Oh! The Places You've Gone - 2010 in Photos

...Leaping, stumbled: better to hold hands. A six-word memoir may encapsulate the most important message, but plot quirks--and supporting characters--require more images. So in the spirit of procrastinating before beginning my resolutions for productivity, I've made a second Year in Review:

In an instant, so much was lost:


Wasn't in the mood for real goodbyes, but I received a sweet surprise send-off from the my classmates:


LSTH---the door to the nursing school where 3 dorm rooms were converted to ORs. In Cessna's landing on the highway outside Leogane, people showed up, taped on nametags, and worked as hard and long as humanly possible:


The same mishmash, heroic group--Jean Marc, Chris, Josh, Ralph...--got the tent pods set up a few weeks later:


Becoming more than just a trauma center, we were now a 24/7 general hospital. Dan's first on-call board offered a template, and we kept going. Working as hard and long as humanly possible. Or more:


Peter, my colleague, rose to every challenge. What we did is best expressed by a single Kreyòl word degaje "to make it work, to find a way":


Kristina (pictured) and Abbey (not) were my other comrades. One attempt at dancing Michael Jackson was more than enough:


Ralph Plastics & Mo Ortho bandaging 2-year-old Garvensly, badly burned but to fully recover with diligent care from our nurses & docs, and his grandmother:


Dan, Lars, "T", and Sony acting as transport team. Doubt that wearing shorts in the OR will be acceptable in the Mass General:


Robenson---translator, smooth operator, and my friend & protector:


Roosevelt---carpenter, and my other friend & protector:


Williamson---one special orphan:


Williamson---taken in by Manoucheka to join her son, Jonas, in a loving family:


Emily Ann---March 12, moments after birth, two-months premature, in respiratory distress. Her young mother abandoned her the next day:


Emily Ann---April 29, after two months in the Medishare NICU. 8 weeks old, 6 pounds:


Emily Ann---December, with her adopted mother, Natacha. (photo courtesy Steve Seidel). She's grown a bit:


Junior---was in constant pain since March 2009 moto accident, now in Maine recovering from a recent hip transplant arranged by Dr. Kevin. Junior calls himself my "gran frè" and is continuing his work as an artist:


Playing a little before the pain of leaving work unfinished in a place I love:


Yet, the Union Square Farmer's Market is another lovely place:


With impressive street performers:


Another life-enriching experience, the Coney Island Mermaid Parade:


Visiting my friends at the Farm of the Child in Honduras, impressed by their skills of cooking for mass community over a wood-stove:


Within and among El Salvador, Honduras, Guatemala, Nicaragua...this is how I rolled. Hours and hours and hours of rolling:


But sometimes there was entertainment:


Thousands of Salvadoran women, children, and men demanding justice in healthcare, never giving up in the long struggle:


So, while I witnessed much natural beauty (here Volcan Concepción, the one I climbed/stumbled up):


...The human beauty was far greater (girls dancing for the San Geronimo festival in Masaya, Nica):


Leaving mi familia:


To return to my family:


And to the Farmer's Market:


And our view:


We had a happy Christmas---even saw the Radio City Rockettes!


December 26, it started snowing. A lot. With thunder cracking and lightning flashing. Wikipedia "thundersnow":


Being our last night after a two-year NY hurrah, however, we still dressed up and went to Brooklyn for dinner (check out the chocolate bridge dessert):


And so in order to find (thank goodness) a subway home, we tromped ten blocks through windy 15-inch drifts:



Tomorrow is not only a new year, but the 207th anniversary of a land of slaves winning freedom---a new beginning since marked by much abuse, yet still a story of pride, and courage:


The St Rose de Lima church in Leogane collapsed completely, except the altar. People kept gathering around it, with hope and love. What was built, destroyed. Daily harm continues, ever stronger. But perhaps not everything lies in ruins:

The Year in Clouds & 6-word Memoirs

I just read the New York Times "Words of the Year," which has inspired me to think about the words that personally defined this year. Also, enjoying a requisite annual screening of Love Actually with Mom and Barrick prompts me to muse. [Watching the trailer alone is joyful.]

60 blog entries in 2010---so, what happened? Where did I go? Whom did I encounter? How was I moved, surprised...changed?

I probably can't answer those questions; instead, I took all I've written here over the last year and made a cloud, with word frequency reflected by size. Lots of conjunctions and adverbs, yet I was happy to see "People" as the clear leader. Along with "friend" "Haiti" "salvador" "Leogane" "Spanish" "family" "food" "team" "home" "help" "need" "care"..."hope"


(click to enlarge)

Let's not mince words, so I'll sum it up with only six. Remember that first attempt at shared "6-word memoirs" on this blog, now two years ago? See the first and second installments. Add your own narratives by comment here, or to just me by email. Simply ponder, because it is fun. My 2010 gave these to me:

"Leaping, stumbled; better to hold hands"

11 and Counting...

Today was not dramatic. It marks 11-months since the pillars collapsed in a Caribbean country already pillaged by colonialism, militarism, and neoliberalism. Yet like yesterday, millions of Haitians simply awoke homeless, jobless, increasingly ill with cholera, and desperately seeking change. Despite the heartwrenching footage sure-to-be-shown by major media one month from today, January 12 will probably not bear transformative significance either.

In its annual review of top Google searches, Zeitgeist found Haiti to be 2010's "fastest riser" in the news category. [Justin Bieber topped multiple categories.] Haiti's climb to attention started 11 months ago today, with both news and public interest ebbing & gushing since then.

This week added a few new taglines of Haiti woes, which make litany-form in most stories: "riots" "civil unrest" "flaming barricades" "Sarah Palin"...[Regarding that last one, the Grizzly Hunter's brief chopper tour was apparently neither helpful to, nor noticed by, any Haitians.]

Our challenge is to not reduce Haiti to the headlines it will undoubtedly continue making. Rigorous reporting about the country often doesn't make major outlets, except AP's Jonathan Katz. Ansel Herz also does a stupendous job. As I've mentioned, I keep watching Twitter feeds from people on the ground, and re-tweeting the info to this blog. From Twitter to Wikileaks---now is the time for us to seek information at its source.

And so, helping give voice to this unremarkable anniversary, I'll offer three things:

1. A concise and honest look at the intensifying social mobilization (i.e. the foundation of the protests, expression of collective voice) in the Boston Haitian Reporter, written by Haiti grassroots human rights worker Melinda Miles.

2. Photoessay depicting the subtext of the last 11 months. It was produced by Bri Kouri Nouvèl Gaye, a Kreyòl newspaper that serves as the major way Haitian camp residents learn the world news that affects them.

3. I close with Melinda Miles' words from a recent blogpost as she refers to the above photoessay. They are an eloquent tribute to Haitians and an entreaty to us.

"When will things begin to change for the better? Haitians never expected to be rescued, and in recent months a new grassroots mobilization for change has begun to grow throughout the IDP camps, the neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince, and the peasant movements of the country as a whole. Through peaceful protests and popular university discussions, people are beginning to envision their own path for the future. Where those least affected by the quake have failed to solve the problems, those most affected by it cannot fail. They must create a new path forward, because Haitians cannot remain under tarps for years.

These photos are heartache in images; they depict the most painful moments of confrontation between nature and the frail human bodies under tarps, between powerful international forces and the valiant young people, women and men who demand something better for their lives. They take us from pain to protest to action. Hopelessness is a luxury Haitians cannot afford, and so the challenge is to spend a moment with the Haiti of today and still find the hope you need to get up and do something."

World AIDS Day 2010

I'd like to share a 3-minute video produced by one of my new medical classmates, Eric Lu*. Features an exclusive conversation with Dr. Paul Farmer.



[Eric and a few friends started the Jubilee Project when they decided to busk in a NY subway station to raise money for Haiti relief. This modest act inspired a video-making movement that raises funds and awareness for many causes. Worth checking it out.]

Tomorrow night, my classmates (old & new) will join others for a rally on the Boston Common---"sounding a clear call" and "affirming their commitment" as President Obama encouraged. I would be honored to work with them in coming years, as our generation delivers healthcare to everyone who needs it.

The World is About to Turn?

Today begins the season of Advent in western Christianity. More than 2 billion people prepare to celebrate a new coming, and turning over the year. A priest reflected this morning that we should be mindful of our everyday actions in this changing world, one "of much suffering and brokenness, but that is surely pregnant with a new world." What kind of renewal?

My title above refers to an Irish folk hymn based on the subversive, revolutionary elements of the Biblical Magnificat, which Mary sang to Elizabeth as she waited to bear God's child. The refrain, "My heart shall sing of the day you bring. Let the fires of your justice burn. Wipe away all the tears, for the dawn draw near. And the world is about to turn."

