Nikom and his family got their new house today. Though I wasn't there in person, I know it was a very moving moment--for Nikom and his wife, who have greater hope for their children; for their children, who have a sturdier place to live; and for our team, who arrived 10 days ago, helped build a house from the ground up, and is about to leave.
Like most new homeowners, Nikom also has a mortgage. He needs to repay Habitat for the materials and the skilled labor needed to build his house. The terms are manageable, but they are still a debt. But he doesn't have to pay anything for the labor our team provided. That was our gift to him and his family. And to ourselves.
15 years ago two friends stood up at meeting and announced an ecumenical group was forming to help rebuild black churches. In the mid-90's, there was a rash of arsons of black churches in the Deep South, and groups were organizing all over the country to help rebuild them. I joined immediately. It was a disparate group religiously--mostly Jews and Catholics, a few Presbyterians, two Quakers, and one secular humanist (which I guess is a sort of faith.)
We journeyed to Johnston's Station, Mississippi to help rebuild the Rocky Point Missionary Baptist Church. The church had been burned down on the 25th anniversary of Martin Luther King's assassination. Two teen-age white boys from the community were arrested, convicted and serving time in prison. It was now time to help rebuild the church.
We went, we worked, and we found a new vocation--one that combined our interest in travel, meeting and connecting with other communities, and being of service.
Annually thereafter, many of us journeyed again to do the same. In alternate years, to El Salvador. In between, in Philadelphia, where most of us lived (I had quite ironically moved to Mississippi) and knew that people and communities needed us at home as well as abroad.
And then I discovered Habitat's Global Village program. I had worked on Habitat locally but had never known they had a global program, in 100+ countries, that combined my interests in travel, meeting and connecting, and serving. And so began the next iteration in my vocation.
Over the years, I've been on 15 Global Village trips. Taking me to places I couldn't pronounce or spell (Kyrgyzstan) or had a nomadic allure (Mongolia), to more typical places like Ecuador, Chile, Mexico and Guatemala, to Zambia with my long-time best friend, to India with my niece, and to other places as well.
In between, I also went back to New Orleans, a city I had grown to love (and still do) when we lived in Mississippi. We knew it pre-Katrina, and I wanted to be of service post-Katrina. And what better way, in the City of Music, than to participate in helping to build the Habitat Musician's Village in the heart of the upper 9th ward.
Eventually, after resisting for several years, I decided to volunteer to be a team leader. (I used to say I was in a 12-step program of recovery from management and was only in the 1st step.) I realized the Global Village trips only work when leaders step forward and volunteer, so I finally decided I had taken enough (11 teams as a participant) and it was time to give back (as a team leader.)
And it was what I expected it would be---a different experience. I was management rather than participant. I had to hold back and manage, forming the team, informing them, managing team dynamics and workplace issues (amazingly enough, they exist on a volunteer work site!), etc. And I grew to realize that the fun/not fun quotient was declining, as it did for me when I was working for money. While some of the same aspects were present (travel to fascinating places, connecting with "real" people that you simply can't do when you're a tourist, being a traveler rather than a tourist as one team member said), it was beginning to seem more like work and less like fun. And while I still always derived some of the same pleasures, I had to do them through others and their stories, rather than directly. Sort of like through my "students" rather than directly. But I wouldn't trade any of this--even my most challenging experiences--for anything.
And so, after 20+ build trips, to 17 countries on 5 continents (I've missed Antarctica, "and don't forget Australia."), it is time for me to find a new vocation.
My rear car bumper has an array of flag decals from the countries where I've built. With the latest decal from Thailand, the bumper will be full. Some time ago Anne asked "what will you do when the bumper's full--get a new car?" No, I'll get a new vocation.
Showing posts with label volunteer travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label volunteer travel. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Friday, January 13, 2012
Thailand: Nikom
Team up bright and early, ready for our first day at the job site. Hop in unique wildly colored open-air Thai vehicles, drive out to the outer edge of the city (land's always cheaper there), down a lane, and stop. Brief welcoming ceremony, primarily introductions of Habitat staff, ourselves, and Nikom, the owner of the house we'll be building.
Nikom is a 41-year old Thai, married with three children. He was there with his wife and youngest child, the other two being already in school. He is a junkman--finding valuable (i.e. marketable) waste around his immediate neighborhood and selling it. Recycling before it became big business. The family lives in a small house, shared with another family. The "house" is shelter, but only that--impermanent walls, corrugated metal roof, dirt floor.
Like most parents, Nikom hopes his children will have a better life. So some of his income goes to school fees for them. The government pays the basic costs of education, but parents have to pay for books, supplies, school uniforms, etc. His father has given him some land on which he can build a better house. But with his modest income, the costs of children, etc. he can't get far. And so he applied to Habitat Udonthani, qualified, and was selected. And today, a team of 16 arrived from America, Bermuda, Canada and Hong Kong to help him build his house.
The house already was started--the support columns were in place, the metal roof already forming a welcome canopy from the sun and any rain. This is a first for me--it has always been the opposite. The roof has always gone on last. (And I was just a little disappointed, since I especially love to do roofing.)
The house is the typical Habitat Global Village house. About 18 x 18 (a little smaller than a typical 2-car garage), divided into four equal rooms, with metal-frame windows and doors. It also has an appendage for the toilet (a first in my experience!) which will connect to a small septic tank we have to dig and line with concrete block.
Lunch each day is prepared by local women, brought to the build site, and eagerly consumed by all. Real Thai food, cooked by real Thai women, in their simple homes. No stainless steel appliances, Viking stoves, island kitchens, etc. Cooking pots, fires, and skill.
Our task for Days 1 and 2 was to tie together the re-bar, put the forms in place for the ground beam, mix and pour the concrete for the beam, dig the hole for the septic tank, and leave. We did all of that, and finished ahead of schedule on the 1st day. Impressive. Even they were impressed. Neighbors watch. Nikom comes home from work. And smiles.
Day 2 came, put soil back in the rooms to prepare for the eventual poured concrete floor, carry block and brick, mix concrete, and lay the first five courses (rows) of the walls. Again, accomplished this in one day, scheduled to take three. Nikom's oldest son (11) joins us after school, pleased to learn a new skill, proud to be able to help build his house.
Day 3 came, more concrete-mixing and block-laying, this time on some scaffolding (not OSHA-approved, but better than many I've seen elsewhere. And climbed.) Two walls completely finished. Window and door frames installed. Not supposed to happen until Day 6. Our scheduled Saturday half-day of work is cancelled, for obvious reasons. A full-day trip to Laos is substituted. Nikom's wife, all smiles, joins in on the work as well.
Day 4 came, continue to build walls, leaving little left to complete the walls. Ahead, after the weekend, we'll level the dirt floor in all four rooms, then (with the merciful aid of a rented cement mixer) have a marathon of concrete making/pouring/leveling of the floors. And the house will be finished, we will have a dedication ceremony, and we will leave.
And Nikom and his family, and especially his children, will have a safe, solid secure home to live in--and to do their homework.
Nikom is a 41-year old Thai, married with three children. He was there with his wife and youngest child, the other two being already in school. He is a junkman--finding valuable (i.e. marketable) waste around his immediate neighborhood and selling it. Recycling before it became big business. The family lives in a small house, shared with another family. The "house" is shelter, but only that--impermanent walls, corrugated metal roof, dirt floor.
Like most parents, Nikom hopes his children will have a better life. So some of his income goes to school fees for them. The government pays the basic costs of education, but parents have to pay for books, supplies, school uniforms, etc. His father has given him some land on which he can build a better house. But with his modest income, the costs of children, etc. he can't get far. And so he applied to Habitat Udonthani, qualified, and was selected. And today, a team of 16 arrived from America, Bermuda, Canada and Hong Kong to help him build his house.
The house already was started--the support columns were in place, the metal roof already forming a welcome canopy from the sun and any rain. This is a first for me--it has always been the opposite. The roof has always gone on last. (And I was just a little disappointed, since I especially love to do roofing.)
The house is the typical Habitat Global Village house. About 18 x 18 (a little smaller than a typical 2-car garage), divided into four equal rooms, with metal-frame windows and doors. It also has an appendage for the toilet (a first in my experience!) which will connect to a small septic tank we have to dig and line with concrete block.
Lunch each day is prepared by local women, brought to the build site, and eagerly consumed by all. Real Thai food, cooked by real Thai women, in their simple homes. No stainless steel appliances, Viking stoves, island kitchens, etc. Cooking pots, fires, and skill.
Our task for Days 1 and 2 was to tie together the re-bar, put the forms in place for the ground beam, mix and pour the concrete for the beam, dig the hole for the septic tank, and leave. We did all of that, and finished ahead of schedule on the 1st day. Impressive. Even they were impressed. Neighbors watch. Nikom comes home from work. And smiles.
Day 2 came, put soil back in the rooms to prepare for the eventual poured concrete floor, carry block and brick, mix concrete, and lay the first five courses (rows) of the walls. Again, accomplished this in one day, scheduled to take three. Nikom's oldest son (11) joins us after school, pleased to learn a new skill, proud to be able to help build his house.
Day 3 came, more concrete-mixing and block-laying, this time on some scaffolding (not OSHA-approved, but better than many I've seen elsewhere. And climbed.) Two walls completely finished. Window and door frames installed. Not supposed to happen until Day 6. Our scheduled Saturday half-day of work is cancelled, for obvious reasons. A full-day trip to Laos is substituted. Nikom's wife, all smiles, joins in on the work as well.
Day 4 came, continue to build walls, leaving little left to complete the walls. Ahead, after the weekend, we'll level the dirt floor in all four rooms, then (with the merciful aid of a rented cement mixer) have a marathon of concrete making/pouring/leveling of the floors. And the house will be finished, we will have a dedication ceremony, and we will leave.
And Nikom and his family, and especially his children, will have a safe, solid secure home to live in--and to do their homework.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Poland: Two Women
Alexandra and Magda are two attractive young Polish women. Probably in their 30's (everyone's young as far as I'm concerned.) They are social workers, have been working with the homeless population. There used to be two shelters for homeless women in this area. One was forced to close--didn't meet fire safety regulations, and either couldn't (or didn't want to) come up to code.
So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.
They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.
They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.
I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.
And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.
Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.
My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.
So Alexandra and Magda started a foundation. Began searching for a place and money. Operating money can come from the government. But not for the building. Found this building, which needed substantial renovations, but had no credit to be able to borrow the funds to renovate it. Partnered with Habitat, and together, their vision is (closer to) becoming a reality.
They have come each day to the build site. Big smiles on their faces as they see the progress we have made. Still major hurdles ahead--the leaking roof requires much money, they don't know where it will come from, etc. But still they smile. Have energy. And dream.
They came again today, our last day on the build. Lots of smiles, many pictures, and a few glistening eyes. We've finished 5 bedrooms, done some major demolition work in the basement bathroom, and scraped and painted an incredible number of window frames. And had a lot of fun along the way.
I came back to Poiand to see what 46 years have brought to them. Soviet era the last time, EU and NATO membership this time. Some of the changes are very obvious. It feels much more like a Western European city than it did in the 60's. People seem to be more open, more relaxed. They can travel freely throughout all of the EU. And do. They are more affluent (generally) and don't have to fear criticizing the government or wonder who's reporting them.
And some changes are less obvious. More economic insecurity, giving rise to homelessness. And much more income inequality. Giving rise to people like Alexandra and Magda--the opportunity for them to create a vision, start a foundation, and meet the need of those left behind. Like Mother Eva did more than a century ago when she started the orphanage whose building we worked on.
Mother Eva was rich. She used her family's wealth to help others. Alexandra and Magda are rich in another way. And their vision and energy will create new hope for others. And a rich opportunity for people like me to get to know them just a little bit.
My "adventure" travel began in Poland 46 years ago. My return completes that circle. For now. Time to head home.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Poland: The War & Holocaust
Most conversations with Poles include references to The War (and it's always spoken of in that way--capitalized.) And of course for them, the reference is singular since it's the only war that truly has mattered.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
I think about this when I encounter Poles of my vintage as I'm walking around. Thinking about their life history, as I understand it, compared to mine. They were born during, or perhaps a little before or a little after, The War. They may have some very early memories of it affecting their family, their home. Or they just may have memories of their early years, say when they were kindergarteners, hearing their parents talk about it. They may have grown up with the sounds of machine guns, artillery, planes flying overhead, perhaps bombs (if they lived in other parts of Poland, further from the concentration camps.)
And then the end of The War came. Their families may have moved (or been moved forcefully) to or from another part of the country as the national boundaries changed. Or they may have stayed in the same village but changed nationality (German to Polish, or Polish to Russian.) Regardless, there must have been a feeling of some relief as the active battles ended, soldiers came home, families reunited (or not).
