Posse

In Costa Rica, there was "Pura Vida." 

In Haiti, it is "Posse."  This means "Chillin" and is a perfect word for a state of mind here. 

Sak pase?  Posse.

On the drive back from Jacmel, our van was hit with a torrential rainpour.  The roads turned into shallow rivers.  Umbrella-less pedestrians rolled their pantlegs up and covered their heads with whatever they had...showercaps, handtowels, plastic sheets....  Cars, vans, and trucks pretended to be Haitian boats and trudged slowly along.

I watched three men piled on one motorcycle fall into the water when the bike went up in an accidental wheelie.  My vanmates laughed and the poor guys luck.  Then, *THUD* our van hit a pothole.  Karma for our laughter hit us 40 minutes later when we were stranded on the side of the road.  Our driver scooped rainwater up to poor into our overheated engine.

After having been crammed into the van for 3 hours, I rolled out of the van with some of my vanmates.  We realized we were at least two hours from home.  There was nothing we could do, but posse.

So, we participated in our favorite pasttime while waiting for our engine to cool...we opened some Prestige and waved at Blancs as they drove by.  Did you know that the door latch in the side panel of a van door makes a perfect bottle opener?  After a couple of beers, it was a fun evening. 

Poossssseeeeee!!!

Trinity House and the Stinkin' Cute Kids

A daytrip to Jacmel brought a welcome break.  It was my first trip to Trinity House, the third home in the St. Joe’s Family trio.  Trinity House is a home for 25 former boy slaves.  It is also a daytime school to 110 of the neighboring children, many of whom may still be in current child slave situations.  Trinity House provides two meals, an education, and clean clothes to children who may otherwise be in situations where this is not provided.

I took a tour of the school and disrupted the classrooms with some candy breaks.  As soon as I walked into the courtyard, several gleeful five year olds rushed towards me – each with the goal to grab one of my hands.  They looked at me with wide eyes and huge smiles.  This is what amazes me about the Haitian people.  It does not matter how little they have, they are happy for what they do have.  

One look at these innocent smiles and you wanted to empty your pockets into the school.  They chased me around from room to room.  They wanted your return smile and approval.  It was the least I could give them.

A tour of the facility included the bakery and neighboring land where the Trinity House plans to expand its coffee operation and living quarters to house more children/volunteers.  Now, what does a bakery and coffee have to do with impoverished children?  Trinity House is fortunate to have many American supporters to help provide its funding.  However, Michael wants Trinity House to provide an income for itself as well.  As a result, they are building a bakery and teaching the people how to professionally bake, roast and bag coffee, and also manage a business. 

Two hours later, a fresh baguette and loaf of bread were hot from the oven and ready for me to bring back home.  A whiff of it told me they would be divine.  In addition, the bakery manager gave me her email so that I could send recipes to help grow the business.  I wish them lots of success as they teach the community something new that also will continue to give back to the Jacmel community.

I mean...really...how could you NOT want to help these guys?

No Blanc Here

For entertainment, I sat on a stoop by the main road, drinking Prestige (the local beer), while watching people drive in and out of town with some volunteers and a Haitian worker of the organization we were volunteering at.  Every time we saw a fellow Blanc drive by, we would wave and raise our beers. 

The term Blanc in Kreyol means foreigner.  In French, the literal translation is White.  I think the French translation is more applicable however; as an Asian Woman, I’ve never heard the word “Blanc” being chased after me like it does my Caucasian counterparts in Haiti.  The Blancs tend to draw more attention.  I just get a lot of curiosity about my origination. 

It’s a daily debate that I get into – often more than once a day:

Haitian: "Where you from?"

Me: "The U.S."

Haitian: "You look Japanese or Chinese."

Me: "My family is from Thailand."

Haitian: "Yes, that's what I thought. So, what is your language?"

Me: "English."

Haitian: "No, I don't think so."

I have come to realize that in a country that is predominantly of one race (everyone else is a Blanc), the idea of America the Mixing Bowl is quite foreign.  I have had people accept that I’m Italian (“Thailand” apparently sounds like “Italian”), tell me that I must speak Spanish (something non-English), and flat out tell me that I’m lying before they can accept that I am from the US and English is my primary language.

As a result, on a daily basis, I have learned to change my response from claiming that I am from China to finally explaining that I was born in the US.  Luckily, two for two, the latter finally seems to stick and I am getting fewer looks of confusion now.

Regardless, when someone says Chinwa, I know they are talking about me.

