Friday, November 28, 2008

Today was a day of adventure. We broke the routine of driving to and from work, and took our first road trip outside of Port au Prince into the surrounding countryside. Patrick Villier had invited us to join him on a site visit to Pont Sonde where a new CONASPEH school and clinic is under construction. Anxious to see more of the country, we eagerly accepted.

This morning we sleepily arrived at CONASPEH early sans breakfast or coffee and picked up the group joining us for the road trip. We all piled in the Galloper—our not-so-trusty steed—and headed off on the road leading north. Not to worry. We packed lots of rocks.

I was excited. After starting to feel a little claustrophobic in the city, I was anxious to get out and see the countryside. Even driving to Petionville, it seems the city crawls all along the way, snaking up the mountain; houses and shops lie concentrated along the roadside. But heading north, the city quickly broke away to dusty green hillsides and dry fields. Mountains rose up, shaking the city off its steep slopes. The air cleared.

Our route followed the coastline. The walls of the city fell away and the ocean opened up before us; we are indeed on an island after all. The cool clean blue stretched to meet the horizon; sailboats and fishing canoes bobbed among the waves. The bright turquoise water gave sharp contrast to the dusty brown of the road we traveled. The cool blue seemed to laugh at the hot sun, reflecting its rays off of the crests of waves.


I immediately felt like I could breath again. Mountains, although largely treeless, stood tall and soft, with green brush blanketing their slopes. The ocean offered endless blue space melting into the sky. Clouds lazily floated overhead; a strong breeze rushed in our windows bringing us the earthy smell of the land we traveled. My eyes drank in the open space, both green and blue, glad to leave behind the congestion of the city for a while.

The villages we drove through were simple, yet welcoming. No walls surrounded neighborhoods and houses. Instead, we looked into towns of cinder-block homes painted white and pink and blue. Laundry hung out on lines stretching between the houses, dotting the neighborhood with color. Children ran through alley ways between homes; women cooked over fires, squatting low as they stirred and mashed the hot meal. Markets were filled with fruits, vegetables and live produce; women carried baskets of papaya and mangos atop their heads. Farmers tilled dry fields on foot with hoes and shovels; donkeys hauled heavy loads, lumbering behind men in straw hats.

There is a certain intimacy that comes from driving through the countryside and small towns, looking into the lives of the people living there. Pictures of life passed our window: women busy with household chores, men hauling building supplies or hammering tools, children at play. We passed folks lounging in the shade of coconut trees, kids splashing and playing in the surf, dogs stretched out on a sunny patch of dirt, goats munching roadside vegetation. Screens made of woven palm leaves protected houses from the dust from the road. The barriers seemed softer, tropical, and natural giving the towns a quaint feel. The villages advertised a more tranquil existence. Although poverty pervaded everything, life seemed to proceed more peacefully as evidenced by lack of razor wire and broken bottle-lined walls protecting people from one another.

Our route followed the national Highway north. And what a road it was. Some patches were smooth and well taken-care of, but woe to he who got over-confident in speed, or relaxed too much at the wheel. Crater like pot-holes lurked like booby-traps along the way, some hidden sporadically, others pocked great stretches of road. Often we were forced into driving at a snails pace as we weaved around the shallowest parts of the drop-offs, negotiating with traffic from the other direction. Road crews worked on parts of the road, spreading rock and gravel into cavernous holes. Fine grey dust filled the air, blanketing leaves creating a monotone silvery landscape lining the road. The dust found its way into the car as evidenced by a suddenly dusty watch face and lots of sneezing.

We pulled along side the road for an 8am breakfast from a sidewalk chef. Women stood under lean-tos with big silver pots sitting over hot coals, meat sizzling in oil, plantains frying on pans. Our breakfast was pork and plantains, dressed with a spicy cabbage relish. This was Patrick and my first sidewalk meal, and we knew we gambling with potential gastrointestinal havoc. I assured myself that the pork had likely been well sterilized by the hot oil. The plantains were good and hot as well. The cabbage? Definitely Russian roulette. But the relish was mixed with fire-hot chilies. Eating fried food and flaming hot chilies at 8am is certainly an experience in itself. Each bite set my mouth in flame, and burned all the way down to my newly volcanic stomach. I figured the gastric lava would certainly take care of any bacteria that may have hitched a ride. If not, it was going to be a looooooooooooooooong road trip.

We ate on a little table along the sidewalk; people moved about us as they bought their produce for the day, traffic lumbering by. I felt overwhelmingly happy in that moment. The atmosphere felt alive and exciting, the meal risky but full of fiery flavor. The reality of the adventure we were on seemed to come alive in that moment, and I sat and soaked in the tastes, the smells, the sounds and the activity that rose all around us.

Getting back in the truck, and bouncing along the roads was a bit of a physical challenge. Cold beads of sweat broke out on our foreheads as our stomachs boiled and gurgled; this was the moment of truth. I looked along the roadside and wondered just how awful it would be to get sick along the road. There wasn’t a single tree to hide behind, so my misery would be exposed for all to see. But the GI Gods were in a good mood today. The fire eventually calmed, no fireworks, no urgent dash for the ditch. We’ve cultivated stomachs of steel, and I’ve never been so thankful for them than on a road trip through rural Haiti.


Ponte Sonde was a small village like the rest: houses lay like a puzzle pieces linked neatly together by walkways and roads that twisted in between. Stick fences allowed clear views into yards where women were doing laundry in big buckets, hanging clothes out to dry. Hens and their chicks pecked in the dirt, goats had free range roaming from yard to yard. Half-naked toddlers wandered in the dust, shepherded by their older siblings or neighbors while their mothers worked near by. We watched two blacksmiths hammer out metal hoes, their partner stoking the fires that made the metal malleable.


The new school and clinic building were nearly finished, built with the help of U.S. financial support. We toured the empty spacious rooms delighting in the air that moved through and the light filtering in the windows. Soon children will fill the space with voices and laughter, charging the air with the energy of youth. We met the pastors in charge of the construction and congratulated them on a job well done, discussing the finalization of the construction and the dedication ceremony we’d have in February after the completion of the project.


While walking around the school site nestled in a neighborhood, Patrick and I quickly drew the curiosity of children who huddled whispering and flashing us shy smiles. Maybe they’ll be the students of the school; maybe their futures will hold the promise of education. I hoped so.

Now we are home, weary from a long day on the road, but happy with the liberation that came with a venture out into wide-open spaces. We made it through a trip down the national highway, playing “chicken” with Mac trucks and speeding buses overflowing with travelers and their luggage. We survived our first roadside meal, and lived to tell the tale without any GI consequences (so far). We drank in ocean vistas, banana groves and green mountainous landscapes. We observed life at a slower, quieter pace, breathed air not choked with car exhaust. It has been a fun day, a day that reminds us of the journey we are on and the adventure we’ve subscribed to. A change of scenery was due, and now we go to sleep with new pictures to color our dreams.