Even My Eyes Are Crossed

This Tuesday morning, at 9:25am, I'm supposed to fly from Port-au-Prince to Miami, and then Miami to DC. What are the flight conditions supposed to be like? I know! Let's check out the weather channel.


And yet, somehow I still keep hoping that I'll be able to fly out.

Oh, but look, American Airlines has a travel policy for hurricane Ike:

Due to the impact of Ike, American Airlines offers customers the convenience to change their plans. Customers ticketed to travel on AA to, from, or through the areas listed may change flights at no additional charge: Providenciales, Turks and Caicos Islands (PLS), Bahama

Great. Not only is that of no help to me, but it adds to the theory that American Airlines is prejudiced against Haiti.

Well, I guess this weekend I'll cross my fingers, toes, and eyes and hold my breath.

Here's hoping.

-L

Hanna part 2

Well, I have to say, I preferred Gustav.

Hanna has been passing through the past few days. What started as lovely cloudy & cool weather (I never thought I would say this, but eternal summer can get a little boring after a while) turned into wind & rain. Port looks rather beat-up with trees down, power lines down, tin roofs scattered across the roads, and increasingly large and numerous potholes. (Yes, mom & dad, it is possible for those holes to get bigger.)

Fortunately, I have been safe & sound. I haven't had much electricity, but that's more annoying than dangerous.

I've stopped listening to the news. You all remember after Katrina, when the news was filled with victims crying out against the government's lack of help? Well, it's even harder to listen to when you know there won't ever be any FEMA trailers shipped in.

On a bit of a selfish note, I'm crossing my fingers that I'll be able to fly to DC on the 9th as planned.

-L

Hanna

So far, not much to report. Some nice, cool weather again. Though, the wind is picking up...

-L

Gustav, part 2.1

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention...I actually had more electricity during the hurricane than I've had at any other time in Haiti!

They've been pretty regular for a few months now about supplying power from 9pm till sometime in the wee-hours of the morning. But I had power for several hours during the day yesterday, and then it came on around 6:30/7pm. It was a little unbelievable.

My theory is, Preval (the president) worked from home (he apparently lives in the same general area as me), and so they gave our area extra electricity so he could do his work.

Whatever the reason, I hope it keeps up!

-L

Gustav part 2

Made it through Gustav just fine. In fact, I hate to say this because I know there are people suffering right now from all of the rain we got, but I'd even have to say that I enjoyed it.

Due to the rain, wind, and haitians' general fear of rain (which, actually, is quite logical given the lack of infrastructure in Haiti), we left work early on Tuesday. Wednesday I was told I should try to come in if I had work that really had to be done, but since I didn't, I got to stay home all day.

It was cold & gray & rainy all day, so I threw on a sweater, made myself some tea, & curled up with a book. Granted, it's a book on how to build websites, but it was an enjoyable day all the same.

Today, back to normal.

-L

Gustav

It seems some of you actually pay attention to the hurricanes/tropical storms that pass through the Caribbean. Gustav is currently making his way through. So far, it's gray, rainy, windy, & cold, but there's not much to report beyond that. It's supposed to hit Port this afternoon, but the reports make it sound like it isn't going to be too strong. mmm...maybe I'll stay home tonight & bake cookies & drink hot chocolate. Thanks to 1st UP for the care package that makes that possible!

-L

Quick Update

Woops. I haven't blogged in quite a while. Long story short:
I have an apartment.
I learned how to drive stick (more or less, anyway).

-L

Things that make me happy

It's been a rough past few weeks. A lot of that has been due my thus far unsuccessful apartment search, combined with the extra hot weather, combined with the general stress of living in a "developing" country (do we still use that term? it seems rather politically incorrect), combined with 50 million other small annoyances. And, I think part of it is probably the process of culture shock.

I remember very few specifics from any of my college courses, but I do remember talking about culture shock in my cultural anthropology course. I don't exactly remember the approximated time line of it all (sorry to disappoint you, Terry), but there's a middle phase that's referred to as "Negotiation." Here's how one website explains it.

"The initial curiosity and enthusiasm turn into irritation, frustration, anger, and depression. Minor nuisances and inconveniences lead to serious distress."

Yep. That sounds about right.

So, to keep myself from going crazy, I've started making mental notes of things that make me happy. Here are a few items from yesterday's list.

