Of Men and Motos

Today marks my 2^nd full day here in Haiti, with one major difference: Len and Bernie left. I am the sole blan here at Be Like Brit, and have been left to fill Len’s massive shoes.  With Gama as my trusty sidekick and co-director, I feel confident that I will be effective in rallying our guys for one more week before the big opening. More than anything, I feel a sense of obligation and duty to Len and Cherylann to be sure that whatever needs to happen between now and January 5, 2013 quite simply just happens. They both have worked so tirelessly for so long that for me to report anything but success would be an insult to their efforts.

I’m finding great solace in Gilbert; he’s been an ally and at my side for the past forty-eight hours. Tonight was the first night since my arrival that dinner was a non-event. Gilbert cooked some food up and he and I shared a table on the 2^nd floor terrace, gazing north towards the incredible Caribbean waters while discussing the significance of local politics in the civil unrest we hear somewhat vaguely about each day. Gilbert is a man with whom I likely would have never forged a relationship with if we were in the States. He is a devout Christian, practicing in what many back home would consider to be a somewhat “animated” Pentecostal Church. In Haiti, however, that seems to fall somewhere between forgotten and irrelevant. I’m not sure why that is. I think we get so caught up in the way things are in the States that we forget that people do not, in fact, live in these dichotomies the U.S. media presents. That almost all human life shares common joys, triumphs, goals, pleasures and satisfactions. A meal with good conversation transcends boundaries of religious affiliation, of politics, or whatever variable we may analyze from our Western framed and taught minds. Here in Haiti, the simplicity and commonality is in our humanity; it’s in our being human.

Olen and Gilbert prepare Sunday dinner in the Be Like Brit kitchen!

My first major challenges today were to keep tabs on some six painters, whom I split up into three pairs to take on various projects here at Be Like Brit.  Ever the foreman, Gama would occasionally walk past me and ask “do you have control over your men?” Good question, I thought – at times and wondered who they were and where they may have wandered off to. The language barrier is indeed going to be a challenge, and as it presents itself as such with the workers, it only underscores the importance that I develop some skills in Creole in order to work effectively with the children we will soon bring in to the Center. 

I also witnessed my first Haiti-moto accident today. We were parked on the hill going up the mountain waiting for a tank of gas to be delivered, as Franky our driver perhaps did not believe me when I managed to utter “Ou bezwen gas?” as we set off to collect the last of the mattresses hauled in from Port-au-Prince. As the two motos collided, one man was sent careening towards the ground, and clearly suffered the brunt of the force more significantly than the man who managed to keep his bike upright and largely unscathed.  Within seconds, a group of 20 to 30 Haitians emerged from their shoddy huts and crumbling domiciles to participate in the great drama that ensued.

Angela and I jumped from the BLB truck to be sure the man who was thrown to the ground was at least conscious: He appeared to be in a moderate level of pain, and the torn pant leg and fair amount of skin ripped from his knee cap indicated that indeed, he was. While his injuries did not appear to require a visit to the hospital or a doctor, the pain was obvious. Despite this, the other motorist with whom he collided and his group of supporters all began to yell at him; to accuse him of being at fault, for not watching where he was going, etc., etc.  In all of this chaos, we refueled the truck enough to get going back up the mountain, and as we drove off, I wondered what would have happened if the man had suffered a broken leg, perhaps a compound fracture. Where would he go? Who would bring him? How would he pay? Or would he go anywhere? In a place like Haiti, where the very basics are luxuries, it’s likely that he would have been left to suffer on the side of that dirt road, creeping up a mountain alongside washed out culverts and nearly impassable twists and turns. And then what? In all likelihood, he would have lost his ability to work, his ability to earn an income, and the ability to feed himself and the family he almost invariably has at home.

From something so common, so simple: A moto accident; even a minor one.  In Haiti, that is life-changing. One may survive the accident itself, only to suffer fatal consequences in the aftermath.

I suspect this will be just one of thousands of these incidences I will bear witness to. I’m sure I will evaluate life and the meaning of such time and again. I imagine my contemplations will be no less profound than those who have pondered over these same happenings before me, nor will future minds do so more eloquently or with any sort of notable variation in conclusion.

But that’s the point, right? If we stop wondering, we stop caring. When we stop caring, we have turned our backs on people who truly have nothing and undoubtedly rely on whatever token of hope we are able to offer them.  When we stop thinking about these things, we stop being like Brit.  Simple, everyday reminders keep us on track.  Today, my reminder was the man thrown from his moto, and the uncertainty of what might happen to him as a result.

Thanks for reading,

Jonathan