The Rake

The Rake

Every morning under the trees next to Blains living room we have chapel.  A number of simple wooden benches were buried in the ground for people to sit on, some large concrete rings in the ground add additional seating.  I would often go early just to sit and think under the coolness of the trees.

The base is pretty clean in most respects.  For example, each morning before devotions a national rakes the chapel area to free it of debris, leaves and any trash that accumulated during the night.  He always uses a branch from some sort of tree, probably a thorn tree judging from the multiple tines and general ‘ugliness’ of the tool.  It is too short and the man is always bent to the ground as he rakes.  I noticed a couple of weeks ago that someone had given him a regular rake to use.  It was new, had a long handle and was red.  I watched as he used it for three or four minutes, and when, so he thought, no one was looking, he leaned it up against a tree and resumed using his branch.  Once again, he was bent over and doing twice the work as the branch only covered a half of the area as the rake.  I wondered about it.

At dinner yesterday Sarah was telling me how frustrating it was to try to explain things to the Haitians.  “They listen and nod their head in understanding, but then they go and do something the old way.”  An example was shared how a company came in a couple of years ago and provided solar ovens for the locals to use.  They normally use wood for all their cooking fires, but wood is scarce and a valuable commodity in Haiti.  Most of the land has been deforested and the vegetation replacing the hardwoods of long ago isn’t really suited as a fuel.  The solar ovens worked great because the sun is intense here.  The locals used for a short time but when the donators left the area, they resorted back to using their wood to cook with.

A great asset here are deep water wells.  SP sponsors a program to drill deep wells in order to get to the cleaner water in the aquifers.  The shallow wells, which are common, are heavily polluted from the trash and dumping throughout the countryside.  The issue with deep wells is that, in order to get the water to pump, the well has to be primed with a little water.  The people have been taught and shown time over how to do that.  It’s been noted that some of the wells go unused.  It is because nobody will go through the trouble to prime them.  “It’s not my job”, they will say in response to inquiry.  So the shallow ones are used and the deep ones are not.

I experienced this myself when I was loading cement bags onto skids with Junior and Betta.  I took some time to show them that the bags need to be interlocked to hold the load together.  They just couldn’t grasp the concept and kept throwing the bags on in any order.  I had to stack many of the bags because they wouldn’t conform.  Eventually, after many attempts, they did adjust; but I noticed later they were stacking cement bags haphazardly again.

A culture is defined by how it changes over time.  As technology improves the people adjust in how they live.  The States is an example of this.  The industrial age offered great change to the citizens and they embraced the future.  Automobiles changed our lifestyles.  So did the mechanization of appliances and tools.  The generations of today have morphed into a computerized society with social networking, instant information and knowledge at the fingertips.  The fast changes in the last twenty years have forever changed who we are.

Haiti is different.  They adhere to the old and simply refuse to change who they are and what they do.  There are idiosyncratic changes that I see; like telephones.  Everybody here has a cell phone.  Even the poorest person dressed in the worse garb will be seen on a cell phone talking to someone.  Maybe it is the only mark of status within grasp and affordability.

A number of NGO’s (non governmental organizations) that I have talked to have said the same thing about the Haitians.  “They will not change,” is the term heard most often.  I think of God’s dealing with the Children of Israel during their forty year wander in the wilderness.  God did these amazing things for them in miracle time and time again.  But they seemed to always resort to their old ways like idolatry.  He called them sticknecked and unteachable, unwilling to change to His new technology of faith and trust.

I mentioned a couple of months ago about picking up trash on jobsites.  The crew pretty much understood that I liked to pick up trash and put it into a container to take back to base.  I’ve observed that when ‘I’m not looking’, they toss their trash aside.  It is their way.  When with the white man, do what he wants; but when he is not there, do what you want. It is a custom ingrained from old; from generations of prior training, taught from grandfather to father, and father to son.  It permeates every aspect of their lives and their spiritual being.

It is deeper than just the outward expressions.  I had a different interpreter yesterday at the river. He attends the church Robert has been working on and professes to be a strong Christian. He was telling me how he was deported from the States a year ago because he had come illegally as a boy.  He had an American wife and an eleven year old daughter and said he was trying hard to return.  On the other hand the conversation had started out how he was wooing a Haitian girl to marry him.  It didn’t make sense.

Another man, who also professes Christianity, has a nine year old daughter with the woman he lives with.  A year and a half ago, he lost three children, two of them one, the other two.  I’m not sure they were with the same woman whom he is currently not married to.

Our actions dictate who we are.  That concept also flows from our innermost man.  The earlier statement mentioned doing what the white man wants while he is around and then do what you want after he leaves seems to be who these people are. It too carries over into their spiritual life.

So, how can these people really change?  I think the only way to help the Haitians is for God to do His kind of spiritual makeover, the kind that comes from the inside that bypasses the understanding of the mind and results in the changing of the heart.  Then those nationals that have that real change will be able to spread it to those who don’t.

