Dick and Jane Go To Haiti

Wednesday, December 16, 2008

I have been known to exaggerate in my day. I come by it naturally as I hail from a family of drama lovers and expressive personalities. If we’re hot, we’re MELTING. Embellishments are often thrown into stories to add a flair for entertainment. But I can honestly say Haiti has trumped my ability to exaggerate. No matter the words we try to string together to describe what we see, feel, experience, they seem to pale in comparison to reality. And when bizarre things happen, only describing them exactly as they happen can convey the bizarreness; embellishments are distractions.

For example, today’s Creole lesson. Our teacher started the session by composing a short story for us to translate. He started writing out this story on the blackboard on the main room of the guesthouse where we have our lessons. Mind you, people are trafficking in and out during our lesson--it’s not private. The main character of the story was a school-aged girl who ought to be in school, but wasn’t. Instead, she is meeting someone her age for a ride to the beach. On the beach they run, they throw sand at each other, they jump in the ocean, and then they make love without a condom. 2 weeks later she is pregnant, but she doesn’t know who the baby daddy is because she does this with lots of guys.

In summary: Dick and Jane go to the beach, and now Jane’s pregnant. But she doesn't know if Dick, Harry or Mo is responsible. This is our Haitian bedtime story.

You can imagine Patrick and my sideways looks at each other.

The teacher then started asking us questions to test our comprehension. “Why is the girl pregnant?” Because she didn’t use a condom. “What do you think about the girl?” My eyes narrowed. Teacher was dancin’ with fire. Loaded question, teacher. Judging his swagger, I came to a defensive conclusion that he had his own opinion, and the hairs on the back of my neck were bristling. I was trying to formulate a sentence asking him if he thought it was only the woman’s responsibility that she was now with child, and where was Mr. Hot Pants now? But Patrick stepped in diplomatically with, “she should be in school so she isn’t on the beach.” With irresponsible men, I wanted to add.

And through the day, Patrick and I have been finding endless humor in the bizarre choice of “story time” we had today. I have to admit, though, I wasn’t laughing during the lesson. I had my mental dukes up.

The truth is, “what do you think about the girl” was a bag of worms I doubt the teacher had any idea he was unloading. Why is this girl in the story not in school? Likely because her family, if she has one, cannot afford to send her to one. Maybe she went to the beach to exercise her right to love anyone she wants anytime she wants. Maybe she went under the guise of innocent fun and left fulfilling an obligation, satisfying a romantic whim, succumbing to force, or financing a meal? Did she act in ignorance of the dangers of sexual promiscuity or take a fully informed risk? Was she searching for a man to help lift her out of her poverty, a father for a child, a source of support? Or was she selling her body to feed herself, her family, using the only resource she has to make money? At the best, the story he told today was a glimpse into the hard realities of poor women and an opportunity to discuss systems in place that allow for single parent families. At the worst, the story was an insensitive attempt at humor or judgment. Perhaps our Creole teacher was attempting his skills in sex ed and public health, or he may have thought he’d give us a more entertaining story to perk our interest in language learning. Maybe its cultural: maybe such a story is so common place it carries no hidden meaning. Or maybe he had no intention at all… that this was just a story, a common story to help us learn vocab. But boy did I given teacher a mental talkin’ to. I imagine my internal reactions were colored by my worries over my burned patient, the victim of a power play, lack of respect for women, for life. I've felt defensive for the Haitian woman after the week's events.

The Haitian woman is certainly taking care of herself, and I have met many a female Haitian leader, both of the home and of an organization, that makes me proud to be a woman. Poverty opens the door to vulnerability and lack of education fuels reckless behavior. These are hard truths. And despite my attempts at cultural observation and acceptance, I find it hard to tolerate any perceived notion that somehow the woman is the crazy, irresponsible being in the Garden of Eden condemning men with her poisonous apple.

Today rather than shooting daggers or taking off with the defensive rant boiling in my brain, I asked the teacher what the cultural role of men and women were in Haiti when it comes to relations. And with whom in Haiti, culturally speaking, does responsibility lie for health precautions and family planning? I think he picked up on my slant oozing through my words for he then started talking only to Patrick. “Well you know, with guys… “ Lets just say my questions didn’t get answered.

Oh the questions that have been running through my brain: how to encourage strong, intelligent, independent woman in the face of repression and poverty, how to encourage men to look at women as equals, not as things to be used or to be feared (for their poison coochie) but as partners, how to be an opinionated, privileged white woman showing proper respect in a culture that doesn’t see the world through my own eyes. I am all the more proud to work with women like Francois Villier who exude strength and confidence, who say by their very stature, “watch out, I’m here and I will be heard.” I’m proud of CONASPEH for investing in young women, giving them strong role models to follow, encouraging thought. Education, I believe, is the key to strong people, men and women, who break free from the bonds of ignorance, racism, sexism, and injustice. In the meantime, I will work on my skills on balancing diplomacy and tolerance while leaving no question as to my thoughts on justice and equality.

To finish on an upnote, my patient showed up in clinic again today for her bandage change. She asked me for a print of the photo. “I’d like to take it to the police.” Maybe she is ready to make a case for herself. Maybe she just needed a little time to process, or time to work up the courage to do what she needs to do. Who knows, but I'd like to think she found courage through the support of her community. And maybe her daughter will grow up with her example of strength. I can only hope