Helping - why is this so complicated?

Shouldn’t it be simple to help people in desperate need? There has been such an outpouring of support from around the world, billions of dollars and tons and tons of donations without thousands of aid workers and volunteers on the ground. It’s amazing to watch first hand, how incredibly complicated this is. It can be done well, and it cone be done so badly – even with the best of intentions.

First, how do you distribute food? How do you know who really needs it most, and how do you ensure that they get it? I know the TV has been full of images of riots over food thrown from the back of a truck, and police shooting people suspected of stealing that food, and I’ve seen glimpses in person of what that looks like. Even in our little neighborhood this morning a truck pulled up with some bottled water and bags of rice and our normally subdued and peaceful neighbors went a little crazy, yelling and pushing each other to get to the truck first. It’s strange because most of them are not actually worse of now than they were before the earthquake, so honestly that same thing probably would have happened two months ago if a truck full of free stuff had pulled up. But certainly in the tent cities there is a much more acute need, and sense of desperation, so when the food comes to the those places the reaction is even more intense.

I’ve seen food distributed really well too. The US military lines people up on a huge field, then releases them a few at a time to walk across another field to the place where the bags of rice are being handed out. Then tap taps wait on the other side to drive the people and their huge bags of rice home. Of course there are guys standing guard over the line with automatic weapons, so that helps maintain order, but the whole thing looks calm and dignified. The Missionaries of Charity are my favorites though. They have been here so long, that they know who really needs the food. They go out into the neighborhood and the tent cities and hand out tickets with a date and time stamped on them. People with the tickets then come to their door, and they only allow the ones with the [roper ticket into the compound. Then they each receive a bag with all the staples – rice, beans, cornmeal, soap, crackers, oil, and bulgur wheat. I’ve helped in the packaging and distribution of that food, and it’s a totally peaceful, dignified process. People smile and say thank you. Most of the people who come are women, the ones likely to be caring for their family, whereas most of the food riots you see on TV are battles among young men. Butt even the sisters say it’s hard when they go out into the tent cities and bring prepared food directly to the people there. They don’t know everyone, and the desperation is so acute, that they often need help controlling the crowds. But this is their mission, to serve the poorest of the poor, and they are doing it with as much love and tenacity now as they ever have before.

At LCS we decided early on that we would not become a large scale food distribution site, but rather would follow more in the example of the Missionaries of Charity and St. Vincent de Paul and bring assistance directly to the people in need. In the days after the earthquake that meant setting up a huge pot of rice and beans on the street and serving it directly to our neighbors who came by and ate it, then handed their spoon and bowl to someone else who hadn’t received any yet. That worked pretty well for a week, but it was never a long term solution. Now we’re back to feeding the neighborhood children at the school, as we always have. But since we’re a well established organization, many individuals and some of the larger aid organizations are beginning to turn to us to help figure out how to get help to the people who need it. The Red Cross of Colombia just made a huge drop off of food and supplies to LCS this week. We spent Thursday sorting the food into study shopping bags with brightly colored cartoon characters on them. Then on Friday we handed one bag to each student on his or her way out the door, and personally delivered them to families in the neighborhood, and some of the hardest hit families even beyond our immediate neighbors. There was no drama, or pushing, or yelling, or fear. Everyone got one. Now I think one of my first Spanish classes next week will need to be focused on reading the labels ad directions on some of this food that the families are a little less familiar with …

And how do you prioritize what to do first? Of course our first priority is caring for our own students and neighbors. We’ve also worked downtown excavatig the Cathedral, but then our focus shifted to one of the few functioning hospitals. While we were able to provide some actual medical help in the form of LCS graduates who are medical students, and current students to work as translators, one of our main roles at the hospital became … surprise, surprise … managing the trash. I’ve noted in the past my newfound appreciate for waste management, but this is a whole new thing. What do you do with the medical waste when the incinerator that usually burns the trash collapsed in the earthquake, and the national trash company that usually picks up the trash is a little overextended right now? We burn the trash ourselves. I’ve never personally participated in this oh so glamorous activity, but the stories of rats the size of cats are enough to give me a pretty good sense of what that’s like.

Where do you start on the physical reconstruction? The “monuments” to the earthquake are everywhere, and I worry that the longer the piles of rubble and broken buildings sit there, the more normal they will become. And once people stop noticing them, then the urgency to remove them will disappear. This is the same lack of urgency that lets people walk past piles of trash in the street here without blinking, and if the rubble problem becomes like the trash problem, then this country will not move forward. So, in our own neighborhood we’ve worked hard to clean up our own rubble, and encourage neighbors to do the same. We’ve even started paying a team of unemployed young men from the neighborhood to do some of that work. They cleaned up a large, destroyed house on a prominent corner, and are now helping to build a foundation, and eventually a house, for another neighbor who lost everything. Even the little kids in the school were helping this week, carrying cement blocks in wheelbarrows, and even on their heads, from our own pile of rubble to the site of the new house where they were being used in the foundation. After this house is constructed, we’ll move on to another one.

I’m hearing all the weird stories about utterly useless things that have been donated and shipped halfway around the world. And I’ve felt the frustration as I sit in gridlocked traffic in a line of cars bearing the logos of prominent NGO’s … each with one person inside. But I honestly don’t know enough about international aid organizations and disaster relief to offer any real criticism or analysis of what’s gone on here, and how it all could have been managed better. I just think that for myself,if I’m ever looking to make a contribution to assist people after a disaster, I think I’ll give it to the Missionaries of Charity. They know who needs the help most, and they know how to distribute it.

A different planet called Belo

I know that I’ve mentioned a place called Belo in past blog posts, but I don’t think I’ve ever really described it or posted pictures of it. Given the image of Haiti that most people – including myself – have always had, especially post-earthquake, I just want everyone to know about Belo. This place is inching higher and higher on my list of favorite places on Earth every time I visit. When I tell Haitians about visiting a little place called Belo, they have no idea what I’m talking about. To give people a clue, you have to mention the bigger tiny town nearby, about thirty minutes farther down the mountain. Even if they know that town, most have never been there or anywhere like it. When I show the kids at school pictures of Belo, many can’t even believe it’s Haiti, since they themselves have never been to such a remote, mountainous place.

