Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Saturday, August 21, 2010
The beach
As I write I'm on a beach with a view of paradise. A picture of an ideal Carribean holiday. The beach is clean. The sound of waves calming. It's my last day in Haiti.
My host Carwyn said "I wanted to show you a different part of Haiti". This is different. Different from the Shada slum that I just came from. Different from the paediatric ward with blown incubators from the surging volatile electricity with no running water and sanitising cream. Different from walking into the feeding school in cite soleil slum. And different from driving through the earthquake devastation still very much present in port au prince through the tent cities and building rubble.
It feels bizarre being here.
My host Carwyn said "I wanted to show you a different part of Haiti". This is different. Different from the Shada slum that I just came from. Different from the paediatric ward with blown incubators from the surging volatile electricity with no running water and sanitising cream. Different from walking into the feeding school in cite soleil slum. And different from driving through the earthquake devastation still very much present in port au prince through the tent cities and building rubble.
It feels bizarre being here.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
St Marc
Several days ago I was in my dining room with my kids going crazy and then I phoned my contact in Cap Haitien saying he was with a potential translator and it was time to do some “hard core” negotiating. My children enjoyed jumping on my lap seeing the skype icons asking me what i was doing and trying to type with me as we were in the middle of negotiating a deal. As it ended i read these words “this is Haiti... things go wrong and get used to it.”
We’ve been trying to get hold of a contact in St Marc. Tried phoning, emailing and phoning some more. No joy. We’re banking on him finding us a hotel and giving us a ride down from St Marc to Port au Prince as well as having a meeting. No response, nor joy in connecting. It’s now dark as we are riding in this truck. Driving with light was difficult enough. In the distance are some thunder storms. We know because we see the heavens lights up from time to time. We’re now crammed in the car.
St Marc comes and we still are unable to connect. Our contingency is simply to find somewhere. After asking various people and even a motorbike escort taking us out of town to a dark guest house and then a drive back into town we find the hotel oriental. The generators were pumping out its weakened light as we went in and found our place of solace. The heat was fierce.
Our drivers and translator are leaving us tomorrow and we have no way down to Port au Prince. This could well be one of those “this is Haiti” moments.
... TBC
Road Trip
I keep remembering CJ Cregg (press secretary from the fictitious West Wing series) response to a billionaire bloke’s question of what big project could he undertake to direct his global good will and philanthropy. She said simply “roads” before the usual Sorkin-esque razor monologue-cum-dialogue would kick in. I remember it clearly as I bump across these makeshift roads next to the old one which was “swept away” by the hurricane (a disaster of yesteryear). We’re still 2 hours away from St Marc.
Here’s what I see: a wide stream running through between stony cliffs and vegetation next to it. The stream fairly mild filled with stones... beside it a makeshift track covered with stones and holes and right on its edge a jagged tarmac remnant of a washed away road. Occasionally, the road would reappear and then it would end and you can see that its end... but the dirt track would snake round. This is the major road running through the area.
I’m starting to think that sitting in the back of this pick up was not such great idea.
(Picture to come)
Here’s what I see: a wide stream running through between stony cliffs and vegetation next to it. The stream fairly mild filled with stones... beside it a makeshift track covered with stones and holes and right on its edge a jagged tarmac remnant of a washed away road. Occasionally, the road would reappear and then it would end and you can see that its end... but the dirt track would snake round. This is the major road running through the area.
I’m starting to think that sitting in the back of this pick up was not such great idea.
(Picture to come)
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
walking the line
at the refugee simulation that was put on at davos, there's a boarder crossing that is simulated. one of the actors says he experienced a border crossing just like this in Congo. it was commented on repeatedly during the debrief of the simulation of how scary that encounter with the guard is.
boarders to me mostly comprise of smiling at some camera and looking at a clerk who attempts to quickly work out where to stamp my passport. its tedious.
Dajabon is a border town. it's where the Dominican Republic borders with Haiti. entering the boarder is like entering a hive of people. the gates were shut with a hoarde of people wanting to com across. even there were a range of people touting for business offering some form of help. we were escorted by a 14 year old boy our translator who spoke no english and met us through a piece of paper with our names written on it.
confusion was rife. lots of noise. a myraid of smells and a general sense of slow control and clinging to your possession as a person would cling to some sense of something certain. something normal. 2 sets of paperwork: leaving one country and entering another.
after leaving DR through the gates and the people wanting to cross over we are "grabbed" by a man who says our names. it was a moment that clarified the confusion. a moment where sense came back. our translator transpired to have not been allowed to eneter the DR to come and collect us and sent the 14 year old lad instead.
we had gained several new "helpers", some shine my scuffed sandals, the more trying to shine them. our alcohol smelling helper who helped us cross over, or more like just walked with us, started to ask for money for their services.
i was grateful. i expressed this and thanked them before jumping into the truck for i knew i had just walked the line.
boarders to me mostly comprise of smiling at some camera and looking at a clerk who attempts to quickly work out where to stamp my passport. its tedious.
