Haitian Dreams

The brightly painted wooden booths selling lottery tickets, the proprietors’ hopes preying on hope – “Bank Lotto, New York.” The rubble by the side of the sides of the streets – old tires, trash, ragged chunks of concrete, skeletons of trucks and cars stripped clean as bones in a desert. Men sitting with shotguns on their knees outside every gas station. Dying men and women begging.

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains (2011)

Don’t let these colourful, corrugated iron sheds fool you. These are not miniature banks to facilitate the Haitian economy or micro-financing to enable small business to flourish here as in other developing countries. This is the national lottery. Well, one of them. As well as Nono, there are St Joseph, Charlito, La Difference and more. And they are everywhere. Twice a day, three numbers are chalked up on results’ boards and winners collect. But like every lottery or any other sort of institutionalised gambling, the odds are you will lose. Still, this does not stop many Haitians dabbling in this national pastime because it offers hope of riches and a better life.

Haiti is poor and shows no great signs of ridding itself of the title of poorest nation in the Western Hemisphere, which seems to be quoted at every opportunity when it is mentioned in the news. Of course, Haiti is not much in the news these days. Its moment in the media spotlight was back in 2010 following the massive earthquake when seemingly the whole world arrived to help. The disappointing reality of that aid effort is captured well in Jonathan M.Katz’s insightful and well-researched book written in 2013, The Big Truck That Went By: How The World Came To Save Haiti And Left Behind A Disaster. Well, the title pretty much says it all. Part of the disaster left behind, beyond the mismanagement, Haitian elite profiteering, western neo-colonial imperatives and the self-interested giving of donor governments seeking to “save” Haiti from any meaningful, self-determined recovery, was the arrival of Cholera, brought in by UN peacekeepers from Nepal whose poorly sanitised camp leaked out effluent into a nearby water source used for drinking water as well as washing dishes, bodies and clothes. Contrary to one of the pillars of contemporary aid, this intervention did harm. Of course some small good was done but writ large the relief effort failed.

There is a shortage of decent work for the majority in Haiti and with a depressed economy, corrupt government, poor infrastructure and devastated natural environment, the prospect of life changing for the better is unlikely if not non-existent. Some of my colleagues accept this and make the best of life here with a joyful stoicism because it is home. They love Haiti and stay because they belong. However, for many Haitians the goal is to flee this island for the continent of plenty, America. Beg, borrow, steal or work your ass off, you need money to get to the USA, and winning the lottery is one of the great hopes. However, most will never win the amount required for it to make a difference here or in the dreamed of suburbs of New York or Miami where much of the Haitian diaspora live. If I lived here I would want a better life. That’s what makes some of my friends here so impressive. They have all the papers needed to live in the States but have chosen to stay and work towards a better Haiti in spite of insurmountable odds. These include a geographical location threatened every year by major hurricanes and a legacy of slavery which permeates Haitian identity years after independence was fought for and gained in the hope of realising freedom and fullness of life.

Jesus Bus

From somewhere in the valley below us comes the sound of drums. I recall the time I spent here in the central plateau with the American soldiers, and I remember the sound of Voodoo drums wafting into the army barracks in Mirebalais at night and how unsettling it was to some of us sitting there, in all its mystery. I’m sure we’d have felt different if we’d known we were probably hearing ceremonies to cure the sick.

Tracy Kidder, Mountains Beyond Mountains (2011)

Everywhere you look in Haiti there are signs of faith. Everything from shop signs to bus artwork declares an absolute belief in an all-powerful God who will take care of the proprietor or driver in question. Maybe it is a proselytising technique to share the true way or earn merit. Or perhaps it is simply a way of having confidence in life when most things around you are hard and often horrendous. Many Haitians do not have access to healthcare and if they do it is not necessarily adequate to deal with their ailments. In the larger cities, and if you have money, decent medical treatment is available. However, for the majority of the population, either living outside the major centres or too poor to access the services, suffering is inevitable in a country where drinking water is often untreated, cholera outbreaks occur regularly, malaria is endemic, TB is still present, nutritional levels are lacking and injury and illness are commonplace. Even a minor health issue or easily treated condition in the West may persist or have grave consequences here. And regularly it does end that way, in death.

