Introduction:
I am a 22 year old film maker, of average American background and upbringing. Like many others my age, I was in need of a serious education in the realities of the world beyond my everyday existence. I decided to use my media skills and talents to give something positive back to society and share with other people my age. In creating my educational travel series “Explore22”, I hope to share something with others that they may not have the ability to witness on their own. I am set to travel to different parts the world, live in various places and situations and through the eye of my camera, showcase my experiences in hopes of captivating and educating my viewers.The first episode took place in Haiti, 4 months after the major earthquake that struck and destroyed the country on January 12th of 2010. For this episode, I partnered with the non-profit organization “Global Volunteer Network (GVN). With the help of their CEO, Colin Salisbury, I stayed in Haiti and explored the culture, helped out at orphanages teaching children and worked to clean up some of the homes damaged or destroyed by the quake.
You can experience Haiti up close and personal in my first episode by visiting http://www.explore22.com. This writing is meant to go alongside Episode 1 and give added insight to events depicted (or omitted) in the video. It is my hope to create a small digital “book” filled with multiple chapters from all of my travels.
Chapter 1, Haiti: “Bonswa”
Haiti is a country which has been crushed with disaster, death, poverty and is what could now be considered a homeless nation. Apart from that, I call Haiti “magic” in that with all it has endured and lost, Haiti also has something which is a rarely found in even the most wealthy and flourishing nations. Haiti has love, understanding and a bond of family encompassed with fellowship that will not accept defeat. These qualities radiate from every man, women and child, in every marketplace, street and tent village.
Getting off the plane with my camera guy and friend Nick Cahill, I was instantly nervous. Not a soul in the Port Au Prince airport spoke English. As we rushed out of the main area with our bags, we were surrounded by Haitian people attempting to help us with our baggage in exchange for money. Enveloped in this sea of citizens attempting to sequester currency to support their lives and families, we were offered flags of Haiti, beautiful handmade artwork, instruments and directions. It was during these moments we came to the realization that we were entirely lost. It was immediately clear that we were geared up for an adventure, one that could either be incredible, eye opening and filled with enlightenment or a downright dangerous bad idea. As we continued saying no to the generous offerings while still being swarmed by people who were now following us from the arrival gate, I nervously handed a young boy a ten dollar bill in exchange for a dirty Haitian flag. I was proud of my purchase and continued buzzing on through the crowds. Just past the young boy, we saw a sign with our names indicating “GVN” (Global Volunteer Network).
We were met by a woman named Eliza Raymond, GVN’s Grant Coordinator. Alongside her was a guy that seemed around my age named “Junior.” He was one of the non-profit’s translators and guides. Junior explained to me loudly over the vivid crowd that we would be taking a van to the city of Jacmel. The van which lay several yards ahead was worn down with ripped interior and no seatbelts. Nick and I jumped in and coughed up the transportation fee of $200.00 USD. (We later learned that gas in Haiti was incredibly expensive due to demand being controlled by an internal mafia or gang equivalent.) You can’t actually buy gas from gas stations. They are nearly all closed down. People or gangs of people have control of the remaining fuel as well as what appeared to be new fuel either imported or somehow introduced into the country. Sweat dripped down our faces as the humid air and scent of pollution enveloped our lungs as we drove over the earthquake devoured terrain of Port Au Prince.
As we left Port Au Prince, we immediately noticed that nearly every building as far as they eye could see had been leveled and destroyed by the earthquake. The scene that met my eyes was a reality so grim and post-apocalyptic, that most people of my generation would think it only existed in the movies. However it was real and in our face. It became quite clear how 250,000 people were killed in less than one minute on the day of the quake. Both Nick and I experienced shivers as we looked out at the degraded horizon. Juxtaposed alongside of this trail of destruction stood strong the very people who lived within this reality. These people were helping each other, staying positive and working together amidst all the chaos that surrounded them. Haiti had not stopped functioning. Survival, dedication, love and teamwork erupted through the very souls of its people. Children were smiling, families supported one another, the market places continued as fresh eggs from chickens and bread lay present for purchasing or barter. People still had faith in each other and the culture still flourished.
Two hours after traveling away from Port Au Prince, the mountains overlooked the lush countryside and plantain crops and trees overtook the eye. From Jacmel Haiti, when you are above the main valley, it feels like you can look over the entire country. As we looked over the edge of the mountain and saw rainclouds raining down upon the land in the distance, everything began to feel utterly surreal. I think any person who has experienced Jacmel will tell you the same thing or attempt to explain the feeling in his or her own way.
