como ou rele?

waiting for godome

Friday was a complete bust, we were on lock down all day at the Grassroots Base. They wouldnt let anyone leave because of civil unrest throughout the entire city. It's called a manifestation here when people randomly riot and protest through the day. During the hottest part of the day it calms down because everyone is probably passed out under a tree drinking prestige.

Apparently its a known occurrence during these days for people to grab someone and stick them in a stack of car tires and set it on fire. It's easy to forget sometimes that this is a dangerous place. default mode for humans is to trust. Maybe that ought to be posed as a question.

People are protesting Preval violating term limits by running for office again. There is also alot of animosity towards NGO's.

Tonight there was a tragedy. Or should I say there is one unfolding as I write this. There was a young boy misdiagnosed. He had typhoid and his bowels burst. He needed blood to get surgery. Only place in Port Au Prince that has it is the Red Cross. They are closed on Saturday. No amount of begging or hammering on their door would make them open. This boy will die tonight because the Red Cross is closed on Saturday. Everyone needs a day off, especially relief workers, but how hard is it to stagger the days off so it remains open all the time? I am sure without a doubt that they of all the NGO's could easily afford to.

I am sitting in my tent, which is quite large. It's like a tiny shack. I can actually stand up in it. I have a battery operated fan, only it's not on right now because it's raining like hell outside and its so refreshing. Only its not refreshing for the kids without a tent. It's potentially life threatening to be wet and cold and to get no sleep.

That is one thing that always gives me pause when ever I think I cant take the heat or the lack of whatever comforts I am accustomed to. Just put it into perspective. How can I complain about the mosquitoes or the lack of whatevers???? I have a tent! I have food.

I have been making plans for the dome build. For when the domes are out of jail. They are in Jail right now just up the road. I hope the warehouse people put my cases in out of the rain at least. Its all a bit out of my reach which I cant think about right now or else I might melt. All that would be left of me is my vest, shorts and boots.

I have found two local crew members from my neighborhood. They are sisters, Naftalie and Nellie. 14 and 15 years old. Women in Haiti dont usually build things. These girls are eager to learn how. They both would do it for free, Nellie said love is a good payment. She says that God speaks to some people directly and others need a translator. I will be paying them for their work as they learn. It is my intention to put women in places of empowerment and to model leadership over men for them. I was accused of being sexist today because I want a woman project manager. I wish I had a Haitian woman project manager. Maybe in 5 years after Nellie turns 20. I'm ok with being called sexist. In a world dominated by men, it helps to tip the scales the other way occasionally. Actually, that is what it will take to even it out. So,, yes. I am sexist. Women are smarter than men.

I would that I had at least a woman project manager to assist me in coordinating the builds. But I have Steve. Steve is pretty awesome though.

I wish Kara was still here. She would have been a really great role model for some of these young women on how to seriously kick ass. I'll be modeling being in charge and I am going to be very hands on, I will have to be because I am the only one who knows how to build a dome among the crew. That will change after the first couple go up.

Its a difficult task to try to empower women in a culture that is very entrenched in gender roles. It's a paradigm kept in place by both the men and the women. It is a very sensitive area. I wish I could have an entire crew of women to build the domes because I think it would shake things up in a much needed way. You may ask who am I to decide how another person's culture needs shaking. I would say that if women knew how to build homes there would be twice as many.

Tomorrow I will be going to a community meeting held in the neighborhood by women. They meet once a month to discuss important topics concerning the community. They solve problems. I will be approaching them with a proposal for an opportunity to learn how to build shelters/domes by helping to build some for orphans. I will approach it as if I have all my sights already built to avoid creating a distraction and mixed agendas. I will also be withholding the information that it is a paid gig. I will present it as an opportunity to help me help the orphanages at the same time as teach the skills I know to them. I will have a sheet of paper for interested women to sign up on. I will carefully intuit each interested person and then I will go home and decide on one or two and call them up for the first day. We will have a pre meeting where I will explain to them that they need work gloves and clothes and to be prepared to work hard "like a man"

On the first build day I will observe who is the best workers, who are the quick studies. I am talking about women who probably never held a crescent wrench in their life, let alone an electric drill. I'll see how it goes. I am well aware it will take much longer to build with inexperienced workers. That is ok with me because it's so valuable to show them that they can build shit too.

I will have a mixture of workers on the crews. I am going to have two white guys. Steve and Arandel. Arandel is from Canadia. He speaks Canadian French. He cant wait to build some stuff he has been the IT guy at Grub for the last week and it's not that great because the internet is spotty here.

So, there will be two white guys. Me.. Julian and the two girls. So far. I might have a couple more girls. Maybe the first day should be a trail run to see which ones can step up to the task.

There are alot of logistics to arrange. A truck of sand has to be delivered, half to the first site and half to the second site. We need to buy rubble. Believe it or not, you cant really get it for free. Granted it's cheap at twenty bucks a truck load, but think about it. If all you had left of your house was rubble, you'd want to sell it too.

Something as simple as making sure there is water to mix the cement is not simple here. I have to call the first two sites and check about that on monday. If they dont have water, I'll buy a couple plastic garbage cans and set them out to catch rain water. Hello. It rains buckets every day. Mercy buckets. Everyone ought to have a water catchmit system. Not sure why they dont. Even Grub doesnt have one.