How does that come about?  I’ve heard of missionaries that have been here for twenty or more years who still have the same issues with the Haitians, “they nod in understanding about changing ones’ life, but then go and do it the old way.” Some of those missionaries have left Haiti in frustration, unable to grasp the concept of ‘stiff necked and rebellious’

I don’t have an answer for the question.  It is a difficult issue that, I feel, is compounded by unchecked giving to a people who will be whoever you want them to be, for the moment.

The Old Man

The Old Man

I spent yesterday at the river digging gravel for more road construction.  There were only two trucks running so I had quite a bit of extra time to stockpile and watch other activities along the gravel bars. 

Last week I had met Pierre and his sisters throwing rocks into piles.  This day I saw his father doing the same.  I recognized him along with two of his daughters, one being the same sister that had worked with Pierre the prior week.  He was an older man, probably my age.  He walked stiffly and his face was weathered like leather left in the sun for too many years.  I only saw a couple of teeth when he talked to his daughters and he had a stern look similar to one whose outlook on life was grim.  He wore an old orange tee shirt, faded blue dungarees and an old farmers cap on his head. He didn’t move fast but was consistent in tossing rocks into piles.

I watched him for a little bit then moved the loader up to one of the piles so they could load rocks into the bucket.  There was little room to help as there were now four people tossing; I think Scotty must have beamed the other one down from somewhere else.  I moved the rocks out of the large cavernous hole that I had dug and unloaded it across the river as high up on the bank that I could get; that was where the father was pounding the rocks into crushed stone. 

When I returned my two trucks were back so I loaded them up.  In between bucket loads some other Haitians had come around and were dancing in and out of the gravel mounds I was making to pick out more stones and toss them into piles.  I looked over my shoulders and noticed four more people in the hole tossing sand into small volcano like mountains.

After the trucks left two Haitians motioned me to come move their stones out of the crater.  I had enough gravel stockpiled so I did.  In the meantime a single axle dump truck pulled up next to one of the rock piles.  Four or five more Haitians jumped out and started tossing rocks into the back of the truck.  I dumped my load on the side of the bar and started to cut a better access in for my trucks.  The Haitians loading stones motioned for me to pull up so they could toss stones in my bucket.  I reluctantly did.  After dumping them I returned to smoothing my access road.  As I backed up for another cut they once again motioned me to pull up.  I shook my head, ‘no’, and resumed my excavating.  On the next pass back they did the same, this time with the outstretched arm motion that says, ‘why aren’t you helping me?’

I took a time out, stopped the loader and looked around.  I saw two groups chugging sand in the hole, another group making two rock piles in the same locale.  Above on the rim, there were five guys waiting on me to load their truck, another two groups had materialized tossing more stones with the expectations of me moving them since they were in my working area. 

I thought about what Travis had told me about not being too eager to work on behalf of the people.  He said that, ‘before you know it, there’ll be thirty trucks lined up to be loaded.’  He was right, though instead of trucks, there suddenly were around fifteen people in five or so groups working feverishly in my way.  His additional comment was that if you help one person, the others will expect it, too.   And if you don’t help them they will get angry at you for not helping them.

I looked at the man waving at me, put the loader in gear and moved downriver about 50 yards with the front of the loader away from them.  After ten minutes a man walked down to where I was, looked at me and pointed to his pile of rocks.  I sadly shook my head and looked away.  Another ten minutes went by and a little girl was on my other side staring at me.  When I looked at her she pointed back at someone else’s load and motioned for me to come.  I slowly shook my head and looked away.

Fifteen minutes later I looked over my shoulder and saw that everyone had dissipated.  I saw my trucks coming so I moved back over to the pit to start loading them.  I noticed the old man and one of his daughters still pitching rocks at the bottom of the hole.  After loading my trucks I cautiously looked around but saw no one else in the immediate area. 

My loader disappeared into the cavernous hole I had dug and, together, the old man, his daughter and I tossed rocks into my bucket.  Shhhh, don’t tell ANYONE.

To Change a Tire

To Change a Tire

I noticed the truck tire, still on the rim, on the ground next to the dump truck.  Someone had removed it the night before after noticing that it was flat.  The lug nuts were no where in sight and a piece of wood lay nearby.  Those were the facts as I saw them.

I thought about working on it this morning but I decided not to since I didn’t know if it needed replacing or needed patched.  The crew wandered in around eight so I thought I’d just sit and watch and see what happened.

It was a little strange as everyone seemed to know already about the tire.  I suppose Sony had let them know about it since he was the only one not around. 

Betta was the first to leap into action; of a sort.  He took the garden hose next to the sea container, turned it on and hosed the tire.  Meanwhile, Kiki, Mono, Andre and Jules filed out of the storage container loaded with assorted hammers and pry bars.  Betta took one of the bars and started prying the tire bead up.  Andre grabbed another bar and started prying, too.  An argument ensued.  Of course, all work stopped while a forum was held on whose prying was doing the most.  It wasn’t  just those two either, the other men jumped in just as fast to throw in their opinion.  It ended in a few minutes and the prying resumed along with two of the other men jumping up and down on the tire helping to keep the other side of the bead in the rim groove.

