Day 4

Last night I went into Les Cayes for dinner with Paige, Hannah, and several others. After dinner, we drove down the residential alleys and saw a large assembly of typical Haitian homes. Finally I was exposed to the reality of substandard living, and only now do I feel that I truly understand references to Haiti as a "poverty-stricken" nation. Wilson, a young Haitian man who works at Espwa, let us into his home to meet his mother (to whom he gives all his earnings) and many siblings. Their house was one room, roughly the size of a small office cubicle, with a small candlelit table in the middle. These people literally live meal to meal, and sleep on muddy, insect-ridden floors. I don't think I'll forget that room for a long time to come, nor will I forget the smell there.
I asked Paige, who has been part of Pwoje Espwa for over a year, whether she stays here because she feels like she is making a difference. She answered that, realistically, she hardly makes any difference at all, and that Haiti would be no different if she were to never have come. Instead, she said, she has stayed here because she has developed meaningful relationships. No individual, she asserts firmly, can make much of a difference, but if many people develop personal reasons for staying to help, together they can improve the lives of some. Even after only 4 days, I have a much greater appreciation for small accomplishments here, and I no longer feel as though the success of my stay is dependent on how much I "get done." Just being part of the effort, soaking up the environment, and communicating my experience to others is enough to make my time in Haiti worthwhile.
I have spent much of the last couple days painting the children's houses: turquoise on the inside, and orange on the outside. I also spent a couple hours today measuring and painting lines in the basketball court--now we can call fouls and shoot free throws! The kids seemed really impressed with the court.
I have also been helping Hannah set up her library. We had to sweep a few inches of water out of the room, but other than that, it really looks pretty good. A huge shipment of books just arrived last night from Europe, so we spent a good amount of time unloading them. Tomorrow, Hannah wants to start dividing them into French, Creole, and English sections.
It's incredibly hot down here, and I am continuously drenched in sweat. We eat bread with jam every meal and have no ice. The mosquitos suck. But somehow, the images and interactions of my day drown out these proximate discomforts. Seeing families bathe in puddles of mud and sewage, seeing old men pick through trash for pieces of food, watching the joy in young children's faces just from seeing the strange white guy slap orange paint on their shabby walls...all these images make mosquitos and heat seem like petty complaints. They also make the hours of my life seem much more fragile and precious--I find myself worrying that I'm not doing enough with all the time and resources that I have at my disposal.