti, do as the Haitians...

By the way, arguably my biggest fear is entering into water that is not clear enough for me to see my feet.

The guides helping Julie cross a waterway

And I learned how to repel down the side of a rock…

Repelling down the rocks...

…Which was definitely worth it when I saw what lay ahead at the bottom…

Bassin Bleu!

Taking a break for lunch

All the girls...Kathy, Julie, Julia, Shilpa, Missy, Hannah, and Genevieve at Bassin Bleu

Me, Hannah, and Julie waiting for lunch on the beach in Jacmel

After the departure of the team, Kathy returned to the Leogane clinic to accompany us on a trip to Jacmel, Haiti.  We soon found out why Jacmel is considered one of the most desired vacation spots in Haiti…

DukeEngage goes to Jacmel

While waiting for everyone to get settled in and cooled off at the Hotel Cyvadier, we found some fun chairs to sit back and enjoy the view…

…5 minutes later, drenched in sweat and too hot to stay in the sun any longer, we left to have lunch on the beach.  Instead of going to a “restaurant,” you can place an order for pwason(fish) or cabrit (goat) with one of the women on the beach.  Each woman has her own fold up chairs and tables, but you are supposed to sit at the table belonging to the woman who you are going to pay for the food.  There was a little confusion when we arrived because we called ahead to place an order for our food (it can take a few hours after you place an order to actually get your food), but another woman wanted us to sit at her table and order food from her.  Missy was able to straighten everything out, and we soon were able to enjoy our fish, cabrit, picklies (cabbage, carrots, lime juice, and peppers), fried plantains, rice, and beans.

Missy let me sample her cabrit

The medical team relaxing in the guest room.

I apologize that I have fallen a little behind in my posts.  It seems that there are so many things to tell about, and just not enough time to write them all down!  So let me start by catching you up with the visit from Kathy and the Duke Chapel Medical Team.

The team spent a week in Haiti, primarily working at the FHM clinic in Blanchard.  They stopped by our clinic here in Leogane for one night before heading back to the states.  The team was composed of seventeen doctors, nurses, and health care volunteers from Durham, NC.  After unpacking their bags, setting up their beds, munching on sugarcane, and being treated to a tiaka dinner (see earlier entries if you aren’t familiar with tiaka…), invited us to join in their nightly devotional and

Shilpa and I trying to figure out how to eat sugarcane...thanks Joelle!

reflection.  Those of us here at the clinic–Shilpa, Julie, Hannah, Genvieve, and myself, do not actually have professional medical training,

Joelle and Hannah shaving sugarcane

and therefore our work does not directly involve providing health care for people here in Haiti.  It was very inspiring and very touching to hear the team recount the stories of their experiences in the Blanchard clinic.  I was really proud to be associated with FHM  after hearing about all of the wonderful things that other FHM volunteers were doing for the Haitian people.

Daniel and Gigi finding other uses for the vuvuzela...and we wonder where Gigi learned to use the vuvuzela as a machine gun...

Gigi's favorite game

It’s 7:30 AM, Wednesday morning in the clinic, and the morning rituals have begun.  Daniel and Gigi are running through the clinic playing with the vuvuzela.  Although the World Cup has come and gone, they are working hard to ensure that the horn and it’s noise-making abilities are not forgotten…Gigi, who seems to be training to be a future sniper prefers to hold the horn with the mouthpiece away from him so that he can look over the front and squint his eyes to take aim at his older brother…perhaps this is an improvement to him putting the mouthpiece in his mouth so that it elevates his three-year-old proclamations, which don’t really sound much like Creole or English…we’ve given up trying to encourage him against running around the house mimicking gun noises with his mouth.

Other uses of the vuvuzela...