I'm glad Steve is helping. He is a sweet guy. His eyes are disturbingly blue. He said he refuses to wear a dress. His response to me telling him I really wanted a female project manager, no offense to him for his gender. I am also glad for Julian. He continues to be my right hand man. I cant wait to see him get dirty. The guy is impeccable at all times.

I am going to go see what songs they are singing on the back porch. I wanted to go out to a party tonight but it started to rain and the security guys told us to stay in.

thanks for reading

it's the peanut butter

I found out what is slowing my shipment down. Peanut butter. Not surprising. Peanut butter is by nature slow. It sticks to the roof of your mouth. The two 3 gallon buckets of organic peanut butter that was donated at the last minute to send to the orphanages is creating a sticky situation. That and hiring a dude that apparently doesn't know how to fill out customs documents despite his extravagant claims of a seemingly magical ability to get your stuff through in 48 hours. Now three weeks later and $260 poorer he has disappeared. When I call him he screams at me. I quit him.

You might be thinking, "she is failing, she really didn't plan that well for customs" You are sort of right. I am flailing a bit. It's Haiti, though. There is no systematic protocol for customs. They change on you willy nilly. Even large NGO's have had shipments stuck in customs for months and months. The failure is of epic proportions and it's across the board no matter what size org you are. I would have been wiser to build the domes here, but I had no funding whatsoever. I did what I could do within the means available to me. Nothing in my experience is a waste of time. All the mistakes are lessons to do it better next time.

It was another hard day. I woke up not feeling positive. Just going through the motions. Wake up with the cock a doodling doo doo, look at the clock on my ipod, get a bucket of water out of the cistern, dump it over my head, make mate, drink mate, eat spagetti and hard boiled eggs, got on the bike to go meet Phanio at the Duone. I had a meeting with Madame Decsolines at the Protection Civil at 8:30 am and so I had arranged to meet Phanio at 8 at the Duone and drive us up there. I got there and he was not there. It was 8:05. This was the beginning of a long hard hot day.

I called Phanio and he said he was at the garage where the car he crashed yesterday was being fixed. Nice. So I called up Julian who really is my ace the hole. He is totally dependable. He said to meet him at his place on Delma 18. He gave me directions. I got lost. Surprise! Haiti is Hard.
Even getting lost is not easily solved. I called Julian. "I'm lost" he said, "give the phone to someone on the street so I can ask them where you are" Genius. Julian is awesome. He moved to NYC when he was 14. We have a symbiotic relationship. I pay him to be my guide and translator. He is learning how to be a good translator with me. I am very attentive to conversations. Sometimes I make him say things he is too polite to say. He also has my back in ways I cant even describe in words. I love this guy. He was furious with me today for not calling him yesterday to help navigate the customs shit because Phanio royally screwed it up by creating a second folder. He wanted to help but it made matters worse and it gave Madame a headache.

I went back to the traffic circle with the giant globe and the three hands holding it up. I stopped the bike in the shade and waited for him. I was already drenched with sweat, my appearance was not crisp and clean for my meeting with the Madame and I was terribly horribly late. Staying clean and presentable in Haiti is impossible. You are filthy and sweat drenched within a half hour of pouring buckets of water over your noodle. I call them Mercy Buckets

He got on the bike and directed me. To the ministry of finance. The wrong one. I told him, this is not where we were yesterday. We called Phanio and he magically appeared a few minutes later. I dont know how that happened. I was annoyed with him but he kissed me on the cheek. He gave us directions and I made Julian write them down.

We drove off. We went to see the Madame. She was not pleased. We have two folders. She had a headache. We did everything backwards and we have peanut butter. It wasnt looking good. She got annoyed when I told her that I knew Anderson Cooper and he was very interested in my story. She didn't know who that is so I said I was going to call up CNN. Not a good idea. She got pissed off. I was told last night that I never listen to people's advice. It's not true, but I decided to listen to someone's advice and pull the Anderson Cooper card. It was bad. Maybe I dont listen to people's advice because it usually sucks. Just saying. I listen when it's good, though.

So she cooled out, I apologized, she told us what we needed to do, there was a certificate that needed to be re-made as well as one of the documents. The dude I hired didn't make them right the first time and the one that the guy under the tree by the air duon was just the same. It didn't list peanut butter! or Liquid Soap! Or Tools! Or Leather! Holy shit!

So we drove back to the Duon and the typewriter dude was still there! I love that guy. He is so calm and efficient with his pens in his shirt pocket and his manual typewriter and rusty stapler. What else do you need? A fax machine? Dare to dream. He has a fan club too it seems. A bunch of guys were hanging out with him. We called up the Madame to make sure that we got the words right this time. She was not happy that we were not using her guy. Apparently she had a guy we were supposed to be using. So we left Mr. Typewriter and decided to grab a bite to eat across from the airport.