Today Haiti voted for hope of a just turnover. Well, some of Haiti voted. Others boycotted, and still others were unable to reach the polls or turned away from them. By nearly all accounts, it was a disorganized and allegedly fraudulent "selection." Within 8-hours of the 6AM opening, 12 of 19 candidates held a joint press conference calling for annulment. This news is already all over your favorite media outlets, yet as usual, I respect Jonathan Katz's reporting for the AP. [He has lived in the country for 3 years..]

Issues include the following:
1. Deliberate yet unexplained exclusion of the popular Fanmi Lavalas party, among other flaws (including printing only half of the 400,000 requested national ID cards). In October, 44 members of U.S. Congress implored the State Dept to only support free & fair elections---and while late, there's still time to heed that advice. For Haiti politics aficionado's, this IJDH report is quite comprehensive.

2. Cholera. Reason enough to have postponed. Officials all admit estimates of the sick and dead are undershot; epidemic has yet to reach its peak; WHO is adjusting its projections upwards given that only 10% of the $164 million emergency appeal requested has been funded.

3. MINUSTAH---going on 5 years of what many Haitians view as militant occupation. The peacekeeping force has its own significant record of violence that includes open-firing into slums [embedded link is to one of my first blog posts in early 2007, for this particular human rights struggle was what first drew me into Haiti nearly 4 years ago. I suppose not much has changed.]

3.5 My friend Deepa works with a grassroots human rights group and wrote this excellent (concise!) update on how Haitians are responding to these issues...and how we can help their voices be heard.

4. Some irresponsible media coverage of all the above. More on this to follow via Twitter.

***One easy response: sign this petition listed on Change.org. It was started by a sharp new activist group in the Boston area called UnityAyiti, which has welcomed me into their ranks. Promise no strings attached or email deluge for signing.

As I continue working with UnityAyiti on watchdogging and advocacy, I'll post updates on Twitter (lest I overwhelm any subscribers to this blog). I will try to tweet solid Haiti news and analysis, as well as direct to good sources (i.e. Haitians and others doing the real work). So if the desire to read up on Haiti strikes, find my tweets on the right sidebar of this page http://oforthep.blogspot.com or at http://twitter.com/oforthep.

Note for the Twit-illit: you don't need an account to click on tweets or any links therein.

Today in Haiti, a new beginning did not emerge. Yet Haitians are still preparing for what they believe should rightly come to them, someday. They will keep toiling for the turning.

Gives Me Hope Today

One: what tho' the odds were great, the Irish pulled a victory over 14-ranked Utah. On TV, I watched the senior players end years of adversity with golden helmets raised in pride---including law student / O-lineman Chris Stewart, who unsurprisingly was a big hit carrying Haitian children on his shoulders when he visited Leogane last year. Celebrate on Rockne's field, senior class. Celebrate on out into the world.

Two: Aung San Suu Kyi was released. May she inspire the world to struggle for real freedom in Burma.

Three: Dr. Raj Panjabi delivered perhaps the most inspiring message I've heard in 2010. 6-minute video below (really, it's awesome, I watched it 3 times). He co-founded Tiyatien Health in rural, post-war Liberia. I'm honored to call him colleague, teammate.

Ignorance & Apathy

A football coach confronts his quarterback about an embarrassing string of losses. "You don't know the darn playbook, and you can't seem to rally the team when it comes down to that last drive in the 4th-quarter! What's the bigger problem, son, your ignorance or your apathy?"

The young leader ponders for a moment and then responds, solemnly, "I don't know, and I don't really care."

--------
Thank you, to a few kind readers who answered my not-so-rhetorical question. I decided not to go to Haiti. My original intention had been to simply visit with Haitian friends. Now is not the right moment for that. I also truly have nothing to offer... So from El Salvador, I came straight home: out of respect for the Haitians and foreigners working so fervently in the instant of crisis--an instant which today, November 12, has lasted for 10 months.

I am usually ignorant, and often apathetic. I sit in a comfortable house, consume too much, and pity my selfish concerns. Then memory triggers a craving for what's important, and I spend the last several hours learning and feeling.

--------
Synopsis of what we should know:
1. MSF Head of Mission, Stefano Zannini, reports in today's cholera post: "It’s a really worrying situation for us at the moment. All of the hospitals in Port-au-Prince are overflowing with patients and we’re seeing seven times the total amount of cases we had three days ago."
Rising count, at an increasing rate: 724 dead and 11,125 hospitalized. More unknown cases, surely.

2. Hurricane Tomas did cause significant flooding damage in Leogane. It's hard to quantify other than to say it was, bad. Some of you have seen photos from our common friends--shared & re-shared--across Facebook. Ansel Herz also provides an account.

3. Most of us have read about the "1.15 billion" pledged by the U.S. for reconstruction, money that seems to be playing hooky. (not to be confused with 1-billion spent in initial emergency aid). What's the story? Jonathan Katz from the AP concisely explains what any non-apathetic citizen ought to realize about our process of helping others.

Basically, Congress took its leisurely time preparing the appropriations bill which hit Obama's desk July 29. Authorization, the next step, happened Sept 20. And just now, the State Department learns it must ensure "accountability" from the Haitian government before the 1.3 million people living in tents could hope for an upgrade to a slab of concrete & some sturdy plywood. Katz also reports that reconstruction contractors with plans ready to go are losing interest.

Time is not only a matter of life and death. It's money, as well.

This predicament is only one step removed from all of us apathetic couch potatoes. It is our representative government, after all. Yesterday, we honored veterans in remembering the path to democracy. We could also remember that our civic duty did not end when polls closed last Tuesday.

4. If you're not discreetly edging away from my soapbox by now, this article is also thought-provoking "Humanitarian Crisis or Crisis of Humanitarianism?"

5. Let's be not ignorant of the good, as well: in searching the old OneResponse & Cluster sites, I just read a Partners in Health situation report that was more detailed than any analogous UN briefing I've read over the last 10 months. PIH has deep knowledge and deep response. Following their mission of "Doing Whatever It Takes," they have stayed with their Haitian community through the persistent crisis of injustice. They know and they care, so they can respond.

--------
I am probably like that poor quarterback. Yet, despite disappointment and seeming futility, he is at least honest. Wherever I am, even 1844 miles from where I wanted to be at this moment, I hope to acknowledge my ignorance & apathy. And then do something about it.

Rain pours through my eyes

A few minutes ago, I was writing about Nicaragua when thunder and heavy rain began. I stopped to watch it pelt and blow through the open cabana area of the hostel. Then my eyes became moist, then wet.

Have been closely reading Haiti cholera news, and situation reports from the health cluster emails to which I´m still (uselessly) subscribed. And now following Tomas.

http://www.weather.com/outlook/videos/tropical-storm-tomas-strengthens-6584#6584

Whatever the storm´s technical strength or path, think of heavy downpour when living under a tarp or a tent, one that´s falling apart from 10 months of heat and wind and rain. Text messages on your cellphone (you can receive, but don´t have money for outgoing calls) that warn of a nationwide deadly diarrheal epidemic, urging you to use only safe water sources. But you don´t have access to those in your under-serviced IDP camp or (worse, perhaps) the isolated area near the ruins of your home, where you´ve tried to rebuild life. Plus, being unemployed and pregnant or sick or caring for kids--whatever else is in the cup of your life. The cup that the rainwater floods over.

I´m scheduled to go to Haiti directly from El Salvador, in 6 days. Embassy restrictions on non-essential travelers may change this. But even if I have a choice, should I go??? (Very much not a rhetorical question, if you know me) I have nothing to offer. Not even tarps, or cups.

It´s still raining hard here.

Nica, pt. 2

*Fri 10/29: I finished my last post talking about Che Guevara. Inspired by reading him, as I took a boat from Isla de Ometepe to the hot but pleasant transit town of Rivas, I decided to dress as Che for Halloween. In the Rivas market, I found a motorcycle toy as a prop--and used a red bandana to tie back my currently-long & unkempt hair, drew a scraggly eyeliner-beard. The party? In Managua, where I arrived by early evening to stay with my friend Thomas, who has lived there for a year already through the Jesuit Volunteer Corp. Was soon attacked in a tight squeeze from my other friend Alicia, who promptly whisked me off to her barrio to zealously introduce me to a long string of her Nicaraguan friends. (if you know her, you can picture this)

Here are my friends´ blogs, sharing as nod to their good work, and deep insights about a place which to them is, home.
Thomas:http://thomasweiler.blogspot.com/
Alicia:http://spiderwebsyresistencia.blogspot.com/

Back to Halloween. Thomas & his JV compañeros threw a fantastic fiesta in the evening, with 20 or so Nica and expat friends who I loved meeting. Many recognized me, but more likely due to their radical political leanings than to my costume´s quality. Carousing continued into 2AM guitar sing-along of "Casas de Carton," and The Beatles.