Belo is barely even a town – it’s more of a truck stop at the end of a rutted, windy dirt road on the top of a mountain south of Port au Prince. A few trucks come and go each day, to drive workers the two and a half hours down to the city, and transport goods back up to the people who live in tiny houses scattered throughout the mountainside. There are a few large landowners up there as well – our friend Patrick Brun is one of them – and they have worked hard in the past nine years to replant trees in the largely deforested region. Amazingly, in such a short time, trees are thriving, and the soil is improving with it. The primary mode of transportation around Belo is walking – or sometimes riding horseback – and the primary mode of transporting goods is by carrying them on one’s head. It’s cold in Belo, in the low sixties at night, and often misty by day as the clouds swirl around among the mountaintops. There are no mosquitoes in Belo and the stars at night are brighter and night sky has more depth than any I have ever seen. People in Belo are incredibly friendly in that way that small town people around the world always seem to be, especially when compared with their more jaded and suspicious countrymen who live in the crowded cities. They wave and smile and don’t ask for money, and they absolutely do not speak one word of English. Every time we come, they always seem somewhat amused and intrigued by the carload of blan arriving from the city. However, the best thing of all about Belo these days, is that the violent fingerprints of the earthquake are nowhere to be found.

Of course the people in Belo felt the earthquake. It’s actually much closer to the epicenter in terms of miles, but the elevation (more than 6,000 ft) seems to have cushioned them from most of the shaking and destruction. One man explained to me that some small houses were destroyed, but that everyone from the area who actually died during the quake was killed in the city, not in Belo. Mr. Brun’s house is simple and well constructed, and the only damage his house sustained was some broken glasses that fell from a shelf and a large granite table on the back patio that tipped over. When we made the turn off the paved road onto the dirt road about 45 minutes from Belo, we saw fewer and fewer piles of rubble and collapsed houses, those sad remnants we have termed “monuments” to the earthquake. There are no tent cities or UN trucks, or traffic, and the thin mountain air refreshes the body and spirit in equal parts.

What is there to do in Belo? Nothing really, and that’s why it’s wonderful. We’ve gone there a few times, always a collection of volunteers, staff and Moynihans, but this time we went alone, just the volunteers. This week was supposed to be a vacation week in the country in celebration of Carnaval, and we had plans to spend it in the DR sipping cocktails with umbrellas in them on a beach somewhere. But Carnaval didn’t happen, and traveling is still complicated, and it just didn’t feel right to party it up in the DR while people here are still digging out. So instead we opted for two nights at the Bruns’ house in the mountains of Belo. We played Chinese checkers sitting in the sun on the patio, read a lot, went on long walks in the hills, and spent tons of time cooking and eating. It was nice to sleep a little later, lounge around in our PJ’s, curl up under blankets on the couch and watch the clouds roll in and out. We grilled chicken and potatoes that Bernard, the caretaker of the house, literally dug out of the ground for us. In the morning he brought us some freshly laid eggs, and we enjoyed the tastiest omelet I’ve ever eaten. At night we built a huge fire in the outside fireplace and made s’mores while sipping Barbancourt rum and Cokes.

On one of our walks we journeyed to a nearby hotel that we had heard has a restaurant, but when we got there we were informed that it was closed for the season until March. But since one of the gates was close with only a coat hanger … we decided to do a little exploring anyway. It was the strangest place! It was sort of a cross between the hotel from The Shining and the family summer camp from Dirty Dancing. There were little cabins, and well maintained gardens, and a big outdoor pavilion with a creepy Phantom of the Opera chandelier. There was a restaurant with a patio for outdoor seating, a soccer field, some horses, and the ugliest, mangiest dog I’ve ever seen in my life. Men were working on the grounds, and smiled and waved as we walked around, but other than that it was totally deserted. Eerie. I imagine that people must come there, and one of the caretakers explained to me that in the summer there are lots of big parties and weddings there. I think it must be really beautiful, and it gave me a glimpse into the tourist industry that this country could have … if visitors didn’t have to pass through the trash piles of Port au Prince in order to get here. Maybe if Haiti rebuilds right and foreigners invest, then tourists will come. I hope so. I’d love to come back to Belo with friends some day.

Pictures

It has been hard at times to take pictures. There are so many things that were just too personal, or too sad, or too ...just plain wrong ... to photograph. But I also know that people care and really want to see. You'll note in these pictures lots of hard working volunteers and staff, lots of smiling children, and lots of broken buildings. It's a little overwhelming to drive around downtown right now, since the buildings are all so close together, and they're in general larger, the destruction is that much more daunting. But every time I go out I see more and more pieces of heavy equipment, and more and more people clearing rubble and rebuilding walls. There's a well loved Kreyol expression that I've been quoting daily around here ... "piti a piti n'a rive." Little by little we'll get there.

Please enjoy the pictures, but please do NOT copy and paste and share them. These are real people's lives and homes, and I would feel terrible to know that their loss was someone else's entertainment.

Nou pare pou rebati Ayiti!

Notre Dame – not that one, the other one …

I spent the day today literally climbing around the rubble of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in downtown Port au Prince. I never had the opportunity to go inside the cathedral before it collapsed on itself on January 12, but I had driven by it several times. It was enormous and pink. There aren’t many enormous buildings in Haiti, to be honest, so this one was really special. It was a building as grand and glorious as those in any fine city, and it was a place that Haitian people were proud of. Climbing around inside today I think I got a vision of what Germany looked like in 1944. It was just really sad – to see a place that must have been so lovely, now so utterly humbled. It has no roof at all anymore, and the top sections of all of the walls have fallen in. I crawled around on the rubble on top of the main altar area, but could see no signs of an altar beneath. To make things even a little more pathetic, everything of value has been taken from the church already. The tabernacle, all the robes and sacred objects, even some of the wooden drawers and cabinets in the sacristy have been taken away. We were there today because there is no one left in the Church in Port au Prince really to do this work. The Archbishop is dead, the staff is dead, and the buildings are destroyed. So a little band of LCS people and neighborhood guys is working on the excavations. I went today mostly to photograph the whole affair. The highlight of the day was when Angelo, one of the neighborhood guys, found a document in a cardboard tube. It was the original decree from Pope John Paul II installing Serge Miot as the Archbishop of Port au Prince. Certainly saving old Church documents and artifacts isn’t as important as saving lives at the hospital down the street, but it’s not insignificant either. So much has been lost here. To preserve even little bits of culture and history for the future is another small step toward rebuilding this country.