There are a bunch of food venders set up across from the airport. It's a kind of an outdoor restaurant situation. I ordered vegetarian food, salad and rice and beans ha ha. It was really good. There were a bunch of street kids begging aggressively and then a couple kids sitting quietly at the end of our table, patiently waiting for us to get full and give them the rest of what we didnt eat. The patiently waiting tactic pays off better than the agressive begging technique. The lady serving food looked exhausted and tres cho. She tried to hit the aggressive beggar kid with a wicker chair. There was a lady making smoothies of like fifty different fruits. I could not resist, it smelled so good. It was amazing. I am totally starved for fruit. The smoothies were enormous. We couldn't drink them all. A tiny somewhat aggressive kid came up to us with a styrofoam cup and stared longingly at my smoothie. We filled up his cup

We paid up and drove back through the hairy est traffic on the planet and went to the other Duone the boat one and met another dude. He was in an air conditioned Truck. We got in. He poured over our dossier and asked alot of questions about the peanut butter and the machete.

He got it all figured out and then he brought up the payment. He was going to charge 80 bucks! American! To type up a couple documents. He didnt even have a manual typewriter. Just a real office that we were sitting in a truck in front of. I told him that the guy under the tree charged 6 bucks. We bartered back and forth. It was merciless. I told him I'd rather spend the money on buying 3 mattresses for the orphans. He finally relented and agreed to do it for free.

He went back up into his office and left us sitting in his truck. I got out and went across the street and bought a couple drinks from a guy making fresh squeezed orange juice. It was so DELICIOUS.

I had Julian call the Madame and tell her we would be back in a half hour to get her signature. She said she was done for the day. Maybe she had a migraine or cramps. I'm sure it was unbearable, whatever it was, to make her end her day at 3pm

We got the documents and hit the dusty dirty treacherously garbage covered streets, There is a stretch of road by the Duone that is just hideously bad. People are sorting through enormous piles of clothes by the side of the road. I asked Julian, "whats up with the clothes?" He said "those are the clothes other people are finished wearing' Oh, I said, used clothing sale. It was nothing like the bargain barn in santa cruz, though.

I told Julian I needed to get a nice shirt and pants to wear to customs. My shit is dirty and not presentable at all. I brought work clothes and short shorts. It's all I wear. This shows how tolerant Julian is. He took me clothes shopping. Shopping on the street is like going to war or something. People assault you physically. Or maybe they were just assaulting me because I am white. It's rare to see other white people. When I do, they are usually whizzing by in an SUV with all the windows rolled up.

I just wanted to get a simple button up blouse with short sleeves. and some linen pants or light weight ones. The woman's clothing market was an outdoor doo dad. The shirts were so frilly and lacy. I cant represent that. I managed to find one cotton blouse for under ten bucks. Woman venders were yelling at me and actually hitting me with their shirts and dresses. I have never understood this tactic of selling shit. Do you really think I am going to want to buy something with you standing there yelling at me?
Chill out, ladies. I found a blouse and then bought a couple men's wife beaters and a special little washcloth sweat rag. Everyone carries them, to mop the sweat off your face.

I'm super sleepy. Thanks for reading. Tomorrow is a new day. Thanks to everyone for commenting. I love feedback and it's a real boost to hear from folks.

pwoblems

Solidarity we waste



Today I woke up ready to make things happen. I was all showered, mate-ed and I even ate Joanne's polenta which she cooks with some sort of fish juice by 7:30 am. I would have drank fish juice without flinching this morning I was in such a positive mood. Coming from a vegetarian, that is no small matter. But these days food choices are trivial. So many people have no food at all. The house fell on their motherbrothersisterdaughterauntgrandmasonfatherunclefriend and they are sitting outside cooking food over an open flame on the sidewalk.

At 7:30am I was carrying palettes to the front gate to be ready to receive the struts off the truck.

Today I was supposed to get my shipment. I was meant to ship my get.

Morning meeting was different today, Richard didnt even mention "how fucking hard is it to clean your dishes or bring the bucket back from the shower?? it's not rocket science people!" Which, frankly, was a bit disappointing to me, I really love his morning rants. He works himself up properly and for an english gentleman that can be quite entertaining. No, the focus was on Domes for Haiti for the most part and a congratulatory speech by Chad about how I persevered and was bringing the domes to the compound today.

My airline ticket said I was going to fly to JFK today. I disagreed with it. Oh no you dint airline ticket, no you dint say that and no I am not going. Not going back to Brooklyn empty handed so to speak. Not leaving until it's finished. I was waiting in line for the teller at American Airlines desk at the Port Au Prince airport. Little did I know when the man standing next to me struck up an amiable conversation in perfect english that he was going to turn on me maliciously.

