Market Forces...

Bernadette arrives each morning at about 8.00am, usually as we are finishing breakfast.  We are able to cook a little for ourselves – and breakfast is varied and nutritious as long as we like fruit, eggs, toast and peanut butter! (homemade)  The fruit is ripe, sweet and delicious: papaya, banana (called “fig” or “figue” in Creole – the word “banana” is reserved for plantains), pineapple, (confusingly called “anana”) and mango are regulars, and guavas, grapefruit, oranges, and soursop (no, I had never heard of it either) make more occasional appearances.

Bernadette prepares lunch – salad type food, and also cooks dinner.  And dinner is tasty, varied and supersubstantial!  All cooked over a charcoal cooker or two.  We eat beef based vegetable stews, rice and beans – both white and black, chicken as fresh as can be – frequently bought live and introduced to the pot at the last minute...  Little is stored as fresh or frozen (given the precarious nature of the electricity supply) so Bernadette makes daily or twice daily visits to the market.

Somehow in my last visit the market had escaped me, so a visit today was a first, and somewhat enlightening.

There is one supermarket in cap-Haitien – population 190,000 – expensive, and with an armed guard on permanent duty outside.  Inside, the air-conditioning is enough to account for some of the prices, and there is a limited but predictable supply of coffee, milk, frozen goods and vegetables – with a booze section.  There are also a number of small roadside shops – poorly supplied, and as varied as a pharmacy – no prescriptions needed – clothes  shops and many, many lottery outlets.

However it seems most residents buy their food from the markets, and a visit today, even relatively early, found the streets crowded.  There is a covered market – the Marche Fer – which is predominately food, and inside there are colourful stalls of peppers, onions, beans, fruit, etc, in close proximity to charcoal (for cooking) soap in long bars, and washing powder in vast barrels sold by the cup.  Nearby was less familiar dried fish, live crabs and even two tubs with turtles swimming around (turtle soup is a delicacy).  Chickens are invariably sold live to ensure freshness...  Round the corner a further market sported stall after stall of shoes – new and second hand, in numbers from 10-12 up to several hundreds.  Bags, clothes, interspersed with artificial flowers and toiletries.  There were even stalls selling drugs – some unnamed capsules, and some branded medication for hypertension.  (If you take Lisinopril for your blood pressure let me know and I’ll try and get you some!)  

  

It helps to know the price of things, as the price quoted to whites (“blan” or “blanc”) is invariably higher to start with, much higher.  And within the market there are smaller traders who are trying to make a living offering 2 or 3 bananas, or bunches of herbs, balanced in trays on their head or in their arms.  As much as I would like to be assimilated into, and understand ordinary Haitian living, I suspect market shopping is always going to be a specialist field, best left to experts.  Thanks Bernadette.

An Enduring Dawn Chorus...

The day begins at about 6.30am for us in the flat, though it has already made itself apparent from about 5.30am with the first of the semi-continuous church services that are held throughout the four lower levels throughout the day.  Most of them are accompanied by singing, at some point, and it is for us a gentle nudge into awareness.  Evanet is the church care-taker, and he unlocks the door at 5.00am for people to come and go.  Groups of up to 100 meet for prayer, bible study, preaching (some of which sounds very vigorous!), counselling, choir practice – there are probably 25 official choirs and singing groups associated with the church and who help with leading worship in the various Sunday and weekday services.  There is also a style of ministry that is not commonly seen in the UK or New Zealand which is offered most weekdays: people are invited to sit or lie on mats and the scriptures are read, or accurately “chanted” over them for up to 2 hours at a time.  (Though there is no fixed start or stop time and folk come and go at will.)

The bible is well known to many in Haiti – Bernadette is Robyn’s housekeeper and our cook, and a member of a local Baptist Church (itself no light-weight in the congregation stakes coming in at about 1000 every Sunday morning) could recite from memory Psalms 1, 23, 121, 91 and more.  At the opening and close of the Physiotherapy School the students take it on themselves to start with a hymn, and a communal recitation of a psalm or prayer.  (I feel rather embarrassed at my attempts to learn a Psalm every holiday, and failing to complete Ps 27 over our last NZ trip.)