MRE’s – part 2

MRE has another meaning in Haiti, stemming from the tumultuous period of political upheaval in the 1990’s. I know that I’m not an expert in Haitian history, especially not in this incredibly complex and still hotly debated period, but here’s my basic understanding based on lots of reading and conversations with people who lived through it. In those years, the divide in the country was quite clearly along economic lines – the people vs. the military and the so called MRE’s – “morally repugnant elite.” Surely throughout Haiti’s history those with wealth have in general done little to demonstrate any real care for the suffering of the masses. They ran their businesses, which provided jobs for some, but graft and corruption in the business community seem to have been as ubiquitous as in the military and the parade of failed Haitian governments of the same period. No one trusted anyone. People with wealth and power used their influence to brutally repress the democratic movements of Aristide, and as the years went on, Aristide’s gangs responded with gruesome violence. A favorite tactic of the day was “necklacing,” in which an MRE or other undesirable would have a tire placed around his neck, be doused with gasoline and lit on fire.

One thing that’s been particularly unique, I think, about my experience in Haiti is that I have had the opportunity to get to know people from so many different parts of Haitian society. Obviously most of the children that we serve in the school come from the poorer neighborhoods and slums, and since most of the staff are graduates of the school, so do they. But many graduates have managed to move up quite a bit in society. Many have laptops and a few have cars, and some can talk about traveling to the DR or even to the United States for vacations. But another of the most important groups in the LCS community is formed by some of the wealthiest people in this country. The project has worked hard in the last few years especially to engage the Haitian business community in supporting LCS, but also in supporting charitable endeavors all over the country. The notion of social entrepreneurship is new here, and many small grocery stores and even the giant cell phone company Voila are getting on board. One of he local store owners donated many essential grocery items to the school each month. Sadly, that man and many of his family members were killed when their store collapsed on them. Voila has made sizeable contributions to the school’s “office of external affairs” which supports graduates in finding university scholarships and job opportunities. Four days after the earthquake, Voila handed us 10 new cell phones with lots of minutes on them. Maybe the “haves” in this country are starting to get it finally, that their fate is inextricably linked with that of everyone else. Many have great hope that the shared experience of the earthquake will further that sense of solidarity.

One of my absolute favorite people in Haiti is a man named Patrick Brun. Truly, each day this guy is inching higher and higher on the list of the people that I admire and respect most in the world. Patrick was born into privilege in this country of so much poverty. His father’s business was in construction and hardware sales, and as a child he enjoyed an education at the fancy Catholic school, vacations in Europe and a life of relative comfort. In the 90’s he came in contact with Louverture Cleary School and the infinitely persuasive Patrick Moynihan. First he started selling building materials at cost, then consulting on construction projects. Before long he had drunk the proverbial LCS Kool Aid and had what he describes ad a true conversion. Now he’s up to his eyeballs in this place, and the chair of the Board (one of only 2 Haitians on the board.) On a personal level, Patrick Brun and his family have been a great gift to me and the rest of the US volunteers. They’ve had us over to their lovely home in Petonville and fed us chips and salsa and chocolate cupcakes. We’ve spent a few wonderful days of R and R at their small home in the mountains, where there are no mosquitoes, no tap taps, no TV’s, and no noise except for the mooing of cows. Patrick’s visits to the school are frequent, and he always takes the time to talk and to listen.

On the night of the earthquake, when we were missing our two senior most leaders, all I wanted all night was for Patrick Brun to walk through the door of that soccer field because I knew that his presence would calm people down, and that he’d help us to make good decisions. Sure enough, at about 8 pm, there he was, and it was like the weight of the world lifted off my shoulders. He brought us the first real news of what was going on outside. He had been downtown when the earthquake hit, and before returning home, he knew he had to come check on us at the school. Along the way, he picked up strangers along the road who needed to get to hospitals. We stood and talked for about 20 minutes about what to do with the diesel drums and whether or not it was safe to go into the dorms to get the kids blankets and mattresses to sleep on, and what should be our top priorities in the morning, and what were the signs of shock that we needed to be looking for in kids. Then he said goodbye – since there were people sitting in his car on the driveway who needed to get to hospitals – but he promised to come back the next day.

Since then, Patrick Brun has basically abandoned his family business and left it to his brothers. His work has become logistical support for the International Red Cross and Catholic Relief Services. He and a team of LCS students, staff and volunteers cleaned out one of his warehouses to be used for Red Cross building materials and medical supplies. He’s been on site each day this past week while another team of LCS affiliated people has worked to excavate the Cathedral and the Archbishop’s residence. The Church of Port au Prince is destroyed – church buildings are piles of rubble, hundreds of priests and seminarians (as well as the Archbishop and his staff) are dead, and all of the cultural and personal history that the Church preserves is buried under tons and tons of concrete. Since there’s no one left to organize the excavation and recovery of baptismal records and marriage licenses and cultural artifacts from the Cathedral and archdiocesan buildings, Patrick Moynihan and Patrick Brun are simply doing it themselves.

On Tuesday night I had dinner with a group of American surgeons and nurses who are staying at the residence of the Papal Nuncio while they serve in one of the city’s few functioning hospitals. The house is lovely, situated on the side of a hill overlooking the city. It was surreal to be in such a beautiful place, looking down on the city below without really being able to see much of the destruction, but knowing it was there (having just spent 2 and a half hours in gridlocked traffic to get up the hill.) Patrick Brun came over to me and I asked him how he was doing and for the first time since I’ve known him, he looked a little beat up, and admitted to me that he was really tired. Then he explained that he had read a Miami Herald article about how the wealthy of Haiti – the so called MRE’s – were basically unaffected by the earthquake. The article went on to explain that most had left the country and were doing little to assist in the recovery efforts. I looked at this man who had spent the last three weeks doing nothing but assist in the recovery efforts and said, “I’m really sorry Patrick. That must make you kind of furious.” He launched off on a little tirade about journalists being too lazy to leave their desks and find out the real story, and the danger of falling back on that old, divisive narrative at a time like this. After listing some of the other things people like himself were doing to help the country, he said, “this thing shows us that everyone in this country can die together, so we have to be able to live together. History started over on January 12, 2010.”

Someone suggested that he write a response to the article in the Miami Herald. For a moment he seemed to consider it, but then backed off. He explained that he could, but that it would be taken the wrong way by some and would just rekindle those old feelings of animosity, and this country can’t handle that at a time like this. So, Patrick Brun won’t defend himself, out of respect for the needs of his country. But I couldn’t let this one go. I wish American journalists would stop writing about heroic relief workers and start writing about heroic Haitian people like Patrick Brun.

