Notes From Leogane No. 4

Dear Family and Friends:

In Leogane, twisted pieces of rebar, metal and concrete chunks, from stores and houses demolished on January 12, 2010, still are scattered on the sides of roads and in empty lots.  Slowly but surely these visual sores are being removed. I know there is much hurt here, both on the surface and deeper within the walking wounded.  There are daily reminders whenever you walk about Leogane.  I cannot pretend to know the magnitude of the heartache and the physical and emotional scars that remain with the good people of Leogane, in Port-au-Prince and other communities in Haiti.  But, it is not too difficult to know that real horror came to Leogane not too very long ago.  As was reported by a member of the British press on January 18, 2010:

 As a guest in Leogane, I see the obvious physical scars fifteen months later; children, teens and older men and women with amputated limbs. The emotional wounds surely are there, but they are not that apparent to me.  They do bubble to the surface every so often in unexpected ways.  Five days ago, I was sitting outside, near the main hospital entrance, when a young girl - best guess, 7- 8 years old - walked over from across the street, sat down, and greeted me in English.  I already had noticed her sitting on a small straw fashioned chair with some adults tending to business at a modest street stand selling various packaged snacks and sundries. Her English was far superior to my Creole.  As we exchanged pleasantries, she remarked without embellishment to me, a complete stranger, "My father died."  I later learned he perished in the 'quake.

I have no idea how long it will take for someone who experienced the horrors in January, 2010 to no longer relive that time every day or week, or maybe only in dreams.  Our past remains with us in a multitude of measures, with complex and nuanced tugs on the heart and mind.  I think it fair to say that after extreme hardship, some people can move on, though still hurting inside, while others are totally paralyzed by their grief and shock at what happened to them and their loved ones, whether now lost or living.

In the midst of all this, fifteen months later there are palpable changes in the look of the streets, as compared with the photographs and videos I have seen of Leogane from the first few weeks after the earthquake.  Across the street, next to Madame Carmen's lime green house, three new adjoining, two-story apartment buildings have been built.  L'hopital Sainte Croix is undergoing a major renovation; the dust in my bedroom is witness to this.  A new hospital wing is on the drawing board.  When I met earlier this week with the architect who prepared the hospital architectural plans and specifications, he showed me the plans and graphic design renderings for the new Episcopal school and church next door.  Many here of course hope that eventually all necessary funds will become available to fulfill this most ambitious of dreams.

During my first walk around Leogane two weeks ago, I was told that for the first few weeks after the 'quake just about everyone stayed put. No one walked around what little there was left of their neighborhoods because there were so many rotting corpses lining the streets and filling empty lots. To my eye now, Leogane is moving forward.  There are many small shops.  "Motos", the light weight motorcycle in-town taxi service to use when you need to get somewhere within 10 or so miles, are doing a brisk business. (A lesson I learned quickly was that, when you hear the loud "beep" of a Moto horn, don't make any quick moves toward the side of the street.  Stay in a straight line or stop, because there may be several Motos passing on your right and left at the same time.  There are no yellow center stripes on the main streets of Leogane city center.)

This morning, a large flat-bed truck pulled up in front of Madame Carmen's house.  It was greeted with animated gestures and vocal gymnastics from several adults; though of course I had no idea what they were saying.  I think they were directing the two-man crew in the truck, from Samaritan Purse International Relief, to the intended location of the cargo of strong looking wooden building panels, with fasteners embedded in the panels to aid in joining them together.

By the end of daylight, a wooden floor and four wooden sides to the structure, with a hinged door, were erected.  All that is lacking at this time is a metal roof.  My best guess is that this shell of a new home will provide about 400 square feet of under roof living space. I don't know how many people will live there; 3, 4, or 6?  Thousands upon thousands of these ready-to-assemble sheds/ homes are needed in Leogane, Port-au-Prince, and other communities ravaged since January, 2010, to replace the make-do plastic cover or canvas make-shift tents you see everywhere in the impact zones.

Not to be misunderstood, the building of more substantial permanent homes and commercial buildings is now part of the fabric of Leogane. In many places, columns of rebar stand erect in anticipation of the completion of the concrete forms that will surround them, as monuments of a sort to the grit of this community. The music that streams through my bedroom window, three - four nights a week from "The Massage" club, brings forth brass beats, laced with a heavy dose of Cuban-style songs - think of the Buena Vista Social Clubs albums - and the ebb and flow of laughter.  The bad news, after two weeks I realize this club has a collection of about 15 - 20 songs that are played every night, and usually in the same order.  The one I least like lasts about five minutes.

