Just the Facts

October 24 - 30

            I awake in the middle of the night to the sound of my clock, unable to return to slumber as I fixate on the monotonous, boring ticking.  Boring, boring into my head, despite all the whisperings of midnight, the only thing I hear.  Having no intent of its own, it frightens me with the reminder of things done and not done.  A feverish onslaught of thought stirs, and I turn to fantasy as a distraction.  Conjurations of dragons and long roads and fame and old friends sweep me back into the hushed multitude of sleep.

            As a situation becomes dull, repetitious, and unappealing, my mind wanders afar.  Who is so different from this?  How should I let this affect my writing?  Should I subject my audience to variations of my routine in confined circumstances?  Should I exaggerate some drama or boast philosophical musings?  If my description each post is to be novel, I shall have to become increasingly subtle in elaboration.  As important as objectivity is in investigation, I am willing to sacrifice accuracy in this account in favor of interest.

            I raise the question of representativeness.  While I enjoy diplomacy and mediation, in no way do I wish to be a politician.  Certainly, I am not fond of being told to hold my tongue.  And there lies a conflict; wanting to be fully expressive, yet also respectful.  To want to be part of a larger whole whilst retaining individual character is a curious dilemma.  It is uncouth to express frustration of my surrounding situation, and subversively pretentious to do so of my own person.  Perhaps if I deprecate myself enough, I will be thought humble.  If I criticize myself, I might be wise.

            All of this to say that I lack the righteous fortitude of marble and limestone that so many others seem to espouse.  I am unsure.  It is implied that I should find assurance in worldly happenings; that if I keep good enough records understanding will unfold before me.  Yet I find that it is impractical to develop a full comprehension based on my personal empiricism.  Unfortunately, I also find that many of my communications have been muddled, due in no small part to my own doubt.  How true is the presumption that conviction assures achievement? 

            I wish I had more to tell about what I have been doing here.  I could glorify playing with algae and chicken shit.  That approach could get old, quick.  I do a little day by day and see incremental differences.  Nothing I am doing is difficult or revolutionary, but it wasn’t being done before I arrived, so at least I am a minor conduit for improvement.  The days are largely the same within the fences of Christianville.  On a couple of occasions I have been allowed to venture off of the campus.  It is always a delight to ascend the hills towards the heart of the country, even if it is only for less than a full hour.  The freedom to go where I please is sorely missing, as are other, lesser freedoms.  Small sacrifices are to be expected in this kind of work, right? 

            No, dear reader, I am no paragon of resolution.  Perhaps you can relate to the feeling of unknowing.  I am not taking any of it overly seriously, however – simply put, I’m still in pursuit of consistency while entertaining a comfort of imagination.

Don’t break a leaf

it’s much too fragile

and could have been of value

Don’t breathe too much

you’ll waste the air

a thing so very dear

Don’t look upon

a still lake, perfect

lest your gaze disturb it

Do naught ever

let all happen

and you might be forgiven

The worms are drying! The worms are drying!

The Seasons Never Change

October 6 – 23

            October has been an intensive month.  The weather is surely not as grueling as it is during the summer, but it is almost always hot.   I have had a lot of help from people visiting from the States, implementing trials that may help supplement the fish feed. 

            One way in which we seek to achieve this is by growing our own feed.  The most interesting of these plant prospects is moringa, a leguminous tree [edit: not leguminous, just hardy].  Called the “miracle tree” by the Americans, moringa is resilient and packed with nutrients.  Just as important, the fish like the taste of its leaves.  We have also started growing worms.  The red wrigglers will consume the cafeteria’s food waste and provide a nutritious snack for the fish. 

            There is not much glamour in feeding banana peels to worms, goat manure to algae, and fish waste to plants… but recycling these nutrients into a food web should please any supporter of environment and efficiency.  Working with nature has a steadiness to it that can be lacking in human interaction. 

            I hope you will forgive me for the short post, dear reader, especially after over two weeks without report.  My engagement here in Haiti is a full-time commitment and I have not paced myself as I should have, perhaps.  In other words, at this moment, the blog is a slog. My mind is slow and the words don’t flow. 

            Maybe my lack of expression is a good thing.  It gives me a chance to listen.

Dogs Get None

September 25 – October 5

            My usual Wednesday night post was stalled when my trip to the countryside was rushed upon me, then dragged out.  What I had anticipated to take two days turned out to be over four.  As educational as the experience was, I was antsy to get back to Christianville where my work waited for me.

            Earlier in the week, I had been tinkering with some trial techniques for the aquaculture system, which are intended to supplement the purchased fish feed.  My first test is with a semi-aquatic tuber (root vegetable) I found next to the pond outlet.  Having sent a picture of it to American scientists, they seem to think that it is some kind of arrowroot.  I had been placing various local plants in the ponds to see if the fish would eat any.  This particular plant seems to catch their fancy.  If it is arrowroot, it has about the same protein as the commercial fish feed we use.  So I began using it as food in a small, cubic meter basin.  The five fish in there have been consistently nibbling at it and seem healthy.  The arrowroot is thriving off of the nitrogen-rich effluent that exits the ponds, potentially serving a dual purpose of water remediation and feed supplement.

