Snapshots of Salmadere and St. Etienne

• Little children beaming and clutching American beanie babies to their chests when they receive our small gifts. (Thank you, St. Stephen's middle schoolers, for your kind donations.)
• Shouts and singing, with plenty of smiles
•  A teacher who asks me, "Please, give me a pen?" (Next year we will make gifts bags for the school's teachers which include pens, chalk, colored pencils, and other useful teaching supplies.)
• Several kids with medical or genetic problems: kids with bloody ears (possibly ruptured eardrums from easily treated ear infections, according to a pharmacist on a medical mission we meet later), a girl with a club foot, a girl with six fingers, a girl with very pronounced nodes on her neck
• The beautiful and spare church, made simply but with durable material, constructed by gifts of time, funds, and labor from St. Stephen's in Austin with support of additional donors. (The church doubles as a school building by day and party central by night.)
• The school's storeroom for food and supplies, all but empty except for rice, oil, and salami, with a single box of shared chalk at the top of a storage armoire 
• The most promising thing:  the foundation for the forthcoming seven-classroom school building. In the aftermath of the Port-au-Prince earthquake, this will need to be redesigned to meet new construction guidelines, but the building is now on the near horizon. Included will be new chalkboards to replace the crumbling ones now in the school. The building is being designed using some ideas from a Haitian-designed school building intended for Brazil, with hopes that there will be solar power panels eventually. (Donations gratefully accepted for the building project.)

A School Day, a School Crisis, a School Lunch

 

This school day at St. Etienne in Salmadere starts like any other anywhere--with kids gathering, shouting, laughing, chasing. Classes begin at eight. Students grab pews from inside the church and drag them out under a brand new tarp Pere Walin has brought as a sunshade. Another class hauls pews out to a shady spot in the shadow of the church wall. The rest of the children and teenagers take places by section inside the church. Because the walls are ventilated, sounds ring out clearly. Teachers settle down their classes, and the day begins.

Jorge and I stand behind a low cinder block wall to observe a class set up under a shade tarp beneath a mango tree. We try to be unobtrusive,  but the presence of all of the blancs is distracting to the kids. The teacher is a personable, lively young man. He leads 38 kids who are maybe nine or ten in a grammar lesson. The teacher gesticulates, walks among his students, has them read orally together. There's lots of drilling and student involvement. I'm impressed. He maintains the attention of his students well, despite our presence and those that are a consequence of the environment. Oh, how the planned new building will help!

The environment is mighty distracting to me personally, maybe because it's so different from my own classroom at St. Stephen's in Austin. The day is hot and bright.  Sounds of the little kids singing and clapping drift out of the nearby church. Boys who need to pee wander a few yards away and unzip by the bushes. Girls drift off to the outhouse. Chickens squawk as they peck in the schoolyard and a goat bleats. How could a kid possibly maintain focus on verb conjugations? But the teacher and the kids really try.

Then an unexpected and scary event occurs. A boy starts convulsing in what appears to be a seizure. Kids back away in panic while the boy bucks and thrashes. The teacher helps the boy to the ground then runs for assistance; Jorge and I dash around the low wall separating us from the class and sit with the boy and make sure he's stable.  He starts to come around. The other children are frightened and talking in rapid-fire Kreyol. Pere Walin comes over and asks us what we saw. We describe it, and he shakes his head. "Ah, epilepsy," he says. He grimly walks away to talk with the teacher.

The children pull pews away from the boy who has been gently moved by another teacher, who lays the boy on a separate pew. The class continues. After fifteen minutes or so of rest, the boy rejoins his class. As a privileged  American, I am left thinking, Where's the school nurse? There isn't one. So when does this kid see a neurologist? Perhaps never.

Inside the church, Lydia also witnesses a medical disruption in a class of small children. A little boy begins to vomit, then retches again and again. The teacher takes him outside; Lydia carefully lifts the other children out of the mess on the floor. A virus? The flu? Again, who knows.