Eventually the tire popped off.  A new one was rolled out of the storage compartment and dropped onto the concrete.  Mono came out with a cup of motor oil and gave it to Junior.  He dipped his hand in it and started smearing oil around the tire bead.  Meanwhile Betta brought the rim up, found a rag and cleaned the dirt off of it.  Andre popped up with an oil soaked rag and started to lubricate the rim.  Once done they laid the rim down, put the tire on it and established another discussion group on how to position the tire on the rim and where to start prying.  Tensions rose, volumes reached feverish pitches and everyone was yelling at once.  It reminded me of a cock fight.  Eventually the hands  stopped waving, a pry bar was inserted and the tire started its way onto the bead. 

Once the tire was on the bead they set it up and leaned it against the truck.  I started the service truck up to charge the air tanks with the air compressor.  Once up to pressure Andre aired up the Cheetah, a tool used to blow a bunch of air at one time into the rim to set the tire beads.  Of course, Andre didn’t insert the air chuck correctly so all the Haitians in a radius of ten miles immediately informed him of such …. Actually it was only the six watching him; although it very well could have been all those in a ten mile radius by all the yakking in Creole, waving of hands and feverish emotions.

The tire finally got its initial charge of air.  The chuck was changed to a regular valve stem type and filling the tire ensued.  We have four air chucks, none of which work very well and all leak air.  Each one was used sixteen times during the filling process.  In between each chuck change tempers flared, Creole was exchanged in every note and pitch of the sound spectrum and I could feel the breeze produced by the hand motions and arm waving.  Of course that added another thirty minutes to the inflation procedure.  I could only sit by and watch with a small smile and a slowly shaking head.  I was amazed how many words per second could actually be expressed in Creole.  I think it exceeded the speed of sound.

The tire finally filled with air.  It was rolled over to the truck and aligned with the axle.  It appears the jack settled during the night and now it does not want to jack up.  That mysterious board next to the truck is placed behind the tire to keep it from rolling away and another board meeting is called as to its proper usage, and also to determine if there is another jack in Haiti.  Another one is appropriated from the service truck and further negotiations ensue as to its proper location.  Then the truck is raised enough to slide the tire on the shaft.  Lug nuts appear from thin air, all but two at least, and they are drilled into place with an impact wrench; no particular order or torque needed …. Its Haiti.  Another fiery, multilingual expression of blame and the additional two lug nuts come flying out of the truck cab.  Betta, in good form, screws them on and sets them with the impact; no specified torque required.  The jack is lowered, debris is relocated to another unimportant part of the lot and the tire is finished.

I could only stand in amazement and wonder how it happened.  A new tire was on the truck.  So I guess that in Haiti, it takes at least six men to change a tire.  One to do the work and five to explain how to do it better.

Sounds like the States.

Stargazing

Stargazing

Something I like to do after dinner is to go to the helipad, lie down on the concrete with something under my head and watch the stars.  It is relaxing, reflective and one never knows what one might see.

Today was a generally uninspiring day.  Didn’t do a whole lot of what I would consider constructive work so I thought I’d spend some reflective time under the stars.  Dinner was pretty good; beef ribs (I think) with mashed potatoes, mystery veggies and some cookies that were actually crunchy.  Afterwards, as I was walking back to the tent, I thought; hmmm, good night for a view.

The temperature was in the lower seventies with a gentle but consistent breeze from the southeast, that’s where the mountains are.  The sky was a little bit hazy, so visibility wasn’t the best.  But in the brighter stars were there, and a circular area above the base where I could see through the haze let enough starshine through that it was worthwhile.  To the south was the constellation Orion.  A crescent moon was just setting over the mountain to the west.  I’ve been told that planets shine from reflective light so they don’t sparkle.  Based on that theory, I saw what I thought was Jupiter above me and Venus close to the setting moon.  They were the brightest things I could see and shone with a steady brilliant light in the sky.

My wandered to a time long ago when I was a teenager at a camp in Colorado.  I had been recently saved and spirit filled and felt like finding a retreat of sorts from the hubbub of the camp.  A couple of close friends and I ventured up onto a lookout point on the mountain overlooking the valley to sit and pray.  I remember the incredible view of the stars from our lofty perch.  They were bright and uninhibited by the meager light of the town far below.  The clarity that night in summer was like a perfect crystal and the stars shone with an unmatched intensity.  It was a fond memory of contentment in the Lord.

Flash, squirrel, I mean, shooting star.  Yes, I saw one; it was faint and not very long; but it was still cool.  Nice thing about stargazing is that there are squirrels that interrupt on occasion; but they are usually good squirrels, well worth watching. 

My minds wanders on the events of the day.  Robert is sponsoring a church construction project on the side a few miles from here.  We took river gravel over there last week and prepped it for the concrete crew.  Today we moved materials like rebar, buckets and wheel barrels along with some long concrete forms for them to use.  Most of the time was spent running to and from the site and then loading and unloading.  Not to exciting as days go, but needful nonetheless. 