As we make our way up and down the stairs there are always individuals, couples, and groups receiving or giving ministry throughout the day until Evanet will lock the doors at about 8.00pm, and music accompanies much if it. 

  

Caribe Tours into Haiti

Dominican Republic to Haiti...

Our travel plans for the trip from Santiago to Cap Haitien had been made from a relatively safe distance in England with advice from New Zealand, and they involved the Caribe Tours Coach service.  And in reality everything turned out as smoothly as intended.

We were to make our way to the Caribe Tours Coach station on Avenida Febrero 27, and both google maps and the hotel desk staff confirmed it was there...  However what wasn’t clear was that there were two Caribe Tours Coach Stations on a very long Avenida de Febrero 27 – about 5km apart.  Our taxi dropped us off at the first terminus, but when we went to buy the tickets it took my limited Spanish and the desk clerk’s English a little while to explain that we need to get to the other terminal for both tickets and to leave for the journey...  Oh dear.  Except with great kindness the clerk arranged to put us on the next passing coach and drop us off at the correct terminal, and at no charge, saving us a few US dollars taxi fare.  At the correct terminal we were ushered into a back office where the tickets are issued and after relieving us of our passports we were given return tickets, and waited for 90 minutes for the bus to arrive.  Apparently there is a website, where in theory tickets can be ordered and paid for, but according to many travel discussion forums the advice is that it is usually “down”, and certainly my foray into Spanish speaking cyber-space left me in no doubt it was no way to part with cash.  So no option but to get there early and wait.  As it happened the coach was only half full, but given there is only one coach a day we wanted to take no chances.  Once on the coach the Caribe Tours staff take over, and after serving us lunch – pork, rice and bean sauce with bottled water – we were off for the border.  Vastly improved roads compared to the same route four years ago: all the road works that meant that journey was almost entirely on un-made up roads, this time it was tarmac all the way – even if speed bumps feature liberally through each and every township and settlement, and preceding each of the frequent Police road blocks.  Once at the border we were ushered into a courtyard, where there was a cursory Customs Authority glance, and we were taken to the front of the queue to have our passports stamped.  Then surrounded by pedlars and children we drove across the new 2 lane bridge and into Haiti, where at the plush new immigration building we were invited in, asked for our passports and then shooed back into the coach, and (in time) reunited with our freshly stamped passports.

And so the seeming transportation from South America to Africa occurred over a single sluggish river.  Even though this was a return journey it was still fascinating how different the Dominican Republic is from Haiti: strongly Spanish influenced East of the former island of Hispaniola becomes the distinctively French and African West.

And from then it was a 90 minute journey to the enclave that houses the coach overnight to be reunited with Bernadette and her daughter Ruth who were waiting for us with a reassuringly familiar though barely holding together taxi, including the obligatory cracked windscreen and baffling door system that seems to affect each cab where only the driver knows how to open them.  (Invariably involving repeated depression and elevation of the lock, and then the pulling of a piece of wire – photos will follow.)

And then to our flat – the fifth floor of the church, and the barely finished home for the pastor: spacious, comfortable, running water (cold and hot), breezy and a remarkable lack of mosquitos!

We soon met up with our flat-mates: Robyn who had set it all up, and Claire and Jo – New Zealand physiotherapists who are currently running the course to train up Physiotherapy Technicians.  Claire and Jo have offered three months to live in Haiti and are taking the class along a specific learning programme – more of this later.

Then after a meal in the local Hotel – a favourite of ex-pats from all over the world – we retired to a fantastic night’s sleep under a fan and a splendid blue mosquito net. 

Santiago de Los Cabelleros...