And the Soviet era began. Stalin's ruthlessness was expressed in Poland as well, and affected their family's life. And theirs. It changed what was taught in school--Russian rather than German--and what could be expressed. It restricted their religion, their travel, their thought. They grew up being far more cautious, more circumspect in what they did/thought/said and whom they did it with.
And Stalin died and there was an easing of the repression. But only an easing, not an end. They finished their schooling and went to work. The economy was closed, the state was all powerful, and there was security in that. There was a public security net holding up everyone at a very low level and a ceiling limiting anyone (except party members) from getting too far ahead. This was Poland in the 60's, the last time I was here.
They came of age in the 70's and 80's, had their children, raised their families in a country that was gradually opening up. They watched as the world became more open and envied what they were seeing/hearing. A few took leadership, at great personal risk, in such things as the Solidarity movement. But most (and I would be one of these) laid low, kept their heads down, and hoped things would get better for their children's generation.
And then the 90's and 00's. Great opening up politically. Boom/bust/boom/bust economically. Individual freedom coupled with decreasing economic security as the public safety net fragments just as they're reaching older age. Their children embracing the political, economic and intellectual freedom that globalization brings. Some of their children emigrate to other EU countries because of economic opportunities, then return during the bust when those opportunities disappear. Disillusionment about the glories and benefits of globalization and what lies ahead for their children, and their grandchildren. And even for them.
And the Holocaust, much of which occurred on their ground. To some of their people. And to virtually all of their Jewish countrymen. And to thousands of others from all over Europe.
I expect there isn't anyone of my generation who has not had a family member or very close friend killed or wounded in The War or the Holocaust. It is a constant memory and reference point.
Through all of this, I lived in a very different world. The War was historical, not personal or visceral. Postwar meant Cold War, Red Scare, communist under your bed, bomb drills at school (crouch under the desk), homemade bomb shelters and sermons on "should you share your shelter with your neighbor?", the unleashing of economic opportunities for my generation in the 60's when everything was possible and we dominated the world and had it all. We have experienced none of the deprivation, insecurity, or limitations that our generational counterparts felt in Poland. Or the displacement, politically, intellectually, or geographically.
And for me, the Holocaust is also historical, not personal. We toured Auschwitz and Birkenau today. The weather was appropriate to the occasion---penetratingly cold (50's), wind-driven rain at 45 degree angle, leaden sky, and most of the 3+ hour tour outdoors.
I remember visiting here before, in the 60's. I felt humanistic horror at the venality of humans to other humans. This time in addition, I was also cognizant of my German heritage and the fact that my cultural ancestors were capable of perpetrating this.
Despite having been here before, and despite having been to the Holocaust Museum and Yad Vashem Museum in Jerusalem, there is nothing that prepares me for the scale and scope of Auschwitz and Birkenau as they have been preserved. I remembered things from before but saw many more today. And this time, I paid more attention to the conditions for the living-while-dying (since virtually no one left alive.)
There is the "standing room" at Auschwitz. A small space, entered by crawling through a small opening at floor level. People who were being punished were crammed together in the standing room--4 or 5 in the size of a telephone booth--and had no choice but to stand all night, then work their 11-hour shift, then go back to the "standing room"....for days or weeks on end.
And the "dark room" at Auschwitz. A small room, completely devoid of any light, where 30-40 people were crammed together for days or weeks, some of them suffocating because of the close quarters, as punishment for violating some rule (perhaps sharing some food they found, or helping another prisoner, or anything else the guard didn't like.)
And at Birkenau, the sleeping barracks, using the design of a stable for 52 horses, where 800-1000 people "slept" on triple-stacked wooden pallets were the. 6-8 people lay on each pallet, crammed together so tightly, like packaged hot dogs, that it was impossible for anyone to turn over. The top "bunk" was preferred; human waste flowed down because of "accidents" during the night from people with disease or simply those for whom the scheduled two 5-7 second visits to the bathroom each day (one every 12 hours) were not enough.
I need space, light and the ability to move. These images make my heart pound and leave me gasping for air.
The War and the Holocaust can never mean to me what they mean to Poles and Jews. I did not experience war in my village, the loss of family members or friends. I did not face death solely because of my ethnicity and the desire of a world leader to wipe my people off the face of the earth.
But by listening, looking and living here briefly, I get just a little hint of what they mean. And how privileged my life has been, in so many ways.
Happy Independence Day. It is good to be able to return to scraping and painting.
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Poland: Project Miscellany
One of the challenges of Habitat projects is having enough work for everyone, of different types, with sufficient materials and equipment. This is particularly true when we are building a small house, in a severely underdeveloped country, with little or no access to conventional building materials and where the construction is necessarily sequenced--you can't lay the foundation until you dig it, lay the block without the foundation, etc.
This project has less of a problem with this than any I have been on. Since the building is huge, there is less of a sequencing problem. At this stage, the work is all interior, making weather a non-issue. And most of the current work is painting the 20+ rooms, which involves sanding, priming and painting. And painting all of the countless windows, which involves scraping decades of paint off them, then painting them. And a little demolition work, for those wanting to do some "real" work. So there's no chance of running out of work, for not having a little choice of things to do and to be able to vary it, etc.
Materials are also not a problem. We seem to have plenty of them available, with a foreman who is very on top of his job. Piles of sandpaper, buckets of paint which he mixes, etc. And sufficient equipment (brushes, brooms, etc.), including a sledgehammer for demolition
Of course, we don't find all the equipment that many of us are accustomed to when we are at home or at Habitat in the U.S. Which always leads to teams saying "let's go get... and donate it" (as well as using it while we are here.) This then leads to the experience of going to the local shop(s), discovering what little is available, and making do with less.
This is also not a problem here. We compiled a list of desired items, then stopped at the Casterama on our way to the job site this morning. This is the local equivalent of Home Depot/Lowe's. Part of a European chain (one of about 5 similar chains that are all over Europe, including Poland.) We went in, sparkling new and clean, everything you could think of probably (including a vending machine for espresso, lattes, etc.) I asked Michal how long it has been here. "Seven years." When did Poland join the EU? "Seven years ago." A visible consequence of the EU, with clear benefits and less clear costs.
So we bought about $200 worth of stuff. A shop vac, a ladder, paint brushes, drop clothes, extension cord, etc. etc. Showed up at the site with all of this. Foreman took one look and exclaimed "for me?" When told yes, he just beamed. And walked around fondly admiring his new "toys" (as he referred to them.) We are making great use of them, and they will be used by other teams that follow us.
But what we are missing is the sense of completion. When we're building a home, we (sometimes) actually complete it during our time. Or at least, come close. But we will only have done a little on this project, leaving much for following teams of volunteers.
And the engagement with local people. Other than our foreman, it is just us and Michal (our Habitat guy.) No families, no kids hanging around, no villagers. I miss this. It's always been one of the distinctive and most beneficial parts of these trips. I often think that it is the most important part of the experience, since it is what changes me (and perhaps, them) most. And we won't have it. More of a problem for those for whom this is a first time, but even for people like me, a bit of a disappointment.
When I propose leading a team, I do not have a choice of project. Only (occasionally) of specific location (though that can, and has, changed at the last minute.) I am glad to be here, and the work we are doing is important to some of the least of Gliwice. So I set aside my own "it's all about me" and embrace the opportunity I have to be here, experiencing it all.
I have occasionally used the term "undermined" in its figurative sense. I have never thought of it in its literal sense. This area is a major coal mining region for the last centuries. The building was built in 1905. Since then, coal mining has been done underneath it. So the ground has subsided some, the building is no longer on solid/even ground. So one of the first tasks was to stabilize it by inserting iron beams running through it in a cross hatch fashion. The building is now stable, no longer suffering from having been undermined. (Wish I can say the same for myself in my earlier administrative life.)
When we bought our first house, we wanted to change the color of the living room and dining room. A good friend was a professional painter. We could afford him for the living room, but not the dining room. So one Saturday, I took on the dining room. Spent endless hours painting the ceiling, still more doing the walls. Sometime later, John came on a weekend to do the living room. I watched as he did the ceiling, swinging the roller from a long pole with long smooth swipes across the ceiling. He did in minutes what took me hours. I have always since admired the skill of a trained, experienced craftsman.
I thought of this as I was doing some roller swinging in the rooms. First the primer coat, then the finish coat. Have the long pole like John had. Have the body rhythm swinging it, similar to John. Didn't have his skill, but certainly had greater facility with it than I did so many years ago. I hope he would be pleased with his student.
John also taught me there was no shame in dripping paint. The only shame was in not cleaning it up afterwards. I did the former, and the latter.
Supermarkets are a novelty for me on these trips. Never had them before. Here, one is about 2 minutes from the guest house where we're staying, and another about 2 minutes' walk from our job site (both the same chain--and yes, it's a European chain, and yes, it came since Poland's entry into the EU.) Went there yesterday to buy some fruit and other stuff for us at the site--we have lunch delivered, but we want fruit, cola, and cookies for snacks. Went there again this morning for more of the same. Oh, and a freshly baked chocolate croissant, still warm. Paris patisseries don't have to worry, but it was a very good non-French-bakery croissant. Don't remember this being an option 46 years ago.
Gliwice isn't a tourist city. But it has 3 attractions (or so we're told.) One is the university where we are staying (30,000 students, the 2nd largest and best polytechnic university in Poland, established in 1946); a former silver mine; and a radio station where The War (which is how it's referred to) started in 1939. Michal tried to get us interested in going to the silver mine. No takers. Fortunately, he didn't ask us whether we'd like to see where The War started. Instead, we simply stopped there on our way back from the site. It's a radio station tower ("the largest remaining wooden tower in the world") where a confrontation between Germans and Germans-posing-as-Poles took place in 1939. And "The War" ensued. It's a beautiful place, beautifully kept. And clearly very meaningful to Poles. I'm glad to have been there. And to not have had the opportunity for the team to veto visiting it.
This project has less of a problem with this than any I have been on. Since the building is huge, there is less of a sequencing problem. At this stage, the work is all interior, making weather a non-issue. And most of the current work is painting the 20+ rooms, which involves sanding, priming and painting. And painting all of the countless windows, which involves scraping decades of paint off them, then painting them. And a little demolition work, for those wanting to do some "real" work. So there's no chance of running out of work, for not having a little choice of things to do and to be able to vary it, etc.
Materials are also not a problem. We seem to have plenty of them available, with a foreman who is very on top of his job. Piles of sandpaper, buckets of paint which he mixes, etc. And sufficient equipment (brushes, brooms, etc.), including a sledgehammer for demolition
Of course, we don't find all the equipment that many of us are accustomed to when we are at home or at Habitat in the U.S. Which always leads to teams saying "let's go get... and donate it" (as well as using it while we are here.) This then leads to the experience of going to the local shop(s), discovering what little is available, and making do with less.
This is also not a problem here. We compiled a list of desired items, then stopped at the Casterama on our way to the job site this morning. This is the local equivalent of Home Depot/Lowe's. Part of a European chain (one of about 5 similar chains that are all over Europe, including Poland.) We went in, sparkling new and clean, everything you could think of probably (including a vending machine for espresso, lattes, etc.) I asked Michal how long it has been here. "Seven years." When did Poland join the EU? "Seven years ago." A visible consequence of the EU, with clear benefits and less clear costs.
So we bought about $200 worth of stuff. A shop vac, a ladder, paint brushes, drop clothes, extension cord, etc. etc. Showed up at the site with all of this. Foreman took one look and exclaimed "for me?" When told yes, he just beamed. And walked around fondly admiring his new "toys" (as he referred to them.) We are making great use of them, and they will be used by other teams that follow us.
But what we are missing is the sense of completion. When we're building a home, we (sometimes) actually complete it during our time. Or at least, come close. But we will only have done a little on this project, leaving much for following teams of volunteers.
And the engagement with local people. Other than our foreman, it is just us and Michal (our Habitat guy.) No families, no kids hanging around, no villagers. I miss this. It's always been one of the distinctive and most beneficial parts of these trips. I often think that it is the most important part of the experience, since it is what changes me (and perhaps, them) most. And we won't have it. More of a problem for those for whom this is a first time, but even for people like me, a bit of a disappointment.
When I propose leading a team, I do not have a choice of project. Only (occasionally) of specific location (though that can, and has, changed at the last minute.) I am glad to be here, and the work we are doing is important to some of the least of Gliwice. So I set aside my own "it's all about me" and embrace the opportunity I have to be here, experiencing it all.
I have occasionally used the term "undermined" in its figurative sense. I have never thought of it in its literal sense. This area is a major coal mining region for the last centuries. The building was built in 1905. Since then, coal mining has been done underneath it. So the ground has subsided some, the building is no longer on solid/even ground. So one of the first tasks was to stabilize it by inserting iron beams running through it in a cross hatch fashion. The building is now stable, no longer suffering from having been undermined. (Wish I can say the same for myself in my earlier administrative life.)
