sincerely, hot in haiti

many of us dream of a day when we can run away from the burdens of life in the united states and live on a warm, lush, tropical island.

then there are those of us who live on one of the most scorchingly hot parcels of land in the middle of the ocean, directly under the blistering sun, and we dodge the rays of fire that shoot down upon us all day long in search of a small pool of shade and a breeze that reminds us that we are losing precious ounces of fluid with each breath. we can look around and see palms, and signs of the tropics, like a blue sky, the sounds of roosters crowing, and goats greeting tap tap's bumping up the road nearby...and we have to remind ourselves that this is a slice of the heaven many thriving in the rat race of the concrete jungles of the u.s. crave. frankly, we crave productive wifi. we crave air conditioning, we crave starbucks, and we crave enough time in our day to be as productive as we know we can be in the states.

but this is haiti. it's a land of time lost. it's a dustbowl of heat. and though it is our slice of paradise, it is far from an easy place to live. living in haiti is tough work. some mornings we wake up, scratch the bites on our ankles, and feel as if we haven't rested. we rub our eyes and notice that we've already worked up quite a bit of a slick on our chests and it's only 7 am. we embrace that small bit of cool that remains in our increasingly warming rooms, and don't want the day to wear on toward 9am when the full sun will reign high in the sky and raise the mercury. we can lay in bed and prepare ourselves for the day, urging our bodies to take that first step and climb into our 15-18 hour uphill battle that is our every monday through monday. and we remind ourselves why we are so tired. it could be the stagnating heat. it could be the rooster's notifying the world that they're awake and so should we be. it could be the dog fight on the corner that surely rendered one less canine in this world. whatever the reason, we slept at least half of the deserving hours our bodies need.

breakfast can be hard to consume. it's too early. we're too hot. it's just too H.O.T. and yet we need to eat. we need to keep up our strength or at least give our weary bodies the illusion that nourishing food will help propel us toward the abyss of need that we face in haiti daily. so we swallow. and we hydrate. and move on with the day. we step out into the sun and look for the pool of shade to hop to.

productivity here means many conversations with many people. and then once an agreement has been made, sometimes those conversations need to take place again. and again. and ultimately, sometimes yet again. or with someone else. and hopefully the result of several attempts to make a point will eventually produce action. teaching a new topic or idea here can be a little bit like watching water boil. except that you can't step away because someone will unplug the stove. and you can't add salt, because that will further dehydrate you. so we continue with the ground hog day effect and remind ourselves that this island is deserving of our time. of our energy. of our love. and that we as americans have to remember that we came to haiti with intent and purpose, and what we are learning in return is patience. patience for time. for learning. for understanding. for failure. for lack of progress. for frustrating days when we can't connect with the outside world because our wifi is possessed and selfish and there will not only be no netflix, but also no facebook, and no email. questions will sit unanswered, not because we don't care, not because we're ignoring the situation, but simply because the mice who spin the wheel in our proverbial internet machine likely also didn't sleep last night while the dog fights and the roosters crowing and the thundering of bullets hammered on, breaking the silence of the night sky. or one of our local internet providers found a slurpy, kicked back at the wheel and accidentally unplugged the power chord. and if that's the case, we'll have to spend the next week or so calling to find out the issue. if our phones work. or pay the bill. again. or switch providers. it all comes down to this - haiti is just not the u.s. it's just not. 

transportation in haiti is worthy of writing a book. sometimes you can facilitate an errand with relative ease. the streets are wide open, no one is threatening to shoot someone or hit them with a rock on the side of the road, you don't get a flat tire, you don't feel the familiar sputtering of your engine indicating that you may have filled your car with tainted gas, and you reach your destination feeling happily surprised by the convenience of modern machinery. there are other days, however, when everything you touch moans, spits, and dies. those days suck. the roads here are a hodge-podge of fabrication. some are stone. some are concrete, some are dust and rocks and pits, and some are actually paved! some have lights, others have stop signs...stop signs are loosely interpreted here. you pass through with your breath held and a prayer sent up. and each road has the ability to trap you. demonstrations arise and escalate very quickly here in haiti. one minute you could be on your way to a depot for a toilet repair kit, and the next you're circumventing trouble and finding a new two hour back way home to your broken toilet with little accomplished. a broken toilet is much better than a cracked skull. it's always worth the caution and the missed chance than to wind up in the midst of an angry crowd.

moving on with the day, lunch should be rum punches and some sort of fresh lobster that can be consumed in a hammock on a crystal clear, aquamarine, white sand beach, right? totally. but it's not. we have sandwiches. and we're usually eating as we type. if we have wifi. and we're under a hot tin roof doing so. the afternoon scorches on, promising few breezes, and we spend it running errands, trying to obtain products that may have expired or spoiled on the boats bringing them here. but who knows, it's a gamble. you can pick up a box of milk or a tub of yogurt with a decent expected lifespan noted on the outside, bring that sucker home, take one bite or sip and toss the whole thing. a following rant ensues because it's hard not to think about the two hours of your day spent to go to the best market possible to get your needs met just to find out that your day and your money is wasted and your taste buds are no happier for it. dinner is the quiet respite, or should be, that anyone who lives and works in haiti deserves. but usually dinner is another source of bombardment. the debrief of the day, the complaints about the heat, the flickering wifi woes...people running out of toilet paper, septic systems overflowing, tired children who are finding their third wind begging for your attention to play before they fall into their nightly coma...oh how we wish we were all the children who can fall into that blissful slumber at 7:30pm, but our work is nowhere close to being done. there are few tasks that are completed here without a multitude of interruptions from a plethora of people.

as the sun slumbers and leaves us with less of that stagnatingly face melting heat, ala a dali likeness, the mosquitos come out to claim their territory and give you notice that you're welcome to join the party but only if you're willing to be the meal. they're like demon vampires with diseases. and they somehow choose the most inspiring places to chow down. like an eyebrow. ankles are a favorite as well. knuckle itching is a special kind of frustrating sensation. or the corner of your eyelid. that's one of my fondest of their choices. these are the moments when you fondly think of screened in porches on a comfortable house in the u.s. a place where you can live outside of walls. a place where you have just about every luxury and comfort and peace and relative quiet if you seek it. a place where your grocery store will exchange your rotten products, where you can grab a latte at a drive through to calm your nerves on a hectic day. where you can crank up the music and the a.c. and complain to someone who will actually do something about it if your phone, your wifi, your a.c., and your plumbing don't work. here in haiti we can only complain to ourselves. because we are the plumbers, the builders, the do'ers. we know it is up to us if it is going to get done. and yet, with our world so dependent upon computers, phones, the internet, and other resources it is difficult to prove that we are as productive here in haiti as we are in the states when we can't communicate and provide tangible evidence of all that happens in a day. and when we can write an inspired or funny post on facebook it simply doesn't sum up the holistic experience of our day. sometimes those quick proof of life posts had to be generated by hot-spotting a signal from someones phone to a computer with a gentle nudge and promise of sharing a treat in return for compliance with posting. or threats of hardware harm.

if one could imagine hiking a mountain daily, i would suggest this is a comparable activity to life in haiti. sometimes we dream of a day when we can run away from our burdens here in haiti to live our lives of ease in the united states. but we love this island and her people, so this is what we do. if you love us, please understand that we are in the trenches, doing what needs to be done, and when you don't hear from us we are still doing just that. supporting them. assisting and providing for their needs and welfare. teaching them. guiding them. and loving them. 

sending this message with love and hopes that the wifi will comply with my desire to post it!

sincerely,

hot in haiti