Santiago de Los Cabelleros...
Leaving England was surprisingly smooth and efficient, and likewise our entry to the Dominican Republic. The only "hitch" turned put to our benefit when the hotel we had booked in had no record of the booking when I rang to tell them of our scheduled but late arrival from New York. After retrieving the documents they realised that they had no rooms but arranged for us to stay at the Airport branch of the same chain, which not only was a higher spec but included breakfast and less distance to reach after arrival - and at the original price! This morning we embarked on the next phase of the journey - coach from Santiago to Cap Haitien using the Caribe Tours Coach Company. And a continued sense of being "watched over" (in a good way) continued. Caribe Tours has 2 stations in Santiago, and both are on the Avenida de 27 Febrero. However only one has the coach to Haiti. We picked the wrong one to start out and with my scanty Spanish and the obliging clerk's scanty English this was pointed out. However they arranged for a passing coach to take us the 5-6km to the correct location at no cost. Then tickets were bought in a dingy but English speaking office, our passports were taken - hopefully to be returned after the border crossing and we have the fascinating and not unpleasant time of people watching in temperatures of about 26c, in a sheltered if basic bus station.  

York to Cap Haitien... While comparisons with the regularity of a commuter run are hard to find, there is a familiarity about today's train journey to Manchester Airport. In 2010 I first went to Haiti, and as today, was carrying bags that not only held clothes and personal effects but also the unusable, and so unwanted, hospital equipment from England that miraculously becomes both usable and highly prized as soon as it is presented to the theatre personnel in Haiti. And the travel anxiety (that is so frequently my travel companion) is ameliorated a little by remembering this is a path already trodden, and eased a lot by sharing it with Lorraine - who at time of writing is sleepily resting her feet on the seat opposite. (I am hoping the guard will be equally too sleepy to notice!) My first trip to Haiti came in the first few months after the earthquake that claimed the lives of 250,000 Haitians. "Hearts and Hands for Haiti" was born from this tragedy, and the God-inspired idea of New Zealander Robyn Couper a long term resident of Cap Haitien, and desperate to see help coming to the people and country she has served for many years. Working with her local church, Robyn arranged for a medical team to accompany her back to Haiti to work alongside some of the established medical services. And so official invitations were issued to three physiotherapists, two surgeon and me - the one anaesthetist - to come and work in the Justinien University Hospital. That was for an intended 6 Week period, and from that initial team effort, great things have developed with the funding, building and staffing of a Physiotherapy Assistant School thanks to the generosity of many, the assistance of agencies including the United Nations (it does help having a New Zealander as the current Number Three in that organisation) and the determination of Robyn and others to see it come off. And continued medical links with New Zealand see Prof Jean-Claude Theiss (Orthopaedic Surgeon) make trips to Haiti and enable Haitian doctors gain experience in Dunedin. I am going to be very interested to see what has changed over the four years, and to introduce Lorraine to some wonderful people, and a fascinating culture that is so different to what we are used to in the UK. Also having first come with an expectation of helping, and then finding myself being helped because of contracting Dengue Fever, I am again keen to show I can go more than 30 minutes without either being sick or having to lie down. (I should mention that 100% DEET has been added to the packing!) So from York to Cap Haitien, via Manchester, Amsterdam, New York, Santiago and the long coach trip across the border lies ahead, and we go excited, nervous and honoured to be able to try and help.

Back in the UK

Time has a habit of doing funny things... No wonder physicists and theoretical mathematicians can hypothesise that time is not really linear but actually curved and even wobbles a bit! (I would not be surprised if it also gets tied up in knots as well.)

I have been recovering really well from what was confirmed as Dengue fever - in fact would think I was back to whatever passes as normal - and have been meaning to post something to tell anyone who might have been following these musings that I am safely home. When time, which was behaving itself quite nicely, suddenly does a jump and I realise that I have been home for 6 weeks, (and somewhere along the line gained a year in age).

The journey out of Haiti was accomplished using the luxury of a coach belonging to the Carib Line - a company based in the Dominican Republic and connecting many of the major towns and cities over the island. And when I remember the taxis and tap-taps and motor-bikes seen on the roads on and around Cap-Haitien this is really luxurious - with air-conditioning (so effective that blankets are provided) and a means of constantly adjusting the tyre pressures to maintain a balanced (and presumably safer) driving experience.

(Quite how the mechanics of the system work is beyond me but I have attached a picture to try and explain it.)