When we bought our first house, we wanted to change the color of the living room and dining room. A good friend was a professional painter. We could afford him for the living room, but not the dining room. So one Saturday, I took on the dining room. Spent endless hours painting the ceiling, still more doing the walls. Sometime later, John came on a weekend to do the living room. I watched as he did the ceiling, swinging the roller from a long pole with long smooth swipes across the ceiling. He did in minutes what took me hours. I have always since admired the skill of a trained, experienced craftsman.
I thought of this as I was doing some roller swinging in the rooms. First the primer coat, then the finish coat. Have the long pole like John had. Have the body rhythm swinging it, similar to John. Didn't have his skill, but certainly had greater facility with it than I did so many years ago. I hope he would be pleased with his student.
John also taught me there was no shame in dripping paint. The only shame was in not cleaning it up afterwards. I did the former, and the latter.
Supermarkets are a novelty for me on these trips. Never had them before. Here, one is about 2 minutes from the guest house where we're staying, and another about 2 minutes' walk from our job site (both the same chain--and yes, it's a European chain, and yes, it came since Poland's entry into the EU.) Went there yesterday to buy some fruit and other stuff for us at the site--we have lunch delivered, but we want fruit, cola, and cookies for snacks. Went there again this morning for more of the same. Oh, and a freshly baked chocolate croissant, still warm. Paris patisseries don't have to worry, but it was a very good non-French-bakery croissant. Don't remember this being an option 46 years ago.
Gliwice isn't a tourist city. But it has 3 attractions (or so we're told.) One is the university where we are staying (30,000 students, the 2nd largest and best polytechnic university in Poland, established in 1946); a former silver mine; and a radio station where The War (which is how it's referred to) started in 1939. Michal tried to get us interested in going to the silver mine. No takers. Fortunately, he didn't ask us whether we'd like to see where The War started. Instead, we simply stopped there on our way back from the site. It's a radio station tower ("the largest remaining wooden tower in the world") where a confrontation between Germans and Germans-posing-as-Poles took place in 1939. And "The War" ensued. It's a beautiful place, beautifully kept. And clearly very meaningful to Poles. I'm glad to have been there. And to not have had the opportunity for the team to veto visiting it.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Poland: The Other
Kasimierz is the Jewish district of Krakow. It was established (I think) in the 1300's by King Casimir. He wanted to stimulate economic development of Poland and welcomed the Jews who at that time were migrating out of western Europe (probably because they were unwelcome, but I'm not sure of my Jewish history.) The area was adjacent to Krakow but physically separated by a channel of the Vistula River, which encircles most of Krakow.
Several bridges connected Kasimierz to Krakow which at that time was completely surrounded by the city wall. The district flourished over the next seven centuries. Synagogues built, cemeteries established, markets developed, money made. It is said that King Casimir was known as "King of the Jews" (but I'm sure not by the Jews.)
And then came the holocaust. At the outbreak of WWII, Poland had the largest Jewish population in the world--3.5 million. The holocaust killed 90% of them. Of that total, about 65,000 came from Krakow/Kazimierz itself. Today, there are 130 Jews living in Krakow. And since the fall of Communism in 1989, the Kasimierz district has been the "hot" place to regentrify. Lots of restaurants, clubs, etc. Lots of money pouring in to rehab the buildings, 6 of the 7 synagogues have become museums rather than being active synagogues. And the cemeteries exist to receive the bodies of Jews from elsewhere.
We had a fascinating guided tour of the district with a very knowledgeable guide. We started at one of the cemeteries. Beautifully maintained, quiet, filled with poignant monuments (some in Hebrew, some in Polish, some in German). I found it surprisingly emotionally overwhelming. I don't know why, I just did.
Krakow is in the southern part of Poland--a broader area known as Upper Silesia. It's a geographic area that has been part of various countries/empires over the last few centuries. At times Czech. At other times Austro-Hungarian. At still other times German. Or Russian. And very occasionally, Poland. Some families have lived here through all of that time. Gliwice, the city where we are living and working, was established in the 1300's and has lived through all of that time. There's a beautiful church in the center, built (I think) in the 1500's/1600's. Someone asked "did Poles build it?" and realized it was a difficult question to answer. Who was in power at that time? Were the people living there German? Czech? Austrian? Russian? Polish? Or just people?
Our project is working on renovating a building that was an orphanage. Built in 1905, it was started by the daughter of a wealthy family who felt called to minister to the poorest of the city. It is a beautiful old building--stone, high arched windows, beautiful wood beams, and perhaps 20 rooms arranged around a large open room. At some point, the orphanage closed and the building was abandoned.
Homelessness was not a problem during the communist era. If someone was homeless, the government identified a family whose house was larger than the "allowed" size for a family of their size. The homeless person was then assigned to that house.
But with the fall of communism, homelessness developed. Two shelters were built in Gliwice, but for reasons unknown to me, one of them closed recently. But the homeless didn't close. Two young women formed a foundation to open a new shelter, including providing a full array of services to women and their children to help move them back into society. At some point, it became evident that the former orphanage was available, the foundation took it over, is now partnering with Habitat to complete the conversion. By year's end, it should be open, able to house 20+ women and their children. It is good to be part of this work.
I have never been part of "the other." (Well, except when I was in a class of 17 black women, 2 black men and me intensively discussing Toni Morrison's "Beloved" for a week.) I don't think I'd do well.
Several bridges connected Kasimierz to Krakow which at that time was completely surrounded by the city wall. The district flourished over the next seven centuries. Synagogues built, cemeteries established, markets developed, money made. It is said that King Casimir was known as "King of the Jews" (but I'm sure not by the Jews.)
And then came the holocaust. At the outbreak of WWII, Poland had the largest Jewish population in the world--3.5 million. The holocaust killed 90% of them. Of that total, about 65,000 came from Krakow/Kazimierz itself. Today, there are 130 Jews living in Krakow. And since the fall of Communism in 1989, the Kasimierz district has been the "hot" place to regentrify. Lots of restaurants, clubs, etc. Lots of money pouring in to rehab the buildings, 6 of the 7 synagogues have become museums rather than being active synagogues. And the cemeteries exist to receive the bodies of Jews from elsewhere.
We had a fascinating guided tour of the district with a very knowledgeable guide. We started at one of the cemeteries. Beautifully maintained, quiet, filled with poignant monuments (some in Hebrew, some in Polish, some in German). I found it surprisingly emotionally overwhelming. I don't know why, I just did.
Krakow is in the southern part of Poland--a broader area known as Upper Silesia. It's a geographic area that has been part of various countries/empires over the last few centuries. At times Czech. At other times Austro-Hungarian. At still other times German. Or Russian. And very occasionally, Poland. Some families have lived here through all of that time. Gliwice, the city where we are living and working, was established in the 1300's and has lived through all of that time. There's a beautiful church in the center, built (I think) in the 1500's/1600's. Someone asked "did Poles build it?" and realized it was a difficult question to answer. Who was in power at that time? Were the people living there German? Czech? Austrian? Russian? Polish? Or just people?
Our project is working on renovating a building that was an orphanage. Built in 1905, it was started by the daughter of a wealthy family who felt called to minister to the poorest of the city. It is a beautiful old building--stone, high arched windows, beautiful wood beams, and perhaps 20 rooms arranged around a large open room. At some point, the orphanage closed and the building was abandoned.
Homelessness was not a problem during the communist era. If someone was homeless, the government identified a family whose house was larger than the "allowed" size for a family of their size. The homeless person was then assigned to that house.
But with the fall of communism, homelessness developed. Two shelters were built in Gliwice, but for reasons unknown to me, one of them closed recently. But the homeless didn't close. Two young women formed a foundation to open a new shelter, including providing a full array of services to women and their children to help move them back into society. At some point, it became evident that the former orphanage was available, the foundation took it over, is now partnering with Habitat to complete the conversion. By year's end, it should be open, able to house 20+ women and their children. It is good to be part of this work.
I have never been part of "the other." (Well, except when I was in a class of 17 black women, 2 black men and me intensively discussing Toni Morrison's "Beloved" for a week.) I don't think I'd do well.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Poland: Then & Now
Lots can change during the 46 years between my visits to Krakow. And some things don't. A few initial comparisons:
Then: Flew for 23 hours from Hartford to Copenhagen with refueling stops at Gander, Shannon ["look at that empty fuel gauge"], and London. Breakfast, then a few hours cycling around Copenhagen. Then overnight train to East Berlin, war-damaged buildings remaining, breakfast in a grubby cafe with surly waitstaff, attempt to take a picture of The Wall running through Brandenburg Gate without getting arrested by the Gestapo, another long train ride to Warsaw and finally, Krakow. Now: Flew for 14 hours from Raleigh to Krakow, with plane changes in Washington and Frankfurt. Only "refueling" was me--in the McCafe in the Frankfurt airport (my new best friend since it's the only eating place I can find in that airport other than one that specializes in duck.)
Then: One of the ways the Soviet era controlled its citizens was making their currency worthless outside the country. So unless you could (somehow) get "hard" currency, you couldn't travel. The "official" exchange rate was 4:1 (zlotys to dollars.) The "tourist" exchange rate was 24:1. The "dining table rate" (leave dollars on the dining room table at night, find zlotys at your place in the morning) was 80:1. And the "street" rate was 100:1 (unless the zlotys were counterfeit or the seller was police and arrested you for illegal currency transactions.) Now: Exit the plane, find an ATM, insert my bank card, take out zlotys. (There still is a "street" business, but I'm not sure why.)
Then: Sent hand-written(!) letters to family and friends. Written on thin, lightweight paper (postage was expensive) in tight cramped printing/writing (I failed cursive.) Take to the post office, send "air mail" and arrives 5-6 days later in the U.S. Now: Typing on my netbook, in my hotel room, when finished hit "send", and in microseconds, "you've got mail."
Then: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day. Now: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day.
Some things don't change.
Krakow is a beautiful old city. Once the capital of Poland, a major university center (Copernicus studied here). Largely saved from bombs during WWII because it was too close to the concentration camps. (I guess we knew they were there.)
The Old City was surrounded by the city wall, which they turned into a delightful green space that now surrounds the city. Leafy trees, flowers, grass, benches are much nicer than walls.
I don't remember there being a McDonalds or Hard Rock Cafe when I was here. There is now. I don't remember any shopping malls, either. Now there's a modern 7-story one alongside the train and bus stations. And all sorts of shops with international names (Diesel, Cardin.) And lots of sidewalk cafes, coffee places, gelato stands, etc. None before.
Then: A Soviet-era city. Now: A European city.
Then: Flew for 23 hours from Hartford to Copenhagen with refueling stops at Gander, Shannon ["look at that empty fuel gauge"], and London. Breakfast, then a few hours cycling around Copenhagen. Then overnight train to East Berlin, war-damaged buildings remaining, breakfast in a grubby cafe with surly waitstaff, attempt to take a picture of The Wall running through Brandenburg Gate without getting arrested by the Gestapo, another long train ride to Warsaw and finally, Krakow. Now: Flew for 14 hours from Raleigh to Krakow, with plane changes in Washington and Frankfurt. Only "refueling" was me--in the McCafe in the Frankfurt airport (my new best friend since it's the only eating place I can find in that airport other than one that specializes in duck.)
Then: One of the ways the Soviet era controlled its citizens was making their currency worthless outside the country. So unless you could (somehow) get "hard" currency, you couldn't travel. The "official" exchange rate was 4:1 (zlotys to dollars.) The "tourist" exchange rate was 24:1. The "dining table rate" (leave dollars on the dining room table at night, find zlotys at your place in the morning) was 80:1. And the "street" rate was 100:1 (unless the zlotys were counterfeit or the seller was police and arrested you for illegal currency transactions.) Now: Exit the plane, find an ATM, insert my bank card, take out zlotys. (There still is a "street" business, but I'm not sure why.)
Then: Sent hand-written(!) letters to family and friends. Written on thin, lightweight paper (postage was expensive) in tight cramped printing/writing (I failed cursive.) Take to the post office, send "air mail" and arrives 5-6 days later in the U.S. Now: Typing on my netbook, in my hotel room, when finished hit "send", and in microseconds, "you've got mail."
Then: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day. Now: Wander around the Market Square in the Old City part of Krakow. Cloth Hall in the center, centuries old building lined inside with shops. Ringed by stalls and vendors selling all manner of things--flowers, meat, produce. Basilica on one side, clock tower in middle that chimes the hour. At noon, large mechanized figures emerge to trumpet mid-day.
Some things don't change.
Krakow is a beautiful old city. Once the capital of Poland, a major university center (Copernicus studied here). Largely saved from bombs during WWII because it was too close to the concentration camps. (I guess we knew they were there.)
The Old City was surrounded by the city wall, which they turned into a delightful green space that now surrounds the city. Leafy trees, flowers, grass, benches are much nicer than walls.