I hope to make "Joe's" tomorrow night - about 1/2 mile from the hospital - for a few Prestige beers (Haiti's own brew) with the "post-earthquake documentary" film producer and cameraman who stayed here last week.  Joe's is supposed to be the "anti-Massage" bar. Whether that was intended by the owner, or merely was the result of a more modest business budget, Joe's works for me and for a number of NGO volunteers in town.  I hear that now that a table (a piece of plywood supported by two building blocks) has joined the eight chairs for patrons, there has been a noticeable increase in clientele. Whatever their choice of night spot, my view is that it is good to hear of people partying in this town.

I had dinner this past Tuesday night with the hospital architect and the Head of the Nursing College in Leogane, Dean Hilda Alcindor. She is an amazing person. Haiti needs as many Hilda Alcindors as it can find.  At dinner, the Dean was happy to report that this year's graduates would complete their four years of nursing instruction on schedule, and will graduate next month.  The nursing students of Leogane played a major role in assisting with the rendering of acute trauma care, the delivery of babies, and other essential medical care in the aftermath of the earthquake, on the grounds of the Nursing College.

 The college saw 5,000 surgeries performed there from the day of the earthquake through the end of May 2010, due in no small part to the minor damage experienced at the nursing college as compared with the wholesale destruction of buildings at l'hopital Saint Croix.  No one can accuse Leogane of being a quiet place.  In certain parts of town, including outside my window, people talk in the street from early morning until late in the evening.  I think this is a good thing.  This place seems to have taken a healthy dose of happy banter and the poking of fun at friends.  (Remind me when I get back to Arizona to relive the "joke on Dave" the first time I had to go outside in the dark, on the grounds in back of the hospital, to restart the electrical generator at 1:45 a.m. when all power had been cut-off to the Guesthouse.   Let's just say it took me 35 minutes to "find the solution" that early morning.  After this "lesson", I can get the power back on in 5 minutes from the time I get out of my bed at night.)

After two weeks in Leogane, I'm becoming somewhat attuned to the daily sounds and street beats outside my windows.  The first sounds of a crowing rooster let me know that a new day is fast approaching. (Yes, they do crow to herald the coming of dawn.)  The ice truck, dropping blocks of ice across the street for St. Anne Pharma and two apartment dwellers, usually is the first signal of the start of a new work day. As I shave, around 5:30 a.m. or so (usually closer to "so"), out of my bedroom window I can see women walking to one of the street side markets on Rue St. Croix or farther away at the "Bus Depot" not far from the Leogane Cemetery.  They are carrying all sorts of fruits, vegetables, kitchen wares, packaged goods, clothes, etc.  The buzz of Motos on streets near the hospital confirms the approach of 7:30 a.m.  The march of school children by the hospital - all in uniforms – tells me that 8 a.m. is near.

All day trucks pass by with an assortment of building materials, appliances, equipment, and dry goods. At least one should be carrying cases of Prestige. At all hours of the day, I see people stop and chat with their neighbors and friends. Madame Carmen always has an impressive array of visitors.  Some of her biggest fans seem to be teenage boys in the neighborhood. These chatty times have shown me that I have much to learn about the courtesy of asking someone about their health, and news about their family members, before diving into the cold facts of business at hand.

Each day in Leogane brings the type of activities that reveal this to be a vibrant place.  I like best the slow but deliberate unfolding of the day that morning brings.  (I expect Jeanne still doubts that I now take showers before 6:15 a.m. each morning.  So much for that "sleeping in with early retirement thing.")  Others here will prefer the faster pace of mid-day.  Maybe they enjoy the sight and sounds of the vendor walking up and down the streets yelling, "dlo, Dlo, DLO!” as each word for "water" becomes louder, and the pronunciation is stretched out more, with the fervent hope of attracting a paying customer.

Perhaps the "twenty-somethings" look forward to the evening and the chance for music and laughter at a club. Parents may treasure time at the dinner table, to hear stories about school from their children and to discuss other events of the day just completed. Whatever the preference, these choices, and the sounds and beats of the streets, mean that there is renewed life in Leogane.  As I begin to settle in to somewhat of a groove here at the Guesthouse - as best you can when there is construction dust everywhere and you have to take a "bucket bath" because water has been shut off to the individual rooms - these Notes will now be sent no more frequently than once every seven days.  I have completed the Notes that set forth my initial sightings and impressions since arriving here on March 30.

It's time for me to venture into new areas of town, meet new people, and have different Leogane experiences, so that the Notes remain of interest to you. But, should I suffer a fit of writer's cramp, I am holding in reserve a Note about the wonderful staff here, who treats me so well. And the food - "Manje a pi bon gou!" As I close, Dr. Livingston has leaped up onto the desk next to my lap top.  He's just chillin' on a book taking a cat nap. (I couldn't help myself). He too wants to avoid the dusty floors. He remains a really cool chat (Creole for "cat"). Hard to believe an eight-month old kitten could have such personality. But not to worry, Dylan. When put to the question I remain a dog lover and partial to Black Flat Coat retriever rescue dogs.  I hope his Note finds you and your loved ones in good health and spirits.

David

April 14, 2011