Ayiti Toma

I’m laying in my bed, under my mosquito netting exhausted despite the fact that the most I did today was take a tap tap into Croix-des-Bouquets (about a 10 minute ride) so I could buy a new pair of head phones since mine are all but dead. This little errand is the most I’ve physically exerted myself since Tuesday when I somehow managed to drag myself across town in search of an internet air card at the local Voila dealer.

The reason for my recent fatigue has to do with my whereabouts last weekend which I will now recount for you.

Last time I sent out an email it was on the eve of hurricane Tomas’ arrival here in Haiti. When we first heard of Tomas the forecasts were foreboding. Most radars and predictions had Tomas projected to barrel straight through Port-au-Prince at a category 2 or even 3 hurricane. I had a moment of indecisiveness at this time, considering whether or not to head for the hills… Meaning come home to the U.S. and watch Haiti get pummeled from a safe distance. After consulting with some trusted friends, mentors and my spiritual adviser I decided to stay. With the decision made I started to formulate a plan. I needed to be in Port when Tomas hit so that I could get to the tarp cities to cover the aftermath. Thousands upon thousands of people were not evacuated from their camps around Port. Instead it was suggested over a loud speaker that they tie down their tents or seek shelter with relatives elsewhere. Everyone was holding their breath anticipating the untold lives that would be lost.
On Wednesday, the day I was supposed to travel to the Hotel Oloffson to hunker down for the storm, I woke up feeling awful with stomach cramps and you can guess what else. Recently, in light of the cholera epidemic, when one begins to exhibit symptoms that line up in the slightest with the disease, paranoia tends to set in. Or at least it does for me. I made the decision then that it would be best for me to be at a place where I would have access to some sort of medical attention or at least moreso than I would have in town. I didn’t like the idea of discovering I had come down with cholera during a hurricane and being stuck at a place I wasn’t as familiar with.
Thankfully, however, it turned out I had a normal case of the Haiti bouts, nothing a good daily dosage of CIPRO wouldn’t clear up.

Finally Tomas came roaring past Haiti on Friday… Luckily for the country it merely clipped the southern and northern coasts. It did, however, dump a good amount of rain across the entire country causing flooding and giving cholera a boost it did not need.

The day Tomas was coming through the director for Humane Society International, Chris, decided he was going to head south towards the “destruction” as he is very experienced at disaster response. At this point we were hearing reports that the southern coasts had been hit pretty hard. On a whim I asked Chris if he had room for me and he said yes. So I grabbed my cameras, a ton of plastic bags, some chewy bars and jumped in with him.

Leogane was the first major town we came to leaving Port-au-Prince and it also turned out to be the worst flooding we encountered the entire weekend. The main road going through the center of Leogane was completely washed out, and the main downtown had been turned into a river. When we dead-ended at the flooded road I had about 10 minutes to shoot before we found a way around it to an NGO Chris had connections with called All Hands. The group graciously agreed to take us in for the evening as it was too late to attempt to get through the flooding at that point. At the All Hands compound it felt like a large camp of hippies. Everyone stays either in tents on the roof of their half-finished concrete skeleton of a building or in bunks under the roof. There were about 80 people in all staying there. I grabbed an extra bunk closest to the open air and I remember waking up throughout the night to torrential rain wondering blearily if it was going to flash flood and if my cameras were going to get ruined even though I had them packed into black trash bags.

The next day we left with another passenger, one of the All Hands volunteers who had been out towards Les Cayes before and had volunteered to help Chris navigate there. Again, the most stressful part of the journey was getting though the flooding in Leogane and through a road block that had been erected most likely the night before by angry locals pissed off at the lack of aid and the fact that they were up to their knees in flood water in their make-shift homes. By the time we were able to pass through the crowd seemed to have calmed down and there was only the remnants of a burned tired on the ground with a bunch of rocks and broken glass left over from the protest.

We had to cross only one river and it wasn’t swollen enough to keep us from passing. After that it was smooth sailing for a few hours until we went through Olivier and found ourselves again dead-ended by what seemed to be a small ocean that had completely swallowed the road ahead. A handful of boatmen were calmly ferrying people across and a few tap tap drivers had their cars backed in and were using the water to clean their cars.