• My own space. Last night I made a tomato, cucumber, and shaved carrot sandwich with homemade hummus, balsamic vinaigrette, and a touch of baby swiss. I flipped on the radio to a Kompa/Zouk station, poured myself a glass of wine, and sat munching away on the rocking chair on the porch overlooking the hubbub on Delmas. It almost felt like I was back in Shaw. The only thing I was missing was a good friend sitting next to me, discussing the ups and downs of life. (R, guess what we might do if you can make it over tonight.)

• Bill Bryson. A fellow MCCer recommended a book called "A Walk in the Woods" by Bill Bryson. Holy cow. I think the last time I laughed this much reading a book was when I was 7, reading Ameila Bedelia.

• Pierre Esperance. Pierre is the Executive Director of RNDDH. He is well aware of my house-searching frustrations and is not only patient, but even tries to help. He's offered that I can come live with his family. He's offered that I can take 2 weeks off to focus on searching. He's asked all of the staff more than once if any of them know of any apartments near by. Even if his ideas don't always provide solutions, I'm grateful for his efforts and understanding.
  

• Grimèl. In one of my first postings, I mentioned the tendency Haitians have to scream out "BLAN!" whenever they see a white person. Lately though, as I walk down the street, I've been hearing much less "blan" and much more "grimèl." As one striving to fit it with Haitian culture, this makes me immensely happy. Grimèl is the kreyol word for a white-skinned Haitian. I'm not quite sure why random strangers have decided to identify me as a Haitian, but I'm not going to argue.

-L

The Move, Part 1

I know, I know, you're all perched on the edge of your seats, waiting to hear about my move. Oh wait, half of you probably don't even know I'm moving...

SALT, the 1-year program I came to MCC with, is ending. I chose to stay with MCC-Haiti for an additional year, but this means that my status will change from a "SALTer" to "a normal person" as Garly, MCC-Haiti's interim Country Representative, called it yesterday. What does this mean? I get my own apartment. I get a larger budget (due to the fact that I will no longer have other people providing my supposed every need). I have access to the MCC vehicles (though I do not yet know how to drive a motorcycle or a manual-shift car). umm...I'm sure there are other things, but those are the big ones.

The apartment search has been a bit of a disaster, leading me to wonder if I really do want to stay in Haiti. (For those of you who know about it, no, I did not get the apartment that I wanted -- the one that would have been perfect.) So, for the meantime, while we continue the apartment search, I am staying in Josh and Marylynn's old apartment on Delmas. This isn't exactly a great solution (it's far from work & Delmas isn't exactly anyone's favorite location), but yet, it feels wonderful.

Yesterday afternoon, Joseph and I loaded up all of my worldly possessions (or, at least those that are not currently stored in my sister's basement...or my parents' basement, come to think of it), I said good-bye to Bernadette, promised to come back to visit, and headed up the hill.

Once all of my belongings were inside, I walked to the grocery store to buy the essentials (coffee, extra-virgin olive oil, balsamic vinegar, goat cheese, salt, pepper, etc.), lugged a tank of gas up the stairs for the oven, zested and juiced 2-dozen limes, baked 3-dozen lime cookies, ate a salad, and crashed in my bed exhausted but happy.

With as good as it feels just to be in this temporary spot, I can't wait to find/be in my own apartment. May it come soon.

-L

Tribute to Barikad

This past weekend, 4 members of one of Haiti's better-known music groups, Barikad Crew, died in a car accident. There is some debate as to exactly what happened, but essentially their car caught fire & burned everyone inside while fellow band members and friends looked on helplessly. The following day, 2 of the girlfriends of those who died attempted suicide. One was successful. She was 3 months pregnant.

Though I find this tragic, I'm perhaps even more taken aback by the effect it has had on the population as a whole. Death is common in Haiti in a way that it is not in developed countries. Loss is a regular part of life. (Though it is deeply mourned.) But as news spread of the deaths, Haiti took notice in a way I had not expected. For some it is a loss of friends. For others it is a loss of a favorite musician. But even those who would never listen to the group's songs feel the loss. As far as I can tell, this comes from 2 sentiments.

First is a sense of family. Similar to Indians (that is, people from India), Haitians refer to other Haitians living abroad -- in the US, Canada, France, etc -- as the Diaspora. There is a profound sense that even those who have been out of Haiti longer than they were in it are still Haitian and still family. I wish I could say that I understand the Haitian concept of "family," but I don't. But there seems to be a sense that all Haitians are distant relatives and are touched by this tragedy.