Meanwhile, Delshana is brushing/braiding my hair.  Missy and I are usually the first of Delshana’s live toys to wake up and emerge from the back room each morning, so it’s only natural that we would be the first to receive her eager attention.  Delshana is quite the hairdresser, and she especially enjoys winding her client’s hairs into neat, tiny braids.  She stops after the completion of each one to tell me how many braids she has completed.  Unfortunately, the braids begin to slip out of my hair before she has completed braiding all of them, so they don’t last very long.  But she is eager to rebraid them, and probably would braid and rebraid all day if I let her.  Although I can only take so many braids a day, I don’t mind letting her brush my hair.  Actually, the jury is still out debating who finds greater enjoyment from this ritual…she is very gentle, and it feels really good to have her brush my hair.  I’m pretty sure that the last time that my hair received this much attention, I was still young enough that my mom french braided my hair every morning before school.

If she gets a hold of rubberbands, who knows, maybe we will all be coming home with our hair braided.

My Sombrero

Confession…I have developed a desire to be Haitian.

I like to joke with my Haitian friends–Eunide, Robinson, Frandy, and Shila (one of the nurses here in the clinic) that a few more weeks in Haiti and my skin is going to look just like theirs.  When they laugh at me and tell me that maybe if I had 5 years… that might do the trick… I point to the tell-tale anpil blanc pre-Haiti colored V’s left by my flip-flops across the top of my feet.  They just laugh harder, shake their heads, and tell me that I’m fou.

All jokes aside, I have been surprised how often people ask us for our nationalities, here.  All of us are referred to as blanc, but blanc doesn’t mean American, it just means not Haitian.  Sometimes, we are asked before even being introduced to a person.  And I am even more surprised how many times American is not the first guess that we receive.  You can’t tell an American by the color of their skin or the shape of their eyes.    I know that there is no biological argument for race, but there are few enough non-Haitians here that you can for the most part tell by some combination of skin color, language, at an introduction whether or not someone is likely to be Haitian.  In the US, seeing someone who may have Chinese ancestry doesn’t mean that person is only visiting the country for a short time period…for the most part, if you meet someone here whose family is from China, that person does not also consider him/herself a Haitian.  I have received shouts of “Senorita,” and “Mamita,” (the Dominican Republic isn’t too far away…so maybe a little of my Latina blood shows through?) and one time, a man walking towards me in the street pointed at me and said, “You, you Japoneze.”  Shilpa, on the other hand, is a complete enigma to the Haitians.  It seems that there aren’t too many Indians walking around Haiti, and therefore the Haitians don’t know what to think when they see her.  Many people ask if she is Haitian, thinking that she looks more Haitian than American, European, or Ching-Chong (the name Haitians give to Chinese, Japonese, and Koreans).

So although we have accepted that Shilpa is the only one among us who will ever be mistaken for Haitian, no matter how long we stay here in Leogane, we did find a way to appear more Haitian in our dress…even if it wasn’t on purpose.

On Saturday, July 3^rd, while walking through the streets of Leogane, we came across a woman selling straw hats.  From the perspectives of Hannah, Genevieve, and myself, who had already managed to sunburn our shoulders by sitting on the roof for just 30 minutes earlier that day, the reason for wanting a wide-brim straw hat was only partially for the sake of fashion.  Not to mention, buying a hat for sansenk goude (150 goudes = less than $4 US) was cheaper than buying more sunscreen.  Deciding on a style and brim width was one task, but each hat (even different versions of the same style) had a slightly different shape, size, and feel.  By the time that we were ready to make our selections, there were few hats on display that one of us had not worn…at least twice.  Julie and Genevieve ended up with cowboy style-slimmest-brim hats made of two different colors of woven straw; I ended up with a medium-brim hat that is wide enough to just shield my shoulders from the sun;  and Hannah left with a wide-brim sun hat that is capable of providing shade to her entire body when she sits beneath it.  Although Hannah and I still haven’t seemed to figure out how the women outsmart the wind and the breeze created by passing cars to keep the wider-brimmed hats on their head.

Although it’s more uncommon to see the Haitian women walking in town without a hat than with one, when I returned to the clinic, I realized that my hat didn’t seem to actually make me any more Haitian.  Dr. Merisier saw me and said, “Oh, you have a sombrero!”