MRE’s

The 82nd Airborne Division is housed down the street from us here in Santo, and one afternoon Patrick Moynihan saw them walking down the street, so he invited them over. They walked in the front gates in 2 lines, each young man wearing dark glasses, his hand on an enormous automatic weapon. It was surreal – but also so funny. As I looked at each 18 year old face – and I’m fairly sure none of them is older than 24 – I was honestly happy to see them, but also happy for them that they had the opportunity to spend time at LCS, and would get to meet such smart, fun, interesting kids here. Of course it was the middle of netwayaj (cleanup hour) when they arrived, so the kids were more than happy to drop their brooms and wheelbarrows full of cinderblocks that they were in the midst of moving from the collapsed front wall. Instead they all gathered around the basketball court and watched members of the 82nd airborne take on 5 of LCS’s best ballers. The kids wore flip flops or played barefoot, and they basically ran circles around their peers in the US Army who wore fatigues and T-shirts with heavy boots. The Americans were actually much better shooters, but the full court defense and quick passes of the Haitians won the day. The final score was something like 40 to 15. Let’s hope the Americans have more success in their efforts to help rebuild this country than they did on the court.

Since that day, this one platoon from the 82nd has come back several more times. They told us they’ve kept the school a secret from the other platoons, calling it their “oasis.” Today they came for lunch and to enjoy real showers for the first time in three weeks. Obviously it would be absurd for the US military to eat the food that we eat from Catholic Relief Services and Food for the Poor, so they brought their MRE’s and exchanged them with the neighborhood children’s plates of rice and beans. You can be sure that both sides were absolutely happy with this arrangement. The LCS kids love MRE’s. A few of the older kids who have been working as translators in hospitals around the city have come back to school singing the praises of the MRE’s they get for lunch sometimes. After today’s exchange, I think the rest of the kids are now fully jealous of the United States Military’s superior cuisine.

Fear

A few seconds after the earthquake began, I knew what it was. Though I had never lived through one before, and I had no frame of reference for whether what I was experiencing was big or small, I understood that what was happening was a natural phenomenon. Then about five minutes later, as I ran around the campus to gather all the kids, I again had an awareness of what was happening when the first aftershock rattled us all once more. But in the next few hours and days, I came to understand that many people here didn’t know what an earthquake was and truly believed the world was ending in those first scary moments on Tuesday afternoon. Then with each aftershock in the following days, their fears were revived, as vividly as the first time. We’ve spent lots of time in the past few weeks explaining tectonic plates and fault lines and aftershocks to kids and adults alike to try to alleviate their fears that another “big one” will likely strike again soon. But fear so deep is not so easy to just explain away, even with well formed logic and sound science. Despite the testimony of expert engineers and many discussions about load bearing supports and the different types of cracks in a wall, many people are still not comfortable going inside. For me it took only one night of sleeping on the soccer field outside to decide that it was time to sleep inside a structurally sound building, because I inherently trust the experts who told me it was safe to do so. That trust doesn’t come so easily for many here. Considering these deeply held fears, I have been amazed by the courage of the junior staff member who walked into a classroom to teach her French class only a week after she ran for her life out of a crumbling university building. I have so much respect for the children who have swallowed their fears and gone to sleep inside again, even as the radio and many in their family are telling them it’s crazy to do so. This might be the most important work that we do here – more important even than making spaghetti for 400 people in those first days after the earthquake. We are helping the LCS community to return to its normal and productive life by supporting people as they face their fears and take those first courageous steps back inside.

Deyo

Today (Tuesday) I finally got a chance to go out, beyond the street our school is on, for only the second time since the earthquake. It was the sort of journey that I’ve become quite accustomed to in Haiti – driving all over town to drop people off, pick people up, run errands to buy things and talk to people and just get things done. Such journeys can take hours because of traffic – even before the earthquake – and often don’t include such luxuries as eating or bathroom stops. Tedious as these trips can sometimes be, today I was eager for the chance to get out, to see a little more closely what’s going on outside, and to take a break from school. These drives usually happen in the big white land cruiser, with a driver, 2 security guys, and the necessary passengers. This time there were 7 of us at first, then 4, then 10. It’s like a roving clown car all over town.

Our first mission was to drive 2 of the American staff (who came after the earthquake to help) to the Inter-American Development Bank to catch the convoy to the airport and their charter flight to Santo Domingo, where they will then catch a commercial flight home. American airlines is still not flying commercially in and out of Haiti, so Americans pretty much hitch rides home on charter and military flights. The drive there was slower than most drives through the city, but not outrageous by Haitian standards. Along the way I had the chance to see more of the widespread destruction from the earthquake. Certainly there are more buildings standing than fallen down, but the ones that have fallen leave such a bewildering impression. Some buildings look like tiered layer cakes where the top layer just slid right off and down the side. Others look like some giant Bigfoot creature simply squashed them with one step, while others are such confusing piles of concrete and rebar that I can’t fathom which laws of physics guided their collapse into their present states of disarray. There are a few huge buildings whose upper floors hang perilously over the street below, and gas station roofs rest peacefully on top of oil tankers beneath them. But amid all the chaos, there are buildings and homes that look totally unharmed. There are people out in the street selling food and clothes and those beautifully vibrant Haitian paintings of market scenes and country houses. It’s hard to fathom why one building fell and its nearly identical next door neighbor did not. I think in the months to come we will learn more and more about dishonest builders mixing cement with clay, and greedy contractors who cut corners in design and construction to save a dollar, and in the end cost thousands of lives. Time will tell, but for now the scenes of destruction really do defy logic to the untrained eye.

After some remarkably skilled driving and navigating around blocked roads and traffic jams, our driver Ganiel delivered us to the IADB where we met the other passengers on their way to Santo Domingo. There were two Nicaraguan architects who had earlier come out to the school to offer an additional expert opinion on the structural integrity of our buildings. I learned that one of them had graduated from Notre Dame in 1958. He told a story about wearing his Notre Dame hat earlier in the week and having a security guard at one of the destroyed hotels who had just turned around several cars up ahead simply wave him and his car through. Go Irish! He showed us some of his pictures of the scene in Port au Prince, including the destroyed cathedral, and the sight of three US Marines managing air traffic control on a folding table in the blazing sun alongside the landing strip at the Port au Prince airport. After a break in the air conditioned offices, we said goodbye to our friends and headed off to our next stop – the bank.