The coach line operates daily, with the incoming service arriving in Cap Haitien late in the afternoon. The coach is locked away in a compound over night, and departing passengers are invited to assemble at 8.00am. Tickets are checked, baggage is tagged and loaded, and we are invited to board. The coach is designed to hold over 50 passengers, but it seems like we are less than 20. All of us, if we want it, can get a window seat, and on some signal (which wasn't able to discern) the coach leaves, and so I begin my journey back to the UK.

The coach had comfortable seats, the potential for playing DVDs, an on-board toilet, and a hostess to help negotiate the border crossings.

We arrived at the border in good time - about an hour driving, and parked on a field

of mud (currently dry). We were immediately surrounded by hawkers and beggars offering us drinks, sweets or shoe-cleaning. After walking to the passport-control and having our documents scrutinised, copied, stamped and returned we walked back to the coach and waited for about 30 minutes.

The border crossing is a single track road-bridge crossing a fast flowing river. The river can be crossed directly by the more intrepid, and as no-one seems to notice or intervene, and that includes the border guards from both countries and the United Nations Observers, it is an option to consider for the traveller lacking travel papers. The river is also used for laundry and bathing, though given the colour of the water it is hard to imagine a whiter-than-white finish.

There seems to be no signal, but lorries are crossing either direction but with no clear pattern or priority. But obviously at our turn, the coach started and we crossed from Haiti to the Dominican Republic... only to drive into a yard and be "invited" into a customs shed - with all our luggage. As we parked we were surrounded by many, many children and young adults desperate to carry our luggage (clearly expecting a fee) and it took a fair bit of doing to insist on carrying our own.

(Though I was surprised how tired I still felt after the Dengue - on arriving at Robyn's just 6 weeks earlier I had carried my bag and another with a rucksack on my back up to the second story flat; on leaving it was all I could do to drag my own case down.)

We all had to take our luggage into a barn-like hall where the bags were opened and rummaged through. Quite what was being looked for was not apparent. There are times when wearing a clerical collar has advantages: as the man searching my cases looked at my collar and barely opened the bags, and muttered something like trusting the clergy! And also I found that my immigration forms had been filled in for me, and I was listed as "Religioso" on the occupation section.

On returning to the coach we were all given a big filled-roll and a soft drink and some water. As my appetite was yet to return, I followed the lead of some others and offered my roll to one of the children encircling the bus - it was quickly grabbed and taken away.

Again following some mysterious signal the coach left and we drove to Santiago.

The scenery remaining remarkably constant, while the condition of the housing and roads gradually improved as we came to the city.

The Spanish speaking Dominican Republic has a more "Latin" feel to it than its more French-feeling sister Haiti.

Most of the towns and villages we drove through had their own churches and police buildings; but also cock-fighting pits - though there did not seem to be any contests as we passed.

Having arrived in Santiago there was a few minutes delay before Ruben met us. (Ruben was our driver on arrival 6 weeks earlier, and was back in the Dom Rep to have his truck fixed.)

We were escorted to our hotel and it was a pleasure to enjoy a hot shower and an air-conditioned room.

The hotel staff were very good, and the facilities excellent.

After an early supper - and yes my appetite was returning - we turned in. Ross and Kim had an early start - their transport to the airport came at 5.00am and it was quite emotional to see them go.

I had a further 24 hours to wait, the time was taken waiting for Fiona to arrive, and then a brief sightseeing tour on foot before trying to sleep

After seeing Fiona and Ruben leave for the journey into Haiti, it was my turn to take the shuttle to the airport.

And after the formalities - again involving a rummage through the case, and then as I was one of the random stop and search candidates a more thorough searching of all my luggage it was time to go.

And after 4 hours on the plane, with a sleeping 2 year old and his mother as my row companions, it was really great to arrive in New York and meet Lorraine.

Further musings...

Dr Bell's clinical suspicions that I had contracted Dengue Fever were confirmed by the blood test result that had been sent to Port-au-Prince. Although Dengue is known to be in Haiti Dr Bell claims this was the first case he had seen here, as it appears most Haitians have some form of natural immunity. (Lucky them!) Although I felt as though I had lost quite a lot in the 2 weeks I was unwell, I am also aware of how much I gained as well.