I told him I was supposed to leave today but I was staying longer. He asked what I was working on and I told him "Shelters for Orphanages, geodesic domes" He said, "oh are you from Washington?" I said "No, I'm from Brooklyn" He asked me "Are you working with the government?" I said "Are you kidding? No, I am not working with the government. If I was it would take a year just to do the paperwork" I think I might have hinted at the fact that I am not a big fan of the government. I think that is where he began to get worked up. He thought I meant the Haitian government. He asked me if the shelters were approved for safety. I told him yes, Buckminster Fuller invented the geodesic dome in 1954 and the structure is one of the strongest known to mankind. He started in on me then. "You people think you are helping but you are actually causing more suffering in the long run" That might be true in some cases, I countered, but I am not in that category. he grew more animated and vicious in his attack. He accused me of being patronizing, of not talking or listening to the Haitian people and practically single handedly destroying his entire country. I told him "You dont know me or anything about what I am doing, you are making some serious assumptions, my friend" He then accused me of being rude and arrogant. It's always interesting to me when people accuse you of exactly what they are doing. I told him I came to help. He viciously made quotation marks in the air and said "yes, you are here to Help"


You are tearing buildings down, it's too late for transitional housing." I told him, oh, I guess I should just go home then. I told him I am not tearing any buildings down, only giving shelter to orphans who have NONE. The tents that they were given 6 months ago are torn and destroyed by now.It's not too late for them to get transitional housing, they haven't gotten any other kind, thanks to mismanagement by someone or other but definitely not my fault.

He accused me of not listening to what the Haitian people are saying. He was so way off base. I just spent the last 3 weeks visiting orphanages and interviewing the people in charge and asking what they need the most. I have visited at least 10 orphanages so far and did my best to asses their needs by directly asking them what those needs are. He was blind. He didnt see me but rather only saw his own frustration at the history of NGO's coming into his country and creating dependency and then leaving. I get it. Only he doesn't know I get it. Because he wasnt asking me. I am invisible to him. He was so sure I was evil and had only my interests at heart.
Yes. Apparently basically quitting my job and working for 6 months on a very grass roots level to bring some sort of relief to a few kids living in mud is very self serving. I admit it! I do get alot out of this. I am living in luxury accommodations, for example.

I tried to tell him that he didn't know me or my intentions or history. I suggested that maybe he might consider asking a person these things before he jumped to conclusions about them. He told me he doesn't care about me or my history. That is when the conversation was over.

I told him the conversation was over and please to stop talking to me. He refused and kept on me with more accusations founded on absolutely nothing I have ever thought or done. I said, "Dude, please stop talking to me" He said "Dont call me dude" I said "Dude, I would if you'd quit talking to me, dude" I finally had to tune him out by putting on my ipod and cranking Bob Marley in my headphones. He started talking to the family in front of him in Creole. They all kept looking at me like I was the most evil person in the world. I just had to shake my head. They dont know me and they never will. Furthermore, if the Dude needs a scapegoat, I might as well be it. So go ahead, dude, have at it or me all you want. I'll still build some domes for some kids no matter what you say or think about me.

I changed my ticket for Sept 7th. Somehow, with the change of return flight, everything I saw today sunk in that much more. All of the destruction was even more deeply affecting to me. Every house, every building I saw collapsed in on itself represents unimaginable pain and suffering and death and loss. Even so, the people I see everywhere are way cleaner and more well dressed than me and most of my friends back in Brooklyn.


I walked out of the airport feeling more committed to this country's renewal and regeneration than I have ever felt committed to anything in my entire life. I am here. That is my commitment. I am listening. I am paying attention. What more can I give?

I walked over to the Amerijet warehouse and met Phanio on the street as I was buying a phone card from one of the street vendors. He was smiling and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be. We walked into the warehouse and were greeted by Julio who I met yesterday. We went back into the tiny air conditioned Duon office and there was a large man in there who Phanio handed our folder to. He started talking to me in Creole and I actually understood him. He asked me my name and I told him "Lopi" but had to follow it with "that's my nickname" which is really kind of a lie, it's my actual name, but not on the documents. Ah, the pitfalls of having a chosen name that is different from your legal name. He told me his nickname is "Big" because he is not getting any smaller. I told him he should stay Big.

We went out in the warehouse and Julio was driving the fork and he got all my stuff together and put it outside in the back. The customs official came out and told me to open the trunk. I took out my key and opened it. The first thing I saw in there was a bag that was a bag that was my Mom's full of thread. It hit me in a soft spot to see it. He reached into the bag and fingered the threads coming off the spools. I touched everything in that trunk. I was so happy to see the colorful leather! The sledgehammer, pick axe, crow bars and zip ties! Hello my friends, hello.

Next was the wooden rolling case. Hello Brooklyn. I opened it and saw again the two rolling dollies I had spray painted "Domes for Haiti, Brooklyn NYC" proudly on them. The orange bucket from home despot, case of dr. bronner's soap, the buckets of organic peanut butter, the cases full of nuts and bolts, wrenches, vice grips, pliers and a sharpie! Hello sharpie.
The dude tried to take my sharpie. Oh no, you can't have that.

The other crates were easy. Dome covers. Dome struts. Tools. Done.

He went back into his office and I locked all the boxes back up and went to get some Dlo for Phanio and I to drink. I had a pleasant conversation with the ladies selling treats at the gas station. Ill feit cho, I said and they said oui, m'cho. I noticed one of them had some interesting square shaped scars on her arm. I pointed to them and she mimed falling down and laughed. I knew they were teasing me because you dont really fall and get perfect rectangular marks on your arm. I was sure it was some sort of scar tattoo thing so I showed her my tattoo.

