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