*Sat 10/30: Tranquilo day, but did accompany Thomas to the market to help carry groceries...and witness his frijol & verdura-buying skills. We had time for many good conversations--the brief moment when our different paths become tangent. I´m learning more and more how important these meetings are, even when bending the curve takes a little extra effort.

Alicia joined us in the evening, to enjoy Thomas´ dinner of ayote and "gallo pinto" (Nica-speak for the always-yummy rice&beans). Then we headed with the full group of JVs to Cuidad Sandino, about an hour outside the capital. A few of their Nicaraguan friends recently opened a bar & club that´s women/family-friendly (i.e. not like the sad places of machistic drunkenness and desolation so prevalent elswhere). This night was a benefit concert / open-mic in support of an injured coworker at the local NGO where many attendees worked. Another great night of dancing and joy. Thomas kept telling me that most weekends are much more boring. But I was happy to ride the party wave!

*Sun 10/31-11/2: I´ve been in León for a few days. Called the "capital de la revolución," it was both the sight where Rigoberto López-Pérez assasinated dictator General Somoza in 1956 (then replaced by two dicator sons while Rigoberto was machine-gunned by the national guard) as well as a location of heavy fighting later up the final offensive and victory of the FSLN on July 19, 1979. The national University is also located here, contributing to the city´s importance in the resistance movement...and meaning there are lots of great murals here.

At the revolution museum, my personal tour-guide was a former guerillero. He rattled off 70years of historical detail, with colorful stories, for more than an hour. Only at the end did he tell me that he no longer formerly worked at the museo, but had come in to visit friends there, and still offered to teach me. Fighting in jungle when he was 20, he now farms export shrimp for a Spanish company.

I´ve enjoyed time to take in the city in a more relaxed way. Ironically, my months-long "don´t worry, be happy" M.O. ended in my hostel hammock, as I began reading a BRS Anatomy Review book I brought back from the U.S. several weeks ago. As I swing in a net of dismay from my completely-lost knowledge, my new classmates are learning, a lot...right now. My tranquilo time needs to end soon.

Yet, today´s excursion, likely my last hurrah of stereotypical tourism for awhile, was...VOLCANO-BOARDING. Yes, it´s what you´re imagining. It. Was. Great. A dozen happy backpackers (one quite hungover, glad I wasn´t in her shoes) jumped in the back of an orange truck for service directo across bumpy roads to the base of Cerro Negro. At 160yrs, it is the youngest volcano in Central America and also one of most active. The frequent eruptions, coupled with a characteristic east-to-west wind pattern, has created a rocky side, and a steep smooth ash side. We each carried jumpsuits, googles, and wooden boards in a hike up the rocky side. Ground at the summit was hot to the touch. We received instructions on using the boards (sled style, b/c standing would be wayyy too hard); the most important rule was "don´t smile or scream....or you´ll swallow ash."

Two-by-two, we pushed off. 700-meters at a 41-degree incline. Even though I fell off my board twice, the descent took less than a minute. Record speed in this activity is 80km/h, but my near-40 still felt pretty darn fast. Ash-covered faces and bodies, we rode back to the Bigfoot hostel and were offered free mojitos to celebrate.

I´ve loved Nicaragua, but my time in Central America is on a less-than-a-week countdown, so I need to return to El Salv to say goodbye there. Rather than take the directo TicaBus from Managua, I´m going to split up the 10-plus hour travel time by taking local buses through the three countries, and walking the borders. Estimated 7-10 buses passing from León to Chinandega to Guasuale to Choluteca to El Amatillo to Santa Rosa de Lima and finally, San Salvador. Will probably send a final note from there.

Nica, pt. 1

Happy Halloween! So here´s the first installment of a Nicaragua travelogue, choc-full of silly tourist meanderings. Sadly, not nearly as witty as a Bill Bryson account.

*Sat 10/23: Sat in the San Salvador terminal at 9AM waiting for the 8AM departure bus (ETA Managua 6:30PM). I chatted with a Nicaraguan lady, who tried to convince me we would make it there no later than 4. We arrive at 10:30, and I stayed overnight in the capital.

*Sun 10/24: caught a minibus to the nearby town of Masaya, and jumped off when I saw clusters of children dancing in traditional costume around the parque central. Each group of dancers is surrounded by dozens of family & strangers admiring the dances (they were great!). I took photos for awhile. Everyone I talked with gave a slightly different explanation, but the gist was a 3-MONTH celebration for their patron San Jerónimo. I also walked through the nationally-known artisan market, fighting temptation to buy from every jewelry-vender. Then I made my way to the neighboring village of Catarina, one of the charming "pueblos blancos" where Masaya´s artesania is made. I sat for awhile at a lookout point over the crater-lake Lago Apoyo. As lovely as the natural beauty was the fiesta atmosphere of Nicaraguan families who also came to enjoy the view.

At the bus stop (i.e. unmarked spot by the highway where people say buses pass), I met 3 nice guys, fellow-travelers, and together we took an indirect, rainy route to Granada--a tourist hotspot in Central America (like Antigua in Guate, but not as pleasant, IMO). So obviously, there was a Norteamericana style sports bar, where my fleeting friends and I stopped to watch the Vikings vs. Packers.

*Mon 10/25: explored the colonial buildings & streets & markets. I wasn´t able to see the convent where St. Bartolome de Las Casas wrote his famous 1525 letter--with its outlandish proposal that indigenous people were, in fact, people and therefore deserving of human rights. I remember reading that letter in Fr. Gutierrez´s class, long ago... After a full morning, I´d seen most of Granada´s highlights, so I caught the 4-hr boatride across Lago Nicaragua to the Isla de Ometepe.

We (handful of backpackers) arrived at the island´s muddy docs well after dark. I had called ahead to a lodge hotel on a coffee finca, and was lucky to find others going the same general direction to share a taxi. Taxi = standing crammed in the back of a pickup as it rumbled for an hour over the rocky, muddy roads. Rocky & muddy enough that at some point, we had to change to a heavier-duty pickup. A quick bout of sickness was gaining fuerza in my belly at this most convenient time, so I had a moment of low & lonely self-pity. I was thrilled to finally curl up under a cosy mosquito net in my lodge bed.

*Tues 10/26: as I regained my full capacity, enjoyed a morning at the lovely Finca Magdelena. Met a handsome French photographer who entertained me by talking about his research and personal experience with "lucid dreaming." Worth googling, as trivia knowledge if nothing else. Later, I made my way around the island to the port town of Moyogalpa to arrange an excursion for the next day.

*Wed 10/27: climbed Volcan Concepción, one of two volcanoes on the island; at 1630-meters, it´s the second highest volcano in Nicaragua. With an Icelandic guy and our guide, started from 100m above sea level. While still in thick vegetation, our guide pointed out trees of glue & howler monkeys, among other things. My compañero decided to stop once we passed the treeline, so I continued with our guide. Unfortunately, once we reached 1400, he decided the sulfuric gases were too strong--the volcano is in its annual-ish period of eruption--so we couldn´t summit. In retrospect, that was probably for the better, because as he watched me frequently fall *UP*, the guide told me, "you will have real problems getting down." He was very right. I slid & slipped all the way down, scraping my hands, and swearing profusely at my sore knees and clumsy feet. Moutain climbing may never be an activity I can do with any skill, but I loved this challenge.

*Thurs 10/28: rented a moped to explore the island (30x10km for a size ref). Of course it was a big lavish & touristy (though 22USD/day was a great deal). And, soy turista! When again in my life would I be in place with a chance to ride the wind through such natural and human beauty? Hands down, awesome day.

While traveling this week, I am reading Che Guevara´s "Motorcycle Diaries" (in Spanish). Coincidental to read it now...since Che was also a 23-year-old medical student, on a yearlong leave, when he drove around South America. His perceptions and vision are naturally far deeper than anything I´ve yet conceptualized myself. But I like thinking about the path we are all riding: a journey of young minds & hearts realizing the desperation of our times, resolving to be part of history. To struggle forever, and live the memory of those we encounter along the way.

A wise man said something along these lines yesterday, at the "Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear." So Nica-continuation pending, will close with the words of Jon Stewart:
“We know instinctively as a people that if we are to get through the darkness and back into the light, we have to work together. And sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel isn’t the promised land. Sometimes it’s just New Jersey. But we do it anyway, together.”