I guess when I’m trying to be a Haitian, I’ll just leave my hat at home and stick to wrapping the handkerchiefs that I bought at the market around my head to keep the hair off of my neck.

Robinson, Shilpa, and I with our new Sri Lankan friends

Today is Saturday, which means that I have a few minutes to share with you the adventures of my most recent GPS tour of duty with Shilpa and Robinson.  Normally we leave the clinic on foot before 8:30 AM to begin work, and return by 1:30 to have lunch at the clinic.  However, some of the clinics requested that we meet them for afternoon appointments, after the typical Haitian clinic hours (9 AM – 2 PM) have passed and there are fewer patients to be seen.  Robinson agreed to meet with us a little later so that we would be able to make the 3 o’clock afternoon appointment that was requested of us by one of the clinics.

We left the clinic at 11 AM and headed towards town.  Our first stop was Prosch clinic, a clinic/pharmacy where Dr. Yves, an OB/GYN sees his patients.  The building did not appear to have any damage from the outside, and Dr. Yves informed us that he had been fortunate enough to be able to continue to offer the same services to his patients that he had always offered.  As we were speaking with Dr. Yves, a woman peeked in the doorway.  Immediately, Shilpa and I recognized her as the woman who owned the corner drugstore that we frequent to pick up candies and crackers.  Dr. Yves seemed surprised that we knew the woman, and so even more surprised that we also know and enjoy speaking with her children, who claim to have learned their perfect-American-accented English from Hannah Montana.  In response he turned around the picture on the top of his desk and chuckled, “You mean my children?”  It turns out the woman was his wife!

It’s little things like this that make us feel like we are really at home here in Leogane.  Dr. Merisier jokes with us that Shilpa is already more popular here than he.  And he’s not too far off.  Apart from the fact that Shilpa is one of the kindest and most patient human beings that you are sure to ever meet, the Haitians love the “coffee and milk” color of her skin (in the words of Eunide).  And I’m sure that it helps that she always tries to have a sticker or piece of candy to give to the children who absolutely adore her.  Everywhere we go, we can’t help but smile as we hear “Shompa, Topa, Shoompa,” all Haitian variations of Shilpa’s name….which is ironic considering that Shilpa earned her name because her mom wanted to give her daughter a name that would be easily recognized and pronounced.  Mrs. Agrawal, you did a great job!

Getting back to Dr. Yves…much like Dr. Merisier, Dr. Yves seems to be quite a jack-of-all trades.  Below the title “OB/GYN” listed on his business card, there is a third line that says “Writer, Director, Producer.”  Dr. Yves explained to us that he enjoys working with students to write and produce films.  He informed us that the first film that he worked on with students, which focuses on AIDS, has won several awards and was featured in a film festival in Los Angeles a few years ago…(Dr. Yves also joked that Leogane is like the LA of Haiti…it has an L and an A, so we should nickname it LA…I’ve never really been to LA, but I imagine there could be a few other differences).  Although we don’t have enough of an internet connection to view the film while we are here, we look forward to having a viewing party as soon as we return to the states!

We continued on to the sites that we had planned to map out that day, including Hopital Saint Croix, the Episcopalian hospital that served as Leogane’s major hospital before the earthquake.  Much to our surprise, we were introduced with Mike McIntyre, an American man who is not only heading reconstruction for the hospital, but who also happens to be a former member of the Duke faculty!

Undamaged halls of Hospital Saint-Croix

After leaving Ste. Croix, and making a few more stops, we headed back home.  As we were passing the UN camp, which is located only a short walk from the clinic, Robinson suggested that we stop by to talk to them about their healthcare resources.  Although it was tempting to return home and call it a day, Shilpa and I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to add one more stop to our day’s work.  Sometimes, as we walk to and from the clinic, we catch glimpses of the Sri Lankan soldiers through cracks in the walls bordering the camp, and we can hear their morning prayers, chants, and songs starting at 5 AM from the comfort of our beds in the clinic.  We knew that sometimes the soldiers would give out supplies, clothing, and food to some of the local Haitian people, but otherwise the Sri Lankans were a complete mystery to us.  They invited us into the camp and gave us a shaded seat on a bench just inside the camp.  We were instructed to wait until someone came who could give us more information about the health resources available at the camp.