It took the banks about 11 days to open again after the earthquake, preventing many other businesses from opening and many people from going about their normal lives. People were buying and selling in Dollars and Euros even more than usual during those days. But finally on Saturday they opened again, and by today the Gourde was trading oddly higher than usual against the dollar. It was nice to be inside a totally professional, well organized institution after the craziness of outside. There was more air conditioning, and professionally dressed people, and the general feel of normalcy. The trader we met with told us that their phones and Internet weren’t working today, and it took her about 15 minutes to find the exchange rate and make the trade … but at least we got what we came for. We exchanged our “where were you during the earthquake?” stories and conversation about the exchange rate, and liquidity, and the importance of the banks in Haiti’s present and future, and then we went on our way.

The next stop was a grocery store in Petonville. I had actually been to this store once before – where, astoundingly, I ran into the one person I know who lives in Petonville. Patrick handed me 25 US dollars and told me and one of the security guys to go in and buy the stuff that we need that we haven’t been able to get since our usual grocery stores no longer exist. I found the store not too different from the last time I was there back in December. There wasn’t quite as much fresh meat and produce as before, the shelves were bit more sparsely populated, and there were guys with semiautomatic weapons inside – which I do not recall the first time. The cash registers also all had signs saying “cash only.” We bought syrup for French toast, soy sauce and hot dogs for fried rice, canned peas for many of our usual dinner concoctions and a can of Pringles to eat on the road. We’ll now be able to enjoy a few more interesting meals in the next few days!

Finally, we drove to Food for the Poor, a huge international aid organization that warehouses much more than food for distribution to charitable organizations and sometimes directly to individuals. Incidentally, much of the food that I’ve been eating in the last year comes from there as well. We have a group of students who have been going there each day to translate for some Jamaican doctors who are here working in the small clinic. We went to pick up the kids, and the US volunteer who was supervising them, at the end of their day’s work. On the way, we dropped off Patrick and Minel so they could make their way to the funeral of the sister of one of the staff members who had died in one of the collapsed university buildings. When we got near Food for he Poor, winding through some very small streets in a very crowded and poor neighborhood, we were informed that the way ahead was blocked because they were distributing food, and there was “dezod,” a wonderful Kreyol word that basically means trouble. So again, Ganiel the expert driver, wound through those same tiny streets in reverse, then swung around to the other side of the entrance, where we found the kids waiting patiently.

I know that many people in Haiti these days are not living lives nearly so functional and normal as this. The scenes on TV of machete wielding gangs and fights over bottled water and food are real, and in places like Site Soleil they may actually be quite common. But it’s also true that even in and around Port au Prince people are getting back to business … not business as usual … but back to some sort of normalcy. And that’s the “normal” that we managed to accomplish in five hours today, with a land cruiser, a skilled driver and 25 US dollars.

Friday Night Fun and Satruday Relaxation

By the end of the school day Friday, we had about 70 students left. These are kids who either can’t go home, or just really don’t want to yet. They’re not sleeping on the soccer field anymore, but most still aren’t sleeping back in the dorms yet. We’re hoping for Sunday night, if all goes according to plan. We decided to organize a fun activity for everyone on Friday night after dinner, so Coqmard (one of the oldest students who pretty much runs the show around here sometimes) and I planned a giant game of team pictionary. This is one of my old PHA stand-by’s, and I knew that the kids and staff at LCS would love it. We organized everyone into teams and spread them around the basketball court, then handed out a mini white board and marker to each team. Coqmard and I had made a list of words in Kreyol for the teams to draw, and the race began. For hirty minutes kids – and staff – were racing around the basketball court to get the words, flying back to their teams, drawing their little pictures and running back. Most importantly, they were laughing hysterically the whole time. The winners got candy, and everyone got a bottle of King Cola and we followed with about an hour of singing and jokes and dancing and games. One thing I love about the kids here is that they are so willing to play. There’s no “this is mad corny” or “too cool for school” attitude here. They just love to play together – the eleven year olds, the nineteen year olds and the staff all laugh at the same jokes and know the same songs. After two hours of playing and consuming a staggering quantity of sugar, it was time for bed. I don’t think anyone was thinking much about earthquakes last night. We were all too busy laughing.

Today, Saturday, I relaxed. I slept until 6:15 (which, trust me, is sleeping in around here) then ate breakfast with the staff not the kids, the first time we’ve done that since the earthquake. I spent time writing and e-mailing and organizing the hundreds of pictures I’ve taken in the past two weeks. I took a nap. I finally really cleaned my room. I had previously picked up everything that fell down during the earthquake, but I hadn’t cleaned up all the dust or reorganized the shelves or mopped the floor until today. I spent time with another staff member figuring out how to hook up a second computer and the phone at the same time to our library Internet connection. Then I sat down on the couch to read the book that I was reading when the earthquake struck. It was kind of eerie actually to sit in the same spot re-read the same sentence I was reading when the floor started shaking violently under my feet. I think I would have sworn off reading – or maybe sitting on that couch - for the rest of my life if an aftershock had hit while I was sitting there … but nothing happened. In the evening we had Mass at school with many of the kids who stayed for the weekend, dinner, and long after dinner conversations. My plans for Sunday are not much different.

Aftershocks

The psychology of aftershocks is impossible. For the first few days the aftershocks were frequent, and when they happened people standing outside would stop what they were doing and brace themselves, and people inside would run outside. Though they never lasted long, and never caused any damage, they rattled people’s nerves so much. We all started imagining them after a while so if someone moved a table, or jumped off the top bunk suddenly, it could cause a whole roomful of people to startle. I started trying to see if water in a glass on the table was moving to figure out if the shaking was real or in my head. One morning at about 5 am we had one that had me and two of the people I was sharing a room with out the door in about 10 seconds. Somehow others slept, but we were up for the day. Then they got smaller and smaller so that by Sunday morning we all slept through one. We were getting ready to start moving kids back into buildings on Wednesday morning. Then, with all of the kids standing outside on the basketball court at about 6:15 am, talking about going back to sleep inside, we had another long, fairly strong rumble that evidently registered at 6.1. I was so furious – not because anything was damaged or anyone was hurt but because all these kids who had been building up the courage to go back inside for days were back to totally terrified again. We backed off on sleeping inside the dorms, but did move kids off the soccer field into two partially enclosed spaces. Sure enough, at about 4 am, there was NOT an aftershock, but someone thought they felt one, screamed, and created an absolute panic. I woke up when I heard every dog in the neighborhood barking like crazy. Great. This is awesome.