I lost about 1 stone 4 lbs in weight (that's just over 8kg), but that will do me no harm at all!

I also seem to have lost some time - it's hard to explain but the memories I have of the time are very hazy.

What is harder to accept is that I seem to have lost a lot of energy: on several occasions I thought I was on the mend, and got up, washed and dressed, fully expecting to go the hospital to try and work, only to find I couldn't eat any breakfast, and then couldn't even stay upright and had to lie down.

But what I have gained is priceless, and probably beyond words: without meaning to I have obviously been a worry to those at home and those in Haiti - but Robyn had put herself way over the top in my care. The prayers of the Haitian church, as well as those from home, New Zealand and even further afield have been very humbling. The love and care of Cilotte - a Haitian nurse (whose injection technique I can recommend) and of Bernadette - Robyn's cook/housekeeper were so gentle. Bernadette arrived one day and just started praying - in Creole - and Robyn said that she simply felt that is what Jesus wanted her to do.

A good friend from England wrote to me, she said: "There are more ways than one to be a gift. Vulnerability allows others, usually labelled 'the needy', to serve you. Will pray that God uses this reversal for good." I join my prayers to that one.

And now for some more musings and observations - which may find their way onto this blog before it's wound up.

Shopping in Cap Haitian is an exciting adventure. Most of our food is bought by Bernadette from the market. And the market has everything. Chickens are bought live - from vendors who have them on poles - and it is common to see them being brought home on the motorcycles, on what is a one-way journey for them. At least we can know our meat is fresh.

Fruit and vegetables are in abundance, and the avocados and papaya (with lime juice) was a breakfast treat. A lot of eggs are eaten here (well I'll be bound) and they are sold hard-boiled along the streets.

There was one supermarket which for convenience (not for price) we used to visit. It is called the Kokyage and visiting it was a mixed experience. There are not many supermarkets in the UK or NZ that have the benefit of an armed guard at the door. But this supermarket is not alone in this - all the banks, and many other businesses have it as well - guards toting what can only be described as pump-action shotguns but without the butt - more like enormous pistols.

And although I always spoke with the guard, and he became very friendly, it is sobering to imagine what might happen...

The Kokyage is well air-conditioned, which made it a welcome break on the walk from the hospital, but outside is surrounded by children begging. Some of whom are dressed and suited for the part - others look a little too well fed. Robyn says that Haitians are very good actors, and these kids certainly know how to turn on the pathos. "I'm hungry" "Give me a dollar" "Grand-gout" (which is Haitian for hungry). They have even followed us the half a mile or so home with hands outstretched. Robyn advised us not to give, and once we had this in mind, and it was recognised, we were left alone a little. I tried to turn the tables once - and said to them to give me a dollar - and they did give me a Haitian coin (quickly returned!)

Begging does seem to be a fact of life here. It was not uncommon - in fact usual - for people to approach us on the streets because we are white (blanc) and to ask for money. Sometimes it verged on the aggressive. And being rich, it doesn't come easy to be remined of it by people who really do have nothing. But at other times it is a feature of even those we are working with - asking if we can give them money for this project or that item of need. But if we start where do we end? And what is the right judgement - is a lamp-bulb for a projector more important than the work of a pastor? It was very tempting to remind the askers that we are only white, but we are not God. I havn't fully resolved that issue by any means.

Leaving the hospital was very moving.

I managed enough energy to go in for the last 2 days. On the last day I was helping the junior anaesthetist with some spinals, and the anaesthetic nurses had an exam. But they all came into the office having post-poned the exam for an hour and made some very generous gifts - for me and for Lorraine, and the request that I come back. So for someone who has felt so useless over the last 2 weeks it was an emotional moment.

I have various other musings and events, and more importantly people to describe - but that will be for later. I am writing this from the Dominican Republic - and have just bade farewell to Ross and Kim. Fiona arrives later today, and I fly to New York tomorrow.