The camp of the Global Volunteer Network was now in front of us as we exited the van. Everyone inside the compound slept in a tent/sleeping bag and utilized the hard rains to shower. Running water doesn’t exist. Need to shower? Go stand outside at 8am in the rain. The local people of Jacmel, most of whose homes were destroyed, also slept in sleeping bags/blankets and tents as did the the owners of the few remaining homes that were unsafe to return to. Tent supplies had been donated by various relief organizations throughout Haiti. Within 10 minutes of unpacking my gear, I was asked by another volunteer if I could help assist in the children's arts class. While drawing with the children, they were all interested in learning my name along with everything about me. These kids were highly curious and willing to learn. I discovered that when you explain something to someone in Haiti, they give all their effort to learn and understand it. I wonder if the native people I interacted with realized that I was just as curious to learn as they were, if not more. In Haiti, I was no more than a child, equal to the kids I was handing the crayons to. Of the many questions they had for Nick and myself, I can guarantee we had three times as many for them.
I quickly began learning how to speak Creole, the native language. One of the locals named Fennel ended up assisting me and taught me more with each passing day. He explained that teaching English and helping others was his mission from Jesus Christ. He also explained the Lord told him he should help his community and share all the money he makes with the children and others in need. The primary religion of Haiti is Voodoo, so it came as a shock to me that Fennel had touted Jesus for all the wonderful things he was doing as an individual. Junior quoted a Haitian saying that says “Haiti is 60% Christian faith and 110% Voodoo”. He also said that he didn't believe the people of Haiti fully understood the concept of Christianity. This came as a surprise to me because from what I could tell, around 40% of all aid organizations in Haiti were religious entities. I will give the religious groups credit for two things: They have done a lot of good work and provided a lot of help and they also seem to have given people, who may be otherwise entirely devastated, something to believe in.
Every single Haitian I met along the way was quite polite and seemed to understand that I meant well for both them and their country. Everyone I bumped into wanted me to know the world of Haiti. Within the first day of exploring Haiti, I immediately was able to denounce what seemed to be the typical rumor back in the United States, which is how dangerous and crime ridden Haiti was. I could say within the first 24 hours I felt safer in Jacmel than my average stroll through certain neighborhoods in San Francisco.
On the second day, me, Nick and another volunteer named Frank set out to help the Salvation Army with the physical labor of moving the remains of damaged homes from one location to the designated “rubble sites.” This “rubbling” routine took place each morning and lasted around 4 hours. We would shovel and break apart buildings with absolutely no machinery. People were cutting metal re-barb with hack saws. Haiti’s effort and resilience is unmatched. It took a while and a lot of carting debris away before I asked the question “where is all this stuff going?” which led me to the realization that Haiti had no trash system. We were simply moving debris from one area to another “main” area that would later be moved again once an actual system had been put in place by some entity such as the U.N or team of entities who would then determine where all the rubble was to permanently rest. Haitians, along with volunteers, had been cleaning garbage debris for 4 months and there was still no official dumping site. It seemed to me, if for no reason other than health, that such a system should have been organized and devised much sooner. At the end of every other street corner, you would see huge piles of accumulated trash, debris and rubble. I vividly remember the occurrence of a flash flood rainstorm and watching garbage-water spew out of all the rubble spots and wash into the street. This flood was so intense that the water was past car bumpers in areas of its greatest depth. Haiti is certainly in need of more organization and planning between aid organizations and the U.N. Things such as this still remain shocking to me.
The children of Haiti definitely play into the country’s overall magic. For all its devastation, Haiti is a place where the children never stop learning, growing and interacting with each other. Perhaps this sheds light on why the family oriented people of Haiti seem to have a level of fellowship I have never witnessed while living within the United States. Every child I passed would run up to us with big eager eyes, tug on our shirts wanting to show us or tell us something. Each mile walked you would see another school with its attendees in uniform or normal clothing, learning in as much of a positive environment which could be constructed. I was able to get to know some of the local children and youth. They thoroughly enjoyed pointing and giggling at my gesticulations and attempts to tell stories alongside my poor attempts at Creole. The happiness of the youth and their love for their family and friends assured me of the safety of the towns I visited. People in Haiti know how to live and respect and appreciate friends and family. I can’t emphasize that enough. However, certain area’s and places weren't as safe or as fortunate as others.