            The other trial was with something called periphyton.  Periphyton is the aquatic, largely autotrophic, microbial community that grows attached to substrates.  The periphyton grow using nutrients floating in the water, making the water cleaner for the fish and providing an additional food source.  Tilapia will eat just about any kind of organic matter that isn't wiggling (and plenty that are).  How do we foster periphyton in the nutrient-rich water?  Add substrate!  In our case, bamboo.  The idea is, administer some bamboo, the microorganism grow on it, and the tilapia graze on the microorganisms.  In fact, the fish farmers had already done this.  Their method of application was not optimal, however; they just threw in the bamboo.  This is not really good because whole bamboo floats, meaning (1) half of the bamboo is above the waterline and (2) the submerged half isn't getting sunlight.  To remedy this, Josue and I quartered the bamboo and strung it together with some fishing line.  Unfortunately, the fishing line was too weak and it broke as we put the bamboo back into the pond.  Now I am trying to find some twine or wire to tie it together.

            These trials (in every sense of the word) are an example of how work here is simple, yet slow.  Another hiccup came a few days later while we were collecting eggs from the breeders.  Most of the fish are treated with hormones to become males, which prevents overpopulation of the ponds, but the co-ed breeders are kept in a separate basin for (obviously) reproductive purposes.  Tilapia are especially easy to farm sustainably because they are mouth brooders: they keep their eggs and young safe in their mouth.  Other fish, like salmon, spawn in particular conditions, making collection more difficult.  With the tilapia, you just extract them with a net and empty the contents of their mouth into a container.  This container is then placed in a sterile hatchery, where the baby fish, called fry, are born.  Unfortunately, our aerator broke down once we had collected some fry and they all died.  Hopefully the eggs will be able to hatch after the lack of oxygen.

Please don't film me.

            While the fish have been undesirably rustling at death’s door, some undesirable people have been rustling at ours.  Just before midnight on one inauspicious nocturne, there struck three staccato reports that silenced the chorus of frogs and insects.  As it turned out, there were some would-be thieves who were trying to break into the one of the vacant houses on campus, upon whom the guards fired a triad of warning shots.  We in the guesthouse kept alert over the next two hours as another six rounds were unloaded.  Finally, one of the guards informed us that they would be posted at our front door to deter any ne’er-do-wellers.  I suppose the event had little effect on me, as I promptly fell asleep.

            It was about this time I welcomed a change of scenery.  The opportunity to travel was provided when I learned that Oscar, one of the Nicaraguan farm managers, would be going into the mountains as part of another nonprofit’s extension program.  Expecting to be gone Thursday and Friday, I was surprised at lunch on Wednesday when Oscar informed me that we were to depart immediately.  I hastily packed a tote and we were soon speeding to Port-au-Prince.  We entered the World Relief compound that Oscar does volunteer work for, and we spent the night.  Early the next morning we got into the "ambulance" (a Land Cruiser) and began our voyage outwards and upwards.  It wasn’t long before we left paved paths behind, bumping on rocky roads into the cool mountain clime.  The escarpments we skirted were unguarded, allowing for a full view of the dried riverbeds bellow.  One particularly steep segment was known as “chen jwenn okenn”; that is, ‘dogs get none’.  The ravine was so severe that only birds would be able to get at fallen bodies.

This Catholic priest prepares moringa leaves for organic fertilizer.

Almost all of the old-growth forest has been chopped down for firewood.

            After passing through one of the country’s two nature preserves, the ‘pine forest’, we eventually ended our journey at the town of Thiotte (pronounced ‘chott’).  This area was safer than any others we had been to yet, allowing Oscar and I to walk around freely at night as we ordered a beer and some fried street food.  The next day, we took an exciting moto ride into the jungle to speak to small farmers about using moringa, a local leguminous tree, as an organic fertilizer.  While in the sparse woodlands I saw how destitute some of the Haitians were living.  It was barely a step removed from tribal conditions.  The people were all friendly and interested in the improved agronomic methods that Oscar was teaching.  The lessons were long, and I did my best to stay my patience and take in the landscape.  Back at the hotel, I also met people from two different nonprofits – talking to them helped clarify what employment in community development is like.   After two days of education, we prepared to return home.  Unexpectedly, our driver was 5 hours late in picking us up.  During the return, we stopped in the pine forest at an enormous market, where I tried a few Haitian snacks.  It was then becoming late, so we spent another night in Port-au-Prince before ultimately returning to Christianville on Sunday.

Market in the Pine Forest.

            It is almost a month since I arrived in Haiti.  A large part of me is chastising myself for not having achieved any tangible results in that amount of time.  Another part of me, softly encouraging, is reminding myself that I have been learning something entirely new and that I’ve been taking steady steps towards making a change.  There is no point in rushing my work, but I need to keep in mind my December date of departure.  While not a waste, it would be a shame if I had not brought anything to fruition.  This next week I hope to begin germinating moringa seedlings.  Turns out this plant is not only useful in improving soil quality, but also the tilapia love it.  The plan is to plant some alongside the ponds, using the fish waste as a fertilizer.  Josue is also excited about developing a fish garden.  He is an excellent friend and coworker.  I think the two of us can accomplish something to be proud of, even in this relatively small amount of time.

Edit: it turns out that moringa is not leguminous, just remarkably hardy

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.