You smile, he smiles, they smile, and I ….don’t sleep

It all started on Monday night. I wanted to get at least 7 hours of sleep so I went to bed at 10.30pm. The music outside our window was a bit louder than usual. You see, we live close to what looks like a shack with a small stereo and some really really big speakers. We are not really sure if there is space for dancing, and it’s possible they don’t even sell alcohol. They just play music, mostly loud music. Though it can get a bit noisy on the weekends, it’s never kept me awake. My 50 or so roommates over the past 10 years can attest to the fact that I sleep through anything: music, lights, dancing all around me…when I’m tired I sleep whenever, wherever. On Monday night that was not the case.

Ti Sourit on the dark streets of Petion-ville

An hour after we went to bed, whistles and loud cheering woke me up. The music had gotten louder, and it was now coming from more than one source. To make things even worse our nice and quiet fan had stopped working and there was no AC. So there we were... 1am, it was extremely hot, I had to get up in 4 hours, and the music just wouldn’t stop. Finally we decided to bring in a really old and loud fan into our room to cool us down, but mostly to drawn out the music. It kind of worked and we were able to get some sleep.

The next morning Graham asked the house staff about the noise. Was it a party? Or a soccer game perhaps? "Championat" -a championship! They said. We figured they were having a soccer tournament and the previous night had been the final game.

Alas, when we got back from dinner last night a big crowd had once again transformed the street into a soccer field. Obviously the car could not get through so we got off and walked. Graham’s bodyguard was unimpressed. However, instead of having to avoid being hit by a soccer ball we found ourselves surrounded by a happy crowd that was just hanging out and dancing. Apparently much more than a football championship has been keeping awake us this week. We now know this kind of street party is called "Ti Sourit" translated as "little smile" or "you smile" or "everybody smiles" according to my co-workers. It is an end of summer celebration, an invitation to do whatever you want on the street. There’s drinking and partying but mostly dancing and playing soccer all in the same space (!)

I have been told it will last all week. If only we could remember where we packed the earplugs….

(by Tania)

Sweet Mickey – the other Haitian singer who wants to become President

Late last Friday, the electoral commission finally the delivered the news that everybody was expecting: Wyclef Jean, the presidential front-runner, would not be participating in the November election because he had not fulfilled the constitutional requirement of living in Haiti for the last five years. Wyclef’s supporters have behaved rather well since the disappointing announcement, but they are not expected to give up the fight to get their candidate back on the list.

In fact, it turns out that Haitians seem to be particularly fond of supporting politicians who are barred from running for office.

Graffiti reads "Have a good trip home Jean-Claude Duvalier"

“The old support the Duvalier regimes and the young support Aristide” said my driver yesterday in a matter-of-fact voice.  Though this is a bit of a simplification, it is true that these figures still loom large over politics today. But of course nobody can cast a ballot in their favour.

The result seems to be that the vast majority simply don’t vote. Time and time again Tania and I have asked our Haitian friends and colleagues whether they are planning to vote. It’s as if we’re challenging them to walk to the other side of the island – they give you a perplexed and painful look. Jean-Pierre, a supervisor for the Cash-for-Work program at Tania's NGO said, “I’ve never voted because it may be dangerous to vote. Also, why would I stay outside in long lines under the sun?” Others we talked to just conclude that their vote makes no difference, whether it be because the election could be rigged, or because all presidents do the same thing: push the country further back in time.

Though Haitians will continue to pine for past dictators and disqualified hip-hop artists, they are now also beginning to look through 19 candidates who they will actually have the chance to elect. The most entertaining figure of this bunch is undoubtedly the other singer-turned-politician, Michael Martely, better known as “Sweet Mickey”.

Martely is considered a pioneer of Haitian kompa music, which began as a fusion of Afrolatin Jazz and African folklore rhythms. Apparently, his performances were full of obscenities and social political satire which used to cause quite a stir. His career began with the hit single “Pa Manyen” (Don’t Touch) in 1989 (see video) and he went on to churn out a new album almost every year during the 90s. Running out of steam, he settled to Florida in 2006 with his wife and their four children. It’s still not very clear why he wasn't restricted by the residency requirement that ousted Wyclef. It seems like the Hip Hop Fugee-Gangster was outmaouvered by the self proclaimed “Bad Boy President of Kompas.”