There is no doubt that in recent years access to healthcare and the quality of that care even in some rural outposts, notably parts of the haute plateau, have improved drastically. A notable contribution to this service provision is Zanmi Lasante (Partners in Health) and Paul Farmer who worked tirelessly for the principle of global equality in healthcare norms – meaning Haitians should have the same as Americans. Despite these positive developments, such is life in this country that sometimes when a person dies the explanation given is, ‘died of Haiti.’ So, it is no wonder that faith and hope in a greater power is nearly universal here. It also explains why people don’t limit this to Jesus but also seek assistance in the form of the Haiti’s home-grown religion. It is just as likely that a Haitian will seek help from a Voodoo priest as a doctor. I have had staff say to me that there is no need to see a doctor about a certain problem because they knew the source of the issue was not natural. The implication, though rarely stated, is that it was the result of a curse. This implies that treating illness is not simply a medical matter and gives further weight to local ideas that you need both old practices and new approaches in the face sickness and death.

It’s 2.15am on a Saturday morning and I cannot sleep. After a week of bedrest due to a mystery infection that caused fever and aches, I seemed to come good yesterday. However, the strange skull ache and pain down my neck that I had earlier in the week has returned with a vengeance. I awoke two hours ago and could have sworn someone was in my room. I certainly feel under attack from something, be it a disease or another sort of enemy. As country director for an NGO in Haiti I have made a few necessary but unpopular decisions recently. Some people may wish me harm and right now I can easily believe that there is a malicious Voodoo plot to harm me. I might even explain my sickness in the same way as many Haitians. Neither medicine nor prayers to my God have prevailed till now. Of course, it might just be withdrawal symptoms due to a lack of caffeine. Whatever the case, being sick has humbled me and reminded me of the circumstances of many in Haiti who ask of religion what most people do according to Alfred Metraux author of Voodoo in Haiti: remedy for ills, satisfaction of needs and hope of survival.

She Reads Between Lines

She reads between lines

Colourless, black on white

Unseen shadow columns

Mark the boundary light

Flowers gather peeking

Past locks to hidden word

And in this covered mystery

Tales shared remain unheard

Is this a silent reckoning?

Thoughts are not spoken

And imagination spirals

Deep like roots unbroken

Save Haiti

‘SAVE HAITI’. That’s what it says on the T-shirt. What do we make of those words? For me it raises up a distinctly colonial and Christian idea of salvation that believes it is the answer. This is of course a very different thing to any message Jesus of Nazareth spoke of and yet, the ‘salvation project’, both personal and global, is one that has dominated the minds of the Western-educated, Christian and Atheist alike, for centuries. The helicopter seems to be lifting away the word ‘save’ and that seems like a good start. I know that the guy wearing the T-shirt and that he bought it not because he believed that of any of those things that I just mentioned were desirable, even if they were possible, he simply wanted to give money and offer something to those in need. And in 2010 Haiti was in serious need after being struck by a massive earthquake which levelled much of the capital, Port-au-Prince, and many other areas. About 150,000 people lost their lives, a large percentage of them because the houses were not built to withstand such forces, building code or not. It happened at night while people slept and were crushed before they found cover more substantial than bedsheets which quickly became burial shrouds. And when the aid came, it passed most people by. Yes, Haiti. If the story of this tragedy and the large scale aid effort which came and went is of interest to you, I would recommend a book called The Big Truck That Drove By’ by Jonathan Katz. But today, in a departure from my old humanitarian imaginings, let’s not follow it down the road.

After 18 months away from aid work in which I often saw no possible way that I could or would ever do it again, I am back in Haiti on an aid contract. The journey out of depression, hopelessness, cynicism, defeat and death after those years in Afghanistan, DR Congo and Haiti was long and arduous. The toll on me was heavy and there is a story about how healing, restoration and hope came back into my life. For now let me just say that I was more surprised by the decision to do humanitarian work again than those who know me well. Somewhere along the way I knew that it was better than doing nothing to help those who suffer, but I knew it wasn’t enough of a motivation for me. Then I realised that perhaps the best we can ever do as humans is found in the simple possibilities that always are before us and the choice we have to engage, to turn away or face life in all its messy beauty and troubles with honesty and humility. I realise that Mother Teresa said it best with these words: “We can do no great things, only small things done with great love.” Somehow I got to a point where I had compassion and the desire to try again. 

