Fish are friends. And food.

September 18-24

These buildings previously charged money for clean water, but the Haitians figured out how to rig the system. Now it's free.

            My second week began with a trip to one of Christianville’s satellite schools to deliver a nutritious meal of goat chili.  I sought to understand more of the food production chain.  Most of the diet in Haiti is grain-based, so it is crucial to get protein to the children.  Even after doling out 200 servings not all of the children were fed.  The arrival of the “blan” (foreign) missionaries halted classes while we played with the kids.  I broke the ice by handing out gum and was soon making fun of them as much as they were me.  The drive there and back was rocky on unpaved roads; bouncing around in the van, the missionaries and I waved at passing villagers.

The schoolchildren line up for a bowl of rice and goat chili.

"Blan! Blan!"

My attempt at saying 'Smile!'

          My own diet has seen a dramatic shift since arriving here.  While I am certainly being fed enough, the meals have a high concentration of carbohydrates, sugar, and oil.  Protein is a scarce commodity in Haiti.  My body has weathered a bit of an adjustment period… I may just now be getting over a spiteful canker.   

            This is part of the reason I am working at the fish farm.  We are trying to provide the orphanage and schools of Christianville with sufficient protein and nutrients.  Our current stock of 22,000 fish is not really enough to feed close to 1,000 kids once per week.  Fish is not the only animal protein they eat, though.  They also get eggs, chicken, and the aforementioned occasional goat.  Even a meal of each once a week is meager.  There are surprisingly few legumes to pair with rice for vegetable proteins. 

*Beep beep*

           The week before I left for Haiti, I ran into a friend who is an animal rights activist.  She found my affiliation with fish farming distasteful.  But the fact is there's not sufficient agriculture in Haiti to support a (human) vegetarian diet.  Milk would be a great dietary supplement, but I have yet to consume anything besides the powdered variety.  Animals can consume nutrients in forms we cannot, making them prime mediators in the food chain, especially in developing areas where people need all they help they can get.  The tilapia at the fish farm will eat rotten animals and plants, detritus, algae, and microorganisms.  Plus, they have omega-3 fatty acids without the detriment of increasing cholesterol.  The precious nutritional value and resource efficiency of aquaculture are essential here.  I inspected the agricultural fields at Christianville, orchestrated by two Nicaraguan non-profit workers – watermelon, mango, papaya – all crops that contain much sugar.  It seems that the crops that provide nutrients are not very profitable, and the crops that provide profit are not very nutritious.

            Not that I aim to become a flamboyant commercial aquaculture activist, myself.  There does seem to be something more humane about taking a couple home-reared fish out of the backyard pond to put on the grill for dinner, as opposed to scooping out buckets of bleeding tilapia.  Still, I will be doing all I can to increase production.

Oscar walks me through the mango mangrove.  There are too many weeds.

A papaya tree.  An Oscar man.

            Gasping gills are a minor qualm compared to my concern regarding the financial sustainability of this operation.  The majority of the harvest goes to feed the schools and orphanage, while the biggest fish are sold at market.  Even though over 500 pounds of tilapia were sold this month, it is not enough to pay for all the fish food.  I can only guess that this religiously affiliated organization is powered largely by donations.  So far the books have been closed to me, but I will soon need to pry open the ledger for affiliated projects. 

            And Christ is never far away in Christianville.  I attended another service on Sunday, held at a church on a small, scenic mountaintop where an American ministry is to build a compound (mentioned in my last post).  The bishop there, Odel, is a half-blind janitor at Christianville... actually, I can't tell if his name is Odel or Odin, like the one-eyed figure he resembles.  I saw him again later in the week at an art market where he tried to sell me goods at twice the price of the neighboring vendors.  I did not purchase anything there, but later in the day I received a Bible from Danette as she departed to the United States for a few weeks.  Prodding from the staff seems to have indicated I do not consider myself a Christian.  Most of the Christians here have revealed an ignorance concerning any other belief (including a discussion about Catholics not being Christians) that causes me trepidation in discussing spirituality.

            Definitively speaking, I have yet to do much.  A short report to my supervisors has helped me to crystallize my objectives.  I aim to begin transitioning away from solely observing to initiating projects.  Productivity works at a different pace in Haiti, so I shall have to put my nose to the slow grindstone.  If I sound wry, don’t take it too seriously.  The people are friendly, the culture is interesting, and the scenery has moments of unique beauty.  I am where I want to be right now.

Mwen pale kreyól piti biti.

September 10-17

            My flights to Haiti might have been the easiest I’ve ever taken.  After saying goodbye to my wonderful friends in Gainesville, I left the ground at 7:30am and arrived in Port-au-Prince at noon.  Having to arrange my collection of luggage, I was assisted by an airport staff member who would have been happier with more than my $3 tip.  Bags in tow, I fortunately encountered my liaison, Danette, immediately.  Danette is a vocational agriculture director from Florida with fingers and toes in many Haitian pies.  We had to wait for another arrival, so we met up with some non-profiters at a local hotel for lunch.  This was my first taste of the international community present in development projects, as two of them were Dutch.