Nobody really thinks he has a chance at the presidency, but for the millions of Haitians who have nothing good to say about politics, at least “President Sweet Mickey” might give them something to smile about.... temporarily.

The Enchanted Waterfalls

Last Sunday we visited Sodo (Saut d'Eau in French), one of the most important spiritual sites in Haiti. As explained by Wikipedia, "the area holds cultural significance to both Catholic and Voodoo practitioners. In the 19th century, it is believed that the Virgin Mary of Mount Carmel (or the closely associated Vodou Lwa, Erzulie Dantor) appeared on a palm tree there. A French priest, afraid of the superstition this would inspire, cut the tree down, but it nonetheless became an important religious destination for Haitians, akin to the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico. Annually, the falls are the site of a large, important religious pilgrimage, during the festival of Our Lady of Carmel, from July 14–16. A Eucharistic rite is held during the festival, as well as various voodoo rituals, but the penultimate devotional activity is bathing in the waters of the falls, and asking favors of the Virgin or Erzulie"

And bathing we did. Under the falls themselves, the pressure was so strong that we could only bear it for a few seconds at a time. Most people are content to simply sit in the little nooks found on the rocks to enjoy the cool water going by (see photo on the left).

We really enjoyed the visit and were more than happy to talk to our co-workers about it the next day. To Tania's surprise some of her colleagues said they would never go because people there might curse you for life. Though we did see a few lit candles and other remnants of the July festivities, nothing looked too intimidating! Indeed, for us and for a few of the locals that were there, it seemed mostly like a nice place to relax and cool down on a Sunday afternoon .

We were joined on our trip by a few friends, including my fellow Bologna SAIS classmate, Ian. Together we decided this would be a great place to stage our summer dance. What, you ask? Well, our Masters class has decided to encourage everyone to submit a dance video from whatever part of the world they find themselves in. With our class spread over five continents, the full montage should be quite a spectacle once it gets put together.

Below is Ian and my contribution.

Profile: Charles the bodyguard

Tania and I hope to begin profiling some of the very different people we are meeting. We hope to bring you a glimpse of their unique stories through these posts.

Charles and his DVD player

We'll start with Charles the bodyguard, one of the favourites of my NGO. He joined us last weekend on a hike up into the mountains. Not knowing that he was getting himself into a 3 hour adventure, he brought his backpack full of heavy items, including a small DVD player. At our lunch stop, he proudly took it out (determined to justify its trip) and played us some choice Dominican salsa hits from the 90s. He can be full of surprises. He can also be very serious when talking about the problems of his country. But rarely much time goes by without his trademark smile.

 

Name: Charles

Age: 39

Immediate Family: Father, Mother, Wife and Daughter (7 months). All have lived in New York off and on since 1986. Charles has stayed mostly in Port-au-Prince to watch over the family’s three clothing stores.

Languages: Creole, French, some English and Spanish

Job: Bodyguard with a major foreign-owned security company. Finding few job options after graduation from law and agronomy school, Charles went to the Dominican Republic in 2003 to attend a escort training program. He came back to Port-au-Price and has worked ever since as a bodyguard during the week (earning ~$25/day), and helping the family business on the weekend.

Worst part about job: 1) The stress of escorting a client during protests and demonstrations 2) Waiting around at gas stations.

Best part about job: Chatting to clients during drives.

Dream in life: Become a doctor. Charles already studied one year of medicine before switching into a law program to appease his mother. But despite having the degree, Charles has never practiced law. In fact, he then took another program in Agronomy which eventually led to a job with the Ministry of Environment for two years. Unhappy with the salary and the few career opportunities, he decided to become a bodyguard to save money to re-enroll in medicine. Now 39 years old with a new baby, he’s not sure it will ever happen.

Earthquake story: His wife and daughter were visiting in Port-au-Prince. Eleven family members were on the 3^rd floor in their house when the earthquake struck. Only minor damage occurred, and all of them were left uninjured.

The job search

Apologies to our frequent readers for the lack of posting over the last couple of weeks. The good news is that I have started volunteering!