Anyway, I went back into the office and the dude was still puzzling over peanut butter or something and Phanio typed "he is stupid" on his cell phone and showed it to me. We laughed and then I went out and asked Julio if he knew anyone with a truck that would deliver my shipment for me. He said yes and then I met truck dude (i am forgetting his name! sorry!!) He said he needed to look at the shipment to give me the price. He looked at it and said $200 us. I said "$150 and he said "Wi" I asked if he was sure his truck was struck enough and he said "Wi" and walked me out into the parking lot and showed me an enormous box truck with a full lift gate! I got really excited and hugged him.

We went back in and the customs guy gave us the dossier and we walked over to the main Duon over across from the airport. He said there was one more step we needed to take care of before the shipment was released. I was so kontan!
When we arrived, it was break time. People were not sleeping on their desks but eating from syrofoam containers. Mostly rice and beans and fried meat of some sort. One woman had a perfect looking avocado. I was so grengou but I tried not to stare at their food too much.

We were told we needed one more stamp and we'd have to go all the way back to the Ministry of Finance to get it. Ug. Ok, so this time Phanio borrowed a car from a friend and we started driving. Driving in a car takes so much longer than a moto. Traffic is endless.

We went to the MoF and were told we had to go to the Protection Civil again. There we hit a wall. We were sitting in a room for what seemed like an eternity. I was nodding off, having short nonsensical dreams about swimming in fresh water and eating avocados and riding my bike. I kept waking up to a place I did not want to be. Finally a lady gestured for Phanio to come forward and sit in the chair by her desk. They started a heated discussion about my folder which I was not included in because I dont speak the language. I caught a word here and there. Original. Document. Dossier. I decided to try to join the conversation. I pulled my chair up. Both of them ignored me. I tried to get in but the door was shut to me.

The dispute was about the fact that there was an original dossier that contained original documents and the one we had consisted largely of copies. The original airbill that we had triumphantly located yesterday had no weight whatsoever with this lady. The fact that the duon had already inspected my entire shipment down to the last thread and soccer ball meant nothing. We were out of order. We had hit the tilt button.


Then an elderly, distinquished gentleman entered the room and joined the conversation. By this time I was totally chomping at the air, trying to digest words I had no palette for. They continued to discuss my shipment that I had worked so hard to get into the country quickly on a freaking airplane at extra expense and continued to ignore me. Anyone who knows me knows how this would affect me. I tried to remain calm.

Finally the distinguished guy finally started talking to me. He said, "be cool, be quiet"
Not what I wanted to hear. "What is going on, please" I asked, although I think I had gotten the gist. They asked me who the man with the beard was. I balked. He is angry I said.

I said, "it is my shipment, it's shelters for orphans, I have been waiting three weeks" He smiled at me. This went on ad nauseous.
Finally, the man told me that the original documents were awaiting Franchise approval from the minister of finance. He said we would go and get the dossier now. I was momentarily hopeful. It was brief.

We went there, got the dossier but were not actually given it. It turned out that we'd have to wait for tomorrow or maybe the next day or the next. More eternal clouds of the spotted time field.

My mission was absolutely thwarted. We stepped out of the building and walked towards the exit. Suddenly a woman came running out to stop the Civil Protection Man. They went back in. We stood around in the sweating air with the cops with guns that look like a cross between pistols and shotguns. They carry them like sticks. Like they really couldnt blow your head off. Almost like they could be used for a shovel instead.

The Man came back out. He told me Madame would like to interview me about my shipment. I said, sure, anything, ask me anything. Phanio had to go return the car. He said he would come back in a couple hours to get me. We went inside and then Madame said she was Muy Fatique. I was to come back in the morning at 8:30 to be interviewed. My ride was gone.
I called Phanio up and said can you come back? He said Sure.

I went out on the street and a bunch of rastas were getting into a heated argument. I moved away from them and sat under a tree and waited. Phanio came driving up. I got in and looked at him. He looked totally stressed out. I asked "what is wrong?" he said "there was an accident" and pointed to the back of the car. It was smashed in really badly. Shit.

He had tried to help me, and now he'd have to pay for his friend's car. I told him I would help. I apologized. He said it was his fault. He said you will see the accident scene in a minute. I thought we would drive by and he'd say "it happened here" and we'd continue driving. No. He pulled up on the sidewalk and got out. There were police and a crowd of upset yelling men. I retreated to a tree and sort of hid. Apparently Phanio had hit a dude's vending stand. It was destroyed. Batteries, glasses and playing cards were scattered on the ground.

It was getting ugly. I flagged down a moto and negotiated 250 goude for a ride to Jedco. He drove me home. Empty handed. Better than going to Brooklyn empty handed but I am feeling really homesick right now. I miss my cat.

Tomorrow I will try to answer all the questions right so the Madame Fatique will sign the document.

strawberries

Today I feel like I really accomplished something major. I woke up absolutely determined to take control of the customs situation. I was done with Mr. DB and his eternal cloud of the hopeless tomorrows. Just so done with it, completely over it. So I got completely determined to get it done myself. Today.

I got on the bike and drove over to the amerijet warehouse. I figured if I brought all the copies of the documents there, the lady who speaks perfect english would at least let me lay eyes on my shipment. I thought that would be a good starting point. When I asked her where she was from she said "all over" new jersey, new york etc

She said she could certainly let me look at my stuff.