            Back at the airport we picked up an American couple and their German friend.  Though the drive to Gressier was shorter than I expected, there was plenty to behold along the way – not the least of which was an openly burning garbage dump.  Driving through that toxic cloud was unpleasant. 

            With the sea to our right, the landscape along Highway 2 was a contrast of colorful decorations and austere living conditions.  Before too long, we turned off the paved road, heading towards the hills.  A few turns, passage through a gate, and I had arrived.  They immediately put me to work.

            Christianville is a secure mission that has projects in religion, education, and food production.  Their buildings are charmingly constructed and the compound is well maintained.  It is my purpose to work with the Fish Ministries non-profit to increase Christianville’s aquaculture (fish farming) production.  They have 10 large ponds for growing tilapia and 20 smaller basins for nurturing the fingerlings (immature fish).  It was the next morning that I took a tour of Christianville with Danette and was introduced to Josue (joze-WEE-(uh)), the fish farm manager.  He claims to have doubled production since he started working in March, while Danette mentioned that he had quadrupled production.  Though the Haitians tend to be humble with foreigners, I am inclined to believe Josue’s numbers.

            For the next week I shadowed Josue to learn all I could about aquaculture production in CV.  As I took notes, I became friendly with the other farm workers: Sonson, Makenson, Jean Remel, and Nene.  They are a cheerful bunch, who have made me feel wonderfully welcome.  Talking with them has allowed me to learn some Creole.  The language has been described to me as “French with all the nonsense removed.”

Sonson.  He did not like this picture.

Makenson.  He probably doesn't care about how he looks in this picture.
Josue on the right.

            This assessment was issued by Maha, an Egyptian finishing her studies at the UF Emerging Pathology lab here in CV, who, along with the other ‘blan’ (Creole for ‘white’, a.k.a. ‘foreigners’) staff members, I converse with at meal times.  Also on the roster: Laura, the guesthouse manager who kindly keeps everything functioning.  Sue, the grandmotherly operator of the orphanage.  Oscar and Rafael, the Nicaraguan agricultural workers from World Relief.  Kan, another lab UF researcher from Bangladesh.  Elizabeth, a Texas A&M student who is developing a community garden.  Finally, Pastors Harold and Raymond, Haitian ministers who have a strong English lexicon.  All of them are intelligent, caring people.

            Having comfortably settled into CV, I am taking part in both the Haitian and Christian cultures.  On Sunday, I rode with the American couple (Gabby and Abe), their German friend (Sarah), a Haitian tutor (Lele), and the driver (Juliom) to a church in Leogane, about one hour to the west of Gressier.  Our carriage was a taptap, a pickup truck with a roof welded over the bed, though they can be any kind of converted vehicle.  The taptaps are used as taxis, distinguished by vibrant paint designs. When someone wants to get off, they bang on the metal roof – hence, the name taptap.  The ride to and from Leogane had thrilling moments, as there are no real rules of the road.  Imagine looking out the unsecured back of a taxi as a Mack truck taptap careens towards you, weaving through lanes, horn blaring.  Imagine Mad Max meets a Fanta commercial and you have an idea of what it’s like driving in Haiti.

            The church was a cinderblock building with a tin roof and gravel floor.  It had no electricity for the new sound system that Gabby and Abe’s church had bought.

            After church and lunch, we went to another orphanage near CV.  It is unlike anything that most Americans are used to.  The orphans wash their clothes by hand with dirty water that flows in the ditch by the street.  The classroom is little more than plywood walls, a tin roof, bench desks, and a chalkboard.  The Madame who runs the orphanage gathered the children in front of us to recite Bible verses and sing while I squirmed in my church clothes.  We then went up the small mountain that overlooks Gressier to reach a spot where a third American ministry will build a third orphanage (there are at least 5 in the area).  Besides a nice vista to the sea, the location makes little conventional sense as a building site.  There are no roads to get to the location, only dried stream beds which the locals use to ride their motorcycles to and from town.  Our taptap took us most of the way before we had to hike the rest.  The ministry that will be building there will buy a fleet of ATVs to transport cinderblocks and supplies up the mountain.  It is their aspiration to dig a well for fresh water, though the soilless terrain means food crops can only be grown in raised beds with dirt carried up from the lowlands.

            Development is a struggle in Haiti. On the one hand are the locals who have been dealt blow after devastating blow and have almost no incentive to exert themselves; the other, fanatic and idealistic foreigners who have more work ethic than experience (myself included).  The unemployment rate in Haiti is 40-80%, depending on sources.  While it seems straightforward to hire locals to install infrastructure and teach them a skill, crumbling structures throughout the countryside serve as proof that Haitians are often incapable of following through with projects after foreigners leave.  That is not to say there is no hope.  CV has established a strong community with a success that has begun to permeate the local culture. 

The feed storage room, fish food on the left and chicken food on the right.
As you can see, there is currently no fish food.

            On the whole, my first week in Haiti has been enjoyable, thanks to the people and comforts of Christianville.  I won’t be getting too comfortable, though.  There is plenty of honest, hard work to be done.

What is that boy doing?

  

          And no air conditioning. 

Squirrelly.