I don't remember there being a McDonalds or Hard Rock Cafe when I was here. There is now. I don't remember any shopping malls, either. Now there's a modern 7-story one alongside the train and bus stations. And all sorts of shops with international names (Diesel, Cardin.) And lots of sidewalk cafes, coffee places, gelato stands, etc. None before.
Then: A Soviet-era city. Now: A European city.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Haiti: Tent Camps
I went to post-earthquake Haiti expecting to see many damaged or destroyed buildings, piles of debris still awaiting clearing more than 1 year later, broken streets and infrastructure needing public investment. I saw some of that, but much less than I'd expected. Instead, I saw a city laid out along a beautiful sea coast, with myriads of shops lined along the main streets and side streets, flourishing street markets in every block, crazy traffic and traffic jams with everyone driving with horn, colorfully painted ancient buses jam-packed with people. In short, much the same thing I've seen in other capital cities I've been to in Nepal, India, Mongolia, Zambia, Ethiopia.
And then my eye focused on a distinctive difference: tent camps. Everywhere. On any and every piece of (formerly) open land in the city, even on the outskirts of town, or across from the international airport. I seriously doubt there is any open green space in today's PAP. It's filled with people living in their tents.
My image of tent camps was formed in my (mercifully) brief Boy Scout career--campgrounds, lakes, woods, space. PAP tent camps are the antithesis of this. They are packed, lacking in any sanitation except possibly porta-potties, no organization, no trash pickup, etc. (One notable exception is Grace's tent camp, which does have central bathroom and bathing facilities, organized trash collection, the rudiments of self-government, and self-run security.)
One dimension of the tent camps is their sheer size. I was told that shortly after the quake, there were perhaps 1.2 million people in PAP tent camps. There were approximately 2.3 million people in the PAP metropolitan area, meaning about 50% of the population was in tent camps after the quake. We were told that today, about 660,000 remain in tent camps--25% of the population. I'm trying to imagine if 1/4 of Cary, or Chicago, or New York were crowded together onto our parks and any other vacant land and living there, still, more than a year after the quake. I can't imagine this.
And then there's the density. I did the math for Grace's tent village--40 square feet, total, per person presently. But that's just a number. I walked through the Grace village, fairly quickly, but the overwhelming sense is claustrophobic, especially for someone like me who doesn't like crowds. I'd last about 2 hours in a tent city--I can't even be in a mall much longer!
And the physical realities. Tents are not solid--tops leak during the regular hard rains, water flows under the floor as it surges through the narrow paths of the camps. During my week there, it rained--hard--for a period almost every day. If during the day, you get soaked. If at night, you get soaked and also get no sleep.
And the social aspects. The quake was (mostly) equal opportunity--it didn't ask whether you had lots or little or no money. It just shook and destroyed. People who had houses and had risen above the abject poverty of Haiti had their houses destroyed. Others who had nice shacks (no, that's not an oxymoron--there are gradations of shacks) did so, too. And of course, the thousands who lived in abject poverty before the quake also lost the little they had. Now, those people are thrown together into very tight living conditions. Just when you might have thought you had gotten out of the poverty trap, and removed your family from the humiliating conditions, you find yourselves back with very little, side-by-side with others.
And the psychological dimensions. The capacity for hope keeps us going. In the early days/weeks, the tent camps were a life-saver, in many respects. But you knew they were temporary. As weeks turn into months turn into more than a year, anyone able to escape the camp has surely done so. Even in New Orleans, we were able to evacuate the Superdome and Convention Center within a month or less. Yet maybe 650,000 remain today, more than a year later.
Tent camps are the central reality of post-quake PAP. As I follow developments there in the months ahead, I will do so through the prism of tent camps. Until or unless a government or NGO plan addresses them, it is merely empty words and tinkling cymbals.
And then my eye focused on a distinctive difference: tent camps. Everywhere. On any and every piece of (formerly) open land in the city, even on the outskirts of town, or across from the international airport. I seriously doubt there is any open green space in today's PAP. It's filled with people living in their tents.
My image of tent camps was formed in my (mercifully) brief Boy Scout career--campgrounds, lakes, woods, space. PAP tent camps are the antithesis of this. They are packed, lacking in any sanitation except possibly porta-potties, no organization, no trash pickup, etc. (One notable exception is Grace's tent camp, which does have central bathroom and bathing facilities, organized trash collection, the rudiments of self-government, and self-run security.)
One dimension of the tent camps is their sheer size. I was told that shortly after the quake, there were perhaps 1.2 million people in PAP tent camps. There were approximately 2.3 million people in the PAP metropolitan area, meaning about 50% of the population was in tent camps after the quake. We were told that today, about 660,000 remain in tent camps--25% of the population. I'm trying to imagine if 1/4 of Cary, or Chicago, or New York were crowded together onto our parks and any other vacant land and living there, still, more than a year after the quake. I can't imagine this.
And then there's the density. I did the math for Grace's tent village--40 square feet, total, per person presently. But that's just a number. I walked through the Grace village, fairly quickly, but the overwhelming sense is claustrophobic, especially for someone like me who doesn't like crowds. I'd last about 2 hours in a tent city--I can't even be in a mall much longer!
And the physical realities. Tents are not solid--tops leak during the regular hard rains, water flows under the floor as it surges through the narrow paths of the camps. During my week there, it rained--hard--for a period almost every day. If during the day, you get soaked. If at night, you get soaked and also get no sleep.
And the social aspects. The quake was (mostly) equal opportunity--it didn't ask whether you had lots or little or no money. It just shook and destroyed. People who had houses and had risen above the abject poverty of Haiti had their houses destroyed. Others who had nice shacks (no, that's not an oxymoron--there are gradations of shacks) did so, too. And of course, the thousands who lived in abject poverty before the quake also lost the little they had. Now, those people are thrown together into very tight living conditions. Just when you might have thought you had gotten out of the poverty trap, and removed your family from the humiliating conditions, you find yourselves back with very little, side-by-side with others.
And the psychological dimensions. The capacity for hope keeps us going. In the early days/weeks, the tent camps were a life-saver, in many respects. But you knew they were temporary. As weeks turn into months turn into more than a year, anyone able to escape the camp has surely done so. Even in New Orleans, we were able to evacuate the Superdome and Convention Center within a month or less. Yet maybe 650,000 remain today, more than a year later.
Tent camps are the central reality of post-quake PAP. As I follow developments there in the months ahead, I will do so through the prism of tent camps. Until or unless a government or NGO plan addresses them, it is merely empty words and tinkling cymbals.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Haiti: It's complicated
A piece of roofing material showed up this morning. I didn't ask where it came from. It's a different color, but the same fabric. Happily, Fritzner and I installed it, along with the ridge cap along the peak, and a couple of things that look like Madonna's breasts, and we pronounced it Finished! Most satisfying to have my week-long project actually completed.
A local woman brought around freshly made Haitian donuts this morning. Looked and smelled fantastic, and I was hungry. Someone asked Johnnie "are they safe?" "Kinda safe." "Kinda safe" works for me in some cases--areas to stroll around in, bungee jumping, etc. But not for eating in less developed countries. So I declined. With regrets.
Work day finished not long after lunch. Worked some more with Fritzner, on the scaffolding we built. Eventually, dignitaries and families arrived for the dedication ceremony. Lengthy, as these things go. Lots of preaching to the already converted (us) who were standing after a long day/week of hard work. Finally ended with the handing over of the keys. The two families (each with husband and wife, each with two kids) all dressed up and smiling (one later broke down completely, I suspect because of reflecting on what has happened to them during the past year.) And then, release! Back on our bus/paddy wagon, back to Auberge du Quebec.
No more building. Woke up this morning and my body said "no" and my brain said "it's okay, there's no building scheduled." A long drive up some hills to an area outside PAP for great views, then a long drive back and through PAP with a stop at the destroyed national palace, then a drive to a beach resort on the outskirts of PAP for lunch (at 3), and hanging out by the sea, watching the local folks enjoying a great day at the beach. Goat was on the menu, so of course, not having had it since my Mississippi days, I had to have it. Much better than I remembered (which isn't saying much.)
As always happens, the more I hang around, the more I learn. And the clearer it becomes that what I thought I knew I didn't really know. Learned that one of the men who received a house isn't (or may not be any longer) married to the woman and children with him. That he has "another" wife and four children. But there they were, beaming ("stand by your man?"). So who should get the house--him? her and the kids? the other woman and the kids? It's complicated.
Or the question of scale. This first duplex took about a month to build, using volunteers and paid labor and sweat equity from the families. That would mean 12 duplexes a year. Which would house 24 families, perhaps 125 people. There are 18,000 people in the Grace tented village. At that rate, after about 10 years, they would have moved 1,000 people to good, secure permanent housing. Is that a good use of time, money, energy? Or is some other model appropriate? It's complicated.
Or the question of cost. This duplex cost $15,000 to build (again, using volunteer labor in part.) This is their first, so they may find ways to economize in future units. By comparison, they have built "temporary" structures--metal frames, plywood walls, tin roof, concrete floor--that cost far less and can be erected in a day. Should they be doing this rather than building these more costly, yet permanent structures? It's complicated.
So I know I don't know. Yet I do know that because of this complex partnership of people, there are two new housing units, well constructed (especially the roof!), which will provide two families with decent housing. Kids a place to breathe, and play, and just be kids. And adults not to worry about whether their tent is going to blow down, be flooded out, or burned down when the close quarters in tent camps lead to inevitable human dramas. This isn't complicated. It's really quite simple. This I do know.
And so another fantastic adventure ends. Different in some respects, similar in many. A tremendous privilege to be able to do this. There will be more.
A local woman brought around freshly made Haitian donuts this morning. Looked and smelled fantastic, and I was hungry. Someone asked Johnnie "are they safe?" "Kinda safe." "Kinda safe" works for me in some cases--areas to stroll around in, bungee jumping, etc. But not for eating in less developed countries. So I declined. With regrets.
Work day finished not long after lunch. Worked some more with Fritzner, on the scaffolding we built. Eventually, dignitaries and families arrived for the dedication ceremony. Lengthy, as these things go. Lots of preaching to the already converted (us) who were standing after a long day/week of hard work. Finally ended with the handing over of the keys. The two families (each with husband and wife, each with two kids) all dressed up and smiling (one later broke down completely, I suspect because of reflecting on what has happened to them during the past year.) And then, release! Back on our bus/paddy wagon, back to Auberge du Quebec.
No more building. Woke up this morning and my body said "no" and my brain said "it's okay, there's no building scheduled." A long drive up some hills to an area outside PAP for great views, then a long drive back and through PAP with a stop at the destroyed national palace, then a drive to a beach resort on the outskirts of PAP for lunch (at 3), and hanging out by the sea, watching the local folks enjoying a great day at the beach. Goat was on the menu, so of course, not having had it since my Mississippi days, I had to have it. Much better than I remembered (which isn't saying much.)
As always happens, the more I hang around, the more I learn. And the clearer it becomes that what I thought I knew I didn't really know. Learned that one of the men who received a house isn't (or may not be any longer) married to the woman and children with him. That he has "another" wife and four children. But there they were, beaming ("stand by your man?"). So who should get the house--him? her and the kids? the other woman and the kids? It's complicated.
Or the question of scale. This first duplex took about a month to build, using volunteers and paid labor and sweat equity from the families. That would mean 12 duplexes a year. Which would house 24 families, perhaps 125 people. There are 18,000 people in the Grace tented village. At that rate, after about 10 years, they would have moved 1,000 people to good, secure permanent housing. Is that a good use of time, money, energy? Or is some other model appropriate? It's complicated.
Or the question of cost. This duplex cost $15,000 to build (again, using volunteer labor in part.) This is their first, so they may find ways to economize in future units. By comparison, they have built "temporary" structures--metal frames, plywood walls, tin roof, concrete floor--that cost far less and can be erected in a day. Should they be doing this rather than building these more costly, yet permanent structures? It's complicated.
So I know I don't know. Yet I do know that because of this complex partnership of people, there are two new housing units, well constructed (especially the roof!), which will provide two families with decent housing. Kids a place to breathe, and play, and just be kids. And adults not to worry about whether their tent is going to blow down, be flooded out, or burned down when the close quarters in tent camps lead to inevitable human dramas. This isn't complicated. It's really quite simple. This I do know.
And so another fantastic adventure ends. Different in some respects, similar in many. A tremendous privilege to be able to do this. There will be more.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Haiti: Johnson's Story
Finished working on the roof (which is different than "finished the roof"). When they measured the roof to purchase the material, they knew it came in 36" widths. And so they calculated (remembering to add a little, and also remembering we order "just in time" since there's no storage of materials nor money to buy ahead.) Material comes....and it's in 32" widths. Next day, they go back to the store to inquire. "The sheets are 36" wide. When we crimp them to make them corrugated roofing, it makes them 32" wide." "So can we buy some more?" "Yes, you may order some more--we have no more in stock." "How long will it take?" "2-3 months."