I started sending resumes to organizations in Haiti the moment Graham accepted his job offer back when we were still living in Bologna. As a quick search on the major job listings will show you, there were and still are plenty of vacancies with all sorts of agencies and organizations. This is because every major NGO and quite a few of the small ones have post-earthquake projects going on in Haiti at the moment. Another reason is that living conditions are difficult, and starting salaries are not very high so Human Resources departments are struggling to fill their positions.

Given the number of vacancies and the fact that I am already here you would think that it would be easy to find a job! What I have found is that when it comes to jobs the development world is very very small. The people with experience jump from continent to continent, meeting in all corners of the world, accumulating foreign language upon foreign language, sometimes living in tents, often without internet or contact with the rest of the world. Their shared struggles and most of the time successful “in-country” experiences make them a very solidary, tight group. Like in any other clique that is great news when you are already part of it, but quite challenging if you find yourself outside of it.

Most people think that my education and my professional experience should be valuable to a lot of these organizations, plus I’m already here! But if you do not have professional full time experience within the development world, or in this case, previous experience in Haiti, it is very hard to get through the recruitment stage.

I have sent many resumes to international headquarters but those files do not ever seem to make it to their offices down here. During the past few weeks I have met several HR staff from quite a few of the organizations I have applied to. They repeatedly tell me that they are looking for people with my profile and ask me to apply again through their website. This all means that I spend countless hours on NGOs websites re-submitting seemingly endless applications.

On the positive side, some of the people that we have met have been extremely helpful. They have helped me tailor my CV, and then personally taken my resume to their HR departments. That resulted in three interviews so far, and one internship!!

I am still looking for a job but for now I have accepted to work as a volunteer for a European NGO. I am currently a Logistics Officer for their Cash for Work program. The work has been very challenging but extremely rewarding. The program aims to inject cash into the most vulnerable areas of the city by paying community members to remove rubble from their own streets and schools. We provide most of the equipment needed, and collect the rubble once it has been piled up. This has allowed me to visit some of the hardest hit areas, meet community leaders, and see some progress in the local economy.

As for the practical details… I get picked at 6.30am,I have been issued with a cell phone, a laptop and a GPS tracker, I have to follow their very strict security restrictions Monday to Saturday, 6.00- 6.00 (that’s right I also work on Saturdays!). I work with about 20 other expats, and approximately 150 national staff. I get a small stipend that buys me lunch every day, and I have been told that there might be job openings in the near future that I might be eligible for.

So far the best part about it has been working with some very smart and incredibly kind young Haitians that work as monitors for the program. Most of them had been attending university up until the earthquake, and they hope to go back to classes and graduate once the universities reopen. I will write more about them in my next entries. Thanks for taking the time to read all this!!!

Private Security: The consequences of safety

After being in Haiti for over a month, I’m beginning to realize just how much private security companies (PSC) affect the lifestyle of ex-pats. At first glance, these PSCs are a huge relief for international organizations – especially the small ones that do not have the capacity to organize their own networks and personnel. At a minimum, most provide vehicles, intelligence, drivers and bodyguards. Many however, provide services ranging from airborne logistics, to electronic surveillance, to executive protection. It was many of these companies that were the first to arrive in Haiti after the earthquake. They performed early rescues of clients and even assisted in some aid distribution (weeks after the earthquake IPOA set up a website to list all private security providers) . 

But many take issue with the private nature of these companies. Critics link PSCs to US imperialism and label their activities as “disaster profiteering”. Defenders say that they are just filling a need of the market, since the local authorities cannot be relied upon for protection. 

Indeed, a competitive market creates quality service (and the profit to go with it). But few markets are perfect, and this one is no exception. The problem of imperfect information creates an incentive to pursue two strategies: 1) overstate the dangers of the environment and 2) encourage an extreme level of protection services. 

My awareness of the first strategy began with my debriefing from the airport, where I was sternly told by a senior staff member of our PSC that 10 expats were being kidnapped per month. Since then, I have heard from multiple sources (UN Police, British Foreign Service) that the real number is about a tenth of that.