Squirrel!  I mean, hmmmm….this one probably is a satellite.  It makes a beeline for the horizon and a rather fast clip and disappears.  Funny how that stuff just pops out and catches the attention.

The gentle breeze reminds me when my good friend Gary and I used to lay out on the back balcony at the Madison house and stargaze in our sleeping bags.  One or more of the kids would join us, it was an adventure for them since they were still young, and usually fall asleep by midnight or so.  There wasn’t a lot of light pollution in Madison in those days.  Gary and I would talk about life and watch the brilliant display of celestial lights before us.  It was fun.

Along the southern horizon is a star that twinkles a steady blue, red and then white.  It sits below Orion and is rather bright.  I don’t know its name but it is grande.

When I worked for Colorado College one of my tasks was to take students on fieldtrips.  One fall I took a week long camping trip with Anthropology to Chaco Canyon in Northern New Mexico.  It is one of the most remote places in the States with zero light pollution, except for the visitors center which pretty much shuts all of its lights off after nine.  That particular night there was a club of amateur astronomers out at the center with their telescopes.  The Park also had a 16 inch reflector telescope that was built privately decades ago.  These folks had set up positions on the scopes with views of things like Saturn, Jupiter and a number of star clusters and galaxies.  I went around and saw them all; it was magnificent, for me, a once in a lifetime experience that I will never forget.

It is funny how the mind wanders from one thing to another when it stargazes.  I think that is what makes it so relaxing, along with the unexpected excitement found in ….. SQUIRREL      -- that was a big one, too.  It was white and yellow and soared across the sky like a bottle rocket. 

Ah, stargazing, makes me wonder and wander at the same time.

A Different Kind of Christmas

A Different Kind of Christmas

I guess it should have been obvious that, since I’m in Haiti, my Christmas Day would be a little different.  It was.

I didn’t have to get up early to open gifts.  So I didn’t.  I slept in to a respectable nine o’clock.  After that I wandered down to the kitchen where a number of people were munching on fresh cinnamon rolls that Jake had made up the night before.  They were good; I had three … shhh …. Don’t tell anyone.

Next on the agenda was a white elephant gift exchange that John had arranged.  I brought an I tunes card that I didn’t know what to do with and wrapped it in a large tree leaf; I tied it closed with some long grass.  I thought it looked pretty good so I placed it behind the tree next to the wall.  Twelve or so people showed up and we opened strange things and passed them around.  There were some good laughs.  I ended up with a box full of cloth and some thread.  Maybe I should take up sewing and make a quilt.  Naw, I don’t think so.  I left it in the eating area; I’m sure it will miraculously disappear over time.

A little later in the early afternoon I spent some time on the electronic communicator; Facebook, yahoomail, gmail and the likes.  It was a little weird talking to my family on Christmas via this medium.  As an older guy I kinda like seeing faces; hearing the voice; sharing a real laugh; I’m not sure the computer is a personal enough way of showing ones affection and love.  But on the hand, I was glad that I at least had that.  It made me feel a little bit closer to home.

I almost wandered off to sleep but discovered that my Yoga class was in five minutes.  Yeah, yeah, I know …. Yoga.  It sounds so …. Mystically eastern.  But after working with it a few times I’ve found that the stretching helps my back not hurt as much and my muscles to be a little less cranky when working.  Besides, Blane, one of our resident Canadians (eh?) had a friend visiting, another Canadian (eh?) who is a certified Yoga instructor.  I was curious what his take was on Yoga versus Christianity and wanted to participate in the short class he was offering. 

I actually participated in one of his classes yesterday and enjoyed it.  Shane was feeling a little under the weather today so we settled for a short walk up and down the beach.  I enjoyed that more as I really just wanted to chat with him some.

On the Beach

My personal trainer, Shane ... until tomorrow at least.

Shane has been working for a number of years as a Yoga instructor.  His current employment is working with his local school board in Vancouver.  He provides Yoga classes for challenged students: those with ADD, anger issues, or are unruly or unmanageable.  It is in lieu of a physical ed class and he has written the curriculum and works closely with the teachers and family.  He describes it as a ‘non faith based practice’ class and focus’ mainly on learning to be in control of your body.  He does this though the stretching and orderliness of the program he has devised.  He says he has worked with as many as 60 students at one time but prefers the smaller classes of 20 to 24.  They meet twice a week for the entire school year. 

As we walked down the beach I asked him how he compares his classes to the mysticism that Yoga is usually stereotyped with.  Shane is aware of the fear people have in that respect.  He states that, as a Christian, he feels it is good to look at other sciences to see what they have done and to apply some of their actions if they bring the desired results. As a Christian he feels that those disciplines are not a threat to his beliefs because he knows who he is in Christ. With Yoga, he feels that one can glean some great body and mind controlling disciplines especially for those kids who are lacking in those natural skills.  The results he sees has reinforced that.  Some kids, destined to a life of mind interfering drugs that doctors may prescribe, have shown great strides in controlling their moods and actions.  It has nothing to do with mysticism but has everything to do with self control.