I walked back into the warehouse and a nice dude named Julio showed me to them. There they were! I nearly wept with tears of joy at our reunion. Actually, I am lying, I was not ready to cry joy yet and I was more swept over by an intense urge to steal a fork lift and drive the shit all the way back to base on it. But I calmed down and took some photos.

I went back into the office and had a conversation with the lady from all over. I asked her what the order of events would be if my stuff was already in inspections as DB had claimed last thursday. She informed me that the Duon downtown which we had went to the other day to find the expedited customs orifice is the Duon (customs) for Ships. The airplane Duon is the one across from the airport. Oh! The sweet taste of discovery filled my taste buds.

She told me that there is a little mini customs office right there in her warehouse. We went back there and had a little chat with them and I took note of the meticulous order of the place. Folders were stacked in every corner of the room and there was several log books which look like they had not only survived the earthquake but also a few million years of erosion. They were the first of many of the exact same type of books I was to see today.


They poured over the logbook with their eyes, using their hands as if they were massaging the pages of the books. As if they were written in Braille. Their entire data base had crashed when the earthquake happened. Their data base was stored in the minds of the men and women who died. That explains much of the confusion among the customs workers on how things should work. Add to that the displacement of offices and normal protocol just flies out the window. Normal was ill functioning at best, I am pretty sure.

The folder was not there. She told me to go to the customs office across from the airport about two blocks away. So I jumped on the bike and went over there. I went into the office and was welcomed by a cool blast. I looked around and recognized the lady I "spoke" with last time. Spoke is used very generously in this instance. Mimed would be more accurately used.

I gave her the bundle of papers I had in my hands and made a gesture like I was praying. She smiled. "We will looking" I needed the originals to get my shipment out. She handed my papers to a young man sitting at another table. I watched keenly from across the room to see what would be done with the papers. The woman sitting next to the young man was totally crashed out with her head down on a pile of folders. This was not the first person I saw today totally unabashedly sleeping on their desks.


I watched the guy listlessly move the paper this way and that, saw him staring off into space for a while, I tried to look to see what he was staring at and it was a point somewhere up near the air conditioning unit. He then started to fan himself with my papers. That's when I caught his eye. He said something, I dont know what, but I vigorously nodded my head yes.

He signaled me to come over. That was my introduction to the guy that was to become my savior today. His name is Phanio. He spoke very little English but enough to communicate with me. He said, "we going to amerijet warehouse now" we went outside and I asked if we were going to walk he said yes. In creole you would say ale nan pye which means to go by foot. I said I have a motorbike. We got on and drove over. We went into the same small room, this time they had the tv on with what looked like a telenova playing on it.

They did more folder sorting and log book massaging to no avail. He asked me again if he could call the guy, Mr. DB. I said no, he is very angry. Finally I agreed to call him. He went from zero to 200 in less than a minute when he realized it was me. "I really dont like you" he yelled. I said "I dont care if you like me, where is my paperwork??" He screamed "It's at the Minister of Finance and I will call you when he calls me!!!" I hung up. I told Phanio, "It's at the Minister of Finance" He said, "we will go there and get it" There was another man standing there, who I later learned was a Pastor named Cange Victor. He has a school called "College Bird" He told me this later, so I will come back to it, but I will say that I recognized the name because one of the orphanages I visited said he gives them food. I asked the both of them if they thought I was dressed properly for the Minister of Finance. The answer was pretty clear. No. Cover your legs. Wear a button up shirt.

So I dropped him off back at the Duon and headed back to camp to get presentable. I was sorely tempted to wear a tutu and ballet slippers but damn if there were none available at the base. So I borrowed a nice white button up blouse from BZ and put on my only long pants, some army green doo dads. I showered before I got dressed. It works better that way. By "shower" I mean, I poured a bucket of cold water over me.

I went back and picked up my new friend and we drove off. We went further than I've driven yet. Some of the roads were actually better than the streets in Brooklyn. I was impressed. Not for long as we drove up the side of a mountain and down the other side in brutal traffic and mid day sun. We drove and drove and then drove some more me weaving in and out the mad loom of traffic.

We arrived and went inside the building. Found more sleeping workers at their desks. I said "muy fatigue" and pointed to one of the sleepers. He laughed.
We went to another location. I waited and nearly became a sleeping waiter. Better than a sleeping policeman, at least no one runs you over.

We went all over the place back and forth and up and down and finally Phanio walked out of one of the offices triumphantly holding up the elusive original airbill. Victory!


We made our way back to the Duon by the airport. I bought a new folder from a lady there. Watched more people sleep at their desks and then we went outside to get this old dude sitting under a tree to type some forms for us using a manual typewriter.

He had a rusty stapler and a beat up looking satchel to carry his mobile office inside of. He had old fashioned carbon paper. This guy was slick. I paid him 250 goudes. ( about $6.50) and he gave us the documents to complete our folder.