The second strategy is obvious when you start to hear about the many strict security regimes. For instance, a few NGOs have curfew beginning at 6pm and are only able to travel to restricted areas in the city. They must always have at least four people in the car (including an armed driver) and after 4pm they need to travel in convoy with another car. There is a glimpse of more rational thinking however. My NGO is more lenient on security. We have drivers during the day (accompanied by a body guard at night), who will take us virtually anywhere before 11pm. Even more relaxed, certain Latin American embassies allow their staff to own their own cars and are simply advised to follow embassy suggestions when it comes to where and when to travel.

In any case, the result is a city where few are willing to take chances, and thus very few “blancs” (Haitian term for foreigners) can be found walking the streets. It begs the question of whether an alternative approach exists. Some say that the millions spent in private security could be spent on supporting the local police forces. In addition, relaxing security regimes might mean more foreigners could be found on the streets (albeit in safe areas of town), thereby bringing foreigners and locals more in contact.

Of course, the counter argument is clear. Who is willing to give up maximum personal security for the sake of police capacity building or cultural rapprochement? Who’s to say these are even possible given Haiti’s history of corruption, poverty and international meddling. While those of us on the ground struggle with these questions, the security companies will continue to make us feel safe with them, and fearful of what may await us should we break our curfews.

Comments? Questions?

Picture from a EODT Technologies website (present in Haiti)

Fresh air

We met a smiling Richard at 6am sharp in front of our apartment. A Haitian print-shop owner in Petion-Ville, he regularly decides to skip church on Sundays and go hiking instead. He told us he has an enthusiastic but unreliable following – sometimes the group is twenty, other times just two. Today we were only joined by one other person – a young German woman named Katarina. She gently reminded him that they haven’t had 20 people for a long time. He laughed and looked down, perhaps wondering whether the hiking group’s golden age had passed.

We began our 3 hour journey by walking up and out of town. The streets were already bustling, and a colourful parade of market goodies were being walked down from the mountains, steadily balanced on human heads and donkey’s backs. As pavement turned to gravel, and gravel to dirt, the road became quieter. The cinderblock grey of the city gave way to the lush green of the Petion-Ville hills.

We continued to push uphill, putting altitude between us and the urban sprawl below. The temperature was already breaching 30*C, but the breeze was a welcome reward for our early start. By now, the road had turned into one of the many trails that web together the community. We passed simple one-room homes, vegetable fields, and communal water taps. But the perfect pastoral experience was suddenly intruded upon by a small clearing with a carpet of plastic trash. The bottles, cups, bags and cans were evidence of a rocking party last night (or was it last year?). Unsurprisingly, waste disposal is far down the priority list for the government and families alike.

The trail continued upwards, yielding amazing views of the city bordered by mountains to the north and south, the ocean to the west and plains to the east. We walked with our necks craned to the view and relied on our hearing for surprises up ahead on the curving muddy trail. “Bonjou!” was the familiar greeting from the locals. The farmers – shovels and hoes in hand - beamed smiles as they let us pass. Other locals - impeccably dressed and impossibly clean - were trotting down the trail to church. When there were no other sounds, we could hear the call of church bells for mass. But as Richard explained, this was just pre-recorded sounds over the megaphones. The few bells that existed in the area became casualties of the earthquake. Continuing on, we would here rustling beside us, and a tied-up goat or cow would be inevitably there to stare vacantly back at us.

We then came upon more buildings. The first just looked like a damaged and graffiti-marked house from a far. A closer look revealed a Voodoo place of worship. A man emerged to marshal my photo taking, and then went back to his work. The next cluster of buildings was buzzing with children. A few giggling girls darted after each other, protecting some unknown treasure. Not far away, four boys swarmed around a home-made soccer ball, only briefly looking up to greet us before returning to their game.

Richard then told us that that we were nearing the end of our loop. Our complaining legs shuddered down the mountain and we re-entered the world of rubble, cars and road-side markets. A parade of UN SUVs passed us, probably heading for some weekend hotel escape out of the city. I guess our escape had been of a different variety, one where our view of Haiti was not restricted to the view from an SUV window.

The 5000 mile diet

One night last winter as I was complaining about the lack of strawberries at the market, our Italian roommate looked confused. “What? Strawberries in the winter? You will have them in the spring” he said. Italians, as we learned during our year there, are used to eating local, fresh and seasonal food. They look forward to what each season brings and savour the ever changing tortellini stuffing knowing that it will take a full year until they can cook the same recipe. As for me, I was annoyed. I wanted strawberries in the winter and pumpkin ravioli all year long.