Dajabon is a border town. it's where the Dominican Republic borders with Haiti. entering the boarder is like entering a hive of people. the gates were shut with a hoarde of people wanting to com across. even there were a range of people touting for business offering some form of help. we were escorted by a 14 year old boy our translator who spoke no english and met us through a piece of paper with our names written on it.
confusion was rife. lots of noise. a myraid of smells and a general sense of slow control and clinging to your possession as a person would cling to some sense of something certain. something normal. 2 sets of paperwork: leaving one country and entering another.
after leaving DR through the gates and the people wanting to cross over we are "grabbed" by a man who says our names. it was a moment that clarified the confusion. a moment where sense came back. our translator transpired to have not been allowed to eneter the DR to come and collect us and sent the 14 year old lad instead.
we had gained several new "helpers", some shine my scuffed sandals, the more trying to shine them. our alcohol smelling helper who helped us cross over, or more like just walked with us, started to ask for money for their services.
i was grateful. i expressed this and thanked them before jumping into the truck for i knew i had just walked the line.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Hotel Massacre
sitting in my bedroom thinking about how to sleep amongst the town noise (loud music booming, motorbikes zooming past). its approaching midnight and we arrived at the hotel massacre about an hour ago.
the heat is bearable. even more so with the fan whirling. the room is small and the tv that hangs over my bed sits within a padlocked cage as i type beneath its cathode ray presence.
i'm not quite in Haiti. I sit across the river Massacre in The Dominican Republic. Only been here 6 hours. spent most of those hours sitting in a cab with our driver Wilfredo apart from our banana frita and southern fried chicken stop in ?
the roads were great for about half of the journey. i thought he was kidding when he said it would take 4 hours for a 180km trip. he was fairly accurate. i got used to the stop start routine, overtaking buses and motor bikes with their families sitting on them. the views were immense: rainbows, lush green hills, road side cafes, people sitting in their plastic chairs by the side of the road, rubbish dumps with people coming out with their plastic bags with other people's disposable treasures.
tomorrow we head over the boarder... but for tonight we dwell in hotel massacre. a hotel with a name that ought to send chills down any resident who has been brought up on slasher flicks. the name, however, bears testimony to a horror that saw between 20-30,000 Haitians executed over an incident known as the Parsley Massacre. somewhat scarier than any film.
the heat is bearable. even more so with the fan whirling. the room is small and the tv that hangs over my bed sits within a padlocked cage as i type beneath its cathode ray presence.
i'm not quite in Haiti. I sit across the river Massacre in The Dominican Republic. Only been here 6 hours. spent most of those hours sitting in a cab with our driver Wilfredo apart from our banana frita and southern fried chicken stop in ?
the roads were great for about half of the journey. i thought he was kidding when he said it would take 4 hours for a 180km trip. he was fairly accurate. i got used to the stop start routine, overtaking buses and motor bikes with their families sitting on them. the views were immense: rainbows, lush green hills, road side cafes, people sitting in their plastic chairs by the side of the road, rubbish dumps with people coming out with their plastic bags with other people's disposable treasures.
tomorrow we head over the boarder... but for tonight we dwell in hotel massacre. a hotel with a name that ought to send chills down any resident who has been brought up on slasher flicks. the name, however, bears testimony to a horror that saw between 20-30,000 Haitians executed over an incident known as the Parsley Massacre. somewhat scarier than any film.
Winding back the clock
Just over 7 months ago I woke up with BBC radio 4 stating how "this" was a sad event for an already struggling country. 3 children and duties kicked in before I could work out both the "this" and the "who" from the report.
As I got into work the news started cascading down. The scale of devastation immense. The response was shock. I wasn't alone in this feeling.
We had been deep in preparation for a launch of the business and UN partnerships website a project that has been 5 years in the making and also for the Davos Refugee Run.
Within a few days we had the first few phonecalls and then they flooded in. The question fairly similar "do they need... And if so how do I partner?"
This went on and on.
We were humbled by the public response. The information we provided sought to direct such an enquiry to a partnership.
7 months on I'm at gatwick airport about to board a delayed plane to the Dominican republic to cross over into Haiti to find out about those partnerships.
As I got into work the news started cascading down. The scale of devastation immense. The response was shock. I wasn't alone in this feeling.
We had been deep in preparation for a launch of the business and UN partnerships website a project that has been 5 years in the making and also for the Davos Refugee Run.
Within a few days we had the first few phonecalls and then they flooded in. The question fairly similar "do they need... And if so how do I partner?"
This went on and on.
We were humbled by the public response. The information we provided sought to direct such an enquiry to a partnership.
7 months on I'm at gatwick airport about to board a delayed plane to the Dominican republic to cross over into Haiti to find out about those partnerships.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
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