After those dramatic moments comes the best part of the day for any kid anywhere--recess. There's more jumping rope, more chasing, more hand-clapping, and more singing, with our students joining in the fun. On any playground of little children there are always a few outliers. One small girl sits in the shade, very still, with the erect carriage of children who are learning to balance heavy objects on their heads. She quietly observes the others without joining in. A little boy wanders between the outside pews, trailing his fingers over the wood. In a culture as social and emphatically extroverted as Haiti's is, it must be very difficult in some ways to be shy or introspective. I find myself thinking about these little loners several times during the day.

At last comes the most critical  part of the school day: lunch. The kids eat in shifts, little kids first. Most children bring a metal bowl and spoon from home, and a lunch lady ladles two heaping scoops of a mixture of white rice and black beans--a favorite meal of the children--into their bowls. Tomorrow the children will have extra protein--pieces of salami cut into the food mixture. Walin has brought several long salami sticks from Hinche. He explains to me that the school lunch is the only meal of the day for many of these children; if they miss school, they miss food. The little children sit on the floor or on the pews. Almost the only sound is the clank of spoons on metal. These kids are focused on food for the moment, and they don't leave a scrap behind.

Right now the school has in its storeroom fourteen 50 kg sacks of rice, a few boxes of sunflower oil, and Pere Walin's salamis. Perhaps there are other food stores, but this is the only storage area, and rice, oil, and salamis are what's here. When we picked up trash earlier in the school yard, we found dozens of opened and empty silver wrappers from the World Food Programme of high energy biscuits, a gift of the EU. These contain 450 calories, with 15 grams of protein, calcium, magnesum, iron, iodine, niacine, folic acid, panlothenic acid, and vitamins A-Retinol, B1, B2, B6, B12, C, D, and E. We are grateful our children have had these.


The single most important feature of the school is the water well. The presence of well water has had dramatic positive effects in the health of the children, according to Johnny.  Before school Julian, Philip, and Adam dug a trench that will form the base of a fence around the well. Pere Walin wants to protect the well so that its operation won't be interrupted by damage, as it is critically essential to the school and community. Currently there's a problem with the well. The pressure is lower than it should be, so Johnny brought funds from America to improve the well.

What is the cost of the St. Etienne feeding program?  About $600 US per month for 210 children--a bit under $3 US a month per child, or less than the cost of a single Starbucks latte or half a large Jamba Juice smoothie. I am certain I will never look at a twelve quarters or thirty dimes in the same way again. $3 a month prevents starvation for one of our kids, one of my kids.

I realize I am now thinking of these children as my people. How could I not? I've danced with them, been guided by them across a brown and gold hillside, had my hair patted and rearranged by them to meet Haitian standards. $3 x 210 x ten months. That's the goal for the feeding program this year, every year, adjusted for number of children and any rise in food prices. Surely we can do this.

How can we not?

(Donations gratefully accepted for the school's operating budget, which provides for student lunches and teacher salaries.)

The Nature of Catastrophe

We've been getting spotty reports about the horrific disasters in Japan, but because we are not Stateside and therefore not within arm's reach of a computer, netbook, i-Pad, or cell phone at all timea, we have limited information. What a truly tragic catastrophe. But we have been mulling over the nature of catastrophe as an event (a tsunami, terrorist attack, explosion, outbreak of disease, etc.) vs. the idea of catastrophe as a long, slown burn (such as ongoing life in Haiti, with political instability, food insecurity, poverty, joblessness, low literacy, health challenges, and all of the diminishment or loss of human potential that arises because of those things). We have come to no conclusions, but it seems that event-type catastrophes--breaks in the norm--elicit compassionate response, but the others simmer below the surface of public consciousness to a great degree. There certainly has been enormous response to Haiti in the aftermath of the earthquake, but Haiti was in a state of catastrophe before January 12, 2010, and this catastrophe was largely unheeded. Maybe this is what Dr. Paul Farmer calls "the long defeat" (from Tracy Kidder's book about Farmer called Mountains beyond Mountains): a state on ongoing disaster with widespread ramifications for human health and happiness.

Certainly NGOs are coming out of the woodwork to assist Haiti in various ways. We see evidence of them frequently in Hinche, just in the week I've been here. In fact, Johnny Wilson says one term for Haiti is "Republic of NGOs." But is solving Haiti's endemic problems at the top of anyone's governmental agenda? No. Or even anywhere on an agenda? Probably not.

