Snapdragon Ink : MyBlogHer Profile

 There is a well-worn dirt road that runs between the Health Clinic compound and the tent community of Noailles, home to over 5,000 people, and [singlepic id=53 w=320 h=240 float=left]just one of many tent communities in the rural sprawl of Croix-des-Bouquets. On my first afternoon in Haiti, I joined the team from the Haiti Empowerment Project to tour the area. Seven of us walked down the road – six Americans and one Canadian, along with several Haitians working as translators. For most, this was a return trip. Terri Bucci, for example, has been travelling back and forth to Haiti for the last six years as the director of the project. For two of us, however, it was very much a first.<!--more Keep Reading...-->[singlepic id=55 w=320 h=240 float=none]<span style="color: #ffffff;">.</span>There’s nothing quite like walking into abject poverty to make you painfully aware of your wealth, your full belly, your watch, your shoes, your sunglasses, your backpack with its small store of emergency rations, your bottle of clean water, your camera. God, that camera. It seemed suddenly huge and shiny and exorbitantly expensive. It bounced against my hip as I walked and I felt sick about it, sick at the thought of taking pictures of the despair around me, of the filth, the naked children, the torn tents. How could it be okay for me to tour this place – to spend a week touring places such as this – and then jump on a plane at the end of what amounted to an adventure and just leave? I knew my intentions were decent ones – that somehow my pictures and stories would help – but when that first small child tugged on my arm and told me he was “<em>guangou</em>”, that he was hungry<em>,</em> it was pretty damn clear that my intentions wouldn’t be feeding, clothing, or housing him any time soon.First, I noticed the children: their enormous eyes, their wide smiles, the way they greeted us excitedly. They called out “<em>Blan, Blan!</em>” – literally “White, White!” – to get [singlepic id=52 w=320 h=240 float=left]our attention and that call brought out more of their friends. They ran to meet us, to hold our hands, to hug our legs. Sometimes they asked for money or food, but mostly they just wanted to be close. And like children everywhere, they were full of laughter and silliness. It was the children who put me at ease with my camera. “<em>Photo, photo</em>” they said, posing with their friends and then crowding around me to see the results. They pulled faces at the lens and fell down laughing at their own ridiculous images. And I soon found out that my French and their Creole were close enough for us to understand each[singlepic id=56 w=320 h=240 float=right] other. So, as they checked out my weird tucked-in belly-button, my skin, my hair, I talked to them about their friends and their families. We shared high-fives and hugs and they showed me their toy – one palm-sized mechanized music box, the kind a fast-food restaurant might include in a children’s meal. A dozen kids were sharing it and the battery was wearing down but they got me to dance to the tinny sound anyway, laughing as I stomped about in the dust. When it was time to leave, to head back to our guest house, I told those kids they were “<em>vraiment belle</em>” - truly beautiful - then I hid my eyes behind my sunglasses so they couldn’t see my despair. I’m fairly certain they would have tried to console me.That visit turned out to be typical. Every time I walked through a tent community, or got out of a truck to visit a school, the children came running and they made me their friend, holding my hand as I walked.[singlepic id=51 w=320 h=240 float=none]<span style="color: #ffffff;">.</span>On our first evening, clouds rolled in over the mountains and thunder rumbled nearby. I sat on a chair in the wicked heat, working through my notes, semi-aware that I was looking forward to the storm. I hoped it would cool things down just a bit. And then I remembered the tents. Rain for us meant a cool breeze in our rooms as we slept; rain for those in the tents meant women would be holding their babies all night so they could sleep and everyone else would be standing to avoid the mud.[singlepic id=54 w=320 h=240 float=none]<span style="color: #ffffff;">.</span>None of this is okay. It is not okay that they are hungry, that they sleep on dirt and gravel, that they stand when it rains, that they are malnourished, and get their water from a well miles away. It is not okay that I, on the other hand, have a camera to take their picture and the wherewithal to travel on an airplane to see this for myself.And that, my friends, was just the first day.There is a well-worn dirt road that runs between the Health Clinic compound and the tent community of Noailles, home to over 5,000 people, and [singlepic id=53 w=320 h=240 float=left]just one of many tent communities in the rural sprawl of Croix-des-Bouquets. On my first afternoon in Haiti, I joined the team from the Haiti Empowerment Project to tour the area. Seven of us walked down the road – six Americans and one Canadian, along with several Haitians working as translators. For most, this was a return trip. Terri Bucci, for example, has been travelling back and forth to Haiti for the last six years as the director of the project. For two of us, however, it was very much a first.There is a well-worn dirt road that runs between the Health Clinic compound and the tent community of Noailles, home to over 5,000 people, and just one of many tent communities in the rural sprawl of Croix-des-Bouquets. On my first afternoon in Haiti, I joined the team from the Haiti Empowerment Project to tour the area. Seven of us walked down the road – six Americans and one Canadian, along with several Haitians working as translators. For most, this was a return trip. Terri Bucci, for example, has been travelling back and forth to Haiti for the last six years as the director of the project. For two of us, however, it was very much a first.  Read more >

 I was busy stacking dishes in the dishwasher when Grayson screeched at me from the top of the stairs:“Mummy!”  Read more >