Turbulent Times & My Haitian Vacation

I have just returned from a week’s excursion to Haiti. And if you’ve been living anywhere other than under a rock, you know that Haiti has had quite a week. I had a blessed, wonderful, and quite peaceful time despite what you may have seen in the news. Knowing the media always has its own interests and take on any story, I invite you to read my story of the events in Haiti this past week. Take it from someone who was there and is still trying to wrap her mind around the inherent evil, powers and principalities involved, Haiti’s struggle for survival is beyond anything imaginable to a privileged American. This is a long post because there is no other way to do justice to the experiences, insights, and conversations I’ve had. In truth, there are not enough words. So here it is, day by day, my trip to Haiti:

Saturday
I woke up bursting with excitement. I’m going to Haiti!!! It has been three years. Too long. I could think of no better way to spend my last seminary spring break. Off to the airport and into a long line. I had a friend along, thankfully, to pass the time with. And a very long time it was. American Airlines only had 2 agents working the check-in counter on a Saturday morning, during prime spring break dates, at the so-called “world’s busiest airport.” Thus, a painful story short, we missed our flight. We and dozens of others. Finally at the counter we were told we’d have to leave the next morning. No seats to Miami on no airlines existed. The agent said to me in a bit of a demeaning tone, “It’s spring break. People have already booked all the flights to Miami.” I refrained from screaming, “No *!#^% lady, I had booked a flight too.” Tearfully disappointed, we returned to campus to wait.

When it comes to naming the world’s busiest and most efficient airport, my vote goes to Chicago O’Hare. Every time.

Sunday
Back to the airport at 3am. Traveling was a much smoother process and we were finally off to Haiti. My friend came with me for one day and then left to meet up with her fiancée who was flying in on Monday. They stayed at St. Joseph’s Home for Boys where I have spent many a blessed time in Haiti.

Standing in line at security in Atlanta, a woman standing behind us asked me where we were going. Many of the people in line were the same people we commiserated with on Saturday, but this was a new face. Turned out she was dropping off her mother who had been visiting and was now returning to Haiti. Could we make sure she made it to the gate in Miami ok? Sure. The passenger’s (Ertha) son-in-law came a step closer while the others were in conversation to say, “She won’t tell you this, but Ertha was president of Haiti for one year.” What?!?! Yep. True story. Google it if you like. We traveled to Haiti with Ertha Trouillot. President of Haiti, the first and only female, in 1990. The president who set up the first democratic election. Wow. And she bought us breakfast in Miami. Always be polite to the people in line around you, they just might be a former president or something.

On the flight to Haiti, my excitement returned. I flipped through a magazine and ate the snack provided. Wondered about the life of the Haitian man next to me. Leaving Miami, the city gives way to bright blue water. Clouds casting funny shadows on the ocean below. Eventually, land was in sight. Cuba. Not much further! Jamaica came into view and landing procedures began. The pilot hangs a left. Haiti!!! I smile big. The brown mountains standing tall though exposed from centuries of deforestation. The glimmer of the sun off tin rooftops. The clear blue water gives way to coastal pollution. Cite Soleil, a waterfront slum, declared by the UN as the most dangerous place on earth. The presidential palace. The cathedral. Tiny people moving about the shacks. And finally we land. Clapping hands have finally reached home and I clapped right along with them. I got chills as I stood outside the plane waiting for my friend. In Haiti again. Hallelujah!

I surprised myself at how boldly I walked out of the airport. Only moments passed until we found my friend Carla and off to the mountain of community of Gwo Jan we went. I chatted with Carla the whole way about my last time here, life since then, what lies ahead, the state of Haiti, the US elections, and more. Such a different feeling than traveling with a group. Coming to Haiti this time was very much like going to Edinboro PA for Christmas. A time at home to visit with family, relax, and take in the world.

Up at Gwo Jan there were familiar faces and new ones. We settled into the guesthouse and had a very late lunch. We relaxed on Carla’s porch where the breeze is refreshing and the view spectacular. We laughed. We drummed feebly while Haitian friends drummed with excellence. We drank tea. We slept well under flowing mosquito nets to the sounds of dogs barking, roosters crowing, bugs chirping. Haiti. No place like it.