Listening & Learning

Class today was a trip to the botanical gardens, an impressive collection of local biodiversity and gifts from around the world. Wilmer, my teacher, related the cultural and medicinal importance of the plants, including the various methods of using "florifundia," a highly halucenogenic flower. We parted ways as usual, saying "nos vemos mañana." And then, with a thud of sadness, I realized tomorrow will be our last class together.

On Saturday, I´m heading to Nicaragua (11hr busing, 2 border crossings) to spend a week traveling there before meeting up with my friends, Thomas and Alicia, in Managua the following weekend. I doubt I´ll encounter whatever exotic challenges the cast of "Survivor:Nicaragua" is currently facing...but you never know. Then directly to Honduras to visit another of my dearest Domer friends, who´s working in the eastern Olancho region. Return to San Salv around Nov 4.

My random birthplace (i.e. not in the Salvadoran campo) gave me "intellectual lens" with with to approach everything from cell biology to...the Salvadoran campo. I want badly to go beyond the books, to learn to live in some solidarity with peoples´ real experiences here. But starting from "level nada" in Spanish with limited time, much of what I´ve learned about this country has come through indirect accounts. A few highlights of my education, just from the past week:
-An open lecture on neoliberalism & the Salvadoran economy at the Nacional Univ, where the speaker urged a packed auditorium that "ya no seamos subjetos de historia." I hope, also, that this country´s youth can start standing up to the oligarchy-friendly policies of past generations.
-Reading Fidel Castro´s recent daily sections in a leftist newspaper. He dedicated the last week to publishing chapter synopses of Bob Woodward´s "Obama´s Wars" book, which he felt so important for the Latin American world to understand that he had it rush-translated.
-Listening to a few hours of taped war testimonies, offered by people in a small pueblo where Wilmer once assisted a couple anthropologists. He had to help me a good bit with the campesino Spanish, but from the memories I heard...I can´t even imagine...
-Actually...Every single day in class, since early August, I´ve learned something new from Wilmer about El Salvador´s past & present. I could only directly encounter the tiniest sliver, but am so grateful to have had the opportunity to listen.


A couple fun side notes:
-Went to an Aventura concert on Friday. The Dominican band fuses tradicional "bachata" music with pop-rap, and is hugely popular--as I now recognize their songs on about every third bus ride. The 20,000ish stadium was packed, with whole crowd belting with the band for the entire 3-hrs of the show. My friend and I were in the nosebleed section. Yet, during the song entitled "Take Your Clothes Off Slowly," I could still see the mosh-pit hurl a hot pink bra at the lead singer. Most well known hit: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A1h3iPtpY18

-Lovely evening yesterday hosted at a girls´ home in the neighborhood of Mexicanos (site of the gang-led bus burning this summer). My friend, Jenna, lived there one summer, and maintains the connection now that she´s back here on a Fulbright. Playing Jenga and Twister and Jacks--despite my still-very-shaky Spanish--brought much affection from the sweet (and smart!) girls...

-Returned home a couple days ago to see a big bus right outside our house. Was puzzled, because buses never pass direct through the neighborhood, and this wasn´t even one of the nearest route. Mystery solved a moment later when my dear house parents got off...the driver was giving the older couple doorside service. I hurried to take my madre´s grocery bag from her, and as I did so, she grasped my forearm to steady herself in a way that reminded me, emotionally & almost viscerally, of how my Grandma would use me as support 10 years ago. Mi madre had just been named "Reina" of their neighborhood social group at an annual lunch. As she showed me her crown, shedding glitter everywhere, she remarked, "78 years of such hard work...it´s about time!"

-My favorite internet cafe, just went from playing MLK´s "I Have a Dream" speech to a techno version "Bad Romance." Big improvement over last week´s "We Wish You a Merry Christmas."

El Nuevo Mundo

Another good chunk of time has passed since I either a)felt inspired to update my 3.5 follower friends b)desired to prolong the internet cafe sauna or c)had something semi-interesting to say. Factor (c) is the major determinant.

I spent a week in Guatemala at the end of September, passing through Antigua before making my way to Xela, where I attended language school for a week. Much more popular a Spanish-learning destination than El Salv, Xela is home to some 25 schools. I highly recommend my choice (ICA, www.guatemalaspanish.com), with 5-hours one-on-one instruction per day. Following a Swiss-cheese analogy I tried to stretch across the cultures, my teacher worked hard to "fill in the holes" in my Spanish grammar. (Of course not even the best "maestro" could fully suceed.) He also explained much about Guatemalan history & culture. Which was good, because I unfortunately felt a bit too under the weather to explore much--and said ´weather´ was constant pouring rain all day, everyday.

Speaking of rain (and global economy & climate change), the whole region has experienced much more than its annual average rainfall. Which means El Salvador is importing even more staple foods, at record high prices. And while I was in Guatemala, tropical storms knocked out the border bridge....which meant my return bus had to take backroads across the frontera, and while driving through such muddy cornfields in the dark, had a flat tire. While I dozed, all the men felt compelled to get off the bus and watch the poor driver try to change it. Apparently, the border is still closed, further increasing food prices.

In earlier posts, I´ve mentioned how impressed I am by Salvadorans´ desire to preserve collective memory, even (perhaps especially) the hard memories. This past weekend brought an opportunity for me to directly experience the healing that comes from shared remembering: between 20-30 of my HSC Field Hospital "teammates" came to campus for the ND-Pitt game. And especially, the core people--now among my great heroes--were there. We each told stories (familiar to most listeners) of the crazy, unlikely happenings in the months after the earthquake, lamented over how bad things still are in Leogane, wished we each could do more, and resolved to keep trying... together, as a team. I was grateful my parents support their daughter´s memory to bring me back home for this, and also that they wanted to meet the people who are--will continue to be--among my most special mentors & friends.

Returning to El Salvador, was met with happy welcome from my madre, padre, and hermana here. I spent all day yesterday (our "Columbus Day") at a national Festival for Indigenous Resistence, marking 518 years of the constant struggle to remember. As the MC put it, "to be indigenous is more than an identity...we need to remember our special conscience." Events included forum discussions, Nahuat poetry readings, music, dance, artesenia, chi-cha...all with a lively crowd. At one point, I was interviewed by a local news station. To my chagrin, my teacher told me today that he had in fact seen me on TV. yikes.

Back to collective memory, for just as I was nodding off during one of the late afternoon forums, people around me jumped up to offer their own impassioned perspectives. Their impulse, the desire to speak, is so pervasive here: from the funky, youth-organized sustainability music festival a few weeks ago, to the prior generation´s wise reflections at the San Ramon base eclesial community each Sunday. And people not only speak, but act also, working together to share what they have and struggling for the justice that they believe each person deserves. Every little bit I witness is a privilege.

A friend recently asked me how I find the spirits of people El Salvador, in comparison to Haiti. While I´ve not been long enough in either place to really answer, both countries make me question what it means to be "developed." Haiti doesn´t have many ATMs, or enough ARVs, and so remains decades behind the "rest" of the world. Yet, its people hold a more nuanced appreciation of the collective history of the Americas--conquistadors, coups, corporations--than we do, or at least more than I do.

So on a day when "American" schoolchildren (North being considered the only...) learn about the "discovery" of this land, the Salvadoran woman leading yesterday´s celebration here simply commented, "Una otra America es posible, diversa y multicultural, si juntos estamos caminando para que otro mundo sea posible."
(see GoogleTranslate, rt side of page)

Finally, my laugh for the day: a friend recently passed along this warning of the potential dangers should I now boast that I "speak Spanish."
http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2008/11/09/115-promising-to-learn-a-new-language/

Too Good to Be True - Ways to Help Out

While immensely grateful for the chance to take time off school... for both the teamwork in Haiti, and now for relaxing free time to learn Spanish in Central America... I do REALLY wish I'd been in this lecture hall a couple weeks ago.

Dr. Randy King directs the MCM (molecular&cellular basis of medicine) course I took last fall, and as the video express, he is a master of teaching metabolic pathway integration, and discovering cell cycle regulation mechanisms. This class of future docs & dentists, which I will soon be lucky to join, decided to offer tribute to Randy's genius in an effort to raise funds for the neglected disaster in Pakistan.

Embrace humor. Reject embarrassment. Help others.

Enjoy (best action is up to 4:23).



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKid4dMDl4U

If We Should Forget....

It´s been a little while since I´ve written, though much has happened. The last week, especially, was a good one of voyaging & learning. After missing class being sick last Monday, and knowing Independence Day would keep us from school on Wednesday, I decided to "approvechar" (make use of) the week to defer my school fee and see new areas of the country.

First, I made my way west along the Ruta de Las Flores, which is highlighted in all the guidebooks. I stopped and stayed the night in Juayúa, where there are famous gastronomical festivals each weekend. Being a Tuesday, my stomach sadly had no special experience there, but it was a lovely, tranquila town to explore.