Then this afternoon, as I walked around with a sixteen year old who is really just terrified, we had another one. The details on this would be almost comically ironic if they weren’t actually so heart breaking. I was walking around with this kid showing him the difference between support columns that failed in the earthquake, and good columns. I’m getting quite good at talking about load bearing columns, diagonal cracks, and visible rebar in Kreyol … but I digress. We were standing at a place where there actually is some structural damage, but I was showing him that it’s not dangerous to stand on, that normal use would not cause any problems. He was totally following my logic, nodding in agreement, and to show him that this one wall wouldn’t fall over, I kicked it as hard as I could. He had just finished saying, “I see … it’s not even moving” when IT STARTED MOVING. Are you kidding me? Seriously? The kids ran out of the classrooms with a reasonable degree of calm and order given that the earth had just moved under their feet for about the thirtieth time in a week, and I looked at this kid with tears in his eyes and just said, “I’m so sorry. I guess we’re just going to have to live with this for a while.”

So, it would be really great if this would stop so we could all feel a tiny bit less crazy all the time. Yesterday I was teaching a Spanish class with some of the youngest kids (who I don’t usually teach, but I’m the only Spanish teacher in town right now ….) when I noticed that one little girl had her head down and was sobbing. I helped her to her feet and we walked outside for her to get some fresh air and she started calming down. I asked her if she was scared to be inside and she said no, so I asked why she was crying. Through her tears she explained that the little boy behind her kept hitting her in the head. I was ecstatic. An eleven year old girl crying because a boy is hitting her? That’s so NORMAL! I know exactly how to deal with that. Guess which naughty boy had me sitting next to him for the rest of the period?

Finally on Friday morning, while all the kids were all outside at the morning assembly, there were two small aftershocks, and no one really moved. They gasped a little, but didn’t stop what they were doing, and didn’t run anywhere. Maybe we’re on the way out of this finally.

Going Inside – Tuesday January 19

It’s been a week since the earthquake and during that time we’ve managed to take care of basic needs, and even provide some entertainment and intellectual stimulus for kids. Peter brought a pair of binoculars back after Christmas and has been taking them out onto the soccer field (where the kids are still sleeping at night) and teaching little astronomy classes. We had soccer and basketball tournaments yesterday. Last night Jon and I carried out something we had started planning last Monday – before plans changed. In honor of Martin Luther King, Jr’s birthday, we played the audio of the last 5 minutes of the “I have a Dream” speech for all of the kids last night, then announced a speech competition – “what is your dream for Haiti?” We even had a group of about 10 kids who stayed around and listened to and read along with the entire speech while we talked about Civil Rights in the United States. I think the speeches – which they’ll write in English – will be pretty wonderful.

But it still wasn’t school, and a bunch of kids in a school not going to class for a week is just sort of unnatural. So today, we had school. We’re running a shortened schedule, since we don’t have all of our teachers and can’t use all of the classrooms, and only have about half of our students right now. We’re using all of the outdoor classrooms, and a few in the less damaged classroom building. We know that the building is structurally sound, but it has some cracks that look really scary even though they’re not on load bearing supports. (Oh, did I mention that my next career will be forensic engineer? This stuff is fascinating ….) So, it took some convincing, some hand holding, and lots of patient explanations of what the heck load bearing supports are, but we did get almost everyone inside. Many stood or sat right next to the door and a few only made it 20 minutes or so, but that’s a good first day. I told them I didn’t care if they learned anything or even listened to a single thing any teacher said all day. All that mattered today was getting back to a routine, and going back inside.

This afternoon an engineer finally arrived on campus to inspect the buildings. After six days of Tricia and Molly Bowman trying to work their contacts from the states, we finally got a guy from one of the Haitian firms that consulted on the construction of the most recent buildings. This guy was amazing. He had attended a funeral in the morning for a family friend, then fought the crazy city traffic (full of NGO people driving themselves around alone in their cars ….) to get here. He walked around with us for about 2 hours, inspecting cracks, tapping on beams with a hammer, and patiently explaining some construction basics. Earlier in the week I had walked around with a few people to take pictures of all of the relevant cracks to send to the states, so I walked around with him to point out some of the most … interesting … ones. The long and the short of it is that none of our buildings is going to fall down. If there’s another serious earthquake, one of them would probably be damaged, so we should do some work to support the columns in that building. The thing that blew my mind was when he was inspecting one superficially cracked column, he said, “wow, you guys did not have a 7,0 earthquake here. I’ve seen buildings just like this one downtown that are significantly more damaged.” Wow. I don’t even want to imagine what that felt like to those people downtown.

Now that we’ve reoccupied some buildings during the day, it will soon be time to reoccupy them for sleeping. The rule of thumb is that you wait for three days after the last aftershock to reoccupy a building that sustained any damage. That will be tomorrow afternoon. Let’s hope we can convince the kids that their beds really are more comfortable than the grass outside … even if there is a crack on the wall.

Tuesday January 12, 4:45 pm

7.0
The first thing I noticed was a sound like a freight train. I was sitting on the second floor of the administration building where we live, with Mary and Kristen, two other volunteers. I thought the generator next door was turning on, and something was wrong with it causing it to make a louder than usual noise. Someone said, “what’s happening?” and I realized the floor was moving and things were rattling around. When I think of it now, I think I noticed the floor was moving in waves … or maybe I’m just imagining that after the fact. We never said “earthquake” but someone said “what should we do – should we get out?” I didn’t think I could stand up anymore and was afraid to run out and fall, so I said “no, get the fuck down.” (I actually have no memory of saying that … someone told me later that’s what I said.) My instinct was to climb under the little couch in our common room. Looking at it now it’s sort of hilarious to note that there’s about 12 inches from the floor to the bottom of the couch. I wouldn’t so much have fit under there. I remember looking at the walls to make sure that nothing would fall on us and I just got down and covered my head. Mary somehow had the presence of mind to pull the standing fan down with her so it wouldn’t fall. I became conscious of so much screaming outside, and I remember wondering if this was a big earthquake or just a tremor, never having experienced one before. And then it stopped. People say it was about 20 seconds, but it felt like forever.