We came frustratingly close--only the very last strip remains to be put on. But--"it will be several months." Welcome to a world where you can't call or visit your local Home Depot.
So in need of a new assignment. Johnnie (on-site coordinator) and Fritzner confer. Johnnie informs me that Fritzner has said "he has the skill I need for building scaffolding." So that's my new assignment. Some of my greatest moments on these trips are when a local contractor says of me "he has the skill I need." Especially after he has worked with me and chooses to have me work with him again. And at the end of the day today, he told Johnnie to be sure to have me work with him again tomorrow morning--"I really need him." Sigh and smile.
After lunch, joined a small group going to Leogone, about a half hour west of here, and the epicenter of the quake. We had to pick up some deconstructed material that we'll use....to build the scaffolding, I think (which I will then probably have to go up--you build it, you climb it.) In between, a more rural, agricultural area. Natural beauty. Mountains in the background, sea in the foreground. Occasional small tent cities in between. At Leogone, more visual evidence of the destructive power of the quake. Reminded me of my visual memories of New Orleans post-Katrina. Nature is a powerful beast. And Nature will not be stopped, no matter how hard we may try. Also run into Big Baby, who has sort of been hiding out at the destroyed compound where we were picking up materials. So now I guess I could be a material witness if the police are still looking for him. (Sounds like a made-up novel? It isn't. I couldn't make this stuff up.)
There are two Johns on our team. The other one is referred to as "old John." (He is. Though not by much.)
I always collect stories on these trips, usually involving some of the local people that I meet and get to know over a period of days. Johnson is one of our security guards at the Grace Center. He was born in PAP, his family emigrated (illegally) to Oakland, California when he was an infant. He grew up a California boy. At age 22, he got into some sort of trouble. Since he was illegal, immediately deported to Haiti--where had never been in his life, didn't know the language, had no contacts or network. And when he arrived, immediately put into PAP jail (that's what they do to deportees when they arrive.) His father had divorced, his mother now lived in PAP, so he called her, she bailed him out. She took him to Grace church, and over time, he met a woman whom he married. They had two children--one about 5, one an infant. Had managed to have a house. The quake came, their house was destroyed, their infant child killed. They tried to rescue their 3 month old, but needed help to do it. And individuals were providing help.....for money. LIke $4,000. So they had to abandon him. They moved into the tent city at Grace, and Johnson provides security. He now provides a face to the stories I read about the U.S. deporting similarly situated children or denying them educational opportunities.
I'm feeling quite disconnected since we've left living at Grace Center. Yes, it's more physically comfortable. But it is so removed from the current reality of tent cities, displaced people living under incredibly challenging conditions. I feel as though I was beginning to get more of a picture of the current reality--and different from the picture I got Sunday night. And over time, I know that people talk to you differently than initially--I do, certainly. But I am cut off from them. The cost of comfort is sometimes higher than I would like.
We came frustratingly close--only the very last strip remains to be put on. But--"it will be several months." Welcome to a world where you can't call or visit your local Home Depot.
So in need of a new assignment. Johnnie (on-site coordinator) and Fritzner confer. Johnnie informs me that Fritzner has said "he has the skill I need for building scaffolding." So that's my new assignment. Some of my greatest moments on these trips are when a local contractor says of me "he has the skill I need." Especially after he has worked with me and chooses to have me work with him again. And at the end of the day today, he told Johnnie to be sure to have me work with him again tomorrow morning--"I really need him." Sigh and smile.
After lunch, joined a small group going to Leogone, about a half hour west of here, and the epicenter of the quake. We had to pick up some deconstructed material that we'll use....to build the scaffolding, I think (which I will then probably have to go up--you build it, you climb it.) In between, a more rural, agricultural area. Natural beauty. Mountains in the background, sea in the foreground. Occasional small tent cities in between. At Leogone, more visual evidence of the destructive power of the quake. Reminded me of my visual memories of New Orleans post-Katrina. Nature is a powerful beast. And Nature will not be stopped, no matter how hard we may try. Also run into Big Baby, who has sort of been hiding out at the destroyed compound where we were picking up materials. So now I guess I could be a material witness if the police are still looking for him. (Sounds like a made-up novel? It isn't. I couldn't make this stuff up.)
There are two Johns on our team. The other one is referred to as "old John." (He is. Though not by much.)
I always collect stories on these trips, usually involving some of the local people that I meet and get to know over a period of days. Johnson is one of our security guards at the Grace Center. He was born in PAP, his family emigrated (illegally) to Oakland, California when he was an infant. He grew up a California boy. At age 22, he got into some sort of trouble. Since he was illegal, immediately deported to Haiti--where had never been in his life, didn't know the language, had no contacts or network. And when he arrived, immediately put into PAP jail (that's what they do to deportees when they arrive.) His father had divorced, his mother now lived in PAP, so he called her, she bailed him out. She took him to Grace church, and over time, he met a woman whom he married. They had two children--one about 5, one an infant. Had managed to have a house. The quake came, their house was destroyed, their infant child killed. They tried to rescue their 3 month old, but needed help to do it. And individuals were providing help.....for money. LIke $4,000. So they had to abandon him. They moved into the tent city at Grace, and Johnson provides security. He now provides a face to the stories I read about the U.S. deporting similarly situated children or denying them educational opportunities.
I'm feeling quite disconnected since we've left living at Grace Center. Yes, it's more physically comfortable. But it is so removed from the current reality of tent cities, displaced people living under incredibly challenging conditions. I feel as though I was beginning to get more of a picture of the current reality--and different from the picture I got Sunday night. And over time, I know that people talk to you differently than initially--I do, certainly. But I am cut off from them. The cost of comfort is sometimes higher than I would like.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Haitia: Riotous Living
So I settle into my bed shortly before 10 (yah, I know, but after working all day in the hot sun, and with two rums, 10 would have been too late). The whir of the generator goes silent at 10, leaving me to experience one of my roommate's snoring which is totally indescribable and incredibly loud. Lying there and around 10:30 or so, hear some rising sounds of voices in the tent camp. Sound angry, with rising decibel level and what sounded like anger even though I don't know any Creole. Continues for a while, then several “pops” and I'm thinking “gunshots?” Louder and louder voices, a sense of a gathering crowd in the tent camp. Around midnight, Michael, our on site coordinator who is one of the Bishop's sons, comes down the hall and asks us all to leave our rooms and go to a “safe(r)” room somewhere else on the same floor. So we do.
About this time, the sound of rocks being thrown in the camp. With an occasional ping as they hit the walls of our building. “Just misses” I think—they're not throwing at us, just bad throws. About 12:30, Michael comes into our room and apologizes and says we will need to stay there for the night and sleep on cots they will bring us. And stay quiet, and stay away from windows overlooking the camp. “It's a gang fight between Block 8 and Block 10.”
Growing noise, sense of a crowd getting larger, beginning to chant something. More stones, and rocks, and an occasional “pop.” About 2 our leader talks to the Bishop who reports he has called the American Embassy to report that 19 Americans are in his compound and there is a “disturbance” in the camp. We don't feel consoled by this news.
Meanwhile, one of our team members is taking many photos—of us, of the camp, of the disturbance, each with a flash going off announcing our presence on the 2nd floor. We urge her to stop, and she does.
Police have been called, arrive, and take matters into their control. Which involves arresting Michael (we see him spread-eagled on the courtyard, then handcuffed and marched away, along with all of the security guards who are guarding our compound.) This does not strike us as good news.
Things become quieter...for a little while. Then, the crowd begins to reassemble, and the rocks resume, this time clearly aimed at our building and the iron gate that separates us from them. Our security officers have left—they were taken away by the police---as have the police. We see some of the camp members climb over the while and bang at the gate, then come into the courtyard below and try to get into the room below us where construction materials are stored. One remaining security member is with us. He drops a concrete block, attempting to hit one of the people trying to break in. Misses. The police are called, they return, and around 4:30, calm is restored. The sun is rising, the camp becomes quiet, I actually fall asleep for an hour for the first time that night. The rums have worn off, the camp order has been restored, and a mini-riot has been put down.
Strangely enough, for reasons I do not know, I never felt afraid. Others did, and any reasonable person might have. But I didn't.
In the morning, after breakfast, Johnny (another of the Bishop's sons) comes to brief us. Turns out the tensions in the camp have been rising significantly. There is a law in Haiti that anyone who allows someone to be on their property for more than a year is then responsible for them—and if they evict them, they can do so only if they make suitable arrangements for them. With the 1 year anniversary of the earthquake, residents of the camp have been informed that some will need to leave, and some have. But to what? They can't go to another tent camp, they have no means of support, they have no way of securing alternative housing even if it existed. So their fear, anxiety and frustration is evident, and directed at Grace—their landlords and the property owner. And we are residents of the Grace compound—collateral damage, I think, would be the term if something happened to us inadvertently.
The question became what our next step would be for us—stay? Leave? Move? An open discussion followed, options examined and considered. A couple of us (me included) felt okay about staying at Grace for the rest of the week. Many more wanted to stay and continue working, but only if we could move to another place to live. And a few simply wanted to leave for home immediately. It quickly became clear the only real option for the group was to locate another place to live—like the Auberge de Quebec, our new best friend. And so it was decided—most of us would go to the work site, 4 of us would leave for home, and Fuller would make arrangements for us to live elsewhere, perhaps the Auberge if it was available.
And it was—at least, sufficient rooms that we could make it work. So we returned from work, settled into our new digs (warm water, ceiling fan, some rooms with A/C, a swimming pool we could now use, and a bar) and reflected on our 18 hours from the last time we sat here.
I remember a decision I made at Millsaps, as we prepared for Y2K. Our security director asked me “do I protect people or property?” I looked puzzled. He said “when everything breaks down, people will surge toward the campus. Do I shoot them and protect the college's property?” I said “don't shoot, Wayne. People come first.”
In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the Bishop faced a similar choice. He had open property, and people desperately needed a safe place to camp. He chose people over property. And continued to do so, knowing the 1-year deadline would be approaching. And as it arrived, he is trying to retrieve his property—needed to continue the work he was doing for his people. Now he is forced to choose between people—those encamped, and those who would be served by his initial vision.
He is tending a powder keg. One that can go off at the slightest spark. As it did Tuesday night, when one security guard (Big Baby, who met us at the airport) got into a dispute with another security guard, pulled his pistol and shot him in the arm. And the keg was lit, and an explosion followed. We emerged safe. Others less so—several camp members were wounded, some had their tents intentionally destroyed, and revenge against the shooter is promised.
Meanwhile, I sit by a pool, looking out at a beautiful sea, write this using my netbook and wi-fi to send it to you. And return to my screwing on the roof.
About this time, the sound of rocks being thrown in the camp. With an occasional ping as they hit the walls of our building. “Just misses” I think—they're not throwing at us, just bad throws. About 12:30, Michael comes into our room and apologizes and says we will need to stay there for the night and sleep on cots they will bring us. And stay quiet, and stay away from windows overlooking the camp. “It's a gang fight between Block 8 and Block 10.”
Growing noise, sense of a crowd getting larger, beginning to chant something. More stones, and rocks, and an occasional “pop.” About 2 our leader talks to the Bishop who reports he has called the American Embassy to report that 19 Americans are in his compound and there is a “disturbance” in the camp. We don't feel consoled by this news.
Meanwhile, one of our team members is taking many photos—of us, of the camp, of the disturbance, each with a flash going off announcing our presence on the 2nd floor. We urge her to stop, and she does.
Police have been called, arrive, and take matters into their control. Which involves arresting Michael (we see him spread-eagled on the courtyard, then handcuffed and marched away, along with all of the security guards who are guarding our compound.) This does not strike us as good news.
Things become quieter...for a little while. Then, the crowd begins to reassemble, and the rocks resume, this time clearly aimed at our building and the iron gate that separates us from them. Our security officers have left—they were taken away by the police---as have the police. We see some of the camp members climb over the while and bang at the gate, then come into the courtyard below and try to get into the room below us where construction materials are stored. One remaining security member is with us. He drops a concrete block, attempting to hit one of the people trying to break in. Misses. The police are called, they return, and around 4:30, calm is restored. The sun is rising, the camp becomes quiet, I actually fall asleep for an hour for the first time that night. The rums have worn off, the camp order has been restored, and a mini-riot has been put down.
Strangely enough, for reasons I do not know, I never felt afraid. Others did, and any reasonable person might have. But I didn't.