Wednesday, September 15, was Independence Day for all of Central America. I went to a small pueblo named Santo Domingo de Gúzman, also in the western department of Sonsonate. My friend & MK missioner, Erica, lives there. So we watched the parades of school children & marching bands. These included the Salvadoran version of cheerleaders, "cachiporristas," whose presence will be outlawed nationwide next year because of their controversially skimpy dress contributing to sexism. There was much debate & fervor about quickly passing this law, while important reforms like the medication bill I wrote about, remain stagnant. Sensationalism playing on popular sentiment to drive politics... a cross-cultural theme?

Anyway, in the celebration that followed, I got to hear the national anthem sung in Nahuat (Erica works with a group committed to preserving the indigenous identity). I loved meeting Erica´s friends in the community, seeing the welcoming home she has found here.

On Thursday, I headed east and north, to the village of Perquín. During the war, the FMLN operated a central command from this area, and the whole department of Morazan was victim to much violence. Now, the Museo de la Revolución is there, the only permanent museum (other than the UCA, perhaps) dedicated to the violent repression leading up to the war, and to the resistance movement.

...Unfortunately Perquín is a bit hard to reach. Bus from San Salvador to San Miguel. Bus from San Miguel to San Francisco Gotera. And for the last 30km, standing-room only in a pickup truck, with a crowdedness that would rival any Haitian tap-tap. As we loaded in Gotera, my fellow passangers actually joked that we should add up our weight in kilos.

The mountainous ride up was stunning, for both natural beauty and the signs of beautifully humble, though surely difficult, life in villages we passed. I would love more than a drive-by glimpse someday.

A few Salvadorans also were visiting the museum, company which I found heartening. Cool to see how Radio Venceremos broadcast from ditches in the forest to send critical messages to the guerillas. Very hard to see the display cases of bombshells and heavy arms that killed at least 80,000 people over 12 years of terror...purchased with the $1 million a day sent by my country.

After spending the night as the only guest in a family-owned hostel (where I think my back & side became a fleshy meal for fleas? any dermatologist readers?), I went back to the highway fork in the road early Friday morning where I expected to be able to find public transport to El Mozote. No luck. Fortunately, a big truck passed by on it´s way to Mozote on a trip for wood. He offered me a ride, so I got to see the infamous town...

There, a woman gave me a little tour of the humble memorial--silhouette of a family representing all those killed--and the reflection garden cultivated in a space where bodies of children had been found. She told me she´d been in another department that day in December 1981, but her six brothers were tortured & killed. Along with at least 1,000 people, the entire town... an atrocious massacre committed by the Atlacatl battallion, a counterinsurgency force created at the School of the Americas and subsequently closely advised by the US military. Atlacatl also was responsible for the murder of the Jesuits in 1989. There are obviously books written about the subject, and I don´t even pretend to know much beyond the most clear & obvious history that I present here.

Collective memory is so important. One of the best parts of the week was being back home Sunday and attending a memorial service in San Ramon, for the last "deslave" or deadly mudslide from the volcano directly above us. Though held outside at the site where 500-some people went missing under the mud 28 years ago, the communidad offered the same style of group sharing that I have enjoyed in past weeks. Many spoke of our need to personally be accountable for ways to reduce soil erosion & subsequent risk. While being thoughtful about this memory, I also remembered Haiti and its long history of centralization forced by bourgeois & occupying Marines, and the subsequent decades of structural violence that kept so many lives on a precarious tilt, long before the seismic tremor destroyed them. So many UN-natural disasters.

One young woman summed everything up simply, "If we should forget, we will just have to repeat."

(On a related note, I realize my post yesterday may have come across a bit strong. Not at all intended to be condemning or fanatical. Only to not forget...)

Sak Vid Pa Kanpe

An empty sack doesn´t stand

You could pass on every other blog post I ever write, but please read the article linked below, by Deborah Sontag from the September 19 NYT.
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/09/20/world/americas/20haiti.html?_r=1&th&emc=th



Couldn´t describe how this makes me feel, though it doesn´t come as surprise. Despite inattentiveness, we at least intellectually have known this to be the reality in Haiti. A ceaseless hell.

Sometimes I wonder whether our ability to see this slow, suffering death and then walk on to our usual business...makes us a little less than human.

Déjà vu & a new experience

I don´t know if a Spanish equivalent to that expression exists...

Was taking scattered buses on Saturday (20-cents per exploration) and saw a Marcha Blanca in formation, a demonstration for passage of the much-needed & long-awaited Ley de Medicamientos. Healthcare reform. From bits of newspaper articles and class discussions, I´ve learned just a little about the healthcare system here. Even for people with access to the "seguro social" insurance, the prescribed medications are often not available in public health centers and must be purchased privately, for a lot of dinero. A pharmaceutical industry exists here, allied under the name Industria Químico Farmacéutica (Inquifar); yet, the production of generics (or compulsory-liscenced patent drugs) within the country apparently does not translate to improved access for the population. Surprising? Not in such a lucrative industry as Pharma, surely.

Anyway, the current government is pushing a bill to control prices and improve access. As I joined the spirited procession on Saturday--more than 1,000 citizens of all ages, dressed in white--I remembered a similar march precisely a year ago. Labor Day weekend on the Boston Common, my med classmates and I in our new white coats joined a coalition to call for own healthcare reform. I think the Salvadorans beat us by numbers, so here´s to hoping their long struggle ends with some victory. And that our reform, too, is implemented with integrity & justice.

The organizers played the Latin American (originally Chilean) activism anthem, and since we sang the song a couple weeks ago in class (to practice the future tense), I knew the words!: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jkYoHxzaKs4

At the Pueblo de Dios en el Camino base community service the next day, people talked about the march. One woman commented during the homily, "I see it as light that so many people would come together. That enough is reason for hope." And later, we made plans for a group collection to help support cancer treatment for the mother of a community member. I doubt it will be enough... but if only we could all count on such insurance of compassionate neighbors.

Other highlights of the last week include participating in a femininity workshop with 15 Salvadoran women and a couple Maryknollers. A full day of sharing, drawing, and dancing. As I heard testimonies of abuse, in so many forms, I could be nothing but amazed, humbled. The greatest courage from within the small, anonymous ´casa´.

School is going well. Though I know I´m learning, I keep wishing I could absorb more quickly. I´m trying to force the "auto-pilot" / thinking in Spanish stage. Not there yet. So I probably should get off this computer...

Before I close, a small new experience: was enjoying myself listening at the Marcha, on nice grass, when attacked by a small swarm of fire ants (new word: hormigas). I then had my first major allergic reaction, ever. Immediate tight-chest & hives & all. Was fine by the next day. If I hadn´t left school, I would by now understand the IgE´s & mastcell/basophil degranulation pathways that can lead to anaphylaxis. But I don´t. Something to anticipate for the coming year...

Yo creo en vos: compañero, humano, obrero

Sunday morning, I am with the "Pueblo de Dios en Camino," a base eclesial community in San Ramón, just minutes from my house. It´s a Catholic group, yet there´s no priest present because a very conservative pastor arrived to the parish several years ago and didn´t accept the group´s participatory nature. Determined to listen, reflect, and act together, the "pueblo" continue on.

The centre is full of murals and posters. Many of Monseñor Romero of course. A breathtakingly detailed jungle scene. And a depiction of significant massacres on painted map, with little pictorals in each area of the country.

The person convening us welcomes me, saying I may participate for as long as I´m here.

The songs are lively and concrete, expressing the desires of the disenfranchised. Their version of the creed calls Jesus their "compañero" and "obrero"(worker).

The homily is a group reflection the gospel they´ve heard, with even a 13-year-old girl speaking eloquently. Everyone hugs absolutely everyone else at the sign of peace.

The petition prayers are also participatory. Most moving to me was the last I heard, "thank you for bringing us here, so we can share what we have with each other."

Taller, Soya, Río

I´ve been in CentroAmerica for almost a month now. In San Salvador, I enjoy both my rhythmic daily patterns and my freedom for spontaneity. On the former, language learning dominates most of my days. Since so much of the morning classes involves free conversation, I spend a few hours in the afternoon on grammar. Or reading the newspaper (still not quite there with Romero..) and in evenings listening to the UCA radio station. This week, the school coordinator bumped me up into the next class level, and I appreciate the teachers´ confidence even if I don´t feel close to "intermediate." Yikes. Yet, I suppose you´re not really "in class" if you understand everything presented... This week´s challenge is scratching the surface of subjunctive.

My confidence rolls in waves: feeling great about my breakfast conversation and then near frustration-tears when I got lost on a rainy busride home yesterday evening, fumbling my way through direction questions.