I was impressed by Shane’s transparency.  Inwardly, I wondered about the non- medical opportunities this could present to children subject to these behavioral issues.  I decided to keep an open mind. 

I do have to say that his class, a forty minute introductory presentation, was laid out well, explored the limitations of your body strength, and focused a lot on body balance and stretching.  And I did feel better afterwards.

A number of the staff spent an enormous amount of time in the kitchen preparing a wonderful turkey dinner complete with stuffing, applesauce and mashed potatoes.  John, once again, stepped up to the plate and made his apple dumplings for dessert.  I’m passing on that as I write this entry; I’m quite happily full and will not overdo it.

One last event; Tom set off an array of fireworks from the helipad.  My typing was interrupted one last time as I simply had to sucuumb to the magnetism of the event and step out to watch.  I don’t know what it is about fireworks but they remind me of a simpler time; one of gathering around as a family to watch the fiery wonders in the sky.  I can remember mom and dad piling us in the back of the station wagon when we were kids and he’d drive us down to the ‘new’ mall at south Shadeland Road in Indianapolis to watch the July 4^th fireworks.  It was one of those times, like on the movie The Sand Lot, where family stares together at the show, or, as in our own family, would sit on the banks of the Ohio River in Madison and watch the display shooting upwards from the barge in the river.  It is an event that always triggers nostalgic memories of growing up, of family, together watching and laughing; it simply cannot be missed.  

So ended my Christmas Day of 2011.  Different events in a strange land far from home; warm greetings from family via electronic medium; sharing ideas with a new friend on the beach; traditional meals with new faces; fireworks on a warm but comfortable evening.  I suppose it was a different kind of Christmas.  But that, in itself I suppose, was not bad at all.

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve

Christmas Eve has always been a special time for me.  I remember sitting next to my dad during the Christmas Eve Candlelight Service at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church when I was small.  Usually I would fall asleep during the sermon but would always wake up for the candle lighting time when the lights were all turned off and the church was lit by hundreds of candles why we sang ‘Silent Night’.  It was a memory burned into my heart for a lifetime.

I miss being with my own family and especially my wife this Christmas Eve.  Last year her and I were also apart from my kids when we had to go to California to be with mom as she encountered her own life changing events.  I was glad I did as that was my last Christmas with mom; a reminder that life is always too short and underplanned.  I miss her much more than I thought I would.

This year I spent the evening with a group of new friends singing carols in a frigid tent due to the AC being set too low.  Representatives from Ecuador, Finland, Canada, England, Haiti, and the United States sang in different languages the common songs that unite us as Christians.  Everyone, wrapped in blankets and shivering much like a snowy Christmas Eve in the States, joined with voice and laughter to replace our blood relatives for the evening and become a chorus of one before the Lord, the purpose for our gathering.  A reading from Luke on the helipad under the blazing stars finished the evening with everyone passing out Christmas wishes and hugs.

Like last year, this will be a special time of remembrance. 

It also will put remembrance in me to hold dear the times I have with my own family, especially at this time of year when the commonality of not just our blood joins us, but also the commonality of our faith in Jesus that reminds us that He pulled us together as a family under his shadow for all eternity.  That makes this Christmas Eve time special. 

And I thank the Lord with all my heart.

Respect

Respect

With my 56^th birthday today, it makes me the oldest worker on campus.  I don’t feel like that I’m the oldest here, although I’ve noticed in subtle ways that I am sometimes treated as such.  I’m not real sure how that makes me feel.

I first noticed this trend a number of weeks ago while the rubble crew was installing the first septic field.  It was an above grade mound system that requires many layers of material put on a level plane covering a large surface area.  Each layer was roughed in by the excavator and then raked in by hand.  I was shooting grade and helping to rake and shovel each of the layers of sand, rock and dirt.  After a couple of days doing this I began to notice the nationals putting the surveying stick in my hands more and more, and taking my rake out of my hands more and more.  I felt like they thought I was doing their job by raking and shoveling so much so I didn’t think too much of it.  So I ended up shooting grade a lot.

A couple of weeks later we were installing another mound system for the expansion project.  I had been on the loader most of the day moving material around with the fork attachments and also carting stone when needed for the laterals.  On one occasion I put a little too much stone in the ditch.  I popped out of the loader and grabbed a rake to level it out when Francois and Jules came up and took my rake.  I asked what they were doing and Francois, in his broken English, stuttered something about my heart.  I was a little taken aback as I never thought of my labor in the heat and humidity being an issue with that.  But they encouraged me to get back on the loader and bring them some more stone; they would level the area just dumped. 

On Thursday the crew was leveling out an area behind the offices for the erection of a new medical tent.  I found a rake to level out some dirt but Andre and Betta took it from me and proceeded to do the work.  This time they would not give it back to me.