We learned that the UN soldiers are stationed at camps throughout the world for one of three main reasons.  1- by request of the country’s government to maintain and enforce peace, 2- by consensus of the UN that soldiers are needed to maintain peace, 3- to enforce peace in circumstances that are not peaceful.  The Sri Lankan soldiers spend 6 months at the camp before they return home to be replaced by other soldiers.  When we arrived at the camp, we had actually been in Haiti longer than the Sri Lankans, who had only been here for 10 days.

Although our intentions were only to gather information, the Sri Lankans offered us a tour of the facilities.  We were very impressed by the orderliness, but also the coziness of the camp.  There were animals seeking shade under trees that had been recently planted throughout the camp, and the buildings and walls were decorated with photos of Haitian people, Buddha, and photos and pictures of Sri Lanka.  They showed us the dentist office, the operating room, the inpatient ward of the hospital, and the laboratory, explaining the stats to us along the way.  Although the healthcare facilities are used primarily for the soldiers, the Sri Lankans explained to us that if they have the capacity to care for someone, especially in an emergency, they do not turn away Haitians who show up at their gate.  They showed us their records which listed the civilian patients that they had cared for the previous week, which averaged about 3 each day.  They told us that their greatest limitation is lack of supplies and medication.

Sri Lankan beets, shrimp, pickles, lamb, onions, and rice

After taking plenty of time out of their schedules to answer our questions, they insisted that we share with them a cup of tea before leaving.  We did not want to inconvenience the soldiers, but we also did not want to be disrespectful, so we accepted their invitation…not to mention, we were not in any hurry to leave the only air conditioned building that we had entered (other than the “ChouChou” gas station) since we had arrived in Haiti.  They

Robinson's favorite food is white rice

brought us into the Mess Hall, showed us photos of their wives and children back home (the Sri Lankan soldiers in Haiti are all male), and showed us videos of the towns where they lived in Sri Lanka.  Two videos later, Shilpa and I realized that tea was nowhere to be seen.  Instead, tablecloths had been set beneath a feast, complete with enough rice to fill a small boat, and with dishes of lamb, beets, curried cucumbers, shrimp, some kind of marinated cabbage, and apple juice (san sik!…without sugar…just the way that we liked it!)  Although we requested that our new friends join us, they insisted that the three of us conquer the feast alone.  I looked over at Robinson with a knowing smile and told him that I now understood why he insisted that we stop to talk to the Sri Lankans.  He just laughed and told us that last year, they only had tea.

As we were finishing the meal, I looked up at Shilpa, and we had the same realization…the meal was not over.

Shilpa and I enjoying our first taste of Sri Lankan food

They had set out another table full of papaya, grapes, and apples.  Although we are fortunate to have fresh papaya frequently at the clinic, grapes and apples were something I did not expect to see until I returned to the states.  As our Sri Lankan friends ushered us over to the fruit table, I noticed a huge smile light up the entire bottom half of Robinson’s face, as his eyes grew to light up the upper half.  I followed his eyes to the individual glasses of “kreme glas” that had appeared out of nowhere.  In English, we like to call kreme glas, ice cream.  Let me assure you, it does not get much better than vanilla ice cream and fresh papaya in the middle of the Caribbean.

Robinson, Shilpa, and I with our Sri Lankan friends and kreme glas

We thanked the Sri Lankans again and again for the hospitality and kindness that they had shown to us, and wished that we could offer them something in return.  Although we had nothing to give, we wrote down their email addresses and promised to send them copies of the pictures that you can see here.

Shilpa and I are already making plans…summer 2011…Sri Lanka.

