After seeing pictures and hearing stories, Yashwant and I decided to go to the tent city today. It was not a long ride, maybe 25 minutes at the most, and I was shocked when we arrived. The tent city actually seemed... nice (for lack of a better word). Now by no stretch was this the Hamptons, but based on my expectations going in, the city was clean, orderly and overall inhabitable. There was evidence of a water runoff system being put into place and there were at least 100 brand new, large tents provided by USAID. There were UN soliders stationed there and a large basin of drinking water. The people even seemed very happy in the city, which brings me back to a point I made previously about the orphange. I have very rarely run across someone in Haiti that seems utterly and completely defeated. A glimmer of hope shines in each individual, no matter their housing situation or how much food they have. It is absolutely incredible and it speaks volumes about the Haitian drive, determination and will power.
Now this may come back to bite me later, but I feel that it needs to be said as I was incredibly bothered by it. After exploring the tent city, Yashwant and I came to the school bus to find it bombarded by children. Zu, who I have incredible respect for (being in Haiti all seven weeks) was choosing which children were going to come to the camp. Due to some behavioral issues, the decision was made to always bring new children to the camp each day. I understand this completely because you do not want conflicts and you want everyone to have a chance to go.
However, the way the children were handled was not unlike the way someone may handle a stray dog. There was much unnecessary grabbing, pulling and pushing and the situation could have and should have been handled in a more humane way. I feel as though being in a country like this for too long hardens you; in fact, it must. Otherwise, you would be consumed by your own sorrow and grief. But in that hardening process, we as a group must be careful as to not forget why we came to Haiti in the first place. We must continue to treat the Haitians with respect and treat the children as if they are our own.
Another problem I had with this system was that there were about 15 empty seats on the bus as we pulled away, with about 30 8-year-olds chasing us. Is there something wrong about that? I will let you decide on your own, but personally I felt that it is defeating the purpose of the trip. I came to help the children of the tent city, not watch them disappear in the rear view mirror.
So we arrived back at the Salvation Army and the camp went exactly the same as yesterday. Give out water, go to the beach, play a little bit, mediate a little bit, pretend to know Creole, disarm angry children, rinse and repeat. It was after the camp had ended that my real day began.
His name was Donald. He wore a red Ohio State University shirt, some stylish jeans and a white baseball hat. He seemed like any normal guy that you would meet on any street in America, but he was anything but. We met him outside of the Salvation Army, as he would always help HFI members. The Charter students actually thought he was one of the translators due to his kindness and helpfulness. He spoke 4 languages, Creole, French, Spanish and English, and he instantly became an invaluable ally on our trip. He first took us to his home, and just like many of my experiences in Haiti, I was once again shocked by what I found. He lived across the street behind one of the shops with some of the local kids that would play in the camp. His home was no larger than 8 x 8 feet. On one side was his bed, and on the other was a broken television (which he ended up selling the next day). Paintings and mobiles that he made were hanging all over the walls and ceilings, and we later came to find out that he was an artist. He tried to give us some of his paintings free of charge, but there was absolutely no way we could accept in good conscience.
He took us on a walking tour of Jacmel, through the markets, side streets and pathways that are not usually explored by tourists. It would take hours to express all of the emotions, sights and sounds I experienced that day, so for the sake of time, I'll only hit on a few that were especially poignant.
Anyone who has been to New York knows how hectic and crowded it is. Anyone who's been to Haiti knows that New York is nothing in comparison. There were so many people yelling and trying to sell you things and pushing and shoving and fighting! It became overwhelming at times and I almost got lost from the group on multiple occasions. We ducked down another side alley to get away from the bustle of the market and we stumbled upon a playground. This was probably the most affecting image of the trip. There was brand new playground equipment everywhere, slides, jungle gyms, swings, everything. And then there were tents.
One thing I've tended to notice is that Jacmel is rife with contradictions, paradoxes, and double standards. Even when the Haitians try to make something fun and enjoyable like a playground, it is never used to its full potential. In this case, it was just another site for yet another tent city. The people need so much and it is obvious that the government cannot, and seemingly will not provide it. The citizens of the town are actually not dressed as poorly as you would think for a country with a $1,300 per capita income. However, those same people go home to their small, barely livable tent. On our tour, we were taken to the rich side of town. The architecture was spectacular, the buildings were imposing and reminiscent of an upper class European country.
There were no people.
Should I have expected this? Probably. After the earthquake, the area was abandoned. I began to think that this was just a microcosm for the entire country after the disaster. There was only one class in Haiti, and it was poor.
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