We went back over to the warehouse and met Pastor Dude again and waited for some officials who didnt come. There was a giant shipment of strawberries though and cold grapes from California. My eyes lit up when I saw them and the guy whose shipment is was noticed. He said some thing to me in Creole. I didnt know what he said but I knew what he meant, I say Oui! he gave me a bag of cold grapes and a generous helping of fresh strawberries. That really made my day.

I shared them around with the pastor, his friend and Phanio. We ate them and we talked. Turns out the Pastor had been waiting for four months for his shipment to clear. Sounds like he went through a whole lot more than me to get what turned out to be shelter systems domes! For a school he runs. . Buckminster Fuller strikes again! He shared with me that this morning when I arrived on the motorbike it made him very happy to see me. He showed me an amazing looking scar on his knee he got from a motorcycle accident.

The orphanage I went to visit last week when I drove through the crowded market was one of his. He asked where my office is. I told him. He asked if he could come visit me there. I said, Of course.
the view out on the warehouse yard, many orgs shipments are stalled here........

So, we waited for them to find crate number five which happened to be the dome covers on their palette. The guy, Julio, told me "we cant find it" He looked like he was joking. But he wasn't unfortunately. It was closing time. He said, "come back in the morning and we will find it' Not my favorite solution, but do able.

As we were walking out of the warehouse, my eyes were scanning every package on 4 or 5 levels of shelves. I suddenly spotted it! "It's there!" I shouted. It was on the very top shelf. They confirmed the correct number. Phanio said "You have snake eyes!"



As we were leaving I saw a whole stack of boxes being forklifted and there was this sound emanating from it. I looked over and realized that it was a shipment of chicks! I was excited until i realized that at least 60 % of the little guys were dead. Ug. Who ships chicks anyway?

I drove Phanio home. As I was turning the corner on the way back, a car cut me off and I put on the brakes. The bike I was riding has shitty brakes. I wiped out. I did a full face plant on the street. I landed on my chin and my arms and legs were akimbo like super man trying to fly on the ground. I rolled over and looked up. There was a bus load of Haitian people staring at me. All traffic had stopped. Everyone was watching me. A MINUSTAH dude ran up. His name was Hubert Gonzalez. He helped me to my feet as I was saying over and over, I'm ok I'm ok and he said in English "where are you from " I said New York City. His face changed with some sort of realization. He said where do you live? I said "across from Jedco" He picked up the bike which was still running. I got on. A car full of women were looking back at me with concerned looks on their faces. I gave them the thumbs up and patted my chest as if to say I'm really all right. I felt incredibly cared for. I drove off, kind of trembling and tearing up a bit. Just so much to process and so much effort put out and some real results coming back made me feel a whole lot of gratitude.

I drove up the dirt street to the base and saw some of my people sitting four against a wall drinking sodas. I pulled up. Lifted my helmet visor and said, "guess who's getting her shit tomorrow morning?" Aaron gave me the finger. That means "Fucking fantastic" apparently.

I am in my tent. It's a big tent that the Give Love people gave me. I can stand up in it. I have a table in it now, a small end table. I have the RYOB fan going on me. I am listening to the Books on my ipod. A little while ago a voice broke through the earplugs saying Lopi Lopi did you loose your phone? It was Sam. He was on the phone with the MINUSTAH dude who apparently found my phone on the street where I crashed. Sam said "someone found a phone after a motorcycle accident" and Did you crash on the bike? I sheepishly said, "yeah". I just got on the back of Les's bike and he drove me to the intersection and picked up the phone. Hubert Gonzalez is a real sweetheart.

The domes are almost here! Funny that the whole time they've been sitting in a warehouse a little over a mile away. Funny ha ha. Oh the hurting.

I'm tired! I have a bruised chin.

On Thursday, we will be building two domes in one day. That is the plan. I can't wait!

dream city

Sometimes it feels like a dream when traversing what they call streets in Port Au Prince.
Logic does not apply in this city.

I went today to the Duon aka Customs to find the Expediated Customs office. I found it. It was just as the NGO dude had described to me at the posh $116 a night hotel restaurant. It was a sparse air conditioned room. There were 6 desks. There were 5 men and 1 woman. They had nothing on their desks for the most part. One guy had a blackberry and a cell phone. One dude had a laptop and was listening raptly to pimsluer english lessons. I approached the only woman in the room's desk and put my motorcycle helmet down on her desk.

Communicating through a translator is extremely tedious. I say what I want to say while looking straight into the person's eyes. They speak back to the translator. They talk on and on. The translation is eon's shorter than the lengthy speeches they seem to be giving.

I ask questions. Like "what is your job?" I dont know if they get asked these questions.
Admittedly, I am a wee bit of a control freak. It doesn't work in translation.

I managed to find out that this office was indeed brand new as of last week and it was in fact set up to assist humanitarian goods entering the country more expediently. They, however, told me that in order to use their services, I would have to go to another location to register my NGO or as they call it here, OGN, I asked if they had an information sheet or pamphlet. The man smiled. No.

Julian and I walked over to the other location. He told me that this was the most dangerous part of Port Au Prince. It didn't look too dangerous to me, just a fucked up looking park with razor wire spiraling around it. Some dudes were walking around with bags of bags of water on their heads saying "Dlo" over and over and some other folks selling bananas and a group of cops chilling in the shade of a large tree. There was a statue laying on its side with its pedestal broken next to it. That's what happens when you put shit up on pedestals, I thought, they fall off eventually.