Monday
Carla and her husband Ron have lived in Haiti for a long, long time after first coming to the country through the Mennonite Central Committee. They raised three girls in Port-au-Prince, one of whom, Leah, was visiting while I was there. Now independent from MCC, Carla works with two Haitians, Ari and D’ja, with a group (DOA/BN) doing a lot of cultural education for visitors. It was through their organization and cultural education experiences that I met Carla on many trips to Haiti with campus ministry in Charleston.

I chose to stay with Carla on this trip because I wanted to do something different than I’d ever done in Haiti; because on my last trip, Carla and I had a conversation about my love of photography and how it might become a kind of ministry in Haiti; because sitting on Carla’s porch for a week, I’d be perfectly content; because it’s where the Spirit led.

While we ate breakfast on Monday morning, Ari came up the long outdoor staircase from his house to speak to Carla. He’d heard on the radio about potential demonstrations happening soon. So he didn’t want Carla going too far into Port-au-Prince. She agreed to drop of my friend at St. Joseph’s and Ari’s boys at school, and to come straight back. This was the first indication that something bad was about to happen.

Carla returned later with more information on the potential disturbances. It had started in a different town elsewhere in Haiti, which Carla said was very unusual. The demonstrations seemed to be peaceful and involve the UN presence in the country. She’d heard of some windshields being broken by thrown rocks and the tap-taps (public transportation) stopped running in some areas.

The UN is not welcome by the Haitian public. UN peacekeepers came in after the post-election violence & removal of President Aristide in 2004. The “peacekeepers” are not keeping peace. They aren’t doing anything. They are driving around in air-conditioned Mercedes SUVs while Haitians continue to lack food, water, and shelter. The UN claims that violence will escalate if they leave. The Haitian people know sporadic violence will always be with them, but say the truth is the UN’s presence is causing more violence. A curious coincidence: the kidnapping of business class Haitians in the past 2-3 years did not start until Brazilian UN peacekeepers arrived. Kidnapping is rampant in Brazil. And it was not happening in Haiti until they arrived. By standing around with their hands in their pockets, the UN is angering already frustrated Haitians, leading to more incidents of violent outrage. The UN justifies its presence by the increase in violence.

I passed the day away reading, chatting with Leah, napping, eating lots of Mango (I LOVE mango!), conversing about the situation concerning the UN, rising fuel & food prices, making plans to travel the next day with Ari and Carla, and taking a shower under the stars.

Tuesday
I woke up early and went down to Carla’s from the guesthouse for breakfast. We weren’t going on the planned excursion. Ari couldn’t get a van and there was some uncertainty about the protests. Instead, after breakfast, Leah, Carla and I went up the hill to take a walk through the village. We looked in on a pastor from NC who was teaching local residents how to repair sewing machines. We talked with neighbors. I got some pictures in. We were invited to a cock fight later in the afternoon and met some of the ‘fighters.’ We wandered back down the hill to check in with Ari.

Carla got a phone call and I could tell it wasn’t good. Protestors had broken through the gate at the Presidential palace. Shots were fired. Thousands had taken to the streets. Not too much later, Ari’s phone rang. It was his older (12 years) son Nick. The kids were being sent home from school. With nothing else to do, I read for awhile. Soon Ron hooked up the generator to see if we could get some news. We watched live footage of the scene downtown. Awful. Just awful. Thousands of people marching in the streets, waving branches and chanting in Creole for Aristide’s return. Roadblocks made out of anything nearby. Tires burning in the street. Dumpsters, a new addition/improvement to Port-au-Prince since my last visit, now turned over in the streets. Protestors throwing rocks. UN troops in full armor firing weapons. A local reporter ventured out of the van for some interviews. The reasons for the uprising varied: the rising cost of food, which correlates with the raising cost of fuel; wanting the UN out of Haiti; wanting Aristide to come back because he is the only president who’s ever been for the people; and wanting the current prime minister to resign, to prevent the rigging of the next presidential election. I’ve never seen anything like this. Certainly not in a country I was currently residing within.