Spontaneous excursions over the last week:
*Karaoke bar. I sang English this time, but Spanish ballads may be forthcoming...

*Sitting in on a "taller" (workshop) on Friday, people from various communities around the country coming monthly to CIS to discuss common experiences and plan both local trainings and broader activism, like the campaign against enironmentally-catastrophic mining rights that Pacific Rim and other companies are pushing for from the government(more info: http://luterano.blogspot.com/). I talked to one young man who came from 3 hours away to this taller. He works as a walk-through candy vender on regional buses. Wow.

*Visiting the Soy project on Saturday, run by a Maryknoll lay missioner. The effort has made measurably significant differences in child nutritional status around here. Helped make vanilla and chocolate soy milk using their new "cow" machine. Yum.

*Traveling to San Antonio de Ranchos, a small village in the northen department of Chaletenango, on Monday with the entire MK crew. Every year, a service is held in memory of Maryknoll Sister Carla, who died in 1980 crossing a flooding riverbed. She had just picked up a campesino released on stern "warning" from a nearby prison, accused on being a guerilla informant. She was taking him home to try to avoid probable torture. Also in the car were two young men and Sr Ita Ford. All were quickly pushed out of the inundated car by Sr. Carla, but she couldn´t make it in time. (Sr. Ita was martyred just 4 months later with the three other missioner women). We started by the river, with speeches from the townspeople who fondly remembered Carla. Then we processed with singing and candles to the actual service, and (predicably) ended with generously shared food.

Lugares de Peregrinación

Lunes 16 de Agosto - 8:30pm
[Doña is sitting next to me on the couch, telling me stories of her many other ´hijos´ or host students. A bit earlier, Don found it howl-aloud hilarious to call my new cellphone from the kitchen. Though full from cena, I couldn´t resist a minute ago when mi hermana (who lives with us during the working week and goes to her husband´s coffee farm on weekends) literally tossed me a sizzling tortilla.]

This past week certainly opened a fire hydrant for learning (my fellow med students know the metaphor all too well). I have class at CIS in the mornings, with every word in Spanish. My placement test predictably started me in "Basic," with one other student (who has been here two months) and our maestro. Everything floods in together--trying to grasp the 8 parts of speech, fairly complex syntactical construction, regular & irregular (and reflexive) verb conjugation in four tenses...and of course a completely new vocabulary. I love it. I much enjoy the challenge of constantly thinking foreign words in foreign ways. It´s so unlike Kreyòl--which I´m trying to keep near, in a distinct brain compartment, though now realizing how limited my vocabularly is in that language. Spanish brings me back to Latin, reminding me how much I used to enjoy translating Aeneid,Ovid,Catullus...like code-breaking. Hearing and speaking the complexity is a new dimension, however, and I usually have to pause before answering Doña´s questions as my mind clicks to the right verb conjugation. Based on her often cocked eyebrows, I still fumble a ton.

Miercoles 18 de Agosto:
Last week also convinced me I want to be here, in El Salvador. I´ve questioned, wondering whether I should have landed in a more popular language school destination like Xela, Guatemala. Yet, CIS (cis-elsalvador.org) uses the Paulo Freire / popular education method, with lessons growing from our conscientization of the Salvadoran reality. In just the first week, we ve discussed some idigenous history as well as the formation of FMLN, and read a tribute to the diaspora by Salvadoran poet & revolutionary, Roque Dalton. I bought one of Roque´s books, along with a compilation of Romero homily passages, at the national University bookstore yesterday. Just this morning--based on my probably over-frequent cross references during class--my teacher brought in an article about Haiti. I am learning to listen, learning to speak. I think El Salvador has a lot to teach.

Someone told me that one should visit places here not just as tourism--though the country is promoting its tourist spots--but as "Lugares de Peregrinación," pilgrimage sites. Last week, I visited the UCA and heard the full story of the 6 Jesuit martyrs, for the first time; I will definitely return there. Also went to the war memorial in Parque Cuscatlán and Romero´s tomb in the Cathedral. I spent the weekend away, on a CIS-led trip to the towns of Cinquera and Suchitoto farther north in the country. They were both major war areas. Cinquera now has a forested national park where 30 years ago there was farmland, abandoned during the fighting. We hiked up the small mountain and swam in a waterfall. In Suchitoto, we spent the night at a wonderful centre run by a sister who has been here since 1987 (http://capsuchitoto.org). Heard live music at a local restaurant, and the next day explored the charming cobblestone streets and Sunday fair. [For latinoamerican-phytes, the place is often described as a smaller Antigua,Guate.] Climbed rocks around another waterfall. Visited two incredible projects: the Concertación de las Mujeres, and the Permaculture Institute [www.permacultura.com.sv is worth checking out, awesome example of supporting people´s natural problem solving skills and ability to "read the land" to counter the very real & worsening effects of climate change. Plus, foreign guests are welcome to learn the methods!]

Concertación is a collaboration among 5 local women´s groups that do...everything in the 45 nearby small communities. Literally everything. Training birth attendants, family planning, PAP smears, co-op style health insurance pool. Support for victims of gender violence--including a campaign in which families stamped a pledge outside their houses "en esta casa queremos un vida libre de violencia hacia las mujeres." Microfinance projects like a successful indigo-dyed clothing store and a creative cow-exchange cycle. Promotion of women in municipal politics. All of it...started and fully sustained by Salvadoreña´s. Local desire and effort far more important than any concrete accomplishment.

My highlight of the weekend, and time here so far, was a conversation in Cinquera with a man called Don Pablo. He started by saying he had to "leave in two hours for a meeting of the Communidad Eclesia de Base..." And then followed a flooring testimony in Spanish of the period leading up to the war, decades of economic and physical abuse which he emphasized as equally as (or more than) the war itself. The propaganda they were fed by the political and church authorities...

..The arrival of a new priest who asked them, "why don´t you have enough to eat?" and when they responded with the "God´s-will" fallacy they´d been taught, he promptly gave a Bible to each formerly illiterate campesino...and taught them to read with it. Then he gave them copies of El Salvador´s Constitution. Don Pablo explained, "Our resistance grew because the people saw connections between the Bible and the Constituion, realizing our oppression was ´pecado social´ and that through solidarity as a group, we could work for justice."

Don Pablo was captured multiple times and tortured; four of his children died in the fighting, and the fifth took his own life the year after it ended. Ending simply, Don Pablo passed around his copies of the Bible, Constitution, and Medillín and said "we´re still applying this to our life." And then he left for his meeting.

Update on Haiti

I'm a little out of on news of Haiti, but this came to me from a friend involved in the Haiti Response Coalition. So much injustice is flooding over the most courageous...

For Immediate Release: 11 August, 2010

Haiti Earthquake Survivors Peacefully Demonstrate to Call Attention to the Forced Expulsions and Horrific Conditions in Camps
Seven Months After Catastrophe: No Solutions and No Assistance

Port-au-Prince, Haiti - Thursday, August 12, 10AM Sit-in in front of the National Palace.
Force for Reflection and Action on the Housing Cause (FRAKKA), Bureau des Avocats Internationaux (BAI), Batay Ouvrière (B.O), KOOTK, OVS, COSEM, Immaculé, Deplace, CUSLG, Camp Mezyan, Babankou and other Internally displaced people under threat of expulsion, invite the international and national press and community to their sit-in in front of Haiti’s National Palace 11am EST on August 12. Seven months after the tragic earthquake that killed hundreds of thousands and left more than one and half million survivors homeless, the most vulnerable are organizing to demand a moratorium on forced evictions, which are happening in violation of Haitian and international law. The government must immediately provide humane alternatives to the muddy, dangerous, unsanitary and simply brutal living conditions by verifying ownership titles, and nationalizing by decree all empty and idle lands in the hands of large landowners. The thousands who cannot leave their camps for fear of expulsion or lack of transport funds will participate in the protest by banging pots at noon (1pm EST) within the tent cities throughout Port-au-Prince and surrounding towns.

While international aid agencies and the United Nations readily admit that the camps do not meet international standards for internally displaced people, at the same time non-governmental organizations, charities and the Haitian Government are unwilling to provide basic services to these victims.

Food distributions have come to a halt and many aid agencies are intentionally withholding necessary and fundamental services such as latrines, water, food and medical aid, in order to force earthquake victims to abandon the camps that currently exist in former parks, school grounds and churchyards. However, no feasible plans exist to relocate these families.

Through the generosity of people throughout the world, more than one billion dollars has already been donated to charities. “Haitians who lost loved ones, homes and all their belongings are now out in the merciless summer sun all day, then soaked to the bone by rains each night,” explains Melinda Miles, director of Let Haiti Live and Coordinator of the Haiti Response Coalition. “They are deprived of fundamental human rights – access to food, water, shelter – and have no other place to go.”

