Mother’s Day in Haiti
It’s been a long time since I’ve written. Sometimes I think there is so much going on, I don’t really have a way to gather my thoughts in my head.
Sometimes I also feel like it’s really hard to explain all that goes on here. When I have time and the internet connection works, I go through news coverage of Haiti from the US and I find myself having an out of body experience, like “oh wow, what a tragedy.” Then I realize I’ve been living here for 2 1/2 months. I know I recognize some of the camps in the photos, but it looks so much more romantic in the pictures.
Now I finally have part of a Saturday off and I’ve been hanging around the house, reveling in the availability of the internet and drinking as much water as possible and eating lightly, which is the only way to feel energized in this insanely humid and hot environment. Today is Mother’s Day in Haiti, and it’s a lovely thing. We just went to the supermarket and it was jam-packed with people buying all the best things, like cheese and meat, and chocolates and flowers, and little children, egged on by their fathers, trying to pick a box of cookies for their mother. Today is like a lovely fantasy day when men treat women in this country kindly. I think families treat each other kindly, but men, in general, do not treat women kindly. Violence against women in this country is horribly prevalent.
Last week I took my R&R (we have mandatory leave for one week, every eight weeks – it prevents breakdowns and illness) in Florida with my aunt and extended family. It gave me some time to think about my experience so far here. When I’m in the States, Haiti seems very far away and my experience here seems like a strange dream. When I’m in Haiti, I feel like I’ve been here for ages, but that I still know nothing about actual everyday life as a Haitian. I know all about the politics of NGOs and the UN and the Government after the quake. But I know nothing about what it means to be an ordinary Haitian.
In my two years in Switzerland, I think I developed a good sense of what it means to live everyday as a Swiss person. But there I could walk freely, buy freely, dress freely, talk freely, make friends freely. In this country, I cannot do those things. We cannot walk around the city due to security threats. I cannot buy items at the street markets because I’ll never get a fair price. I can’t wear what I want because of the mosquitoes and leers from men. I can’t speak Creole (although I understand quite a lot, at this point!) and many Haitians are wary of making friendships, much less being friendly, with foreigners.
This is not to complain. I’m part of the “NGO state” that Haitians talk about, the army of do-gooders who have taken up residence in their country. What right do I have to understand the deeper mysteries of their culture? How dare I presume to know what’s best for them, in this place of misery and endless “emergency phase”?
The best thing I can come up with, so far, is forging some good relationships with some of my Haitian colleagues. We have over 400 Haitian staff with Oxfam here. My small work team is just seven people, including three Haitians. Every day I work closely with my national press officer, a wonderful young guy who was in college when the quake struck. He’s an incredibly hard worker, has strong morals and values and a strong sense of right and wrong. People like him give me faith in Haiti and Haitians. I especially try to remind myself of his behavior when another rude man has refused to let me pass, or another corrupt “community leader” manipulates NGO aid for his own profit.
The tenor is darkening here in Haiti. After five months of living under plastic sheets, Haitians are getting angry. They want to know what their government is going to do to forge a way out of this rubble-filled quagmire. They want a labor market so they can earn an income to send their children to school and buy food. Frustrations are coming to a boiling point. Many humanitarians feel like we’re in a long marathon trying meet people’s most basic needs, even as voices and fists are raised and crime trickles into neighborhoods like a black sludge.
So on this Mother’s Day, I’ll try not to think of those things, and think instead of lovely family dinners with enough food and gifts for the hardest working people in this country – women. Then tomorrow they’ll go to church and pray for saving from Jesus. Monday the struggle will begin again.