We were wondering whether it was always like this when we spotted a guard rail sticking out of the water. In broken creole I asked a boy if the water was less yesterday and he said it was. I then asked a few people if there was another road to get to Les Cayes. Once they figured out what I was saying everyone nodded and kept pointing back in the direction we had come and made a large looping motion with their arms indicating that if you turned left ahead there was a way. We got into the car wondering what we would find knowing that in our experience Haitians tend to say yes there’s always a way even if that means walking or swimming is involved.
To our great amusement we discovered not ten minutes down the road a fairly obvious turn off to a nicely paved highway. Dumb blans.
Anyway we ended up making it to Les Cayes without a hitch. Occasionally we saw a downed tree and there were places where mud had obviously recently been cleared off the road but that was it. The next few days we traveled further up the coast up past Devil’s Table and the most damage we found was when we met a couple who were clearing up wreckage at their seaside hut located not 200 meters off the water. They told us they lost half of their home, all of their animals and all of their furniture.

So in the end I had an impromptu tour of the southern regions of Haiti where I enjoyed beautiful beaches, amazing creole fish and I won’t lie, a few Prestige too.
On Sunday night I did also pick up something else… A case of what we believe was mild dengue fever. Thus bringing me to why I feel so fatigued after doing nearly nothing for a week but sleeping and taking tylenol in an attempt to combat the pain and low grade fevers. It’s been nearly a week since I first started exhibiting symptoms and I’m feeling a bit better than I was earlier this week. On Monday I plan on getting back out into the field though I will probably not be at 100% yet.

That’s the update. I will be pursuing more follow up on the continued cholera outbreak which as of today has killed more people than the hurricanes of 2008.

Thanks again to everyone for your continued support and love, I don’t have enough words to express my gratitude.

PS-If anyone was curious about the blog title it’s something I learned last week during my “coverage” of the storm. Haiti is the only country (that I know of) that has a last name–Toma. I heard that during the storm people were singing a Haitian song titled “Ayiti Toma”. Just a little factoid I found interesting.

Monday.

I’ve decided the best way to do this blog post is to just type up my latest journal entry.

October 26, 2010
Well. Lots has happened since Wednesday. First of all, I was able to hook up with the Water Missions people on Saturday. I went with them and photographed them working on Sunday dropping water purification systems, they were able to install one. It turned out to be good because not only did I make some meaningful connections, and a friend, I was also able to get a few good photographs of people waiting for water from a big Red Cross truck.

The next day I had Christian hire a moto driver and they picked me up from the Water Missions place. We then drove out to Saint-Marc (about 2 hours via moto) to go to take photographs at St. Nicholas Hospital (one of the worst-hit areas in the cholera outbreak).

I stayed there for about two and a half hours and talked to everyone I photographed and got everyone’s names.
At one point a large number of photographers/reporters/videographers showed up and made me feel ashamed to be grouping myself in as a member of the same media. It was nice, however, to be able to talk to people (via Christian) and to be able to communicate myself with them on a very basic level.

I’ve never seen anything like that scene with my own eyes before. It was difficult, but I’m glad I was able to go.

On the way home we stopped at “Digicel City” so I could photograph some women washing down in the river to get the visual representation of how most people clean things around here. I was proud of myself because I waded across and Christian in his nice jeans and Petionville shoes did not care to follow and I was still able to get everyone’s names, even without him!
We had to wait there about 20 minutes longer than I would have liked because our driver had another flat tire (yes, we had one patched up earlier that day), I suspected it was a slow leak. I remember watching the man as he “repaired” it and thinking he had NO idea what he was doing. But to myself I figured if it just stayed inflated long enough (slow leak, remember) for us to get to Croix-des-Bouquets we would be fine.
How wrong I would be.
I’d say we were about 15 minutes outside of “Digicel City” as a friend Nick likes to call it because of all the market roofs that are painted red with the Digicel symbol that line the main street when you pass through… Anyway about 15 minutes out going about 40mph when something went wrong with the back tire, and the bike began to sway. I felt Christian grab me (he was sitting behind me and I was sandwiched between him and the skinny driver) as the driver struggled to keep the bike under control. There was definitely a very brief moment where I thought we would be OK, I thought he would be able to coast us in.
But what is that law in physics?
The one where you can start off with just a little bit of side-to-side movement and keep applying the same amount of resistance at a steady rate and it will start to swing further and further out like a pendulum.

