We woke sweaty and restless. Night does not bring cool air to Port-Au-Prince. To avoid getting eaten alive by mosquitoes in our sleep, we kept the windows of our room at La Colom Hotel shut. Stifling.
The alarm went off at 6am. After staying up studying Creole, morning seemed to come early to our foggy brains. A cold shower did the trick, however, to wake us up for our first day in Haiti.
Breakfast came--delivered to the room as is the hotel's custom. This morning sugary grapefruit juice (yum), strong black coffee (medicinal), plantains and a mystery meat with onions in a red sauce. Liver? Goat? The sauce was yummy, the plantains dry but good with the sauce. But the meat was a challenge. There are very few things I can't swallow down with a little muster. But the chewy, gristly consistency at 7am got my gag reflex a going. Not a good start to embracing Haitian culture. I couldn't help feeling ashamed as we left most of our meet on our plates. Hate to be the ungrateful American too picky to eat the generous food before me. We placated ourselves hoping that someone who REALLY needed the calories would be glad for a little leftovers to eat.
Francois Villier greeted us in the morning with hugs and welcome. We rode her jeep to the school and CONASPEH headquarters down the road. Francois took us from room to room, kindergarten to seniors in secondary school introducing us. As we'd walk in, the entire classroom would stand up and greet us in unison. "Welcome." The little ones were all smiles, giggles and waves. We couldn't help laughing ourselves. The older students were a little more reserved, but returned smiles easily. Patrick's first surprise of the day came when Patrick Villier introduced Patrick blan (foreigner) as the new school basketball coach. Patrick then had to field a barrage of questions about when try-outs were going to be held and how he was going to pick the team. The fact Patrick couldn't speak a lick of Creole saved him from his obvious surprise. So our jobs start to become defined!!
After our hearty welcome, we were shown our new office, a plain white-washed room with the CONASPEH emblem painted on one wall (an upside down tree symbolizing roots in heaven, work on earth). We have a small window that looks out to an alley where children were starring in and giggling. Since we hadn't brought any supplies to decorate our office, we instead took the "office time" to pull out our Creole books and continue the jump start we started last night with renewed inspiration.
I had a few moments with the head nurse of CONASPEH who told me of our first venture out in the mobile unit next week. I immediately got excited. Looks like clinic work is closer than I imagined. I had had grand plans of having formal sit-down meetings with her her, discussing her vision for the clinic and what she wanted for me, what I could bring to the clinic and the nursing school. But instead, we'll just get rolling straight away. Clarification will come, I assume. And Creole must come fist if I'm going to be and effective co-worker and physician. So again, desperate inspiration to learn Creole and learn it FAST!
The rest of the morning was spent touring a Guest House that can serve as transitional housing while we wait for our more permanent lodging to become available and getting our cell phones. Getting cell phones in Haiti was a cultural experience in itself. Just two days ago, we were in a T-Mobile store in Denver discontinuing our account. The two experiences couldn't be more different. We walked into the store and stood at the counter for some time before any of the sales staff even looked up. They weren't so much busy, but just appeared board. And hot. We were able to decide on a plan that looked like it would suit our needs, and find the cheapest of phones, but still ended up paying $200/month for 550 minutes each! Yikes! A luxury in Haiti, for sure! I guess in some way we thought things would be cheaper in a developing country, but the reality of the situation in Haiti become all the more clear during our few shopping trips today. Filling out the forms proved to be a bit of a challenge... trying to figure out what information the phrases were asking of us. We were asked for our "titles." Patrick V suggested we put "missionary," or "doctor," or "pastor." Little did we know that these titles would superseded our first names so that now, the names on our account are "Missionary Bentrott and Pastor Bentrott." I got the giggles. The whole shopping experience took no less then 1 1/2 hours. I kept thinking back to a grumpy man who was in the T-Mobile store with us, just infuriated that it took 15 whole minutes on the phone with customer service to get his problem solved. He'd be doing a Tasmanian devil impersonation if in Haiti. Best for him to keep to the U.S., I think. ;)
The rest of the afternoon, Patrick and I sat in various perches around the school with our Creole books open, our pens copying new words, our mouths imitating new sounds, and attempting to engage curious children who wondered what the "blan" (foreigners) were doing. Our biggest public language lesson came when we sat in a room occupied by a number of women benefiting from the Child Sponsorship program. As mothers of children sponsored by people in the U.S., they came once a month to collect money to help feed and cloth their families. All were lovely, and when we said in very broken, painful Creole that we were learning their language, the room broke into bright smiles. Patrick introduced himself, and asked if he said it correctly. Lots of nods. Then each woman around the room introduced themselves in turn. It took us a while to figure it out. We initially were sounding out their names back to them and flipping through our English/Creole dictionary. Thank goodness for Natasha who helped flip the light switch on in our cooked brains. They then asked us if we had a "pitit" and clued us in by swinging their arms back and forth as if rocking an invisible infant. Oh Right! So good to know we have a community full of tutors.
We ended our day at CONASPEH riding with Francois to get her son from school. She immediately pulled over and had Patrick drive. I'm not going to lie. As much as I'd like to say I had complete doubtless faith in my husband's abilities to negotiate Port-Au-Prince traffic driving a stick-shift, truth is terror instead welled up from my gut. I knew this day would come, but had hoped it would come in a few days, a week maybe. Now I can honestly say I'm ashamed for my doubt. Patrick did beautifully. Francois kept telling him in Creole, "good driver!" I had to agree. Aside from killing the car once on a hill full of pot holes and incurring some vigorous beeping from the car VERY close behind us, he managed the trip through main roads and twisty, bumpy side streets like a pro. Ah pride. Pride in my husband who is clearly more brave than I am at this point, and adapts at lightening speed.
After that big accomplishment of the day, we were left at our hotel to rest the evening away. Upon hitting our cooled-off room and seeing our Creole books staring back at us, we decided to take a break and walk to the Supermarket up the street before dark. The sidewalks were filled with people. As we had been taught by Felix, we greeted most people as we passed them with "Bonswa" (good evening), and received big smiles and greetings in return. Tonight was such a different experience from our first walk down that very sidewalk. When we visited in March, we had walked silently, avoiding eye contact like careful Americans. I felt watched, read suspicion in onlookers faces and certainly didn't feel at home in a foreign land. But tonight was a complete turn-face. We felt happy, calm and glad to be on a walk. We saw a pick-up basketball game played on a local court, and braved crossing an intersection jam-packed with cars, tap-taps (pick-up truck taxis brightly painted), UN army vehicles and huge trucks.
Our last venture of the day was to the supermarket to check things out. Just like in America, 5pm was a busy time there. We decided to simply peruse the isles checking out what was in stock and prices. Again we were disappointed that we didn't find big bargains. In fact, most common-place items were shockingly expensive--peanut butter $10 U.S. Again, the reality of the world food crisis, of import taxes and the effects they have in the local markets was staring back at us from the price tags. The prices won't affect us too much. Sure, we'll have to be frugal and will appreciate the rare time when we purchase a Jiff peanut butter, but for us it will force us appreciation for things as they deserve to be appreciated. But for the Haitian, the prices are so far out of their daily allowance. If the average Haitian makes $2/day, then they can't ever shop in their own supermarket.
Now we are back in our room. We both have knocked off a few Creole lessons, and got a bit slap happy after a day of beating our brains with the foreign sounds.
So with this, we'll turn in early, anticipating another brain-straining day tomorrow in the Haitian heat. I imagine sleep will come with more ease tonight.
Bon Nuit.--Good night!
Patrick-- WAY TO GO on already driving! You're a stud.
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