Last week Robert, James, Francois and I took the truck into Port au Prince to look at a church site for removal.  As we got ready to leave I got into the back seat; James, our interpreter, was just getting into the other side.  He said that I had to get out and move to the front seat.  I nonchalantly said that I was going to let Francois sit up there.  He looked at me and replied, ‘no’, you have to sit up front.  I looked back and said, ‘why’? He said, ‘it’s a place of respect.  You are the oldest member here and it is a place of respect for you to sit in the front seat and be driven to Port au Prince.  I kind of shrugged it off but then he again said, ‘no, I’m serious.  You move to the front’.  So I did.

On another occasion the crew was traveling to a nearby jobsite.  I came up last to the truck and started to hop in the truck bed because the cab was full.  Before I could even lift my leg over the bed channel, the two rear doors flew open and two of the nationals said, ‘no, no, you ride in truck’.  I said, ‘no, I’ll ride in back; it’s ok’.  But that was unacceptable.  Junior jumped in the back before I knew it and I was, once again, ushered into the front seat.

I’m working with other men in the age bracket of the early twenties to the early forties.  Yes, I am older and it is tough for me to acquiesce because I enjoy working hard and working up a sweat.  I feel like a contributor in that respect.  But I’m finding that younger men also want to contribute and one way of doing that is to be able to express respect to the older men by letting them work the ‘easier’ jobs or by letting them sit in the front seat where they can be chauffeured to the work site.  In one respect, it is quite difficult to do that because I feel it makes me look ‘better’ than the younger men.  On the other hand, it makes me feel somewhat honored that they want to protect me from the labors that tend to  come easier to them because of their age. 

I am grateful for this ‘custom’ that they have.  Not because I get to drive in the front seat all the time, but because it shows me that someone, somewhere took the time to ingrain in their children that with age comes a level of respect.

I guess now I have to learn that it is gracious to also receive it.

I won’t tell them I made a telescoping rake that fits into my pant leg.  Think they’ll find out?

Rocks

Rocks

It would seem that rocks everywhere in Haiti; except, maybe, in the sugar cane fields.  No, no … they are there too.  One thing Haiti isn’t short on is rocks; big, little, micro, macro, annoying in your shoe rock, blasted under your tire rock … a rock for every occasion and unoccasion, if that, in fact, is a word in itself … spell check says no.  But rocks seem to be a way of life here.

The river is a great place to get rocks.  A vast deposit that stretches to the ocean and goes inland for miles and miles; and is hundreds of yards wide and many, many meters thick.  This is the river gravel we use for foundational pads and roadway base.  It digs up relatively easy, goes down like butter and packs like a good road base should; hard.  Earlier this week we used a couple of days up transporting rock to remake some roads.  Today and yesterday the material was transported for a church foundation.  So all this week I’ve spent my time down by the riverside shoveling vast quantities of, you guessed it, rock.

One of Pierre's rock piles; see if you can spot the machete and sugar cane

MacWhile in the process of digging creek gravel with the loader I’ve become an informal friend with Pierre.  I had a great picture of him and his sisters today; but I erased it by accident, so it is lost …. Very lost.  Anyway, Pierre wandered onto our jobsite at the river a week ago.  He would dart in and out behind the loader to pick up rocks and toss them aside.  He was steady at it and, every day I was there digging, he was there tossing.  Eventually, he acquired a nice size pile of rocks. 

Yesterday and today Pierre was back.  As I piled and moved gravel he was there again, tossing rocks and making piles.  Today, he brought his two sisters.  The trucks I was loading had long runs in between loadings so I wandered down to where Pierre was tossing and indicated that he should toss the rocks he accumulated into the loader bucket.  He and his sisters jumped at the idea since they were hauling them to a central location with a plastic 5 gallon bucket.  So I spent time moving their rocks while waiting on the trucks.  I think I actually spent more time moving their rocks than I did loading our own trucks….but I had the time and they had the rocks.

By days end Pierre and his sisters were accompanied by a brother in law, and two other family members.  We actually made three piles of rocks along with two piles of sand that we found in veins further into the hole.  They were quite happy for the help.  James and I had extra water and food for lunch so they gladly took that and tossed rocks and split up the food amongst themselves. 

As the day grew on the serious countenance they started with grew into smiles and laughter as we made a game of digging and tossing and dodging the loader. 

I stopped and talked to Pierre via James for a few minutes.  He has been doing rocks for a long time.  I asked what he did with them.  He said he takes a hammer and splits them up and makes crushed stone to sell.  A single axle load brings around 50 bucks and can take up to two weeks to make.  His father does it, he does it, his brother in law and, probably, his entire family of eight siblings all make rock to cover expenses.  When they run across a vein of river sand it is like gold to them.  Sand doesn’t have to be crushed, only piled; and it brings a higher dollar from a buyer. Another money maker for them are the larger rocks.  Most of the crushed stone variety are around fist size.  The larger ones that take two hands to carry are put in another pile and sold as foundational stones.  So that makes, lets see, four piles:  One for crushed stone source material, another made from the source material, one for foundational stones and a final one for sand.  And yes, it takes an enormous amount of manpower and time.  In addition, when a load is sold, the truck comes around to pick it up …. And Pierre still has to load it by hand. 

