On our way to Furcy to visit the site of a medical clinic in the mountains behind Petion-ville today. No one could find words for the blog yesterday after our tour of downtown Port of Prince. There are neither words nor pictures that can capture the devestation. It must have felt like the end of the world. Still, on the streets in front of the collapsed buildings, and the endless tent camps, life goes on. Vendors lay out produce, trinkets, and tools for sale. The streets are clear of debris now and a long line of Honey buckets borders the tents. Colorful taptaps zigzag through the busy streets. We see progress, painful and slow but there is progress here.
I am searching for words to descibe the smell of Haiti because this is what the pictures cannot convey. Imagine concrete dust and garbage, fresh baked bread and gas fumes, bougainvilla, spice cake and coffee, concrete dust and urine........
And the pictures are silent.
But here in Petion-ville and Port o Prince, it is never silent. I sleep on the balcony to avoid bothering my team mates with my restlessness but I swear the guard dogs hear every wiggle and begin a ferocious barking to scare me still. It's not really me, of course, it's the endless traffic, horn honking and circling bats. Then, as the roosters begin crowing, the dogs whine pitifully as they are put away for the day and the happy chatter begins. Haitian creole, French, English, all mixed in an endless conversation. At six, street noise picks up - and music! There are always musicians - joyful amidst the horns and traffic.
I am searching for words to descibe the smell of Haiti because this is what the pictures cannot convey. Imagine concrete dust and garbage, fresh baked bread and gas fumes, bougainvilla, spice cake and coffee, concrete dust and urine........
And the pictures are silent.
But here in Petion-ville and Port o Prince, it is never silent. I sleep on the balcony to avoid bothering my team mates with my restlessness but I swear the guard dogs hear every wiggle and begin a ferocious barking to scare me still. It's not really me, of course, it's the endless traffic, horn honking and circling bats. Then, as the roosters begin crowing, the dogs whine pitifully as they are put away for the day and the happy chatter begins. Haitian creole, French, English, all mixed in an endless conversation. At six, street noise picks up - and music! There are always musicians - joyful amidst the horns and traffic.
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