Delshana, Hannah, Julie, and Daniel working hard on the cookies

Last night, to relax after the week of work and to celebrate and/or mourn the losses of Ghana and Brazil (I am generally

No-bake cookie ingredients

a fan of S. American soccer…cheers for Uruguay, tears for Brazil) we had a ladies’ (plus Daniel) night here in the clinic.  Earlier during the week, Missy had collected the necessary items for our “no-bake cookies,” which included butter, sugar, milk, cocoa, peanut butter, vanilla, and oats.  We don’t have an oven, hence the genius of “no-bake,” but Rozemary and Diane allowed us to use the burners in the kitchen that they use for cooking to boil our mixture of cocoa,

Delshana helping me stir the batter on the stove

sugar, butter, and milk.  We then added peanut butter to the hot mix, stirred in the oats, and dropped the cookies onto wax paper that we had laid out on the table to let them cool.  (We made a second batch minus the peanut butter for our friend and co-worker, Robinson, who has peanut allergies…although if we don’t see him until he comes to work Monday, it’s questionable whether or not there will be any cookies left…)

The kitchen stovetop where all the cooking takes place

Genevieve brought her DVD collection with her, so after laying out the cookies we all sat down to watch Love Actually, a movie that I had never seen before, but have since declared my new favorite movie.

The day started out like any other day…we awoke to the sound of the Sri Lankan UN soldiers’ morning chants, ate breakfast consisting of cassave, cheese (and hot sauce for me…Julie and I were happy because Missy restocked our supply of cassave douce during her trip to Port-au-Prince this past Wednesday).  Our final destination today was a former health clinic run by the Dezman Fleury Foundation.  The Dezman Fleury clinic, orphanage, bakery, school, and village all collapsed during the earthquake, but we traveled to a nearby site where they are temporarily holding the clinic which now basically consists of several tables covered with various medications beneath a tarp until they can raise the funds to rebuild.  The Foundation was also home to an orphanage, school, church, bakery, and guest house…all of which were destroyed in the earthquake.

The Dezman Fleury clinic was approximately a four-mile walk from the FHM clinic, so we headed out early, before the start of the Brazil-Holland game, to have enough time to make the trek.  Although we couldn’t watch the game, we have learned to at least judge the score by the audible cheers and moans of the Haitian fans throughout each game.  And because this was the Brazil game, the cheering was extra loud.  We were notified by the end of the game as Haitians flooded the streets.  However, it wasn’t until we realized that the people cheering were not the Brazilian fans, but rather the Argentinian fans.  Here in Haiti, it seems that you are either an Argentine fan or a Brazilian fan…and evidently, you can’t be both.

Shortly after the end of the game, people started flooding the streets for a different reason.  As we were walking across a bridge, all the sudden I heard screeching tires, felt Shilpa push me forward from behind, and looked over my shoulder to see a white truck skidding sideways towards us.  I’m not sure if I couldn’t move because my body had frozen or because we were up against the rail of the bridge, but fortunately the truck skidded to a stop a little ways from where we were standing.  A small car hit the back of the truck, sending both cars skidding forward and sideways.  The entire front of the little car was crumpled and smoking, and the entire windshield had completely shattered.  Fortunately, the driver seemed to be okay and it did not seem that anyone was hurt.  Robinson quickly pulled us away from the crash and off the bridge, but we had to fight the crowds of people rushing to gather round the site.  Once we had cleared the bridge, we looked back to see what had happened, but Robinson wanted to make sure that we were safe from the other cars and motos that soon began skidding to a halt as they approached the accident and away from the crowds of people who seemed to be flocking from all over.  We saw people rushing to make calls on cell phones, and so Shilpa, ever the EMT, turned to Robinson, asking “What number do people call here when they have an accident?”  Robinson turned to her and said, “Shilpa, when you find the number, let me know.”

When we returned on the way back, the only sign of the wreck was the abandoned car that had been left just where it crashed.  However, there was no sign of blood, nor any remnant of the crash.  It really hit me that I don’t realize the immensity of how much we take for granted in the United States.  I certainly have a whole new appreciation for 911.