Second is the hope they represented. They came from nothing -- from a neighborhood called "bas peu de chose" -- but they managed to do more than just survive, and to do it legally. Maybe they would have joined forces with Wyclef Jean as the next great philanthropists to Haiti. Maybe they would have shown the world that good things do come from Haiti, opening the door for future Haitian success stories. In any case, there seems to be a collective feeling of let-down, of "shoot, we almost made it this time."

I don't quite know how to end this posting. This isn't exactly an appropriate space to express condolences. Perhaps I should simply promise to try to better explain this shared grief at a time when I better understand it.

-L

Change Is in the Air

Springtime has arrived, which means that many of you will soon find yourselves humming along to the sweet tunes of the ice cream truck as you scrounge for your pennies and dash out the door to indulge in a pre-dinner orange push-up.

As I mentioned in a previous blog, it's not the ice cream trucks here that belt out music-box versions of 90s pop-music hits, but the water trucks. (Namely because there are no ice cream trucks in Haiti.) Though I've been told they have a small repertoire, the only song I've ever hear the trucks play is Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On."

But not anymore, my friends.

The past few days, the over-played theme of Titanic has been strangely absent. What has taken its place? The song from Napoleon Dynamite.

To be completely honest, I'm not actually sure what song they're playing. But it reminds me of the song from ND, which makes me think of the movie and smile, so I'm going to let myself continue thinking that's what they're playing.

I have to say, this is a welcome change.

-L

(And you thought this was going to be a soul-searching post!)

Human Rights Education

Woohoo! I'm now a Human Rights Educator!

On being rich (and continuing with MCC)

This past Sunday afternoon, I met up with a couple of friends down on Champs de Mars (Haiti's equivalent of the National Mall) to engage in one of my favorite past-times: people watching. After a while, one of my friends turned to me and asked, "Have you eaten yet today?" I hadn't, nor had either of my friends, so they decided it would be a good idea to go buy some fried spaghetti. I told them to go ahead without me. Looking concerned, they offered that if it was a problem of money, they would simply buy a bit extra and we could share. I thanked them but refused, explaining that I didn't feel like eating just then.

The conversation that ensued basically went like this:

Friends: That's crazy. You have money. You're hungry. But you're not going to eat?
Lindsay: Yeah, I'll get around to eating later.
Friends: That's crazy. If you don't have money, it's understandable that you skip a day or two of eating. But if you have money, you eat.
Lindsay: But I've never had a day in my life when I didn't have money for food.

(Awkward silence)

Part of the awkwardness of working with MCC is that you end up spending time with the "have-nots." And just when I start to feel sorry for myself for having chosen to volunteer with MCC, rather than the UN (UN volunteers receive $3,000/month), conversations like this occur.

MCC doesn't give its workers a lot of money, but it does give us enough to eat each day. Granted, with the rise of world food prices, our meals may increasingly consist of rice & beans or popcorn, but even that is more than many Haitians can afford. Life would probably be a bit easier if I spent my Sunday afternoons in the upper class suburbs, rather than sitting Champs de Mars. I probably wouldn't be so painfully aware of my riches. But, then, what would be the point of being in Haiti with MCC?

-L

On being poor (and continuing with MCC)

A good friend once said: all I want is to be able to afford a bagel and coffee once a month.

I wish I could say that I share that sentiment. But really, I'm not so good at being poor. It's not a particularly enjoyable state to live in. I tend to feel grumpy when friends drive to restaurants to indulge in wonderful middle eastern food, and I sit at home on a Friday night eating rice & beans for the 18th time that week because I have neither money to pay for a restaurant nor transportation to get there. In my previous, salaried life, I dealt with this situation as any good American would: I whipped out my credit card and ordered-in sushi while updating my resume to find a better-paying job.

But, for better or for worse, I have chosen to eliminate such options for a time. A couple of weeks ago, I sent MCC an email that said something along the lines of, "I'm feeling a bit apprehensive...but I'll stay with MCC Haiti for an additional year."

Shortly after, I started having dreams of hoping into Calvin (my royal blue Honda Civic) and dashing off to Dave & Busters (an adult Chuck-E-Cheese, complete with skeeball). That dream doesn't even make sense. I hate Dave & Busters. (My only time there, I was forced to give a speech and play pool with my company's entirely male sales department.) I'm pretty sure, though, that the dreams are my subconscious way of admitting that I'm not terribly keen on the idea of remaining poor for another year.

I can't entirely explain why I made this decision. In the day to day, Haiti isn't a particularly fun country to live in. But it didn't feel like the right time to say that I'm leaving.

