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).