I realized we were going down quite calmly as we spilled going about 20mph. I felt my left leg get pulled under me so I was half spread-eagle and I could feel the inside of my calf, the bare skin, dragging alone the PAVED (thank god) road.
It didn’t hurt while it was happening, but I also remember thinking dimly that whenever we came to a halt I could be seriously injured.
Once we did the two guys got up immediately and I just sat there for a second and looked briefly at my leg which had been relieved of the first few layers of its skin, shearing away my dirty/ tanned tone, revealing my true blan self. A man who came running towards us, shouting, seemed to remind me that they drive like maniacs in Haiti and sitting in the middle of the road was just upping my chances of being finished off by a large camion.
(Without anyone’s help) I scooted myself off the road onto the shoulder not wanting to try my leg yet for fear of what I would discover. I’m pretty sure people were talking to me, yelling at each other but I just sat there. Then I picked up my leg and moved it back and forth with no immediate pain.
I suddenly flashed back to the night years ago when I had been searching for my new kitten at the Race Street house. Leo had gone missing hours ago. I finally found him after a few faint meows revealed him to be under a bush. At first glance I saw a few abrasions and his whiskers were strangely curled up at the ends like they had been burned, but that was it. I remember picking him up and setting him down and he just kind of drooped. I then (cringing now thinking back) tested his legs, bending and flexing them and he didn’t react. No sound. I found out later his pelvis had been crushed most likely from a car. One tough cat.
Back on the highway, I realized I wouldn’t really know until I teied standing up if I had broken anything. So I stood. It might have been about then that the Haitian couple pulled over. Again, I think they were trying to talk to me but instead of responding I took out my water bottle and washed my open wound with my hand. I then accepted cold water (cholera-free) to wash it with from the couple.
They ended up taking Christian and I the last 30 minutes or so to Croix-des-Bouquets after I gave the moto driver my last 500 gds to fix his bike with.
The couple chatted cheerfully, telling me (through Christian) that they had family in Boston and that I was a guest in their country, so naturally they would take care of me! They even pulled out their digital camera and showed me photos of their new grand child. This all seemed very strange to me.
At one point I decided to clean out the wound with some hand sanitizer which turned out to be the most painful experience of the whole ordeal.

In the end, I count myself very lucky. I was returned home where a nurse missionary tended to my wound with medical supplies that the veterinarians I’m staying with have a plethora of.
At the end of the day I was glad because I could walk (limp), I was alive, I got my photos and I got a discount on Christian’s day rate.
All in a day’s work.

ple belle plages

I just returned from a weekend in Jacmel, which is a beautiful town located over the mountains south-west of Port. Everyone I have talked to who have spent considerable time in Haiti rave about the beauty of Jacmel and the beaches there. Sometimes you can imagine the paradise Haiti must have been years back before the vast majority of the country was stripped of most of its trees and the water fronts and rivers were polluted with the waste of millions of impoverished people.

A boy walks past at a private beach in Jacmel

If you look out over the mountains that rise up around Port, especially when the low-laying afternoon clouds are making their way over the peaks, it’s still a sight to behold. Even while screaming down pot-hole riddled roads out closer to the coast, you can see through breaks in homes/shacks that the water wants to be bright turquoise instead of the muddy brown.

An old boat rests down the beach.