Pierre and his family were not dressed very well.  He had on some canvas shorts and a shirt twice his size.  His shoes were similar to thongs.  One of his sisters had on a long dress with printed flowers on it.  The other sister had on a short skirt with a t shirt … she was barefoot.  They worked hard enough to work up a sweat; they smiled and laughed openly when the occasion arose, and when it was time to drive the loader back to the Lamb Center for the weekend, they jumped up and down waving their arms and flashing huge perfect smiles at me in gratitude. 

Pierre was manlier; he stood perfectly straight, smiled and gave me two thumbs up.

Motorcycles

Motorcycles

As in Colorado, motorcycles are everywhere. But in Haiti, they are used more as tools rather than as pleasure.

Everything here is expensive.  Cars carry a high price tag because of the import duties and shipping costs.  So do trucks … and equipment … and fuel.  Gas prices are around five bucks or more a gallon; diesel is higher still.  Motorcycles are an inexpensive form of transportation for many of the people.

Most of the motorcycles I have seen here are made in China.  They are not very big nor do they have the monstrous engines that the bikes in the States have.  I’m guessing they average around 200 to 250 cc’s for the typical bike.  They also have very quiet mufflers, in fact, it is really hard to hear them as they are coming down the road.  When stopped you can’t hear them at all.  Most bikes, though, have very loud horns; that compensates for their quietness.

Motorcycles play a major role in transportation in Haiti, not just for saving money and taking up less space, but they provide the same service as the tap taps.  If you recall, the tap taps are super small pickup trucks that have been decorated like fancy birthday cakes on wheels.  The beds are covered and have seats on either side along with hand rails and steps out the back.  They are constantly driving up and down the roads, pulling over at the most inopportune times to pick up and drop off passengers.  I’ve seen twelve to fifteen people crowded all over the tap taps.  A ride is generally a buck, so it’s cheap transportation.

 The motorcycles also provide a similar service.  They congregate around the tap tap stops and pick up and drop off passengers who might be traveling off the main roads.  It is common to see two or three passengers squeezed onto a motorcycle roaring up a dirt or gravel path, commonly called a road, to some distant and unknown location.  Today I saw three adults and three kids on one bike; one on the gas tank, the other balancing on the handlebars, the rest squished in between smiles behind the driver. It is a common form of transport and culturally acceptable.

The bikes also provide a working tool for these two wheeled commuters.  I saw a guy carrying a passenger who was carrying a ladder; perpendicular to the direction of the bike.  It was at least a six footer; I wonder how he fits between the trees?  The funniest sight is watching a bed mattress coming down the road. It must slow the bike down as it is kinda like hauling a large sail on the back.  I’ve seen animals, babies, boxes, groceries, and virtually anything you can imagine in the arms of a passenger merrily zooming in and out of traffic on the back of a motorcycle.  Yesterday a motorbike came down the road dragging a twenty foot piece of angle iron.  Sparks flew off like a grinder.  I wonder how much shorter it was when he got home?

The Great Haitian Silver Roof Dance

The Great Haitian Silver Roof Dance

A month or so ago the base manager requested two roof coverings be moved.  They provided rain protection for the motorcycle fleet which is no longer to be used.  They are big; probably twenty feet by forty.  He wanted them removed quickly and intact as they might be useable in the future.

The removal went smoothly.  The rubble team unhooked them from the perimeter wall, cut the supporting posts, put a brace under the roof and moved them with the fork attachment on the loader.  They were leaned up against the perimeter wall further towards the kitchen with the help of twenty or so nationals.  That finished the project; until today.

Once again, plans and layouts changed.  It was time for the roofs to be moved to the ‘other side’ of the wall, across base and, yes, mostly intact.  John, the base manager, had already cut most of the big one in two, thinking that it would be more manageable.  Once again, the Haitians came to lay it on the ground so John could finish cutting the roofing metal so they were ‘mobile’. 

After lunch the rubble crew continued with their project of adding fill material to the ground outside the new offices.  I was on the new backhoe loading Kiki’s dump truck on the far side of the property with creek gravel.  Junior and I waited in the creek for Kiki to return for another load.  After a while I shut the backhoe off to conserve fuel.  Across base I heard what sounded like a loud boom box playing some sort of Haitian melody.  Since the ‘neighbors’ property to the west tends to harbor noisy parties most hours of the day I didn’t think much of it.  A few minutes later I noticed that the boom box noise had risen in intensity and almost sounded like a riot of people arguing, yelling and carrying on (Haitians tend to sound like that a lot; especially when someone has an idea someone else though of).  I looked at Junior with bewilderment but he only grinned and slowly shook his head. A few minutes again passed and the commotion grew louder and nearer.  Then I noticed that it was singing; in Haitian; very loud; resembling some foreign tribal chant.  I pulled the backhoe forward for a better view around the sugar cane.  Just at that moment a very large silver roof came around the corner of the wall; it was so fast that it leaned into the turn like some mad race car at Daytona.  It bounced up and down in rhythm with the music, each vibrato rippling the metal surface in a smooth beat.  Underneath the heavy metallica were twenty or so Haitians singing at the top of their voices, laughing and moving the disembodied roof like a troop of ants parading a sacrifice to some distant god.  The dancing roof with the forty plus feet kicking up dust accelerated after it finished careening around the corner and sped down the dirt road like some scared gazelle trying to outrun a pride of lions.  In another thirty seconds it was hoisted to its new location against another perimeter wall.   A cheer and laughter followed for twenty seconds and then, like a magicians poof of smoke, the Haitians all disappeared. 

