Some Observations

The streets of Haiti are lined with people selling everything from fruits and vegetables, to soap, to phone cards, to kitchen utensils, to art work. All of it vibrantly colored. You see women (and men) making their way through the streets carrying an array of itmes on their heads. It's incredible. They carry anothing from bags of grains to baskets or tubs of fruits and vegetables, shoes, plastic utinsels. The piles are sometimes stacked high or they're carrying oddly shaped sacks or duffle bags. They glide up and down the steep, slick streets of Port-au-Prince with what appears to be very little effort. I absolutely love watching them!

This week has given me a slight feeling of inadequacy with my language skills. While French is an official language in Haiti and is the language that is most widely used in the education system, very few Haitians can speak it with any amount of proficiency. I heard at one point that the percentage of Haitians that speak French is around 10% (my guess is that most of these speak Creole as well). The language of the Haitian masses is Creole (Kreyol). The language of the Haitian bourgeois is French. A easily detectable barrier between those who have and those who have not. One of the lasting divisions left behind by a colonial power that was ousted over 200 years ago. The use of French becomes, then, a sign of class.

Until recently, I have been getting by with my French, English and the handful of Creole phrases and words I know to string together something that resembles a sentence. You could say that I am still getting by on these things, but the necessity of Creole seems to have become much greater since I have begun working at Norwich House. Hospice has quite a large staff of 22 and we get along well enough exchanging smiles and simple greetings in Creole. In all the comings and goings of the house, there is enough going on that these quick exchanges suffice. Norwich House has a much smaller staff, who are absolutely fabulous. Because of its smaller size, there is a greater feeling of intimacy. I was introduced immediately to everyone and am asked 'Kijan ou ye?' (How are you?) pretty much anytime any of the staff walks past where I'm working. I always reply, but I wish that I could do better to return their friendlyness.

There are attempts on their part to speak French, which at times are only rewarded with looks of confusion on my part because I don't understand or didn't recognize the switch in languages from Creole to French (they have similar vocabularies). I feel terribly guilty responding in this way when I know it is such an effor. The conversation is either dropped or they graciously slow and separate the words so that I am able to understand. I wish I could express my appreciation with more than 'Mesi anpil' (Thank you very much).

Lekol ('school' in Creole)

I’ve begun work this week for another guest house in Port-au-Prince--Norwich House. They have a scholarship program that supports the education of about 100 students in PAP. I have done some more inventorying, this time of books. Unlike in the States, education is not free in Haiti, nor are books provided. As I have been going through the books this week, I was able to catch a glimpse of what it’s like for the children of Haiti to go to school. These books, some of them decades old, are thin, colorless, full of text and unimaginative pictures. It’s no wonder so many of Haiti’s children are not in school. School would quickly lose any fun if lessons were presented in such a drab way, not to mention the lack of creativity from teachers. “Learning” in Haiti comes down to memorization of facts--not very effective. Despite all of this, students thirst for knowledge that might lead them to a better life.

I was also astounded at the way different years in school are classified. There are about four different ways of identifying which year of school a student is in. Some use ascending numbers, some descending. There are cycles and various other groupings. I have to use a chart to figure out which grade a student is actually in. There is little continuity as far as I can tell. Furthermore, there are nearly zero national guidelines or requirements for schools or teachers. Just about anybody can open a school and to be a teacher you need have only completed a grade or two above the one you’re teaching. There are several national exams that are required before a student can progress to the next step of their education, but students from different schools are not equally prepared. All of these things point to the lack of infrastructure in the country.

On a lighter note, we’ve started some salsa dancing lessons. A volunteer cook at Hospice is a professional dancer and offered to give us salsa lessons. Our first day was Tuesday. There seemed to be more ballet (as well as some, shall we say, pelvic movements) than salsa. Apparently when a bunch of Americans are involved, dancing becomes a spectator sport. Most of the young men in the yard left their soccer game to laugh at us. A new rule seems to be in order: No spectating allowed. All spectators will be made to participate or leave.