Port is a different place to live. Granted, I’m not staying in Port exactly, where I’m located is more of a suburb. It’s quieter, less traffic, less blaring music at all hours. But we still have plenty of all the above. The idea of visiting a place with beautiful beaches and a fresh breeze was intoxicating to me. When Richard Mears (a man I met last week who was basically supporting the amputee soccer team out of his own pocket) invited me to get a ride out with his family I jumped on the opportunity as it’s about a three hour drive.

A boy rests on an old boat on the beach.

After getting up at 3:30am and getting a drive out to Port courtesy of Chris (thanks again!) we were off. I slept through a good portion of the ride out there because fortunately for me the busload of Haitians we were supposed to be dropping off at a funeral did not show up at their pick-up place which meant I could ride in the air-conditioned, comfortable cab of the truck. We got there and I was able to hire a moto driver for the day, Samuel. Samuel maybe spoke five words of English in all which was good for me because I ended up practicing French/Kreyol with him all day. We visited many of the main plages near town and had a nice lunch of fish and fried banan (after arguing over the price-$6.25USD!!) right next to the water.

Soccer on the beach.

That night I camped in the backyard of a friend of Richard’s about 15 feet off the beach. The night started of calm and cool with a nice breeze and the soothing sound of the lapping waves there to put me to sleep. Like a silly girl who wasn’t born in Colorado, who hadn’t ever camped a night in her life, I didn’t put my rain fly up. I guess the thought of sleeping with it down to allow the fragrant, cool ocean breeze in was too enticing for me. As a person who knows Murphy and his Law well, a small voice in my head warned me. But I did not listen. I didn’t even get up when I awoke in the middle of the night to see the sky had clouded over and the waves had gotten louder.
“Gee, I hope it doesn’t rain.”
Back to sleep.

Where I slept.

I don’t know how much later, but I was awoken with a soft sprinkle of rain. I immediately jumped up, grabbed my headlight and bolted out of the tent thinking about the inevitable downpour-it doesn’t just sprinkle here. Luckily for me it held off long enough for me to get the fly secured. Then of course the wind started picking up and at that point I thanked my lucky stars that I DID grow up in Colorado, camping and going on canoeing trips with my best friend’s family where I learned how to make a decent dead man and to tie tents down quickly.

The tent held up well, it was more my stomach that kept me from sleeping in the later hours of the morning.

A woman walks down the beach selling hats.

I enjoyed another swim in the water and a nice little jaunt down the beach where I met some pisher pouisson (I have no idea how to spell it) fishermen. They referred to me (always) as “Blanc” like it was my name. One of them wanted me to photograph him when he was out working and another wanted me to pay him. Clearly, I was not the first blanc to be drawn to Jacmel for its beaches.

In fact, the day before I almost forgot where I was. Samuel and I pulled up to a beach and as I walked up to the water I noticed a small group of strapping young American men throwing an American football around in the surf. I thought to myself that I could have easily been in Florida and just as I was musing over this thought an old cotton thong washed ashore next to my feet and I was back in Haiti again.

Overall, Jacmel was just as great as everyone had said and I wouldn’t mind living there. Maybe someday I will.

In the meantime I’m back in Croix des Bouquets where there may be more smelly fumes but at least the chicken dinner down the road only costs $3.25 USD.

Ariel cools down in the surf after playing soccer on the beach.

thoughts from the roof.

View from the roof as a huge storm approaches.

I can see big, heavy, dark rain clouds on the horizon riding in over the mountains to the east of me. I’m sitting on the flat rooftop of the hotel I’m staying at in Croix des Bouquets. It’s about 3:30pm here, past the major heat of the day. Still, I’m sitting in the shade and so grateful of the cool glass bottle of Coca Cola that’s sweating just as badly as I am at my side. Part of me (the Denverite I-get-no-rain-so-I-love-it part) hopes it will rain. The rain cools things off.
But it also creates misery for the vast majority of the country.

A girl crossing the road in front of our hotel

Thousands of people living in tents and under tarps that are worn from months of such rain do not appreciate the precipitation the way that I might. I even acknowledge the fact that I’m okay with its possibility only because I’m already home. To make the trek from Delmas (where I have been working) to here calls for multiple tap tap rides, certain traffic (or blokés as they say in Kreyol) and some good walking through the dirty city streets. In the heat this is no fun but in the rain I might venture to say that it’s definitely undesirable.

