(**Disclaimer – it was weird typing this out and re-living the beginning of the trip. They are good memories, though, and I need to share them. And don't worry, today's post will be the longest, so don't be scared off.**)
New Year's Day, we went over to the Grace's in the morning to pack the team bags and then went to Chicago to fly out of O'Hare. We flew to Fort Lauderdale and spent the night. Cecil, Sahlman, Nick and I went to Mike's SportsZone next door and watched some football and enjoyed some American food for the last time before getting to Haiti.
Early on the 2nd, we headed to the airport and our flight took off around 8:30am with no problems. Well, almost no problems:
The flight to Haiti was actually smoother than the flight to Florida. That one had some white-knuckle turbulence. Not fun. Unless you like falling all over the sky...freak.
Once we arrived in Haiti, it was a whole new world. As we exited the flight, a band played and welcomed us.
The baggage claim area was huge and all the bags were scattered. Then, as we left, the vultures struck. These men try to help you with your bags, very aggressively, so you have to pay them. At one point, I wanted to take video of the chaos so I let go of my suitcase and grabbed my camera. I swear to you, within a second three guys came at me, eyes fixed on my bag. I pocketed my camera in a flash, grabbed the handle of my suitcase, and said, “No! I'm fine! I got it!” One guy even grabbed the handle and walked with me while I went toward the truck and finally let go after it was clear I wasn't letting go.
We loaded up the back of a pick-up truck with the luggage and then piled into an old eleven-passenger van. 12 of us. The rest of the guys actually rode on the top of the luggage. Don't tell the wives.
We stopped at a gas station to eat. They had a plethora of choices: chicken sandwich, with or without cheese. It was actually fine, but it had lettuce and tomatoes on it, so of course I was paranoid. It tasted fine and I experienced no nasty side-effects.
The Ride
I know this won't do it justice, but I want to get some thoughts down about the ride from Port au Prince to Jacmel. I might as well have had a three-hour ride on the moon. Shocking.
Going through Port au Prince was...confusing. Surreal. There are no discernible traffic laws, so it all went so fast. Almost all the cars are old and beat up. Windshields are all spidered with cracks. They're representative of everything here: In a state of disrepair. Everything is crumbling. Broken. Dirty. The streets and alleys are filled with sewage and garbage. It stinks. The buildings are all shells of their former selves. Sprawling homes, now empty, their insides laid bare for everyone to see. Sometimes clothes were draped over the walls. A cobbled together wooden ladder lays precariously, propped up from one floor to another. People actually live here.
The Presidential Palace stuck out like a sore thumb. Bright white, regal, solid...just seemed out of place. (And is now the most striking image of the quake for me)
They live in these places.
Millions of people. They were all walking around, clad in bright colored clothes and hats. They look normal. Just living life. Wearing earbuds, stepping over trash. Smiling while pigs roll around in filth on the corner.
I don't get it. These people live here. Millions of people who live in this disgusting, dirty, dangerous city. Are the happy? Do they know that this isn't normal? Of course not. It IS normal to them. I'm sure it will take a while to process this. Then, after the city, we headed up and through the mountains...
An hour-and-a-half of white-knuckled excitement. I knew it was going to be crazy, but it was even more so than I could have expected. I actually handled it really well. I had prepared myself that this is how they drive and I just need to trust that they'll get us there. And they did. My theory was actually this: The driver wants to live as much as I do. While this may not actually be true, or so it seemed, it was still comforting.
The terrain was incredible. Very twisty and steep. Neither condition caused our driver to slow down, though. We all held on tightly and prayed every time we rounded a corner, hoping nobody was coming in the other direction. At one point, we saw what we feared. We rounded a corner and there was an overturned van and people milling about. From what we could tell, everyone was ok, but it still scared to snot out of us.
We finally made it to the hotel and breathed a sigh of relief. Heaven would not have us this day.
The hotel is beautiful. It's old and also in disrepair, but it's right on the beach. I can hear the waves crashing as I write this. I told Steve and Nick that this place must have been “something else” in its hey-day. A spectacle. Everything is open, a nice pool ocean-side, surrounded by mountains, big stain-glass windows. (This is hilarious to read now...hopefully I get into what the hotel was REALLY like at some point!) We settled into our rooms and then...we went to the orphanage.
The Orphanage
We took two trips, standing in the bed of a pick-up. It was about a 20-minute drive to the orphanage. When we got there, the kids ran to us. Most of them are very affectionate. I remember some of their names: Ochen, Jean Paul, Wesley, Kaylene...but the one with the unforgettable smile...I can't remember his name. I'll find out again tomorrow.
The kids are funny and seem happy. I played with Ochen and helped the one with the smile for a while. The older boys played with me and Nick and were joking and laughing. They kept saying “belle” (beautiful) and pointing at the girls and laughing. Some of the boys were picking on another boy for being so thin, “like a skeleton.” A little ironic, I thought. Nick was doing a great job of protecting him, though.
The place itself is interesting. They say it's better than it was. Pretty primitive.
Some other thoughts about the first trip to the orphanage:
“Photo!” All the kids love taking pictures. They were asking everyone with cameras if they could use them. They are also curious about my arm. It's weird not being able to tell them I was born that way. They go to the bathroom wherever. The little kids at least. They don't wear pants if they aren't potty-trained because the logistics of washing all those clothes is ridiculous.
I called Julie three times today. Voicemail every time. I hope she's ok. I miss her. I miss the kids. I hope they're well. And being good.
What is this trip going to do to me? I'm still not sure.
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