The question I asked myself as I went through familiar routines of pre-contract briefings, bag packing, farewells and busy preparations, was whether it would be different this time around. And the truth is I don’t know. It may break me in the same ways as before or perhaps in new ways. I know I have changed but that is no guarantee. However, I can see my heart is different now and I am more interested in whom I am becoming as a human being rather than what I am achieving or not. That was always vanity. If in trying to do good I become a horror to myself and others then it raises serious questions for me about how I am living. I guess the litmus test for my health and humanity has changed. This I hope is enough for me to dip my toe in the waters of aid work again and see if I sink or float free. For me great love would mean breaking out of the systematic modes of aid and much Christian mission and finding a place where we don’t talk of objectives and deliverables as much as the fruit born out of our actions and interactions. Ernesto Sirolli, in his TED talk about aid in Africa and his life’s work, said ‘shut up and listen if you want to help someone’. His call to be neither paternalistic nor patronising is not what Haitians have experienced in their interactions with people from over the ocean and even across the island of Hispaniola which they share with Dominicans. If by ‘save’ we don’t mean servant-hearted (which funnily Sirolli talks about though never mentions faith or Jesus as the model leader), let the helicopter lift off removing SAVE. In my mind’s eye now the word LOVE rises up from below, though a landscape of beautiful, suffering people with tremendous capacity for transforming their own country into a place of health, happiness and hope. None of us ever do this alone. Yes, love Haiti.

This is perhaps something like the ‘path with heart’ which Carlos Castaneda spoke of in his books about the teachings of Don Juan. And how will I love this time? How will my heart stay soft and supple rather than turn hard and rigid? It will probably have to break again. Dying to self is powerful. The man within believes he is right and can fix things and bring transformation forth by his own hand. My life experience would argue this is vanity. And of course I am blind to my own prejudice and ways of perceiving reality. This is never enough. However, if I can die to it all, and trust that as in nature’s scheme, death brings life, transformation is possible. I believe that the same is possible with man – new life in a resurrection of the mind, body and soul. That way I don’t become the man I have often strived to become. Instead I find revealed within me the fullness of my potentiality powered though surrender to a love which I do not possess. I have found this by faith in Jesus (offensive as I know this is to some of my readers). I also know this is my personal journey and one I can’t take anyone on. Perhaps we could agree on love as the answer? John Lennon said as much but to rephrase the words of Pilate to Jesus at his ‘trial’, `what is love?` And my friend Pete would probably agree. What do we understand of love? My own understandings will only ever be sufficient for me and often they have been found wanting. For me, humility is the key and the self-awareness that I don’t know how to do this on my own. Can I trust a love that does?

Poem For Shrove Tuesday: A Reprise

And so the clouds lift

The sky blue, clear

A warm sun on my back

Briefly hinting at summer

On bustling Fentiman Road

No fists shoved into thick overcoats

Or dampened figures hunched

As they scurry past

Doris, her recent fury past

And sweet Magdelene sipping coffee

With the man she worships

A breeze gently lifting the scent

Of the first new buds in Vauxhall Park

Boldly announcing: “Spring is here!”

We’re not so sure

But nature knows, each year

New life rises from death

And mercy triumphs over judgement

So take courage and look forward

To Jesus and our Easter Day

Though first he walked

Through Gethsemane to the cross

After pancakes on a Tuesday

Christmas Child

Hampstead Howl

Hope is so hard

That even the great bard

Delightful in word

Only occasionally heard

The breeze within the trees

Softly cooing comfort

Like doves in Cotswold copses

Or Birdsong Alley near

The dank, organic wood scent

Upon rustling breeze

Sweeping leaves and cares

Easing the way, peaceful

Sitting aloft, softly

Dreaming, like branches

Swaying, in accepting motion

Embrace the weather's mood

As she welcomes her brood saying

Come home, stay a while

While you can, invited

Like Orwell dwelling nearby

Escaping to the transcendent

Call of a world of green

Foliage and earth, grounded

Not a psychedelic high

This time, out there

Where we become one

Elements embracing

On a playful perch

Nested perfectly above

Secure, comforting

 High, open, delightful

Breezy branches blown

Plane trees reaching for the sky

And the stag oak's tumbled crown

Lying down, broken, rotting

Death in life's cycle

As I surrender my fear

Breathing in the wind

Flying, falling, failing

Held by some miracle

To find joy again

In the natural world

Conveyed against dismay

Like the Heath's bench plaques

Tuesday's child speaks to Wednesday's woe

For a shared Sabbath, blithe and gay

Good news bringing a bonny countenance

All week long, always urging

That we might love one another

Because of common humanity

And a shared earth, yet corrupted

In death will arise every tomorrow

For in defeat hope still dreams