In the morning, after breakfast, Johnny (another of the Bishop's sons) comes to brief us. Turns out the tensions in the camp have been rising significantly. There is a law in Haiti that anyone who allows someone to be on their property for more than a year is then responsible for them—and if they evict them, they can do so only if they make suitable arrangements for them. With the 1 year anniversary of the earthquake, residents of the camp have been informed that some will need to leave, and some have. But to what? They can't go to another tent camp, they have no means of support, they have no way of securing alternative housing even if it existed. So their fear, anxiety and frustration is evident, and directed at Grace—their landlords and the property owner. And we are residents of the Grace compound—collateral damage, I think, would be the term if something happened to us inadvertently.
The question became what our next step would be for us—stay? Leave? Move? An open discussion followed, options examined and considered. A couple of us (me included) felt okay about staying at Grace for the rest of the week. Many more wanted to stay and continue working, but only if we could move to another place to live. And a few simply wanted to leave for home immediately. It quickly became clear the only real option for the group was to locate another place to live—like the Auberge de Quebec, our new best friend. And so it was decided—most of us would go to the work site, 4 of us would leave for home, and Fuller would make arrangements for us to live elsewhere, perhaps the Auberge if it was available.
And it was—at least, sufficient rooms that we could make it work. So we returned from work, settled into our new digs (warm water, ceiling fan, some rooms with A/C, a swimming pool we could now use, and a bar) and reflected on our 18 hours from the last time we sat here.
I remember a decision I made at Millsaps, as we prepared for Y2K. Our security director asked me “do I protect people or property?” I looked puzzled. He said “when everything breaks down, people will surge toward the campus. Do I shoot them and protect the college's property?” I said “don't shoot, Wayne. People come first.”
In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the Bishop faced a similar choice. He had open property, and people desperately needed a safe place to camp. He chose people over property. And continued to do so, knowing the 1-year deadline would be approaching. And as it arrived, he is trying to retrieve his property—needed to continue the work he was doing for his people. Now he is forced to choose between people—those encamped, and those who would be served by his initial vision.
He is tending a powder keg. One that can go off at the slightest spark. As it did Tuesday night, when one security guard (Big Baby, who met us at the airport) got into a dispute with another security guard, pulled his pistol and shot him in the arm. And the keg was lit, and an explosion followed. We emerged safe. Others less so—several camp members were wounded, some had their tents intentionally destroyed, and revenge against the shooter is promised.
Meanwhile, I sit by a pool, looking out at a beautiful sea, write this using my netbook and wi-fi to send it to you. And return to my screwing on the roof.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
Haiti: Screwing on the Roof
The major push this week is to complete the first duplex (of 63 planned.) Fuller Organization dignitaries are coming Friday, and “it would be good” if they saw a finished house so they could be part of the dedication and key ceremony (complete, no doubt, with photos....of them.)
First essential item of business: putting the roof on. The materials arrived yesterday, as planned. Safely put away. First thing this morning, we muled them down to the site—about 200 yards from the storage unit. Up goes the designated roofing assistant (me), poised with battery-powered drill for screwing in the corrugated roofing sheets. Roofing master (boss Fritzner) is there. We look around.....no screws. (For reasons I don't know, we're screwing the sheets rather than nailing them to the trusses. Can't figure whether this is a Fuller thing, or what, but it is “VERY IMPORTAN T”.)
Phone call made to someplace. Then to another. Then to another. Looking for screws. Finally, apparently find a place. Off goes the truck. Some time later, another call....no screws there. More phone calls (thank goodness for working cell phone service!), finally locate the screws. “About 1 ½ hours and they'll be back.” Turns out that's Haitian time---truck finally returns....about 1:30. But with a big box of screws!
Up goes the master and his assistant, and in our remaining time, we were able to roof ¼ of the duplex. Mule the materials back to the storage unit. Still, looks promising for finishing roofing tomorrow...if we are able to recharge the batteries of the drill, of course.
Each unit of each duplex is one room, 10X20, with a front and back door, and a small porch in front and back. I'm told Haitians only are inside to sleep. Still, one room, the size of a 1-car garage, seems a bit limited. Still, with a solid roof (I think), solid walls, a poured floor, and windows and doors, it's a huge step up from living for the past year (at least) in a tent.
Much discussion pre-trip about mosquito netting—did we want it, did we need it, etc. My fear of being smothered by falling mosquito netting while sleeping far outweighs my responsiveness to mosquito bites, so I am a definite “no” on that subject. Two of my roommates, however, put up very nice mosquito nets. So nice, I think all mosquitoes simply looked at it and figured “nothing here.” Have only seen one mosquito in my room so far—floating, dead, in my water glass.
Room is quite spacious—easily enough for the five beds and a couple of dressers. One plain light bulb, one outlet. Screened window looking out on Grace Village and beyond, the sea. Temperature in the room ranges from 82 at sunrise to 87 when we get back from the job site. At night, there's a constant layer of moisture while lying in bed.
Have caught a few glimpses of PAP as we go to/from the job site. It's a city of perhaps 2 million (or was), laid out pretty much along the sea coast. From a distance, the sea and sea coast look very pleasant—your typical Caribbean look. I'm told that up close, you'd see the sea was pretty well filled with garbage for perhaps 100 yards out.
Busy streets, filled with little stalls, people selling all manner of things, double-decker buses going past absolutely filled to the brim with people. Driving by horn is the norm as well. Hard to think of this place as a functioning city in any sense of that term. Don't know that it was before the earthquake, either.
After dinner, our first(!) excursion out of our compound, other than to the job site daily. Headed for the Auberge du Quebec, an up(per) scale hotel where many representatives of NGO's stay. Target destination: the bar. Down main streets, lined with street vendors, all vending by candlelight or lanterns. Many people strolling. Nice feel—an urban scene on a pleasant night. Turn off the main streets, on streets that are barely paved. Perhaps because of the earthquake, perhaps they never were. Evidence of rubble around indicating unfixed damage. Up a mountainside, arrive at the hotel. Looking for the bar (nicely situated around the swimming pool). After some discussion, allowed to sit in the poolside bar (which had already closed for the day) “if you don't put your feet in the pool.” We agreed (though I offered the idea that I'd put everything but my feet in the pool).
I've always looked with mild disdain at the rum & Coke option. Sort of for sorority girls, not for real guys. But was told that here, it was lots of rum, little Coke. So ordered. Sure enough, rum on ice in one glass, a bottle of Coke separate. Mix to your own preferences. A second order of rum (without the Coke—had plenty left) with a slight additional bit of Coke. Even nicer.
Slight buzz of two rums, a bit of Coke, headed back to the hotel, contemplating a pleasant night's sleep. Arrive to find the village unusually quiet—the quietest of the three nights we've been here. Peaceful sleep awaits.
First essential item of business: putting the roof on. The materials arrived yesterday, as planned. Safely put away. First thing this morning, we muled them down to the site—about 200 yards from the storage unit. Up goes the designated roofing assistant (me), poised with battery-powered drill for screwing in the corrugated roofing sheets. Roofing master (boss Fritzner) is there. We look around.....no screws. (For reasons I don't know, we're screwing the sheets rather than nailing them to the trusses. Can't figure whether this is a Fuller thing, or what, but it is “VERY IMPORTAN T”.)
Phone call made to someplace. Then to another. Then to another. Looking for screws. Finally, apparently find a place. Off goes the truck. Some time later, another call....no screws there. More phone calls (thank goodness for working cell phone service!), finally locate the screws. “About 1 ½ hours and they'll be back.” Turns out that's Haitian time---truck finally returns....about 1:30. But with a big box of screws!
Up goes the master and his assistant, and in our remaining time, we were able to roof ¼ of the duplex. Mule the materials back to the storage unit. Still, looks promising for finishing roofing tomorrow...if we are able to recharge the batteries of the drill, of course.
Each unit of each duplex is one room, 10X20, with a front and back door, and a small porch in front and back. I'm told Haitians only are inside to sleep. Still, one room, the size of a 1-car garage, seems a bit limited. Still, with a solid roof (I think), solid walls, a poured floor, and windows and doors, it's a huge step up from living for the past year (at least) in a tent.
Much discussion pre-trip about mosquito netting—did we want it, did we need it, etc. My fear of being smothered by falling mosquito netting while sleeping far outweighs my responsiveness to mosquito bites, so I am a definite “no” on that subject. Two of my roommates, however, put up very nice mosquito nets. So nice, I think all mosquitoes simply looked at it and figured “nothing here.” Have only seen one mosquito in my room so far—floating, dead, in my water glass.
Room is quite spacious—easily enough for the five beds and a couple of dressers. One plain light bulb, one outlet. Screened window looking out on Grace Village and beyond, the sea. Temperature in the room ranges from 82 at sunrise to 87 when we get back from the job site. At night, there's a constant layer of moisture while lying in bed.
Have caught a few glimpses of PAP as we go to/from the job site. It's a city of perhaps 2 million (or was), laid out pretty much along the sea coast. From a distance, the sea and sea coast look very pleasant—your typical Caribbean look. I'm told that up close, you'd see the sea was pretty well filled with garbage for perhaps 100 yards out.
Busy streets, filled with little stalls, people selling all manner of things, double-decker buses going past absolutely filled to the brim with people. Driving by horn is the norm as well. Hard to think of this place as a functioning city in any sense of that term. Don't know that it was before the earthquake, either.
After dinner, our first(!) excursion out of our compound, other than to the job site daily. Headed for the Auberge du Quebec, an up(per) scale hotel where many representatives of NGO's stay. Target destination: the bar. Down main streets, lined with street vendors, all vending by candlelight or lanterns. Many people strolling. Nice feel—an urban scene on a pleasant night. Turn off the main streets, on streets that are barely paved. Perhaps because of the earthquake, perhaps they never were. Evidence of rubble around indicating unfixed damage. Up a mountainside, arrive at the hotel. Looking for the bar (nicely situated around the swimming pool). After some discussion, allowed to sit in the poolside bar (which had already closed for the day) “if you don't put your feet in the pool.” We agreed (though I offered the idea that I'd put everything but my feet in the pool).
I've always looked with mild disdain at the rum & Coke option. Sort of for sorority girls, not for real guys. But was told that here, it was lots of rum, little Coke. So ordered. Sure enough, rum on ice in one glass, a bottle of Coke separate. Mix to your own preferences. A second order of rum (without the Coke—had plenty left) with a slight additional bit of Coke. Even nicer.
Slight buzz of two rums, a bit of Coke, headed back to the hotel, contemplating a pleasant night's sleep. Arrive to find the village unusually quiet—the quietest of the three nights we've been here. Peaceful sleep awaits.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Haiti: Sites, Sights & Sounds
About 40 square feet per person. Each. Total. That's the amount of space the residents of the “city” outside the Grace Center have. For everything. About 18,000 people (down from 25,000 soon after the quake), on 16 acres of what formerly was open grassy area as part of the Grace Center, in front of the hospital. 1,000+ people per acre, 40,000 square feet in an acre, so....40 square feet per person. Including “streets”, a public bathroom area, and perhaps some other public spaces I don't know about.
I have 1300 square feet for me alone on the inside of my house. And Anne has another 1300. And I'm not even counting the dog or cat. It's different.
Grace Center is near the bay/seafront. I am sitting, looking out on the “city”, seeing the bay in the distance. Beach, no doubt, but not sure I'd want to go there. Palm trees here and there, but mostly, just tents. Some with “USAID” on them. Others with blue tarps over them, like I saw in New Orleans after Katrina. And people.
Warm breeze blowing, fairly hot in the sun (in the high 80's). And being Easter, maybe people are taking the day off (though with 80% unemployment, not many people have work to take off from.)
I am in an enclave. With 24/7 security. In fact, I can't leave the enclave unless security lets me. No taking a walk (that may come sometime this week, with a security guy leading us around, but today, the “city” is too hot—not in temperature, but apparently, in some other respect that makes it not a good day for us to walk around.)
Not much sense of PAP (Port Au Prince). Driven from the airport to the Grace Center, going through the “downtown” area. Very, very quiet, it being Easter Sunday. Very brown, very dry, very low to the ground—no high buildings of any type, nothing over 2-3 stories.
After arriving, great lunch prepared by local women, hired each time a team comes. They are most grateful for the opportunity to work, I am most grateful for their fantastic cooking.
Our day will begin with breakfast at 6:30, off to the work site by 7:30 (to get in more work before the hottest part of the day), end work at 3:00, back to the Center, dinner at 6:00. One bare light bulb in our room (5 cots), but a flush toilet, shower, and sink. Amenities I've not always had!
“We need a roofing team.” “I'm on it.” Always have loved roofing (for reasons I don't know) but almost never have been able to do it other than in Raleigh and New Orleans. Spent the morning up on the trusses, putting in the final pieces of wood. Galvanized corrugated roofing arrived in the afternoon, unloaded it into the storage container (everything has to be put away for the night). Will unload it tomorrow morning, trek it down to the house site, take it up top, and roof. I am happy.