Visiting a camp named Pinchanat deeply troubled my soul. I witnessed people sleeping on flooded, mosquito-infested water in their own tents. This particular camp lacked both food and clean water. At one point off in the distance I saw teenagers and children fighting each other over a few food items. I arrived late with my camera, but managed to catch the tail end of the fight and placed for viewing within my film. After filming the fight, one of the men my age walked up to me followed by his friends. He looked what I will simply describe as extremely pissed. I can imagine and understand that he was angered by the fact that I had witnessed the situation while standing by with an expensive camera recording his reality. He later explained to me he was 24 years old, and based on his stature and the “gang” around him, I would have gotten in a hell of a fight if I wasn't able to explain myself and my intentions properly. In a very stern authoritative tone he barked at me and asked “Why do you film Haiti like this? To show people in your country and make fun of Haitian people?” After saying this, he motioned in for 3 of his other friends to surround me. I mustered up my courage realizing I was either going to get the living shit kicked out of me or worse and said very calmly, “No, I am here to show others my age the truth of your country and make them understand the life you are living. Hopefully they will want to help after seeing the truth.” Then, in a hostile tone he said, “And you come here preaching a religion to change people and their beliefs?” I spoke back quickly assuring him, “No, I have no religion. I am here to learn for myself and experience and understand Haiti.” It was then that he held his fist in the air, shot a deep stare into his friend’s eyes and they backed away. His last words to me were, “You, I give you my respect. I understand what you are doing. Please let people know that Haiti is a good place and that we are people struggling to live.” He gave me a fist bump with his thumb up, which I later learned was a universal sign of respect. Loads of stress and fear fluttered away and I felt uplifted. My emotions were running wild. My eyes had seen, smelled and lived something that seemed beyond any reality I had ever known. Haiti is real and in your face. Once you’re there, it’s a wakeup call. This is real, this is life. People wake up every day and this is their world.
Amidst all the chaos, there was always something else which granted reason to smile. Mieka was a local girl who many people joked and said I fancied or “fell in love with” during my travel. Local people had also been teasing her about the same thing. She is a down to earth person who is responsible and respectable. Something I respect in all young people. Mieka was the person who somehow managed to charter help and the likes of the Global Volunteer Network to her community. She served as the liaison between the community and the organization. Her efforts alone have helped her region of Jacmel greatly. She emitted a power and confidence that others looked up to. She invited me on a motorbike ride 3 hours up the mountain of Jacmel. The rain poured down violently. It was the driver, myself and Mieka all managing to fit on one bike. This is the moment I knew I was “officially on an adventure.” My t-shirt was soaked, I’m trekking up a mountain during a flash flood and the girl next to me is pointing at everything in sight and giving me the Creole name for it. I repeat the Creole word and teach her the word for the same object in English. I think that has become my official mental definition of an adventure or “exploring.” A price can’t be placed on a moment like that.
Once we reached the top of the hill, she showed me a hotel which was one of the only buildings that seemed to have almost completely withstood the quake. The owner of the hotel appeared to be the only person present in the building. He gave me a personal tour which included opening up his bar and serving me and Mieka drinks. As we drove back down the mountain, I found myself quite intoxicated. The rain and mud had covered us and our bike spun out on rocks that slipped beneath us. I remember my adrenaline kicking in and using my legs to upright all three of us on the bike before it hit the ground. Mieka laughed. I was too buzzed to find it humorous. The final funny moment occurred while on the way down the mountain. I needed to pee what could quite possibly have been more than I ever had to pee in my life. The sound of the rain just intensified my position. I yelped to both her and the driver “guys I need to pee - guys i need to piss - guys, me, bathroom- BATHROOM!” Of course the language barrier didn’t provide me with the luxury. I yelled “stop the bike!”, Both Mieka and our driver looked at me like I was crazy, as I jumped off the bike, found an adequate tree and conducted my business. As I walked back to the bike, language wasn’t needed to recap the situation as they both laughed hysterically now realizing what I had been attempting to say for the past 20 minutes.
During the last day, I sat outside with all the local people and had my obnoxiously long hair braided. The women and children laughed as the culture-eager white kid was braided up and introduced to “Uncle George”, a Haitian expression for pain. (The hair braiding is truly quite painful). My Haiti experience cannot be replicated. No amount of money can buy all that I learned and took part in. As my time neared its end, the thing I wanted most was to stay longer. After meeting loads of new friends, helping local orphans and learning about the culture, it was clear that Haiti is a place of wonder. The beauty, spirit, food and fellowship of the country have given me a new outlook on life.
Upon my return, the first episode of my online show caught on quite quickly. Within the first two weeks of my video being on the internet, I managed to get 15,000 views, interviews with FOX news, Tonic.com, San Francisco Examiner, as well as 200 subscribers on the website and 6 donations to the GVN Haiti project throughwww.explore22.com. I also gained a host of new Facebook friends who appreciate what I have sought to accomplish and want to be part of the next adventure. I could of course write infinitely about my time Haiti, and have undoubtedly missed countless interesting facts and situations, such as being swarmed and attacked by Rabis infested dogs, However I hope I have piqued your interest to learn more about the country on your own and perhaps even enticed you travel, volunteer or donate to various organizations providing help. This marks the end of the first written chapter of Explore22. I’m off to visit the next country!
