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
Monday, June 30, 2008
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
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
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
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