The U.S. government and UN agencies all point to the Haitian Government’s inability to provide land for resettlement, referring to controversies around land tenure and eminent domain. However in the past, eminent domain has not been an issue when the government has needed to appropriate land for building roads or factories. The current situation is illustrative of a historical precedent of private property being more important than the rights of the poor.

“The law is perfectly clear,” according to prominent human rights attorney Mario Joseph. “There is a problem of political will and a problem of exclusion. The poor have been excluded from their land for years, and are now excluded from the process determining their rights to lodgings.”

In addition to demanding immediate solutions for the internally displaced people such as viable land for relocation and resumption of basic services without further delay, demonstrators are demanding that forced evictions and violent expulsions cease, and the Haitian Government and Haitian National Police enforce a mandatory moratorium on forced removals until suitable alternatives are in place.

Contacts: Melinda Miles 011-509-3855-8861 and Attorney Mario Joseph 3701-9879

mi Casa y mi Familia

Domingo 8 Agosto:
Already gained comfort & rhythm in my new (transient) home. I live with an older couple, who I still mostly call "Don" and "Doña" out of respect, rather than use names. Both are retired schoolteachers. They have four grown children, but only one still in the country. I met her at Mass today, and she promptly exclamed, "Ah, not sister, my daughter!"

Mi casa is in a quaint middle-class neighborhood, guarded by friendly "vigilantes." Passing from the living room to kitchen goes through an outdoor hallway / clothesline space, which is where I wash my clothes on the pila. The front door is also often open to a little patio space before the iron gate, my favorite reading spot in a hammock chair by the cage for our two "pajaros"(birds) and in view of the basketball court across the street. It all gives a feeling of peaceful, natural comfort.

Don and Doña are very friendly, though our relationship remains superficial given my language limitations; they patiently guide me through simple conversations. I couldn´t be more eager to finally start language school tomorrow. Have been making decent attempts, but I still regularly mix in Kreyol words, frequently refer to myself in the masculine, and more often than not, omit the verb in my sentences altogether because it´s not one of the three I know. When I don´t understand a comment directed at me, I automatically give a couple quick nods, "Oh...si!" I remember that faked comprehension as an impossible bane of teaching in Cambodia, so now can finally empathize with my former students. Just smile and pretend. Will figure it out eventually, I hope.

I spend time with Doña mainly as she sits at the kitchen table, watching me eat. (Don is apparently on his own schedule). We seem to converse with steady pace, given that I don´t know how to say anything. Easy repeats. It will rain today. This fruit is grown in El Salvador, but not in Michigan. Yes, I like beans very much. She works on her "bordado" embroidered placemattes as we talk, and pretty much all day, too.

Now it´s 7:30, and my dear parents have gone to bed. I´ll likely folow suit in two hours. A 9-to-5 sleep schedule? Unbelievable.

Que le vaya bien

I already love being here. San Salvador seems such a lively place, with solemn history and collective memory, as well as hilarious quirks--some of these analogous to things I´ve encountered before, but always aspects unique and special to this place. Something most unexpected, however, is an added layer of development beyond what I expected for a country only recently recovering from a most brutal war. For instance, my host parents are both retired and actually receive social security money, from the government. Fast food chains and relatively upscale stores line the city boulevards. The "consuma" fair was full of people making middle-class purchases, home electronics and appliances and such.

Of course, I only so far see the decorative icing. I realize this is city life, where the relatively small middle-class has opportunities for advancing livelihood (with tongue-in-cheek consideration of electronics purchases as "advancement" a la USA). The pueblo, the campo are different and live the same structural violence faced by rural poor everywhere. Even in the city, I´ve not yet found the disparities and oppressions I know exist.

Still, this is not Haiti.
No security, social or otherwise, exists there.

Over the last couple days, I´ve had moments of subconsciously trying to place my mind´s image of crumbled Port au Prince side-by-side with San Salvador. But I can´t, for Haiti seems so distant now, like a toddler who keeps tugging at my skirt and then running away before I can turn to look. News of the field hospital closing hit painfully 10 days ago, as I Skyped with Roosevelt only minutes before departing for the airport. Everyone did everything they could. My Haitian friend--he´s the one suffering, not I--told me to "kenbe la," hang in there. I hope they can.

I need to accept the tugging, for there´s so much I want to learn here: the lived history, base ecclesial community, local work for change... I learned my first local phrase the other day, which people say on the street as I pass, after buenos dias, "que le vaya bien" meaning "(hope) that it goes well (for you)." So far, it certainly is.

El Salvador del Mundo

Fiestas Agostinas, the August Festivals, is a week of vacation in El Salvador leading up to the Church feast of the Transfiguration of El Salvador, for which this country is named (obviously a big deal). I arrived just at the culmination to experience the amusingly poignant mixing of elements, secular and spiritual.

Hours after meeting my host family, we watched the country´s Catholic TV station broadcast the slow procession of Christ´s statue carried on a bed by a score of men, toward the national Cathedral in the central square. Absolute hoards of people surrounding it, for hours. It was dark when they reached the cathedral, where the Archbishop gave a brief homily, and then the statue was somehow descended "el bajar" into a huge globe resting on pillars, two stories high above the crowd. Minutes later, Christ reappears transfigured from a purple robe to shining white...at which point the people burst into ecstatic cheering and singing. Doña follows along from our living room view.

The next day, attended the solemn feast day Mass, also in front of the Cathedral with 10s of thousands standing in the balmy sun. I may have been imagining it, but I think I miraculously understood a good bit of the Archbishop´s homily, which focused on our need to concretely transfigure the world from one of oppression to one of peace. (Fist-pump to the land of lib theo) At communion, the congregation was instructed to stay in their place. "We (the ministers) will come to you." Beautiful.

Final day of feasting was a repeat of old experiences at my county fair. Except churros in place of elephant ears. The Salvadorans call it a "consuma," which seems an appropriate name for the enormous variety of "things" pawned off there. Fair games and rides naturally included, and a good once-a-year time for all.

One of the nights included fireworks, lit above a monument to El Salvador del Mundo at one of the city´s main traffic roundabouts. Far surpassing SJ´s Venetian display, this was the most elaborate showing I´ve ever seen. Yet, we seemed among only a small group of spectators. Personally, I´m not a huge fan of fireworks, and here, I cannot help but think how other explosions were so recently here...the bombs bursting in air.

And Now, For Something Completely Different*

*a la Monty Python

I am not in Haiti anymore, which is stating the obvious to the four readers of this blog (hola, madre). I spent just four days in Port au Prince at the General Hospital, and June 1 onward, was home wrestling with interminable questions: "Why did I leave?" "What should I do now?" "Am I useful to Haiti?" "Is usefulness anywhere even possible for me, right now?"...It was quite the pity party.

The only response, not even an answer, came from writing a little narrative of my last six months. I wanted to tell the story to myself, so its complexity never leaves my memory and so the admiration & affection for my Haitian and American partners never dims in my heart. I´m happy to share this narrative (shoot me an email or fb msg), once I have a chance to fix the typos & such.

I have a few months free until I must reaquaint myself with Gray´s Anatomy and the insulin/glucagon pathways. In the space between now and then, I hunger for another journey; that brings me here, to El Salvador, where I am currently living with a host family and begin language school this week. When I arrived in San Pedro Sula, Honduras 11 days ago, my Spanish vocabulary was 0, nada. An attempt to spend that first night at a convent didn´t work out, and led to some amusing mishap with my automatic recession into Kreyol as I fruitlessly struggled communicate with my taxi driver. The next day, however, I took a bus along the northern coast to Trujillo. Outside this town sits the Finca del Niño, where my dear friends Alisha, Erin, Kate, and Francesca live and work.

I spent a lovely 5 days with them: a privilege to witness the rhythms of the Finca´s school and home-style orphanage, the active love Honduran & American staff give the children, the generous simplicity with which the volunteers approach rural communal life. They offered me joyous hospitality. I spent the days walking the serene boundary between coastline and jungle, sharing bunks with Erin and Alisha, playing Settlers of Catan, dancing to Spanish World Cup songs with the Casa 2 girls, kayaking in the bay, running the red dirt hilly roads with Erin, watching over multiplication tables in Kate´s 4th grade class and marveling at her teaching abilities, playing tag at recess, following Alisha´s guidance as we cooked fried chicken & mashed potatoes & mango cobbler over an outdoor wood-burning fogon, enjoying plain beans and slurpy mangoes straight from the trees. Also time in the chapel, with its stained glass window as a proud symbol of the Finca´s serendipitous history, "El que in mi nombre recibe a este niño, a mi me recibe." It is so good to be with friends.