We walked into the other office building. A bunch of dudes were sitting around in a sort of anti chamber/entrance room with fans blowing on them. When we asked if the office we needed to go to was there, they said yes but we couldnt go in. When Julian asked them why not, the dude looked at me and apparently stated I was not dressed properly. I was wearing cut off jean shorts, a t shirt and my cowboy boots. I was driving a motor cycle for gods sake. It's hot as hell outside. What am I supposed to be wearing? A tutu? When Julian told me, I said "are you crazy?" which apparently does not mean the same thing in Haiti. You dont call people crazy in a light hearted way in Haiti. So many have been driven insane by the earthquake and it's a very touchy subject. I knew that but forgot for a moment in my incredulity. The man asked, Did she just say we are crazy? I got it right away and said, No, I said "are you kidding me?" either way the dude was not having my cut off jean shorts boots wearing personage traipsing around in their pristine rubble strewn courtyard.

Julian entered without me. He came out empty handed saying the guy said he'd email me the forms. Right then I got a call from BZ back at the base that Mr. DB (my affectionate name for the customs broker) had called and was coming by to pick up the copies of our paperwork to bring to customs. So we jumped on the bike and rode back through the dream city back to Rue Pelican and Grassroots United Base.

After lunch, Mike from MMRC and I took a drive up to Peitionville to pick up a replacement camera. I cant not document my project. So I had to get another one. It took a while going there and back. The ride was beautiful we kept going up and up and the air got cooler and there were alot of trees. Its the rich part of town as is true probably mostly anywhere in the world. The rich like to live up on the hilltops. I bought the cheapest canon I could find and we drove back down the hill.

At the base later, BZ, Scruff muffin, Delphine and Sam were cooking up a storm in the kitchen while Joanne the cook giddily watched. They had taken over the kitchen for the day to cook us a thai food dinner. The energy around the base was festive for no reason in particular and Aaron had a charcoal fire going in the back in a pit and in between chasing the rooster with a half burned log he was cooking chicken over open flames.

It was the best dinner I've had since being here. The sunset was gorgeous. I just figured out that I can get internet in my tent of all places so I am ensconced in my tent writing this blog and sweating my butt off waiting for the rain. I hope it comes soon. Oh, and the domes. That would be amazing if I could get my domes tomorrow.

I am hoping to go in the morning to visit an orphanage that is not on anyone's list. You have to hike up a goat trail to get to it. Mike said he would show it to me. There will be photos tomorrow.

I am changing my ticket which was supposed to fly back to JFK on wed. I aint coming back until I finish what I came here to do. I am not sure how long it will take. Everything takes so much longer here.

Thanks for reading.

cherry popped

i

in the back of the ill fated pick up truck headed to the beach


Today was a day off. Three of us set out on an adventure traversing Port Au Prince via tap tap with only broken french, spanish and unbroken english to aid us.

Haitian people are incredibly helpful, especially the men. They always have something friendly to say to women.

We ended up in a pick up truck ostensibly going to the plaza hotel but then I noticed we were headed out of the city, we were passing cite solel. I got us out of that one using my new york attitude. We saw some incredible sights today and I took some really fantastic photos. Too bad I'll never show them to anyone except the person who pickpocketed me.

I've had my cherry popped today! My pickpocket cherry that is. I borrowed a couple of photos of the day from Lanette from Fertile Earth, though. But I'll never see that one of the tiny pink shack with the entire family perfectly framed in the doorway or the awesome door with the prestige label painted on it or the national palace or the intensely crowded street scene unfolding down a narrow street on a steep hill or the enormous pile of knarled wood with the guy cutting it with a machete or the ginormous tangle of metal or the dudes in the barber shop or the ancient looking woman with the white hair sitting on the sidewalk with her hand outstretched or the colorful tap taps or the shop with a doorway showing the outside and a pile of rubble. and on and on (as kurt vonnegut would say)

But it's all good. I was going to give that camera away anyway.

I got a tip from a NGO dude at the Blanc hotel who was sitting in the restaurant with an apple laptop, an apple touch and a portable scanner. He told me there is a new office at the customs place downtown. It's called "expediated customs for NGO's" First thing in the morning I am so all over that place. Good thing I get up at 6am everyday.

I am considering buying a motorcycle to get around PaP with. My friend Richmond is advising against it because of safety issues. But getting around in a tap tap or a truck or car is just stupid. It takes 4 times as long, easy. I would sell it upon my exit from this country, if I ever do leave. I can't believe that non profit workers stay at a hotel that costs $116 bucks a night. That is insane.. Also the juxtaposition of the tent city in front of the National Palace and the Plaza Hotel is pretty jolting. We were walking along and there was a stage set up with a full sound system playing piped in music of a woman singing Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" and I was walking, listening to that and seeing the people's faces who were living there. It was another incredibly moving moment.

The day ended with all three of us riding on the back of a motorcycle all the way back to the compound.

Time for bed. I have a busy day tomorrow

thanks for reading and special shout out to my Aunt, Sister Mary!