A snapshot from my lap in the back of a tap tap.

Upon reflecting on all of this, I look over at the distant threatening thundering clouds and I hope they steer clear. But just like most things in Haiti, what will happen will happen, no matter how much I hope it might not.

I’ve been here about a week and a half now. It’s no secret that I found a story last week that I’ve been working on for the last four days (with the exception of today). I’ve been hanging out with the country’s first ever national amputee soccer team. The association was formed in April after the earthquake spurred the international amputee community to invite Haiti to their World Cup that is to be held in Argentina from 17th through the 27th of this month. This invitation is a very big deal because most teams have to earn their place to go to the cup. Haiti’s team was officially culled down to 15 players in mid-August and they’ve been training together at a temporarily donated space ever since.
Anyway, I will post the story when I’m finished but I thought I would provide an update for all of you wonderful people who helped send me here.

Ariel Valembrun, 29, one of the goalies from the first ever Haitian National Amputee Soccer Team, waits for his turn to play during practice September 30, 2010 at the Quisqueya Christian Chapel in Delmas.

That’s all for now, folks.

P.S.- Remember, if you know someone who needs a photographer in Haiti from October thru December 6, tell them to contact me
via email:
leahmillis@gmail.com
or cell:
+50931153156

Croix des bouquets

I am here!
When I got in and through “customs” and I was out by the gate I took out my phone and it wasn’t working properly yet. It was at this point through my fumblings that I started to get taxi drivers asking me if I needed a taxi. “Non! Non!” I was trying to use my blackberry with one hand and fend them off with another.
“Excuse, me you can use my phone” I looked up and my Knight in Shining Armor was a portly man with a thick Oklahoman accent and a typical brightly colored polo shirt with the stitching of whatever missionary group he was with on the chest. I thanked him and got a hold of Christian (my driver) who told me he would meet me at the gate.
The missionary from Oklahoma looked like someone had recently told him a great joke after I gave him the phone back thanking him. Christian is a fixer, thus he hired us a driver and the three of us wove through the streets of Port Au Prince (with one great reverse-up-the-road-through-traffic move) and eventually pulled up to The Oloffson. I checked in, got to my room and promptly fell asleep, not having gotten much rest the night before. I would say the first 24 hours I was kind of walking around in a stupor. Sometimes the panic-filled thought would rise up, threatening to burst the surface, “what am I doing here?” and I would have to fight to keep it at bay.
Finally during the afternoon of the 24th a huge storm rolled in from nowhere. All the Haitians either thought it was a hurricane or (Christian said) thought it could be another earthquake and all ran from their homes. It was quite the storm but turned out to be nothing more. It blew over trees everywhere, power lines and I saw a huge billboard that had fallen (miraculously missing a large tent city across the street). Kelly, a woman I have recently met, said five people were killed. Well, the storm seemed to snap me out of my daze. I met three women who just got done filming with “Clowns without Boarders” a really neat organization. They are making a documentary about them called “Send in the Clowns“. They took me into their arms and further helped me come back to reality.
I called Christian and he came to get me from the Oloffson the next day (a day early). He got me a Haitian phone (tres exciting) and then we took numerous taxis and tap taps to get to the airport where Chris met me. Chris is the director of operations of Humane Society International in Haiti. He’s a cool guy with tattoos up his arms and neck and a dry sense of humor. He took me back to the hotel in Croix des Bouquets (a “suburb” of Port Au Prince).
I feel much better and happier at this hotel. It’s a bit quieter and maybe a tad safer but still not too far from PAP to take tap taps in (if you know what you’re doing).
Anyway, right now there’s a kind of a summer camp being hosted at the hotel so there are many children running around currently. The two girls jump roping in the photo are two of about 20 currently staying with us. They have been TRYING to teach me creole.
That’s all for now!
-Leah

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Haiti Video

This video created by Mahala Gaylord explains a little bit more about why I’m going back to Haiti.