Inspired years ago by my dear friend K's high school Easter break trip to Honduras, I visited Haiti. It was 13 years ago, but I can recall so much of the trip with a vividness that must be attributed to the vibrancy of Haitian culture. I was one of three white women in our group of 12 college students. At the time, it was very good for me to feel so out of place, at least physically, at least at first. But only at first. The beauty of the Haitian people was (and is!) striking - their high cheekbones and wide smiles, their proud, long necks. I admit I was surprised by the physical pull they had on me.
The details of the trip are shocking now - how my parents must have privately groaned with terror as I described the third (or maybe it was the fourth) time I thought we would be killed using Haiti's "public transportation system." That is, if you can call sitting on the edge of a upturned tire while holding someone else's infant (so they can keep their rooster calm and inside the empty feedbag they're using to transport the animal to market) in the back of a dump truck with at least 100 others part of a system. Did I mention we were rollicking our way down the side of a mountain on our way from La Valle to Jacmel? It was good to have that sweet baby to concetrate on - it kept me from looking out the sides of the truck. We stayed in Port-au-Prince for most of the trip, at a guest house run by the St.Joseph's Home for Boys. Though news from Haiti is very bad, a minor miracle occurred at St. Joseph's: everyone in their community is accounted for. Only 2 needed medical attention. The rest, and there are many in the St. Joseph family, are coping together and managing, for now.
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