HODR Video: Everyday Extraordinary

Just came across this great little video done by Hands On Disaster Response in Leogane. When they enter the hospital, watch for a cameo of nurse Christina, and Williamson!

"Lè lapli tonbe, n'ap plante pwa." - When rain falls, we plant beans.

Returning

I have a very distinct memory from January 2009, of sitting at the PaP airport--my last time leaving, before the quake. Sipping a tiny cup of thick coffee in the upstairs cafe. Catching up on journaling. Then, a clear thought and sense, that I'd felt previously, but not with such clarity. "I will come back, and stay, and keep coming back."

My next return was March 1, 2010. Rushed preparation. After a month of running team logistics, I hadn't expected to be on the ground so soon; I lack the skills of an "early responder". But I was sent anyway. I spent my last night answering emails in the Miami airport. Around 5AM, twinges of nervousness became full-on fear: "what the heck am I doing? what can I possibly offer?"

Could have never predicted then how full and challenging and extraordinary the last two months have been.

This time, I'm eager. Anticipating, as I'm returning to similar work. But also comfortable with the wonder of what I can't expect.

I've said I'm working with Partners in Health, as a coordinator for medical volunteers at the General Hospital. So, more soon from HUEH.

**Importantly: all postings here are my own meandering thoughts, and do not represent the positions or opinions of PIH.

HAITI: U.N. Clash with Frustrated Students Spills into Camps - IPS ipsnews.net

HAITI: U.N. Clash with Frustrated Students Spills into Camps - IPS ipsnews.net

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Emily

10 days at home...you'd think I could write one little story about dear little Emily. Apparently not. But don't want to leave anyone hanging, so I'll again leave the colorful description to Abbey:

http://abbeymerryman.blogspot.com/2010/05/orevwa-goodbye-haitibut-it-wont-be.html

On that note, big congratulations to Dr. Abbey Merryman and Dr. Kristina Sinnott, who graduated last week. Partners in hospital coordination. Fantastic friends. And co-godmothers.

"Don't hurry, take time--the story will begin again"

My dear friend from Jamaica Plain makes calendars, featuring her art complemented by quotations to fit the rhythms of the year. Mom had turned mine to May already, so these words by Myra Shapiro met me when I returned home Friday night.

The time is certainly welcome. Already enjoyed an evening at the Kompound with food and wine and my favorite company. Nearly all my energy is still Haiti, though: finally perusing the team photo-sharing sites, searching for new Haitian music, pulling out my Kreyòl books to hit that tough next proficiency level, eager to re-read Uses of Haiti as a refresher on the historical power disparities.

Thinking about Haiti is now more a family activity. I woke up Saturday, uh, afternoon to have Mom immediately say, "Bren, I want to go back." It meant so much to have them experience it, learning & appreciating & enjoying. Barr rubbled with HODR and played with kids. Mom eagerly served as clinic "runner" and skilled lab tech for malaria RDTs.

Our last day started with me feeling a bit crummy, because I had no idea how to approach my "last" day. This team was strikingly awesome, and I'd thought more about more projects I could have taken on.... so felt unsettled, leaving things unfinished. And so attached to Leogane.

But after taking my friend Junior to the bus stop (he'd come from Carrefour-Feuilles for check-up with our ortho surgeon, as we plan his potential hip replacement in the States), I decided to walk deeper through the town than I normally take time to do.

On the outskirts, I saw four men building a wooden house. Clumsily tried to snap a candid picture, but one waved me off. So I went up to chat with them, show I meant no disrespect. They weren't hired workers, but rather, working together as friends. In rural areas, people share labor on farms in a tradition of holding "konbit", a work party. I think there are lots of konbit's now for rebuilding.

Later, went to MSF to debrief with Rachelle, the coordinator who showed good cheer during a few middle-of-night interactions. On the way back, told my moto driver I needed to change money. I'd rather have my last $60 in gds, to be ready for return.

Stop for curbside service, and I ask the guy, "Konbyen kòb li ye?" (how much is the money?). He quotes "sèt katrevenn dis." 790 Haitian dollars, per 100 US dollars. With the fixed 5 gds per Haitian dollar, that makes 39.5 gds / USD. Good rate. I am proud to know enough of the system here to do things like change money well on the street. But each day, I realize how much more to learn... I know quite little of Haiti.

One of my favorite activities is walking through town with team members, who work so hard at the hospital that their ventures beyond the premises are few. This afternoon, when we passed through the real Ste Croix, we were given a full tour by Suzi Parker, detailing the plans to reopen there later this summer. I hope it continues to move along.

Then to the Plaj St Luke beach village on motos (kudos to Mom for riding one!). Caught the Caribbean sunset. Back home for a delicious dinner (per usual). Later, most of the team went to "Joe's", a bar around the corner which enjoys very good business from HODR vols & other expats. While I usually pass on these excursions, I of course went this time... and really enjoyed rousing conversation over Prestige's. I'll miss this group, excellent people.

Ran into Wesly as we returned to the house yard, and he pulled me aside. "I am so sad you are leaving. Please come back, Bre..."

Okay, another story soon. But I hope that doesn't mean the first ends.

This picture is too big for me

"I see them boys in town, asking me how they can find a job to feed their families. They suffering. I just want to help them."

"I don't care too much about working at this hospital, where some these guys just trying to get rich and don't care how they treating people. I just want to take care of my family, maybe have a business, be responsible for myself."

"So many people out there are hungry. I let some out there have food from my house, but it's not enough."

"I want to build a safe house for my Mom to come and leave with me. I've only known her since I was 25 years old, but I'm so worried about her. Her situation makes me stress a lot." [breaking down crying here]

Robenson has been my most loyal accompanier here: guided me to households for my surveys, helped me ford small rivers, and lifted me down bleachers at the soccer stadium when things got rowdy. Via personal couriers to the US, he sent me inspiring letters. I received the last one just days after the earthquake: a lengthy spiritual reflection dated January 6, quoting from the Bible he'd asked me to send him over Christmas. I wept for him then from Boston, not yet knowing if he'd survived. He's a surviver.

I told him today about my plans: "That's fine if you gotta go work in Port au Prince. I understand. I'll follow you."

Deported and often shunned by his home culture, he deserves a chance in life. We talked about building job skills.... since we both know interpreter positions never have permanence. Potentially moving out of Leogane to follow connections or opportunities. If I do one good thing this year, it'd be to help him find a livelihood. He would be loyal to it, I hope. And I've seen him go beyond himself, with generosity to strangers in need. Though decidedly unpolished and often frustratingly distractable, I believe he is a samaritan.

"I worry about the situation in this country all the time. This picture is too big for me."

Leaving, and Arriving

Feels like a long time since I've written. And now, as I struggle to put words to thoughts, I realize how much I needed to write over the last two weeks. A shift occurred then. No longer were we constantly pulled 5 different directions in each instant. No longer do the day-to-day operations at the hospital require our direct intervention. Dr. Coles and Peter, our Haitian leadership, take care of it all. They do a darn good job, too. We've continued to tie up loose ends and tackle little projects. But the field hospital's biggest current needs stretch beyond what we as medical student coordinators can offer.

Not only have I felt more useless, and helpless, but also less vivacious. My energy dipped too low to sustain the desire I need for each day. I don't want to admit that feeling, the sense of dead weight, to even myself. I'm irritated about being tired. But I am tired.

So, it's time to move on. Take a short time at home to simply rest, and to reconnect with Haiti. My mind and spirit have been full time, full force on this hospital effort since February 1. I desperately need to step back, to reflect for a moment on this place. Why am I here? Where is my solidarity? How can I be an accompagnateur to this country, which draws me in ways I can scarcely describe?

I've been given an opportunity to work with Partners in Health at the state's public general hospital: HUEH, L'Hopital Universite de l'Etat d'Haiti. More to follow on the details, but would be a volunteer coordinator, etc... similar to what I've done over the past two months in Leogane. I spent a day and night there last week, with a PIH doctor and one of their current teams. There seems to be an active role to fill. I'm excited. And a little nervous. Both adjectives are understated.

Mom and Barrick arrived today to spend the week with me, as I tie up things here. We all leave Friday. At home, I hope to find a renewed way of being here. A way to enter each day with energetic humility: ready to work, ready to learn. The Catholic Worker attitude, as I first found this vivacity at Bethany House, living and working in the emergency women's shelter 4 years ago.

More reflections later on the leaving, and the plans for coming to a new place here. But I close this post with Peter's words: "You are going, so I will work doubly hard here. We can do this ourselves."