Toured Grace Village this morning before going to the job site. Grace Center was started in the early 70's by Bishop Joel Jeune and his wife. Bishop is the son of the “king of voodoo” in Haiti who became converted to Christianity, then converted his sons to it as well. Joel is the Bishop of the charismatic church, another son is the bishop of the Methodist church, another of the Baptist....etc. Together, they cover the non-Catholic churches of Haiti.
The Grace Center focuses on the holistic development of people—education, economic opportunity, health, and housing. Operates 67 schools (there is no public school system in Haiti), 3 orphanages, several hospitals, and many churches. And after the earthquake, they took on the mission of rescuing and helping victims recover. By partnering with other organizations (including the Fuller Center), they multiply their efforts many fold.
Grace Village comes alive after sunset. The sun is down, the temperature begins to moderate (slightly), the sea breeze seems cool rather than hot. Kids come out to play, adults gather and talk and argue, and a nightclub gets underway about 11 with incredibly loud music. Even a heavy rainstorm didn't dissuade them. Lasted for a couple of hours. Then quiet, broken beginning about 1:30 by the crowing of roosters, which continues randomly until dawn (which is around 5 here—they aren't on daylight time). And another day begins.
Resilient. That's the term Michael (son of the Bishop) used to describe Haitians. Within a week after the earthquake, 7,000 people had arrived at the Grace Center property. Quickly, they organized themselves into blocks, selected leaders of the blocks, and began their new (temporary) lives. New businesses started. A barber. A woman cooking meals for others. A little grocery store. A place to charge up your cell phone overnight (there's no electricity in the village, so you can't do it in your own tent.) etc. I'm thinking that when you aren't used to having anything, or anyone doing anything for you, resilience is the only answer. Can't imagine how long it would take for me and my neighbors to organize a new life after a natural disaster ruined our neighborhood. But don't think it would be weeks. I'd probably still be waiting.
And the adventure continues.
Friday, February 11, 2011
2 Why's, 1 Because
Every trip, there is a moment when I ask myself (in a negative tone),
"why am I doing this?" It usually happens the 2nd or 3rd day in
country, when I'm still jet-lagged, haven't gotten into the rhythm of
the country, everyone's new, people are new, etc.
And then, always, comes a moment when I ask myself (in a positive
tone), "why am I doing this?"
I'm doing this for me. For the chance to visit countries I wouldn't
otherwise visit. To meet people like Kinfe, a fellow college teacher
and the visionary for the Debre Berhan Habitat community. And Wasson,
a young man with a thirst for learning that is unlikely to get slaked
because of where he was born, and to whom. And the women of the
community who cheerfully prepared lunch for us and 20-30 others, from
scratch, in a kitchen smaller than a garage, with no refrigeration, an
open fire, no vehicle, and no super market---and also newly baked
snacks twice a day for coffee time. And to become known by the woman
at the internet cafe who welcomes me each time I appear. To live into
the community just a bit, getting a sense of its rhythm and culture.
To experience the different, knowing that all too soon, it will be
back to the familiar. And oh yes, to work alongside families making a
dramatic improvement in their living situation, sharing a bit of my
time, my money, and perhaps most importantly, my presence.
Ethiopia is unquestionably the least developed country I've visited.
It has a rich history and culture, beautiful landscape that seems very
fertile for agriculture, a hard-working people that so far at least,
has not been afflicted by AIDS, without either the benefits or costs
of colonization. And yet, the global economy has left it behind. It
remains mired near the bottom of the bottom billion. Why?
Have begun returning to the 21st century. In Addis now, overnight to
Frankfurt, on to Toronto & Raleigh, home to Cary in time to make
chocolate mousse for Ethan's birthday (his request--the boy is
developing very nicely!) And to the family and the familiar routines.
This has been the best of the builds I have done, in every respect.
But there will be more--Haiti in April, Poland in June. (And if I'm
very, very lucky--Timbuktu with Nick Kristof.)
Until then.......
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Building Community
Almishet received her new house today. I gave her the keys. We both smiled.
Five other families received their houses, too. No, we didn't "build"
six houses in our time. We worked on many more than that, at various
stages. But because there are so many under construction, there are
always some that are ready to be dedicated, which adds a nice touch
for the team.
We did many of the steps involved in building here--digging the
trenches for the foundation, filling in the floor with dirt and
tamping it down, weaving the eucalyptus bark to lash the eucalyptus
poles that make up the walls, applying the chika to the walls,
covering the exterior of the house with chicken wire (poultry netting
in Mississippi--"you Yankees sure are funny, asking for chicken wire
when everyone knows it's poultry netting), "painting" the interior of
the six houses using paint made of gypsum, water and animal glue
(don't ask), sifting the sand for the concrete floor.
There were some tasks we didn't do---digging the 10' deep hole for the
latrine and lining it with stone (did that--don't need to do it again,
thanks), breaking up the quarried stone for the foundation (did that,
too, before and definitely don't need to do that), framing the basic
house with no ladders--just climbing up poles and hanging on
(definitely don't need to do that), putting on the corrugated metal
roof (while roofing is my thing, this doesn't look all that
interesting.)
A few days ago, we visited the current homes of several of the new
homeowners. Rentals, in town, and much smaller than their new home
(hard to imagine smaller than 200 square feet, but they were) and with
shared kitchens. By comparison, these are McMansions. And theirs, of
course.
Each nation's closing ceremony is unique. This one involved the whole
Habitat community joining us for lunch, then gift-giving, a couple of
mercifully short speeches, dancing, and off to the dedications.
We also visited the Habitat homes of some of the "Vulnerable People."
This is unique to Ethiopia, as far as I know, and results from the
efforts of some people in Northern Ireland. There are many people who
are marginalized here, sometimes for physical reasons (leprosy,
blindness, physical disabilities), sometimes because the man has
died/abandoned the family. They resort to begging and are ostracized
from the mainstream of society.
Habitat works with the local service agency to identify families who
are in this situation, builds them a home at no cost to the family,
moves them into the home and makes them a part of the community. None
of this "you stay there, we stay here" thing---they become integral
parts of the community, send their kids to school, share
responsibilities in their community, etc., even as they continue
begging to make a living.
Habitat Debre Berhan not only builds houses; it builds community.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
My Town
I've been in Debre Berhan now for a week. It's a town of about
70,000, was the capital of Ethiopia 500 years ago as well as the site
where (someone) The Left Handed slaughtered a bunch of people (and now
where John The Right Handed is writing.) Nothing left from the days
when it was the capital, and I don't think much has changed.
Main Street is the cross-country "highway," recently paved, that runs
across the country to the Eritrean border. Trucks travel along it,
but sufficiently infrequently that the road is usually used by
donkeys, horsecarts, and people (local advice: "walk in the street,
it's safer than the sidewalk.") And no cars.
Really, no cars. None driving along/through the city, and certainly
none in the city. (Okay, I've seen one--it's the hotel manager's, but
he's from Addis, which is sort of like saying "he's from Purley.")
People get around on foot or by taxi. There are two forms of taxis--a
swarm of tuk-tuks, which are basically enclosed golf carts; and
horsecarts (the lot for the latter is behind our hotel.) Kinfe, the
teacher who is also the head of the Habitat affiliate here, asked me
"do you have horsecarts in the U.S.?" No, I said. "They're really
very economical. There are 308 in Debre Berhan."
Main Street is pretty much lined with small shops, not much more than
storefronts with a counter. And the Petit Paris Cafe and Bar.
Electronics shops, a couple of produce stands, etc. On the street
corner, a couple of guys selling very recently available sheepskins.
Uncured, available with or without feet. (I didn't ask which was more
expensive.)
Went over to the street paralelling Main Street. It looks like a
movie set for an 19th century Western. Unpaved, lined with shops,
horsecarts going up and down, people walking, mostly in traditional
Ethiopian dress. Lots of butcher shops, each with meat hanging, none
with refrigeration. Saw a patisserie this morning---the first I've
seen. Between a butcher and a barber shop.
The ground floor of our hotel has several shops. A bakery (bread
only) next to the entrance, and a bar/butcher (odd combination) next
to it. Came back from work one day to find a steer teathered in the
yard. Inside the butcher shop the next day.
A wonderful pastoral scene by our build the other day. Horsecarts
passing by, men in traditional costume herding sheep or goats with
sticks, two men tossing hay with pitchforks, us using eucalyptus bark
to lash eucalyptus poles together to build a building around a
latrine, others of us throwing chika (mud and stray) to make the
walls. Straight out of the pre-industrial era.
I've gone in back in time. Except this isn't a theme park.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Festival Time
Timket is one of the biggest festivals in Ethiopia. It's a 3-day
event, centered on January 19 (January 11 on the Ethiopian calendar,
where it's also 2003--don't ask). So of course, we needed to include
it in our plan.
The occasion is comparable to Epiphany in the Roman Christian calendar
(January 12th), but instead of celebrating the arrival of the three
kings, it celebrates the baptism of Christ, complete with re-enactment
and sprinking of water on the devoted assembled.
The celebration includes three phases--the procession, bringing the
Ark of the Covenant (a replica of the 10 commandments) from each of
the 44 churches to a central point in Addis; a huge open air mass the
next day; and a reverse procession, taking the Arks back to the
individual churches.
We rode back to Addis on Tuesday, arrived in time to view the start of
the celebration. This includes processions from various corners of
the city, with people from each of the churches (Sunday school
classes, all in their matching dress; choral groups singing and
dancing, women along the roadside ululating, which I think is the
right word--a unique high-pitched sound repeatedly involving the
letter "l" that have only heard on African cd's), the priests ahead of
the Ark itself, which is "protected" by colorful umbrellas held above
it. Truly a unique and memorable sight.
The processions came from four directions, each coming into a circle
and then processing up to a huge hope field. The Arks then are
"guarded" overnight by the assembled priests.
At dawn the next morning, mass begins. We arrived shortly after dawn
and watched as people streamed in from all different directions,
joining many who had been their overnight. Many dressed in beautiful
religious finery, others just in finery, others just regular clothes.
Clearly evident that for many, this was a deeply moving religious
experience, one shared with family and friends.
Many of the churches had set up booths, complete with benches, where
their parishoners could rest. But the action was clearly out in the
open, as the sun rose higher, the day got warmer, and the religious
fervor increased. All watched over by soldiers with guns, standing
high above the festival grounds. We all had been patted down upon
entering, police on horses throughout--kind of took the edge off of
things.
Left just prior to the culminating event, had lunch, then rode back to
Debre Birhan. Along the way, encountered several other processions in
the small towns/villages we passed through.. Universal feelings of
happiness, joy, and religious fervor.
Couldn't help but think there is no such unifying experience for us in
the States.
Yesterday (Thursday) was the third day, a huge mass honoring St.
Michael, named because of the first miracle of changing water into
wine. Many of our family members were at the mass, so while we worked
the full day, we mostly had the work site to ourselves.
This was one of those experiences that make my trips so memorable for
me--the opportunity to see "real" people, gathered together, taking
part in something that I simply otherwise would not only not see, but
wouldn't even know about. What a pleasure it is to be able to do
this.
Back to work, now--festival time is officially over for Ethiopians as
well as us.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Project
Time to talk about our project. We’re building in Debre Birhan, a community about 100 miles from Addis. Habitat’s been there for seven years, completed 340 homes. They have land for 500 more. Currently, 950 families are on the waiting list, approved but waiting for their houses.
The homes are simple and modest. Each about 200 square feet total, two rooms. Expansion possible by adding a kitchen later, as funds become available. Prospective homeowners must first work on other people’s homes for a specified number of hours before they can even submit an application. Then, after approved, they have to do the usual sweat equity.
Another interesting twist--the identify of the owner of each home isn’t decided until the home is finished. Then, there’s a lottery for determining which house goes to which of the eligible homeowners. So no one can do “better” work on building their own house, since they don’t know which house will be theres.
Another interesting twist---as part of the application process, they have to demonstrate a record of saving, setting aside funds to provide for the mandatory 5% at least down payment and the record of managing funds to be able to repay the loan. (Compare this to the no-money-down, no doc loans in the U.S.) So they really are working hard to build community and to build a corps of responsible homeowners.
Many houses currently under construction, in various stages of construction. So during our build, we’ll work on each of the phases. First task: digging the foundation, a trench 20” wide by 20” deep around the perimeter and down the middle for the room divider. With hand tools (pick and shovel.) All dove in quickly and we made great progress our first afternoon. Many local family members working alongside us. With sheep wandering around and bleating, an occasional donkey walking by carrying a load or pulling a wagon. Far cry from the world where I live. But beautiful scenery around, sunny breezy day, temperature in the 50’s. Hard not to enjoy this kind of life.
Today (our second) we switched to “framing” up the sides, which involves putting long thin poles of eucalyptus trees vertically, lashing them together by weaving long strips of eucalyptus bark in and around them, just like weaving a cloth. Easier work than picking/digging!