The next thirty minutes though were actually the scariest. When it stopped we got up slowly, totally bewildered, and walked out of the building holding on as we went down the stairs, knowing that the aftershocks would start any minute. As we rounded the corner of the stairs – which are actually outside – I noticed that the front wall surrounding the campus had completely fallen down into the street. I heard screaming. My legs were like jello and heart was racing. I remember thinking about adrenaline and that maybe that’s why my heart was racing and that maybe the magical powers that adrenaline supposedly gives people would allow me to do whatever needed to be done in the next few minutes. As we emerged I saw that the planter by the door had fallen and shattered. I saw kids running toward me and the front basketball court where they always gather, crying, or using every shred of their strength not to cry. I ran the other way toward the first building to go inside and make sure the kids were all out. I had this image in my head of a kid being too scared to get out, or an injured kid inside, and an aftershock coming and knocking down the whole building. I remember thinking it was totally idiotic for me to go inside any of those buildings, but I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

There weren’t any kids inside, but as I came out, two terrifying sights greeted me. The head maintenance guy, a really big guy, was running full speed past me with a little girl limply in his arms, yelling for help. Then I saw that that two water tanks that hold our drinkable water were gushing out water. The possibility that we had serious injuries, or that we might have drinking water problems in the aftermath, had not yet hit me. I watched as the pickup truck filled with - I couldn’t tell how many - injured kids and a few staff members raced out of the driveway. I kept running around through two more buildings screaming for kids to get out, then ran back to the basketball court where they were gathered as they always do, actually standing in the lines in which they always stand. Most were crying, holding on to each other. The adults were all walking around trying to comfort kids, having no idea what the hell was going on themselves. Zanmy, the assistant principle who is only 26 himself, got up on the table as he always does and quieted the kids. I actually don’t know what he was saying because my Kreyol brain wasn’t so much functioning in that moment, but I stood next to him, just to be another adult standing there. At some point there was a strong aftershock that had me jumping off the table to get on the ground, and the kids all screamed and ran toward the center of the court, away from all the buildings and the front wall that didn’t actually exist anymore. I knew that aftershocks were normal, but it occurred to me that they probably didn’t. These were some absolutely terrified kids.

Settling In
In the next hour we moved the kids to the back soccer field, away from the chaos that was unfolding on the street outside. When I got back there I saw that part of the wall around the soccer field and playground had fallen too, and learned from another volunteer that seven kids had been injured when that wall fell on them. The next few hours were spent calming kids, keeping them away from the walls surrounding the field (afraid that a strong aftershock could knock them down), securing the drinking water, rigging up some lights and a TV because – amazingly – our solar panels were completely intact and we had working electricity in most buildings. Fortunately, the school’s cooks had just finished making dinner when the earthquake struck so some people carried the huge pots and the kids’ bowls outside and passed out food. We rolled the drums of diesel fuel away from the now crumbled front wall into a more secure location in case any kind of unrest or looting happened. About ten of our security and maintenance guys sat in a circle by the now wide open front gate, and despite the chaos, seeing them there I felt – almost – totally safe.

At first we still had cell phone contact within Haiti, so staff members were feverishly calling family and friends, and we even had cell contact with the US at first so we could report and get information from the staff there. But after a few hours, all but one of the Haitian cell companies went down and we were left cut off from the US, so those first hours were extremely complex in terms of decision making. We were missing our two senior most leaders who happened to be away from the school that day, many staff members had not yet returned to campus from their universities for the evening, and the rest of the staff had moments of total clarity, but were clearly struggling to hold it together at other times. One learned that his eleven year old cousin had been killed when a wall two streets away fell on her. Another heard of an injured family member, but before he could get more information, lost cell contact. Others just waited, not knowing anything. In this context we had to make decisions about whether or not it was safe to run into buildings even for a moment to take out foam mattresses and sheets for the kids to sleep on. We had to decide how to handle the parents who were arriving. We had to decide what area we would use as a bathroom. Meanwhile, there were radio reports of a tsunami warning, and predictions of more intense aftershocks. We had some kids descending into total shock while they waited, hoping that the next parent in the door would be their own. Those reunions made my heart ache, and made the rest of the kids even more anxious about the fate of their own families.

By 9 pm we had everyone lying down somewhere and the movie Happy Feet on the TV. Unfortunately we couldn’t find the DVD remote in the chaos of the totally upside down library and couldn’t switch the language to French, so, we just watched it in English. The story was clearly not what mattered. The kids never got totally quiet that night. We played movies all night, just to provide some distraction. There were moments of singing, and moments of praying and moments of sobbing. Older kids just walked laps of the field in small groups, with so much nervous energy. Little kids slept. At some point we went back upstairs to our own rooms to gather warm clothes, toothbrushes and our own mattresses when one volunteer suggested we grab out passports and wallets … just in case. Later on staff took turns sleeping, as well as we could. The aftershocks continued, at first eliciting screams from the kids, and eventually just making us all gasp a little, and then go back to sleep. Haiti in January is actually kind of chilly at night, probably in the sixties, and the kids were all wearing their play clothes from earlier in the day. I gave a little girl in shorts and a tank top my black hoodie, and another boy one of my sheets. It was a cold, mostly sleepless night.

We awoke with the sun just before 6. As I gathered myself and my belongings together, I remember thinking, “Here we go. This is the beginning of the real work.” After moving all of the mattresses to the side, we gathered the kids as we do every morning, in their usual lines, and one of the oldest students got up in front of them and led them in a prayer of profound thanksgiving. We still knew little of the extent of the damage and death outside, but we knew we were blessed to be alive, and together in a safe place. They sang a song of thanksgiving, “mesi bondye pout tout ou bay nou … thank you God for all you give us.” I stood to the side and watched them singing, wrapped in sheets. I was utterly humbled by their faith.

We spent the rest of the day cooking … literally, the next nine hours. Most of the Haitian staff were still trying to get information about their families, or hadn’t yet returned, or were out with the kids, or just weren’t really in any shape to help. So it fell on the nine US American volunteers to make breakfast for 400 Haitians. We decided that it wouldn’t be possible to make three meals each day, so we settled on a mid morning meal, and a late afternoon meal. Unfortunately there was a probable gas leak in our industrial kitchen, so we were left to do all the work in the small residential kitchen. Spaghetti for breakfast is a staple in Haiti, but we didn’t have any hot dogs which are a typical part of the meal. So we boiled pot after pot of spaghetti, made pot after pot of a simple tomato sauce, and carried it all in shifts out to the back soccer field to serve the kids class by class. It took five hours to cook the food and feed everyone. When it was done, and all the dishes were clean, we started on dinner, a simple plate of rice and beans.