I am a first-time visitor to Haiti, and I reallly am just in an introductory stage of learning about the nation's politics, problems, and daily life. I don't know where I'm going with this other than to say I'm turning these ideas over and over in my mind, trying to make sense of them, if there is sense to be found. 

    

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     

Yvonne: Haiti Overload

We left St. Etienne today and I hid tears behind my sunshades.  What will be different because we were there?  They will have a few more gifts that did not have before, or maybe a new toy that they have never seen.  But will their lot in life be any different when I return next year?  I don't really know the answer.

  And that is why I tears were in my eyes as we departed.  The sad little faces who we asked to dream about their future.  Is it even possible for them to dream about a future when they can barely understand where their next meal is coming from?  The ones who attend the school are lucky because Johnny's fundraising makes it possible for them to have at least one meal per day and some hope for a future because they are being educated.  But there are many more who show up to the school, but their family can't afford the school's meager tuition.  They try to blend in with old uniforms or just show up with nothing...sometimes without clothes.  So I continue to ask myself...will their world be any different because we were there?  In many ways the answer is no.  I still see some of the same faces that were there when I have visited Haiti over the past two years and they are in the same plight.  Still dirty-faced and looking for a gift from the visitors.  What's so different?  I can honestly say I have not changed the hope for their future by my visit here.  But I have for two days out of the year, caused a child to smile.  Nothing compares to the smile of sheer delight that each child has on their face when they either see a photo of themselves or when they receive a gift.  It doesn't matter that the gift is second hand or does not cost a lot of money to us...they are just thrilled to have something different in their lives.  For 99% of them, they will never leave the island of Haiti and if I can expose them to something different, then I have made a difference in their life.                                                   

A Haitian Celebration

The school community of St. Etienne threw a party to welcome us last night, and let me tell you, Haitians can party with the best of them.

But a Haitian party (at least, this party) looked different from an American one: no drink, no food, no small talk. Instead, there were four walls, a four piece band with the generator humming for electricity, and maybe 150 singing, bouncing, dancing, clapping, laughing Haitians, two-thirds of them children.

Before the gathering, our eleven group members were in the little room off the church building preparing our party favors (glow sticks), when the music started.

Haitian singing is unlike any other I've heard in person. It's loud, for one thing, and the songs are long, with endless repetition, all the better to shout with happiness and join in whenever you want. The air was thrumming with energy, and at about the fifteenth verse and tenth minute of the song, we left our little room and walked into an explosion of Haitian sound.

After the exuberant song ended, Mon Pere (my Father--a reference to Walin) warmed up the crowd, making comments in Kreyol, then Johnny made remarks, with Walin translating. The room broke into enthusiastic applause when Johnny announced that the school would soon have money to begin construction on a seven-classsroom facility with an office and a restroom. (Right now, St. Etienne as a school operates out of the church building, with two extra rooms used as classrooms, office, storage and anything else needed. The current school also has a cooking shed for school meals and a latrine.) The new facility will greatly enhance the education of its 240 children and teenagers.

After having each of us introduce ourselves (mwen rele Vicki), the party resumed. Various musical groups performed prepared pieces and everyone--from the smallest children to the oldest grandmother or grandfathe--joined the remaining songs..

All of our St. Stephen's kids danced and clapped and boogied with little Haitian kids vying for their attention. Julian had a throng of children clamoring to hold his hand while he danced at the front of the crowd, Philip danced away with Haitian boys and girls, Ursula taught a little girl to swing dance, and Kelly was swarmed by small admirers. One little girl fell asleep in Lydia's lap for at least an hour; Lydia patiently held her, while other children nestled against her. Adam had the attention of the whole crowd in a wild, very funny impromptu jumping dance he invented with a little girl. The Haitians laughed and clapped as he slap-sticked his way around the dance floor.

One little guy in a red plaid shirt, who was maybe ten, came up and grabbed me by both hands and yanked me onto the dance floor. He was my best guy and dance partner for the next three rousing songs, never letting go of me and jerking and pushing me around if I wasn't doing what he wanted me to do. When I was on the verge of a stroke, he finally nodded while I snuck away to a bench to slow my heart palpitations, observe the scene, and further enjoy the festivities.