As usually happens, local workers quickly realize (a) I am taller and (b) I have gorilla-style arms, making my reach comparable to about a much taller person. So instead of having to go up on a ladder to help, I simply was able to stand there--much easier, and much less OSHA-concerning (you should see the ladders!)
Don’t know what the next steps will be, but know that we will be doing them in the days ahead.
My 2nd worst nightmare is getting stuck alone in an elevator. (My worst nightmare is going for the final exam in a class I’ve never attended and don’t know where it meets.) Elevator stops, doors don’t open. Breathe deep. Push other floor buttons. Nothing. Push down button, then up button. Nothing. Push alarm button. Nothing. Breathe. Eventually, hear voices outside, speaking German. Bang on doors. “Hallo, hallo!” Get a response. “We’ll call the elevator company.” Pause. Breathe. Pause. Breathe. Bang again. “Oh, forgot. I’ll call my brother.” Pause. Breathe. Eventually, voices prying the doors open, squeeze through. And don’t take the elevator again. (And still looking for where the class meets for the final exam.)
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Ethiopia: The Contrasts
I'm always struck by the contrasts. Landed in Addis Ababa Friday
night, 26 hours after leaving my home. The Addis airport is quite
modern and pleasant (unlike the Frankfurt airport) and the airport
personnel were very polite and friendly (unlike the Frankfurt
personnel or my own favorites, the TSA.) Speed through passport
control, wait for my bag which did arrive, then through customs, out
to be met with a friendly face holding a Habitat sign. I love having
that happen!
Settle into the hotel quickly, then to sleep. Awake to the sounds of
the pre-dawn call to prayer (Ethiopia has a sizable Moslem contingent
as well as Orthodox Christian) and a few roosters crowing.
The day is sunny, warm (70's), and clear. Very different from cold,
cloudy Cary. Just what I needed in January!
Spent much of Saturday just taking various walks around Addis. It's a
relatively new city--established in the late 1800's--and I find it
rather charmless. Nothing particularly distinctive about it--just a
big, crowded busy city. Begging is pervasive and persistent, but I'm
pretty inured to it. Ever since my encounter with the dog-walking
prostitute in Budapest, I've become inured to ignoring anything anyone
says to me. I don't like being that way. But I find it necessary in
these circumstances.
Wimped out at lunch--went to a restaurant popular with ex-pats. Just
didn't feel like venturing out for Ethiopian food quite yet. Later,
met up with one our team members (Maria, from New Zealand) and we
decided to have dinner together. Bravely set off for an Ethiopian
restaurant from the Lonely Planet Guide. Despite map, couldn't locate
it (it's on a side street, off a main street, and streets have no
names.) Maria said "let's ask someone." We did. Of course, he
didn't know the restaurant, couldn't help us. I realized later that
statistically, it is likely he is not literate--only a minority of
adults here are. So showing him a name, or the name of a street, is
totally useless.
So we ventured back, saw another restaurant with many people, decided
to chance it. Menu in both English and Amahric. Pointed to "roast
chicken." (Still not braving it.) Plate arrived with large hunks of
very dark meat. No way that's chicken. Maybe beef, maybe mutton,
maybe....? Not bad, really, just not what I'd chosen.
More walking/wandering Sunday morning. Then, lunch at the Lucy
restaurant by the National Museum (home of the Lucy skeleton), and a
tour of the museum. Didn't find it all that interesting, but useful
probably.
This morning, we left for Debre Birhan, where we're working. About a
3 hour drive from Addis, through increasingly beautiful countryside.
On the outskirts of town, many residential buildings in various stages
of construction, all unfinished, probably caught in the economic
debacle. Then open land as we climbed to the (higher)
highlands--9,000 feet in Debre Birhan. Beautiful grazing land for
cattle and sheep, and growing land for tef, a grain that is used to
make their basic product, injera. Small compounds of houses and
outbuildings, some with thatched roofs, some with tin roofs, some with
window openings, some with windows in the openings. Beautiful
day--sunny, cool, breezy--and pastoral. Rich black soil, looks very
fertile.
Main road, built by EU funds, well-constructed and well-paved (in most
places) go cross-country. Wide broad shoulders, suitable for walking,
burros, donkeys, carts and wagons. In places, tile(!) sidewalks, just
out in the rural area, not in towns or villages. Not something you'd
see in the states.
Arrived shortly after noon, dropped our things at the hotel, went to
the build site. Greeted by about 30-40 people, all waiting for our
arrival and applauding us as we got off. Then to a large tent for
lunch prepared by the local women. Great Ethiopian food--I loved it.
And eat with our hands (well, right hand--never the left hand!) Then
coffee.
The story of coffee here is that long ago, people realized that the
goats ate berries and by the afternoon, they were quite frisky. So
people began doing so, too. Not sure how the roasting came about, but
I can speak to the "frisky" part.
The coffee ceremony is just that. Begins with roasting the beans over
an open fire, wafting the smoke to our faces, then crushing the beans,
making the coffee, serving it in little cups, with sugar. Wonderful!
Starbucks has nothing like this!
After that, a couple of hours of real work. Will write more about the
build project in a separate e-mail. Suffice it to say it's
extraordinarily well organized and extensive--340 houses already
built, land for several hundred more. So we'll be wonderfully busy.
night, 26 hours after leaving my home. The Addis airport is quite
modern and pleasant (unlike the Frankfurt airport) and the airport
personnel were very polite and friendly (unlike the Frankfurt
personnel or my own favorites, the TSA.) Speed through passport
control, wait for my bag which did arrive, then through customs, out
to be met with a friendly face holding a Habitat sign. I love having
that happen!
Settle into the hotel quickly, then to sleep. Awake to the sounds of
the pre-dawn call to prayer (Ethiopia has a sizable Moslem contingent
as well as Orthodox Christian) and a few roosters crowing.
The day is sunny, warm (70's), and clear. Very different from cold,
cloudy Cary. Just what I needed in January!
Spent much of Saturday just taking various walks around Addis. It's a
relatively new city--established in the late 1800's--and I find it
rather charmless. Nothing particularly distinctive about it--just a
big, crowded busy city. Begging is pervasive and persistent, but I'm
pretty inured to it. Ever since my encounter with the dog-walking
prostitute in Budapest, I've become inured to ignoring anything anyone
says to me. I don't like being that way. But I find it necessary in
these circumstances.
Wimped out at lunch--went to a restaurant popular with ex-pats. Just
didn't feel like venturing out for Ethiopian food quite yet. Later,
met up with one our team members (Maria, from New Zealand) and we
decided to have dinner together. Bravely set off for an Ethiopian
restaurant from the Lonely Planet Guide. Despite map, couldn't locate
it (it's on a side street, off a main street, and streets have no
names.) Maria said "let's ask someone." We did. Of course, he
didn't know the restaurant, couldn't help us. I realized later that
statistically, it is likely he is not literate--only a minority of
adults here are. So showing him a name, or the name of a street, is
totally useless.
So we ventured back, saw another restaurant with many people, decided
to chance it. Menu in both English and Amahric. Pointed to "roast
chicken." (Still not braving it.) Plate arrived with large hunks of
very dark meat. No way that's chicken. Maybe beef, maybe mutton,
maybe....? Not bad, really, just not what I'd chosen.
More walking/wandering Sunday morning. Then, lunch at the Lucy
restaurant by the National Museum (home of the Lucy skeleton), and a
tour of the museum. Didn't find it all that interesting, but useful
probably.
This morning, we left for Debre Birhan, where we're working. About a
3 hour drive from Addis, through increasingly beautiful countryside.
On the outskirts of town, many residential buildings in various stages
of construction, all unfinished, probably caught in the economic
debacle. Then open land as we climbed to the (higher)
highlands--9,000 feet in Debre Birhan. Beautiful grazing land for
cattle and sheep, and growing land for tef, a grain that is used to
make their basic product, injera. Small compounds of houses and
outbuildings, some with thatched roofs, some with tin roofs, some with
window openings, some with windows in the openings. Beautiful
day--sunny, cool, breezy--and pastoral. Rich black soil, looks very
fertile.
Main road, built by EU funds, well-constructed and well-paved (in most
places) go cross-country. Wide broad shoulders, suitable for walking,
burros, donkeys, carts and wagons. In places, tile(!) sidewalks, just
out in the rural area, not in towns or villages. Not something you'd
see in the states.
Arrived shortly after noon, dropped our things at the hotel, went to
the build site. Greeted by about 30-40 people, all waiting for our
arrival and applauding us as we got off. Then to a large tent for
lunch prepared by the local women. Great Ethiopian food--I loved it.
And eat with our hands (well, right hand--never the left hand!) Then
coffee.
The story of coffee here is that long ago, people realized that the
goats ate berries and by the afternoon, they were quite frisky. So
people began doing so, too. Not sure how the roasting came about, but
I can speak to the "frisky" part.
The coffee ceremony is just that. Begins with roasting the beans over
an open fire, wafting the smoke to our faces, then crushing the beans,
making the coffee, serving it in little cups, with sugar. Wonderful!
Starbucks has nothing like this!
After that, a couple of hours of real work. Will write more about the
build project in a separate e-mail. Suffice it to say it's
extraordinarily well organized and extensive--340 houses already
built, land for several hundred more. So we'll be wonderfully busy.
Friday, May 28, 2010
Nepal: Enjoying the Unexpected
Early on, I said my motto for my team was "enjoy the unexpected." Having been on a number of previous teams, though not as team leader, I have had a range of "unexpecteds"--location changes, site changes, transportation snafus, difficulty getting supplies, weather challenges, personality conflicts, culturally inappropriate behavior by team members, etc. So while the details might vary, the categories are the same. For first-timers, of course, any or all of these could be real challenges. Hence my motto.
But since this was my first time as a team leader, I expected there would be something unexpected---that even though it might have happened previously, I wouldn't have noticed it or known about it because it was handled by the team leader and the local coordinator.
So I had my first "unexpected", and I enjoyed it.
On all my previous builds, we never completed a house. The houses were larger, so they couldn't be built in 8 build days. So unless we were working on houses already under construction, we wouldn't finish.
This time, we essentially built three houses from start to finish. And that meant that at our farewell ceremony, we could have actual dedications. And as team leader, I was expected to take an active role in the dedication. Two unexpecteds rolled into one.
It was a moving experience, as you might imagine. We pulled up to the build site. The community was largely gathered already, matching chairs somehow obtained and set out for us. The houses were decorated with prayer flags, banners, and other signs of celebration. After a few minutes, we walked up the hill to the site of the smaller house. There was a ribbon across the door, and as team leader, I was asked to say a few words to the family, cut the ribbon, and invite the home owner into her house. With glassy eyes (both she and I), we did. (Much later, as we were leaving, the man of the house made his appearance to thank us. But he couldn't make the dedication.)
I've always felt very emotional about the houses I've lived in. Both the arriving and the departing are emotional experiences for me. But I've always been fortunate to live in very nice, secure, safe homes. Cannot fully imagine what it's like to finally be doing that yourself. But I'm glad to have been a part of it.
The short (25 minutes) Yeti flight back to Kathmandu was an abrupt transition. Flying at 11,000 feet, along the line of Himalayas much higher, fairly clear skies, beautiful lush green hills below, occasional clusters of homes into communities and villages. From that height, the homes didn't seem small or simple. All seemed very typical--the sort of thing I've seen flying over other places. And then I noticed....no paved roads. None.
Hills ended abruptly and the expanse of densely-populated Kathmandu spread out. Quickly descend to a very busy city of 2-3 million (depending on whom you believe.) Visible pollution, extensive paved streets filled with vehicles, nothing green seen for miles. Urban life as I've seen it so many other places only with a mountain backdrop. But from the air, it doesn't look that much different. It's only when you get on the ground, up close and personal, that you see the differences. I continue to be appreciative for the opportunity to see those differences.
Dinner in a KTM restaurant known to be popular with trekkers. Especially those who have successfully climbed Mt. Everest. Totally by coincidence, at the next table was a large (12-14) group of people celebrating their achievement--a father, his 13-year old son, some Sherpa guides, their medical doctor, family members, probably some friends. They summited Mt. Everest earlier this week. The 13-year old is the youngest person ever to do it. He has now scaled 6 of the 7 highest peaks in the world--the first when he was 9.
Life is about experiences. He and his family know that and choose to have experiences. Though I wouldn't choose theirs, I applaud them for raising him that way. Can't imagine what he'll do after 14. Hope his obituary doesn't just read "scaled Mt. Everest at 13: youngest person ever." But by all outward appearances, he's just a typical 13-year old California kid...who happens to climb tall mountains.
And so this adventure comes to an end. Home beckons, after a little more KTM time and 30+ hours in the air. And though this adventure ends, my journeys will continue. Already recruiting a team to go to Bahir Dar, Ethiopia in January. Until then, namaste.
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