So, for the next year I will continue the process of learning to give up a salary, learning to give up luxuries, learning to give up options.

-L

All's Calm

I realized I should probably give an update on the situation: All's calm.

The Prime Minister stepped down (one of the crowd's requests). The President promised to subsidize national agricultural production. Prices are still high. MINUSTAH is still here. I walk to and from work every day, just like I've always done.

It's almost as though the protests never happened, tires were never burned, peaceful demonstrators were never beaten or shot, etc.

-L

Feels Like Hail

I grew up in a mid-sized Midwestern town where weather is a main event. As soon as the loud, monotone beep and furrowed-brow of our friendly weatherman cut into Heathcliff Huxtable's latest dispensing of fatherly wisdom, my family would toss down our corn-on-the-cob and run out to the back porch (as opposed to the basement where we had been instructed to hunker down). It was exciting, let me tell you.

Hail, though, is a different story. While it's exhilarating to watch a black wall of clouds form and begin to rotate, it is not so fun to be hit on the head by golf-ball sized chunks of ice (or at least that's what mom told me when I tried to run outside). So, when hail came along, we stayed inside and continued to watch TV, though the volume had to be turned up to hear Theo's high-pitched protestations over the hail crashing down on the roof. When it was all over, we went out to survey the damage: detached roof shingles, broken windshields, dented cars. It all seemed a bit surreal.

That's a bit how I felt during last week's protests. I stayed inside all day Wednesday, but heard gun shots & helicopters, smelled burning tires, and kept at least 1 ear glued to the news to try to understand what was happening. I read a book and a half. I napped, even though I had woken up just 2 hours prior. And then, when I went out the next day, I surveyed the damage.

Glass windows and plastic signs on nearly every business and organization had been destroyed by rocks. Black circles polka-dotted the main roads where tires had been burnt. Trash was everywhere, as were kids who were home all week due to the schools closing.

Despite my neighborhood's bad reputation, it seems that I was in a better place than my fellow MCCers in Port. Some saw lootings, beatings, and who knows what else. Another was gassed (with tear-gas) in his home.

But for me, the only time I really felt stressed or in danger was the day I spent listening to a colleague at RNDDH give minute-by-minute updates of the progress of events (some of which were false, I found out). It wasn't so much that we were in danger at that point, but her exaggerated, the-sky-is-falling manner of speaking put me on edge.

Things seem back to normal for now, but no one really knows if/how long the calm will last. The Prime Minister was stripped of his position, but it's not as though world food prices have gone down or international trade (or aid!) policies have changed in the past few days. So, we'll see.

Thanks all of you who called and emailed to check in. It's nice to know I'm not forgotten. If you want more details, check out my friends' blogs (see links on right).

-L

Lavichè

Things are pretty good right now in Haiti. The elected president has remained in power. Kidnappings are down from a couple of years ago. (Some) people are actually being brought to trial for their crimes. However, Haiti is facing a problem that could very well change all of that: lavichè (la vie chère in French, or high cost of living in English).

Globally speaking, prices are up: oil (isn't oil always up?), rice, corn, wheat. I'm sure most of you have noticed and are rather annoyed. But again, consequences seem to have greater meaning here. People are modifying their diets (though Haiti is not in the crisis forcing people to eat dirt that was reported by the world press). Protests against lavichè are becoming increasingly violent. The post-holiday drop in crime that typically occurs has not.

MCC is in a process of dialogging about, among other things, the pay its workers receive, and asked a few of us "out in the field" for our opinions. Given the general high cost of living in Haiti (it's not that different from the COL in the US), compounded by the current increase, I was tempted to write and say, "please! give your workers more money!" But then I remembered that most of the people I spend my time with live on a fraction of what I receive every month. If I were to have more money, how would that affect those relationships? How would my understanding of what it means to live in Haiti be different if I received a bigger "paycheck?"

When I get annoyed at the 5-gourde (0.13 USD) increase in a can of milk, I try to remember how fortunate I am that I can choose to buy entirely unnecessary items simply because I enjoy their taste.

-L

(note: For those of you interested in international trade policies, look up the Economic Partnership Agreement [EPA].)

Spring Break(s) Report

I know you're all curious to know how my vacations went, so here's a quick run-down.

The Dominican Republic is paradise.
It has roads: roads with overpasses and underpasses; roads with bridges; roads that don't suddenly turn to gravel in the middle of the country's main highway; roads absent of potholes the size of the a VW bug; beautiful roads.

