I awoke this morning, lifting my head from the deep pillow, and looked out the balcony to the tangle of trees off the wrought-iron balcony. I went down to the patio for breakfast, surrounded by dense flowering vines and the tinkling of tropical birds. In the Caribbean breeze I sipped coffee and read while listening to the French flowing around me. I read my book about Welsh gardens and the English countryside. Thanks to my muddled ancestry, just as the Latinos had assumed I was Latina and spoke freely to me in Spanish, the white French men here freely converse in French to me as I take my coffee. I nod back blankly, enjoying the elegant flowof French mixed with the burbling sound of Creole. Like French but with the roundness of West Africa rolled in.
Across the hillside from my lovely morning the white slums climb the hillside. On the drive up to our hotel, a small woman with blank eyes absently tapped on the truck's window asking for anything.
The view in front of me at the hotel (above) and the view behind me at the hotel (below).
At breakfast yesterday, Timothee told us that when the Bible speaks of the poor, it speaks of Haiti. "The Bible says, 'the poor you will always have with you.' In America, you can live in neighborhoods far away from the poor. But in Haiti the poor are always with you, climbing the hill behind you." He tells us of how the French slave masters in the 1700s would mistreat the Africans, burying them up to their heads and dripping corn syrup down their faces for the ants to feast on. He proudly tells of the Africans' revolt, becoming the first black republic. But the proud heritage is mired now in decades of violent and corrupt government.
The view in front of me at the hotel (above) and the view behind me at the hotel (below).
At breakfast yesterday, Timothee told us that when the Bible speaks of the poor, it speaks of Haiti. "The Bible says, 'the poor you will always have with you.' In America, you can live in neighborhoods far away from the poor. But in Haiti the poor are always with you, climbing the hill behind you." He tells us of how the French slave masters in the 1700s would mistreat the Africans, burying them up to their heads and dripping corn syrup down their faces for the ants to feast on. He proudly tells of the Africans' revolt, becoming the first black republic. But the proud heritage is mired now in decades of violent and corrupt government. I simply cannot make the world of Welsh gardens and rich coffee and slums crumbling below themselves and men buried to their necks fit inside my head.
3 comments:
This is a poignant reminder of how much we in American have, even when the economy has slowed.
Do you love it when I speak French? :)
Haiti seems like the place to go (in the Americas) if you want to have your picture of the world shaken up a bit. For one thing, it shows you how just a few bad people can cause so much damage to a good place (sort of like Zimbabwe). Your writing is so beautiful and poignant, by the way. No wonder you're the author and the writing teacher. Very moving. It's sort of like the big homes you had to pass on the way into the slums in Kenya.
Boy, what a contrast. Hope you have a safe flight home!
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