The remainder of the day consisted of me asking questions for clarification and conversation with my Haitian friends, Carla, Leah & Ron. The average Haitian makes $200 per year. The cost of fuel is up to almost $6 per gallon there. Think about that the next time you fill up. I know I will. A coffee can filled with rice is selling for an entire day’s wages, and that’s only if you have a factory job, coveted among the average Haitian. I found myself beginning to wonder, what would I be willing to do? For food? For water? To feed my kids? Or send them to school? To stop living in my own waste? When the government turns off the electricity, for the fortunate who have it, at will? It has been over 200 years since Haitian slaves revolted to gain freedom. What would I be willing to do?

By the evening, word came that the city was shut down, road blocks firmly in place, and the mobs of protestors had begun breaking into, robbing, and burning the bourgeois (wealthy people’s) markets. I said lots of prayers for the people of Haiti as I drifted to sleep with rain beating down on the tin roof.

Wednesday
Word came early in the morning that the current President, President Preval, was planning to speak. We talked about some potential afternoon excursion if things were better. A bit later, the electricity came on. Carla said that meant he really was going to speak. We gathered around the TV with friends and neighbors and waited. A message scrolled along the bottom saying the president would speak any minute. Meanwhile, the station played Bob Marley music videos. Possibly to subdue the anger. Three hours later, the program shifted to Wyclef Jean(a Haitian American musician who owns Haiti’s national television station) and the message changed to say, the president is being waited for incessantly.

I had about given up when Carla said he was finally on. We gathered around again and Carla translated. I could tell by the faces around me, and by what Carla was translating, President Preval was stalling. He didn’t say anything that addressed the immediate concerns except ordering citizens to calm down. He suggested some possible solutions, but they were all long term. None of his ideas would put food on the table in the next several months or bring prices down. My friends, neighbors, and even myself…we were outraged. Calm down?!?! The speech was followed by heated conversations between frustrated friends. Carla and I moved to the porch where she expressed her anger and frustration. Having lived there for 25+ years, she is just as much a Haitian as anything else. We feared the speech would only anger protestors more. Any plans for leaving Gwo Jan were out.

As the afternoon became evening and conversations continued, I was overcome by the inherency of evil in the world. It was very difficult for me to wrap my privileged mind around all I was witnessing and hearing. I could only record some disjointed statements I had heard throughout the day:
*The problem is no jobs, not just no food
*Food is abundant, but too expensive
*It is unlikely Aristide will come back during the Bush administration
*Aristide cannot come back as a politician
*The people who took to the streets were provoked by the press, particular radio stations owned by the bourgeois…some were even paid to protest.
*Those Haitians who came to live in the mountains (where I was and elsewhere) fled during the slave revolt and live entirely without government support. They grow their own food if they can or go hungry. They have their own electrician for those who can pay. Etc.
*One radio station announced live for Aristide to call in and tell his people to go back to their homes. The station gave out their internet phone number for Aristide to call and promised to broadcast it live.
*Aristide being a corrupt leader is not the issue. He is a man of the people.

Again, I prayed and prayed as my baffled self managed to drift easily to sleep. Safe and sound under my mosquito net, with a full stomach. An odd and difficult place to be during such a time as this.

Thursday
The morning brought questions of what was going on in the city. No word yet. We moved some plans to the coming afternoon, once we’d heard something about the nature of things down the mountain. Ron went out for gas to power the generator and came back with word that gas stations were all closed. Though all else seemed peaceful.

I read some more and relaxed on the porch. I packed up my stuff not believing my time in Haiti was almost up. I chatted with Leah. I went down the stairs to Ari’s for lunch. It was during lunch Ari and Carla decided, based on the radio and word from friends, it was safe enough to head into town that afternoon. Yay! I savored my mangos and got ready for the trip.