The New Normal
We’re now on day six since the earthquake. We still spend most of our time cooking and cleaning, but have settled into a state of near normalcy. The kids still sleep outside, and during the day set up a little tent city. They made a shower area to take bucket showers. Yesterday they were washing their clothes and hanging them to dry all over the playground. We have the meal serving and cleaning down to a science, and many more of the Haitian staff are able to help – or rather lead – the cooking process. Consequently, the kids are also much happier with their home cooked Haitian food as opposed to that very mysterious Italian style spaghetti we made them on that first bewildering morning! We’ve also been able to feed almost 100 people from the neighborhood at least once, and sometimes twice each day. We are so blessed that the earthquake struck at the beginning of the month. Our freezer was full of meat, and our pantries full of rice, spaghetti, beans and some vegetables.

Within our own school, the rebuilding is beginning. Students and staff moved the pieces of concrete block from the front wall that fell into the street. The kids help with the meal prep and cleanup. We knocked down the balcony banister that was precariously perched on the third floor of a classroom building. On Saturday we climbed on the roof of a building to clean the solar panels. Kids are cleaning up the shelves and books that fell all over the library and returning it to some state of order. We’re still awaiting confirmation from an engineer that all of our buildings are inhabitable despite the cracks, but we’re trying to get people used to the idea of being in them – and on them – so though the kids aren’t sleeping inside yet, we’re starting to make use of the buildings whenever we can.

In the country the rebuilding is clearly coming, but hasn’t begun in earnest yet. There are still bodies all over the streets, and huge piles of rubble that used to be the hospitals, the universities, churches, supermarkets, peoples’ homes and schools, and the national palace. But we hear the reports of four thousand American troops and billions of dollars of aid on its way. Every day there are more and more planes in the sky and I’ve started playing a little game with kids – and adults – that whenever a plane flies overhead we imagine what’s in it. Doctors … machinery to remove the rubble … beans … firefighters … pepperoni pizzas …?

Now the real trauma of what happened in this country is known to us all, and is hitting this community in personal ways. Though all of our students and staff are alive, we did have seven students with injuries, two of whom are still not quite right. Students and staff are learning of family and friends who were killed when houses collapsed, or the university collapsed, or the wall on the side of the road they were on collapsed. Some still haven’t heard from family members at all. People coming from the outside are wearing masks now, as the smell of death is everywhere in the city. Some put toothpaste on their upper lip to disguise the smell, and all have horrific stories or walking through downtown, or Delmas or Petonville and climbing over corpses and rubble to get where they’re going.

Many people are so scared that this hole is just too deep for Haiti to come out of. They’ve heard of international aid on its way before, only to have corrupt government officials line their own pockets with it. They’ve had hope for change before, only to have the harsh reality of daily life in Haiti break those hopes to pieces. They wonder out loud if this isn’t some kind of punishment from God. I have found that people here express joy so freely, but hope doesn’t come as easily. The radio reports are that foreigners are leaving the country in droves. There are lines outside the US embassy of missionaries and NGO workers and others waiting for evacuation to the Dominican Republic. How can people be hopeful when everyone seems to be abandoning them? Today I was sitting with a group of little children from the neighborhood coloring pictures. Not that any of us really knows anything about art therapy, but the idea of giving little kids crayons and paper after a crisis just seemed like a good idea. One little boy, about seven years old, drew a picture of a girl, and a house, and a boat with a little Haitian flag on the top. I asked who the girl was and he said Kristen, one of the other US volunteers. I asked who the house was and he said it was my house. I asked who was in the boat and he said “blan”- white people, which colloquially means foreigners. I asked where the boat was going and he said “nan etazuni.” To the United States. Even as Kristen and I sat next to this little boy, he was so sure we were on our way out the door. We assured him that we’re not going anywhere.

Koman ou ye?
We try to ask each other and the kids “how are you” as often as possible. The answer depends on the moment. Loud noises still make us all jump. The US Air Force lanes are coming in around the clock right now, and they’re HUGE and fly very low, very loudly. Every time the generator turns on, I flinch. The aftershocks which sent us all running outside a few times a day and night seem to have stopped. However, the sensation of moving floors and dizziness (which we’re calling “earthquake feet”) still comes and goes for everyone, especially at “ground zero” – where you were when it happened. Unfortunately for me, that was where I live, so every time I went back inside I had the sensation of moving and shaking. On Saturday I decided to go and spend about three hours in there cleaning the whole place top to bottom, organizing all the things that fell down. Then last night we finally all went back inside and slept in our own beds and it was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in a week.

As for the kids, they are amazing. I asked one 16 year old boy yesterday how he was and he said with a huge smile “everything’s OK. My family is good. My house is totally broken and they’re sleeping outside, but everyone is good.” Some haven’t been home yet, and I’m starting to worry that some of the older kids are delaying the reality as long as possible. We’re encouraging them to go home, just to see, as long as it’s safe. We’re afraid that we may lose many students. Most people in Port au Prince are transplants from the countryside. If they lost everything here, many will just go back to the family home in the provinces.

Now I’m in school mode again. I’m working on a modified school schedule so on Tuesday we can start having some academic classes with whichever kids and staff members are here. The country has officially cancelled school for a month, but we will carry on as well as we can. The cooks will come back tomorrow, so the volunteers and staff who have been cooking and cleaning all day can get back to being teachers … sort of. We’ll incorporate many hours of work into each school day, so we can fix everything on our campus, and when the resources become available, we’ll help the neighbors rebuild their houses

I’m not afraid there will be another big earthquake, and the aftershocks rattle me – literally and figuratively – a little less each day. The security situation in the country is OK. Yesterday we drove around a bit and saw people out selling things on the street, and even some tap taps running. Those people aren’t stupid. They wouldn’t do that with marauding gangs all over town. The presence of a huge US military force will be good. The relationship between Haitian civilians and the US military is actually excellent. People see them as helping to maintain order and peace. Our food situation is secure, and we’re managing to find the things we need. Today we bought 720 eggs and even found bread for breakfast tomorrow. No one really knows what the next months will bring, but we’ll make plans, then scrap them and start over as the situation demands. Maybe in February, the week when Carnaval should have happened, the volunteers will spend some time in the DR sipping cocktails with umbrellas in them … or maybe we’ll just stay here and work. Time will tell.