Call it team work, like when they unloaded the concrete blocks late into one evening; call it being goofy, like Americans can do when in the middle of a rigorous hike with full packs and loaded rifles.  Either way I was positive that the Great Silver Roof Dance will forever go down in the annals of Haitian history.  It will be sung for generations like some ancient Hobbit tale, and will bring a tear of laughter to the eyes of those who share it with their young.

Past Projects

Past Projects

When I arrived in Haiti in November, a the rubble team had encountered a problem with the rubble removal program in our location of Leogane.  An international contract was let by the Haitian government to an American Company to come in and build a rubble recycling plant along with giving provision for the removal of damaged structures.  As a result there was some miscommunication between our group and the authorities of Leogane.  Many of the structures that we were under contract to do were given to the ‘new’ contracted out of country country.  In many ways, it was fortunate that this happened because we were able to perform all the dirt work and septic projects for the base expansion.  We are looking at other projects, though, in other communities not under the Leogane jurisdiction so we will be starting back up after the new year.

I’ve enclosed some photos per request of a couple of other demo projects that the team performed before my coming.  They give a good example of what we will continue to do here in the upcoming months.

Andre Gene and Robert getting ready to demo

Smaller house coming down

Lamb Center site prep for foundations

Typical earthquake cracking

More of same building

Coming down, down, down.

Project in Port au Prince

Church in Port au prince Project

We took a two hour drive to Port au Prince today to review an upcoming project scheduled for early January.  The church was heavily damaged by the earthquake two years ago and is now ready for removal.  Members of the 1500 congregation removed the roof and items worth saving, a building has been designed by donors from the States and the project is ready to begin.  Our job will be removing the rubble and possibly doing the preparatory grading.  The final structure is 150 feet long by 85 feet deep.  It will barely fit on the land provided and it is located down a steep, narrow and windy dead end road. Depending on our scope of involvement we should be there around two weeks. Should be fun!

Access road to church

Looking at church damage

Interior view

Looking towards street

Front of church

Roads

Roads

Roads in the United States are excellent compared to Haiti.  The well made interstate systems of concrete and asphalt are examples of a first world country.  Even the Romans, a first world empire in ancient times, put vast resources and engineering skill into building their roads.  After over two thousand years, some are still used today.  The condition of a nation's roads will determine how well its internal commerce functions.

Roads in Haiti are a challenge.  One major highway runs between Jacksonville Base near Leogane and Port au Prince.  It is mostly paved in asphalt but has many short sections of dirt and stone.  Rough road abounds, heaved sections of pavement pop up here and there from the earthquake and shoulders are pretty much nonexistent.

‘Secondary’ roads are made of crushed concrete that has been pounded into a crushed gravel of sorts.  The lime makes the surface somewhat hard, but it is prone to heavy potholing and a great unevenness.  They are rough and slow going.

Once off of the pavement the roads are mostly made of rubble or dirt.  They are narrow and dangerous.  In the rainy season they turn to mud with large pools of water and deep ruts.  Many of the poorer people live in the back country between the sea and the mountains off of these oversized goat paths. Some of the houses we have demolished are on these roads.  The equipment barely fits down them but they are heavily traveled by the locals on foot, donkey, and cart.  It is these roads that we upgrade.

The rubble crew starts by moving in the equipment to a site selected by Travis.  The dozer is dropped off as close as possible to the location and then driven in; there is not enough room to bring the tractor and lowboy.  This can be rather tight at spots as the thirteen foot blade doesn’t always fit too well between some of the walls and houses. The loader goes to the river where we can mine the river gravel to use as a road base. 



Getting ready to load

Our dump trucks are loaded there and then Kiki and Sony transport the gravel back to the work site.  The drive is slow not just because the roads are rough, but because they are also so narrow.  The trucks barely can turn around in some spots but always seem to do so.  They dump the load in the goat path, or whatever is there, and then the dozer grades in the new road.  It is wide and flat and the locals are very grateful for the final product.  

Mining the river gravel

Providing basic roads for the Haitians is just another little part of what we are doing here.  It may be small, but the ‘thumbs up’ we get from the Haitians tell a greater story of appreciation that crosses the language barrier.