We piled into the car and bounced down the rough mountain road. Once on the main road, it was not long before evidence of the violence appeared. Dumpsters overturned; broken and boarded store windows; businesses closed; piles of rock still forming partial road blocks; the remnants of tires and trash being burnt in the street; a minimal number of tap-taps on the roads; rows of cars and SUVs with shattered windshields; UN tanks conveniently guarding the wealthy neighborhood; gangs of men crowding the edges of the street in places; marketplaces robbed and burned to the ground; spray paint reading ‘retourne Aristide’, Aristide return. I would have loved to take some pictures, but times such as these and living humanly require a deep level of respect that is NOT communicated by a white face pointing a camera out of a car window.

We made several stops picking up and dropping of friends. Then Carla, Leah, and I were dropped at a friend’s for a visit. We visited Papi, his wife and adorable little boy! Leah grew up with Papi and I had met him on my last trip to Haiti. After a nice visit he drove us back up the mountain.

That evening, another massive lesson in the inherence of evil in the world. We watched a documentary called the ‘Ghosts of Cite Soleil.’ The film is about two brothers (2pac and Bily) who were gang leaders in Cite Soleil in 2004, when post-election protests grew out of control and the US army came in to remove the re-elected Aristide from office and country. The film was amazing and overwhelming. I still haven’t totally processed its contents and lessons. And I don’t know if it’s yet available to the general public. We were watching a screening copy. The film glared of the myth of redemptive violence. That violence is ever the best way to escape violence. But again, I wondered, what would I be willing to do? If I had to live in such a place as Cite Soleil? Yes, it was controlled by gangs and there was violence, but it worked. It worked better than what is happening now. The shots of American troops hunting down gang leaders could be the same clips I’ve seen on the evening news of American troops hunting down “terrorists” in Iraq. Who did these Haitians ever attack? Who have they hurt besides each other? Isn’t it we who are hurting them? Shouldn’t we be sending love, not soldiers? What else is America or the UN to do? Where is the source of all this evil, corruption and poverty? Who can we shoot to make it all stop? The myth of redemptive violence. Wow.

Friday
Sadness is leaving Haiti. Once it’s time to go, I very much wish I could simply blink myself home. As I prepared to leave, I was hugged tightly and kissed on both cheeks, as is custom. Carla issued me an open invitation to her home. Come anytime! As I fought back tears and climbed into the car, Carla said, “maybe we can set you up with an internship here…” A thought for the future…a possibility not to loose hold of…perhaps some movement of the Spirit.

All appeared back to normal as we drove toward the airport. As I walked past UN troops in full armor outside the airport I wanted to scream at them…You’re part of the problem!!! Go home!!! But as I assured my mom, I’ve never thought it to be a good idea to scream at large men with weapons.

I met up with my friend and her fiancée in the airport and we began the journey back to Columbia’s campus.

On the plane from Port-au-Prince to Miami, I sat next to a very kind Haitian man who’d been visiting home. We talked a good bit. Not a habit of me on airplanes, to make conversation with my seat neighbor, but I was anxious to savor every bit of Haiti and the week of postponing plans and waiting taught me a great deal about patience. Joseph and I talked of the protests, the president’s response, Joseph’s ideas about solutions for Haiti, what we do…and then he knew. Then he knew I will soon be a pastor. He smiled and shook my hand. Later on, he asked me to give him some advice. Anything at all. I told him to always stay open and be willing to go with the Spirit. It was the first thing that came to mind. I think because it’s what I did, whether or not by choice, all week. And because I believe it to be the only sane way to survive the Presbyterian call process. Go with the Spirit.

Back in my seminary room, I gave thanks for familiar voices of loved ones on the phone, a warm shower, yummy slices of pizza, and my pillow. I love my pillow maybe more than most normal people love their pillows. One of my many quirks. Don’t make fun; I know you have quirks too! And in most of your cases, I know what they are.

There you have it. Pages and pages later. My Haitian vacation. It was everything I wanted, everything I needed, and everything I believe & hope God intended.

Thanks for reading. Pray for Haiti and go with the Spirit.