It has electricity: electricity that runs longer than 11pm - 4am 5 nights a week (that's if you're lucky in Haiti); electricity that allows for hot-water-heaters; electricity that enables constant refrigeration; wonderful electricity.

It has stores: stores where you go inside to try on clothing before you buy it, rather than trying to size yourself up with the second-hand jeans from the States sold on the side of the street.

It has green: green parks you can sit in; green plants growing healthily along the roads; green trees holding the mountains together.

It has Kreyol: if you happen to not speak Spanish, you can simply make friends with all of the Haitians and navigate your way around.

It's amazing.

I know what some of you are thinking; you've heard that the DR is poor. In fact, you probably have friends who have been to the DR on mission trips and come back with stories of just how horrible the poverty is. I am not disputing those stories. But trees on mountains and 5 minutes of hot water are luxuries for me now.

Oh, and I got to enjoy a week with two of my closest friends. It was wonderful.

Haiti with mom & dad was an adventure.
Mom had spring break this past week, so she & dad came down from Tuesday to Saturday after a quick trip to Grandma & Grandpa's in Florida. Mom, dad -- I hope you weren't wanting a restful vacation!

Given the short time they were here, I fit in everything I could: up the hill to the Baptist Mission, back down the hill to tour Port, off to the beach, back up the hill to Kenskoff, a quick stop at Fort Jacques... all of this zipping in and out of traffic, bumping over what we call roads here, in my little rental car.

The good thing is that now my parents will have a slightly better understanding of what I'm describing in my blogs, emails, and stories. The bad thing is that now my parents will have a slightly better understanding of what I'm describing in my blogs, emails, and stories. (I promise mom, I will try to find options other than riding on the top of a school bus when I go on trips. But yes, tap-taps are my primary means of transportation.)

Overall, both weeks were wonderful! Now it's back to work...

-L

Mush

My brain is mush.

I'd like to say that because I live in the developing world, volunteer for a living, work with amazingly intelligent people, and work for a much needed cause that staying focused is easier than it has been at other times in my life. But, in all honesty, a job is a job -- or more accurately in this case, vacation is vacation.

Next week 2 of my closest friends are coming down for a visit. I am currently translating a 50-page document, researching to write an article on the recent orphanage scandal in Les Cayes, updating a blog posting that I started 2 weeks ago, etc., etc. But really, all I have been able to think about for the past few weeks is lounging on a Dominican beach.

So, I apologize for having been a bit absent in blogging (as well as emailing -- woops!). And if anyone from my office ever happens upon this, I apologize for my less-than-ideal productivity.

L & J, get rest Friday night & on your flights Saturday. You happen to be coming the one weekend when I know what's going on in Port, so we have a full schedule as soon as you arrive!

Everyone else, wish me luck. This is the first time I'll have left Haiti since arriving.

-L

Lindsay's First Kanaval

Imagine a typical street-party.

Along the sides of your imagined street, add in elaborately decorated 10-foot tall stands (I'm guessing on the height here), one right after the other, turning the corner after one block and then another, creating a U-shape.

In front of the stands, place vendor after vendor selling hot dogs, fried plantains, bbq chicken, french fries, water, soda, alcohol, energy drinks, and anything else that can be consumed from cans, bottles, and brown paper bags.

For the entertainment, picture marching bands whose only instruments are home-made and who huddle together, rather than marching in formation; rows of costumed dancers; semi-trucks towing the equivalent of small buildings (or big buildings, depending on your perspective) on top of which Haiti's most popular bands blare their specially-written Karnaval songs with dozens of people dancing, lights flashing, and confetti shooting into the air; elaborately decorated floats; adolescents in paper-mache bird costumes running in and out of the crowds; and the occasional fireworks display.

And finally, to whatever number of spectators you had imagined at this street-party, add a few thousand, and then a few thousand more, all dancing, drinking, singing, shoving, and sweating. (Keep adding people to your imagined crowd till those in it have no choice but to bob up and down and shift forward in unison, till the fear of falling is completely gone because bodies are pressed so tightly against one another that falling literally is not an option.)

And now you know how I spent the past 3 days.

-L

Past the Point of Shock

One Sunday evening, a couple of weeks before Christmas, I went to the Quisqueya Chapel Christmas pagent. From the soft southern drawl of the couple reading the narration to the rail-thin adolescent with a retro-Beatles haircut who was obviously forced to play a wiseman by his mother, it was straight out of the States. Afterwards, the congregation was even invited to stay around for cookies, punch, and fellowship.

