Port-au-Prince

So we arrive in Port-au-Prince and we actually don't even know where we're gonna stay!  We were supposed to lodge with someone in a private house on Delma 75 but there was a bit of a snafu with the arrangements.  Luckily, we eventually found a nice and simple little hotel right near where our partner BAI is located -- the Bureaux des Avocats Internationaux, which is facilitating our partnership with the women's groups.  Convenient.   

And as it turns out the space where we end up holding our workshops -- the Heartland Alliance -- is not too far away either.  So we decide to just stay at the hotel for the whole time.  It’s not cheap, but it could be worse.  We get a deal from the hotel manager, Reggie, our new friend.  And it’s very central on avenue Lalue.  In fact, we can even walk to our workshop space, which we do a couple of times. But usually we take a cheap and local taxi ride.  

Port-au-Prince is not as dangerous to us as I had come to expect from news reports and other accounts.  We had thought we had to hire a driver and a car in order to get around, which is really expensive (most everything is quite expensive actually in Haiti, especially transportation and accommodation due to price gouging of short supply and high demand... and the presence of lots of rich foreign aid workers).  We end up not hiring a driver and just relying on walking or taxi.  I always prefer to travel locally anyway if possible.

We have an easier time because we have trusty Morlon with us, our Haitian team member!  I met Morlon last September when I was in Grande Goave with Clowns Without Borders.  He was one of our trainers in the workshop we did, and he was so great that I immediately thought of him as we prepared this project -- why not have him join us!  So he's performing in our show with us and co-teaching workshops.  And, of course, translating.

With Morlon leading the way we can safely walk around most anywhere, although not everywhere.  And of course he negotiates with the taxi driver for us, since our Kreyol is not so good.   I speak French, which most Haitians do as well, but not all.

In the beginning, especially the couple of days before Morlon joined us, I did most of the communicating for the group.  So I would order dinner for Josh and Christina.  What's funny with this is that everyone assumes Josh is Haitian (because he's black) and so the waiter was really perturbed by the fact that he didn’t order for himself.  He looked askance, passed Josh and threw out a comment at him, which we could only assume to mean, "Why are you letting this woman speak for you?  What's up with that?!"  Once he understood that we are all three Americans, and only I spoke French, all was well with the world again.  But constantly people would speak to Josh in Kreyol and they were really confused by the fact that he claimed to not be Haitian, not even a little bit.  Because he's black, so obviously he must be of Haitian descent.  Obama is!  (Apparently, a lot of Haitians think this!)

Then Morlon joined us and the wait staff was really confused.  They thought we had dragged him in off the street out of mercy to offer him a meal.  No, we don't know if they thought that, but they insisted in any case that we pay his meal, whereas breakfast was to be included with the room for all of us.  He's staying with us, he's one of us, we insisted!  It took a little while to sort that out.  We have a sneaking suspicion this hotel is a hook-up hotel, since we mostly see couples.  So probably everyone thinks Christina and I are there with our Haitian lovers!

But soon they realize otherwise, after we start rehearsing on the roof and showing off our clown antics!  I'm not sure what they think of us now.

Saturday, a couple of days after arrival, we walked through the neighborhood and further on to find a market where we could buy a bucket.  We walked all over without a problem, past vast tent camps in the downtown Champ de Mars area, and past the presidential building that lay in ruins.  I bought some sugarcane, and a pair of flip-flops from a woman selling her goods on street. A couple of kids tagged along behind us for a while. I wish I had goofed with them more, usually I do, but here I was acting incognito (that is, not like a clown, it's not like I could hide that I stood out like a sore thumb, being a white foreigner!).  When we got further downtown, Morlon did say we had to be careful, because robbers and other bad guys congegrate in this area, so it’s a bit more volatile.   

On the way back we find ourselves in the midst of a demonstration.  But it was a good demonstration in a mostly celebratory spirit – manifesting for human rights and dignity.  Everyone waving Haitian flags, chanting, and carrying placards saying “Respect Our Children." A loudspeaker truck played music and then the national anthem, followed by soldiers and police.  The maids of the hotel gathered on top of the roof looking on and dancing to the music.  This was all very interesting to witness!  I only wish this spirit of solidarity and support for human rights and for children was more apparent in the everyday life of Haiti.  From all I hear, it's not the norm for many women and children in the camps and elsewhere. (Consider the long-time practice of "restaveks" -- child servants.)

Another night there were pre-carnival festivities. A gigantic truck was being set up with loudspeakers to play music that the crowd then follows while dancing down the street.  We didn’t even know when we planned the timing of this trip that it would coincide with carnival, which we’ll have a chance to experience, very exciting!  We wanted to go out and find another restaurant down the street as opposed to eating at the hotel restaurant.  But all the street lights were out, and it was dark, and it really wasn't a good idea to be walking around out there at that point. Which revealed itself to be true, because when we stepped out for a moment, I was confronted by a very aggressive and hostile man. I didn't understand what he was saying, but politely greeted him with a "bon soir" which apparently aggravated him further.  “Bon soir!?” He spat back with contempt and outrage.  I don’t know what he was going on about but it wasn’t friendly and the situation was escalating.  Morlon quickly emerged from the crowd and said let’s go back inside.

Morlon then made sure to inform us that this man was not a real Haitian man: he was perhaps born in Haiti, but he was not Haitian, because Haitians are very friendly and generous people.

Goat -- and rice and beans!!!!!!!                                                                                   Sweets!