I guess if I were to discribe what I have experienced of life in Haiti in one word, it would be this:  color.

There is a vibrant literal color to the buildings, signs, clothing, and crafts. The Kreyol accent itself is lilting and lovely, and if it had a hue, it might be purple or fuschia or maybe turquoise. But Haitian parties? Oh, my.  Color. What divine color.  

                           

At St. Etienne

We arrive at St. Etienne and immediately are mobbed by excited children. Some of them call out, "Amelia! Amelia," looking for Amelia Hassoun, who visited St. Etienne two times, and "Henri," for Henry Sikes, another repeat visitor. A boy comes up, tugs on my shorts, and whispers, "Balloon." Unfortunately, I do not have one, but he will soon see balloons flying through the Salmadere sky.

After a short time of general confusion (moving our gear into a little covered room where we will sleep, getting treats for children sorted out, and so on), our students begin to mingle with kids. The first big hit is a jump rope game, with Ursula starting the game, Adam following close behind, and Julian jumping for his life.  Groups of little girls join in, and soon some sophisticated older jumpers start a serious  jumping chant and go for broke.

Kelly makes paper bag puppets with kids, gives out friendship bracelets, blows bubbles, and makes play dough animals. Lydia blows bubbles and turns jump-ropes for ever. Beachball, frisbee, and jump-roping are Philip's style, in addition to a long (safe) walk on trails with the teasing intention of getting to the Dominican Republic seven miles away. (He didn't make it, of course). Julian makes paper bag puppers like crazy and uses "bendy colored things" (translation: pipe cleaners) to the delight of the kids. Ursula's giant hit is painting nails with little girls--oh, the fun! Everyone does more than this. .. they are absolute troupers.

One of the things that we have come to love about Haitian children (and Haitians in general) is their degree of close physical affection. The hug each other; they drape arms around each other's shoulders; they pat each other and tap each other and walk hand in hand, even teeneagers, with no self-consciousness. They come up to us and grab our hands and touch us, too. I was sitting with one little girl who was tending her little baby brother. She reached up tenderly pushed my bangs to the side of my face. (Most Haitian women wear their hair pulled back and off their foreheads.) She patted it and arranged it until it pleased her, then touched my face as if it say, "Whew! That's better."

One of the high points of this day--actually, the whole trip--was a late afternoon walk we took with a throng of children. The students went to the top of the hill with most of the children, while Yvonne and I stayed behind with our little admirers. We stopped just outside a little wooden house with open windows and a curtain billowing. The view to either side of the house (a little more sturdy than a hut) was the most spectacular I could ever imagine. The house set at the top of a rise, with land stretching below dotted with livestock. The family there greeted us warmly. We stayed there for a while, chatting in just a few words of Spanish, Kreyol, and English. The daughter of the house made gentle fun of my poor communication skills; Yvonne chased her and tickled her. It was all in good humor and a rare treat: to be at the tip-top of Haiti chit-chatting with a Haitian family.                                                                   

A Presidential Candidate Visits

Just before we left for Hinche, an entourage arrived to see Pere Walin:  it was a distinguished visitor, Mirlande Manigat, candidate for prezidan of Haiti. She toured St. Andres school with Pere Walin in the company of her staff and two very scary looking guards, loaded to the hilt with firearms.

The St. Andres children and teenagers were wildly excited and packed the rails upstairs to watch the scene. Little girls poked their heads above the girls' toilets in a  line for a better look at the guards. Children chanted the name of the candidate.

The election is very soon, and Pere Walin has been talking to young men in his congregation about the importance of voting (not, as he explained to me, suggesting for whom they vote--just that they vote). As he said to me, explaining what he said to the young men, "What you don't want to smell, you will swallow. What you don't want to kick, you will take in your hands." In other words, he was saying that the young people of Haiti must take responsibility for their collective future in the form of voting, or the results may be repugnant to them.

Yvonne asked him who he planned to vote for. He just laughed. Then when she teased him a little more about his choice, he said, "I will vote for the winning candidate, of course."