As I was making my way to the cookie table, a middle-aged missionary stopped me to chat. After I explained that I had been in Haiti for 4 months with MCC, he noted, "Oh, well then, you've been here long enough that you must already be past the point of shock." Part of me wanted to respond, "Well yes, I was till I came here to your little American enclave." Instead, I shrugged my shoulders and chuckled politely.

Cultural adjustment is a strange process. 99% of the time I live in a sort of numbness to my surroundings (aside from the aforementioned nonstop emotional roller coaster). Life feels normal and I forget that I'm in this land known as the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere. But every now and then I do experience moments that cause me to pause. More often that not, those moments seem to come from the contrast created when wealth from abroad seeps in: the man walking into the slums talking on his blue-tooth ear piece, the evening I spent translating the story-line of "Grand Theft Auto" for Bernadette's 14 year old grandson, the missionary church that feels like it never left the States...

Other times, though, the things that cause me to pause are much more haitian in their nature. The water trucks that drive up and down the streets playing an ice cream truck version of the first two lines of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." (Though my continued shock at these trucks may actually be due to my distaste for Celine Dion, which would put it in the former category.) The evening I was sitting in a restaurant with friends, making the typical joke that the service was taking so long because they still had to catch our food, only to see a woman walk through the restaurant five minutes later with a fish balanced on her head that was nearly as long as she was tall, and realizing that my dinner really had just arrived. And then, there's always the poverty.

Shortly after I began my work with RNDDH, I went with two colleagues up north to the city of Cap-Haitian to visit 3 prisons. The first evening, when we were comfortably settled into our hotel room, Lelene turned to me and asked, "So, are you okay? Going into the prison today wasn't too much of a shock for you?" Not entirely sure how to form the response I was mulling over, I simply replied, "No, it wasn't too shocking. I'm okay."

The truth is, the entire day had been so shocking for me that by the time we got to the prison, I was in a bit of a daze. Driving through the countryside, I stared out my window in disbelief, nearly in tears. Aside from the general poverty that I'd already been exposed to in my travels through Guatemala, the Ivory Coast, and even Uruguay, there were entire villages under water. Not so far under water as to require the town to be evacuated or to sweep away those who do not know how to swim, but a constant green swampiness that swallowed everything below mid-calf. The sort of flooding that lures villagers into carrying on normally with their lives, but then causes people to die from illnesses that I treat with Pepto-Bismol.

It's a funny thing, shock. When it's not causing me to shake my head and laugh, it often causes me to cry. As an introvert, I tend to experience it as a feeling similar to heart-break as I gradually process, and at times even mourn, a world for which I have no context.

Past the point of shock? Maybe not. But then I don't know that I ever will be.

-L

If You're Happy and You Know It...

The question nearly all of you back home have been posing to me in one form or another these past few weeks is: Are you happy?

That's a difficult one to answer. Yes and No?

For example, I was away from my family and friends during the holidays. That didn't make me particularly happy. In fact, if I'm going to be honest, it made me quite sad. However, my two 18 year old neighbors who decided it was horrible that I was away from loved ones on Christmas Eve and that they were going to make sure I was not alone made it a little better. And, I would dare say that dancing in my lakou (courtyard) with a handful of neighbors till 5am was fun; and, for a few minutes I was quite happy.

Another example, I was furious when I got home from the pharmacy and discovered that they had given me 8 band-aids, rather than the 10 I had asked for (and paid for!). However, when I went back the next day and pointed out to the pharmacist that she had missed 2 band-aids and she happily obliged, handing over the remaining 2, I felt rather happy.

On a typical day, though, it really doesn't take anything to swing me back and forth on the pendulum of emotions. I've heard it said that if you don't like the weather in Colorado, just wait 5 minutes. The same could be said of my emotions. I know, I know, those of you who have lived with me are wondering why I'm even bothering to post this. It probably seems a normal state of my existence. But trust me, it's greatly exaggerated.

Fortunately(?), I'm not alone. Talking with a few other North American females, this seems to be the norm. One minute on cloud nine, ready to cancel my flight back to the States. The next, curled in a ball in my room sobbing. I have no idea if this is something North American males experience in Haiti as well (I suppose I could just walk the 10 feet over to Kurt's desk to ask him), nor do I really know if this is the norm for anyone living outside their culture. Though I suspect it's not a phenomenon afflicting solely North American females living in Haiti.

So, in answer to the questions, yes. and no.

-L