I had heard about the importance of eating local for environmental reasons, but as Italians constantly remind you, fresh food simply tastes better too. So I set out to learn more about food and what we eat. I read books like The Omnivore’s Dilemma, and the 100 mile diet, watched Food Inc., the No Impact movie, and Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution episodes. By the time we went back to Canada, we had started eating healthier, simpler meals.

We were determined we would try to eat local, to lower our environmental impact, and to be “environmentally friendly.” But then we decided to move to Haiti.

Yes, what you see here is the milk that we had with our cereal this morning. “Fabrique en France”-yes, it comes from across the Atlantic. Our cereal is from Memphis, the bread from the Dominican Republic, lemons from Spain, cookies from Colombia, chocolate spread from Canada and spaghetti from Mexico.

After wondering if we would have to eat rice and beans almost every day like we did in Central America, it turns out foreign workers are able to buy all the food items they are used to back home. Craving Godiva chocolate? Our supermarket has it. Aunt Jemima frozen waffles? You can find them there too.

Our dilemmas are countless. Should we be purchasing luxury items that most Haitians can’t afford? How should we consider the negative economic impact of importing goods that can often be produced locally? And what about the environmental impact of importing dairy from France?

Hopefully we will have a better insight into some of these issues by the end of this year. In the meantime, we are trying our best to buy Haitian food. As of this week our bread, coffee, cocoa and eggs are produced here. I also got some local produce at the market.

What 600 gourdes ( $15 US) can get you in the streets of Port-au-prince

For more about food and aid…

From NPR, excellent video at “The Problem With Giving Free Food To Hungry People”

From Information in Context “Why do we so often give aid in ways that do not support the local economy?”

TV advertising and the World Cup

In keeping with the soccer theme of my last post, I thought I would draw your attention to the wonderful world of Haitian TV advertising. In a poor country where most of the population never sets foot in a formal store to buy brand-name food or merchandise, it makes sense that there are few companies willing to spend the money on advertising. So after your first few World Cup soccer games, you’re guaranteed to know the five commercials by heart – cell phone, chicken stock, juice, beer, and rice. Don’t worry, there’s no risk of being tortured by those SUV commercials where the car braves jagged cliffs, rushing rivers and alpine forest without so much as a bug splat to show for it. No, here in Haiti the commercials appear limited to pretty and handsome Haitians dancing away (with one of the aforementioned products in hand) to some cheery Caribbean tune in kitchens, on beaches or in front of cement brick walls. The exception is the commercial posted here, which has quickly become the most famous interlude of the World Cup.

During the game, other ads are superimposed on the screen (think ClipArt). The most common one is a plane advertising a local airline. When Argentina began losing, the plane cheekily chugged across the screen with an Argentina flag behind, presumably as it flew the team home. At times, the commentators (two guys with a microphone in a Port-au-Prince studio) chose to add some music to the game. For example, during the last twenty minutes of the Argentina match, they played the first three bars of Andrea Bocelli’s “Time to Say Goodbye” at least 10 times. With all this going on, who needs HD and computer simulations ?

Haitian delight after Argentina gets knocked out

What's the next-best thing to a Brazil victory at the World Cup? For Haitians (and many others), the answer is simple: an Argentina loss. And make no mistake, the party on Saturday was huge in Port-au-Prince as Brazil fans celebrated their arch rivals embarrassing demise to Germany in the quarter finals. We watched the game from the common-area roof top of our apartment building. As Germany piled on each goal, a widespread roar would erupt from the adjacent neighbourhood. Yellow and green figures would dart into the streets for a passionate impromptu hug or a bouncy squealing dance. As Argentina was finally put out of their misery by the final whistle, a small group began joyously charging down the road chanting "Messi, Messi". The group, seen in the clip below, swelled with every passing house, and was by no means paying tribute to the Argentinian star. Instead, it was a mock burial ceremony represented by a dressed up figure carried on a piece of tin roofing. Ah, victory is sweet. But defeat is exhilarating.