Yon Retou Pou Ayiti (A Return to Haiti)

I marched up the stairs of Wings of Hope and found the children on the patio during their Friday prayer service.  A lull of silence came over the children as they turned to observe yet another new strange volunteer in their midst. 

“Eske ou sonje mwen?”  I asked.  David looks at me and a huge grin comes across his face as the recognition sets in.  He squeals in laughter and begins to touch my hair which has grown in the past six months. 

As an adult, when you haven’t seen a friend in a few years, you commonly say, “You haven’t changed a bit!”  However, in the life of children, 6 months can bring significant changes.  They grow taller, fatter, can become more talkative, and just overall grow up.

Frank Ely and Steve have gotten taller.  Otherwise, they are the same mischievous boys who like to dance around the room and make a bit of commotion.

Little Belinda looks thinner.  Though she doesn’t look it, Belinda is four.  She was never a good eater, but a loss of a pound or two when you don’t even weigh 20 lbs can be significant. 

Lazar has a little girlfriend, named Alison.  I have yet to meet Alison, but he blushes when you mention her name. 

My autistic buddies, Kelly and John, seem to have flourished.  They were pretty emotionless when I met them last Fall.  This Spring, I have seen more smiles on John in one day than I saw on his face during my entire last trip.  Kelly is also a lot more interactive than he used to be.  You can talk to him and engage him for a bit before he re-enters his own world.

David is more comfortable being mobile in his wheelchair.  On my last visit, he preferred to hop around on the floor, but now he’s speedy enough in the wheelchair to prefer its use. 

Vivian is still in love with Walnes.  She still brings his pictures out and writes his name in her notebooks.

This band of societal castoffs that have been bound together to form their own family unit impresses me.  BJ makes the other boys laugh by using one of his few controlled muscles, his mouth, to oddly bit a wheelchair handle of another child.  Sadraque and Raoul have long conversations about the beach through slurred speech, nodding, and grunting.  Lazar grunts for me to give his unfinished lunch to Gesner to finish.  It is the compassion that these special-needs children show for one another that truly makes them special to all those who are lucky enough to meet them.

Open Water

Remember that 2003 movie “Open Water” about two scuba divers accidentally stranded in shark infested waters after their tour boat left?  I thought those fools were idiots for straying so far away from the tour group.

Well, there’s nothing accidental about me being in open water as I train for my first triathlon.  My immediate reaction in the lake was – Why did you think this was a good idea, you idiot?

Four buoys outlined a 500 meter course in Lake Anna.  The stage was set for me to swim around each one before coming back to shore.  On my way to the first buoy, I began to panic when I realized that I could not touch the ground anymore.  After several choice words came from my lips, the first rational word that popped in my head was actually “duathlon.”
 

I had a back up plan in case I freaked out during an open water swim -- I would float on my back until I calmed down before swimming further.  Of all of my swim lessons, that was the only information that seemed to stick because all of the techniques and drills my swim coach taught me practically went out the door during this anxiety attack.  I created my own rhythmic pattern:  6 freestyle strokes, 4 backstrokes, 2 doggie paddles, 2 breast strokes, repeat.  It wasn’t getting me to the next buoy efficiently or quickly; however, it was getting me to the next buoy.

Those 20 minutes in water felt like 2 hours.  However, I knew that I had to keep going or I would never be able to finish a triathlon.  So pick -- duathlon or triathlon?  I chose triathlons and decided to keep going. 

Race Fit

After the age of thirty, a woman is supposed to give up on skin tight outfits like she gives up on fast food, perky boobs, and cheap house liquor.  These things are no longer age appropriate.

Runners wear loose comfortable clothing.  Sleeveless blousy tanks with large arm holes.  It's like pretending you are running through the streets naked -- which can either make you run faster or more sprightly, depending on how you feel about streaking.  The only thing we do want to show off is our legs.  It's why our shorts are so short.  But other than that, running clothes do a pretty good job of hiding our weak areas well.   

Triathletes wear skin tight outfits.  To minimize drag and be able to fit the outfit into an even tighter wetsuit, our outfits have lots of spandex.  It is actually more efficient to go smaller rather than larger when you are in between sizes.  The term is “race fit” -- it is NOT forgiving.


Alas, no push-up sports bras to accentuate "the girls" -- the padding will just sop up the water and it's time to go uni-boob so nothing bounces.  No peasant tops to hide the muffin top.  No A-line skirts to hide the thighs.

In my tri-outfit, it's just honestly me -- tucked into a little spandex, sweat-wicking, performance enhancing outfit.  Guess there is another good reason to get all of my workouts in.