A Piece Written for my Temple's Newsletter

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Julie Rivo, 19-years-old, is a sophomore at Duke University in Durham, North Carolina. Through a service-learning engagement program called Duke Engage, Julie and two other Duke students spent two months this summer living in Leogane, Haiti, a large city that was at the epicenter of the recent earthquake. Through a partnership with a Durham-based organization called Family Health Ministries that worked in Haiti for over 17 years, she conducted research on maternal mortality and on health care resources in Leogane. She used a verbal autopsy questionnaire developed by the World Health Organization to better understand the complex causes of maternal death in Haiti. Haiti has the highest rate of maternal and infant mortality in the Western Hemisphere. By speaking with people who have experienced the death of a woman during or as a cause of pregnancy, qualitative data can be gathered to improve maternal health care in Haiti. To learn more, visit Julie’s blog at http://jrivo.blogspot.com

Ou Ayisyen. You are Haitian.

My Haitian translator, Eunide, told me that I was Haitian at the end of my 8-weeks living and breathing Haiti. We were taking a Tap-Tap (bus) ride between tent cities in the city of Leogane. My feet were tanned a light brown; I ate maiemoule ak pwa (cornmeal with beans); We spoke Creole; Eunide said “Ou Ayisyen, kounye!” as other Haitians listened on, waiting for a Creole response to pour out from my blan (white) mouth. I was smiling.

How many would be proud to hear those words from a close friend? “You are Haitian now”. I lived for two months in the health clinic with a beautiful Haitian family; an obstetrician/gynecologist-father, a nurse-wife and their three young children. We shared meals, a living space, and a labor and delivery room for the community. More than the physical space and daily-life rituals that made me “Haitian”; it was the way I began to understand the Haitian people that made me feel like I could begin to proudly wear this new identity.

Yolene* was in her 70s, tall, wrinkly and weather-beaten, but very strong. Despite my protests, she sat me down in the nicest chair she owned and sat herself down on a small cement block. “M ka chita isit. Se Bon. Ou ka chita nan chez la!!... okay, okay okay. Meci anpil!” “I can sit here. It’s good. You can sit in the chair!!.. okay, okay, okay. Thank you very much!” A warm smile. It was our 3^rd verbal autopsy interview of the morning. I was ready to sit down. This was my 4^th visit to this tent city. It is huge. Thousands of tents sprawled along a flat area between the more urbane area of Leogane and the mountains. One could chita-pale (chita means to sit and pale means to speak, chita-pale means to sit and talk, or interview) along this road forever.

Yolene was sharing the story of the death of her daughter. She talked with a clear and calm voice, but the distant look in her eyes betrayed her deep sadness. The death of a pitit-fi (daughter). Every few moments, she would pause and look carefully at me and I at her. During an interview, I often stepped back and realized what I was doing. This 19-year-old blan was talking to an elderly Haitian woman about the death of her daughter.

Fieldwork is both rote and spontaneous in the tent cities. The smells of food being fried and charcoal smoke; Brothers, sisters, cousins, neighbors, young and old, mulling about. Legs covered in dust. A teenager in her blue-and-white school uniform talking to me in my right ear as I listen to Eunide with my left; three little boys poking my left leg; The shouting of “Blan, blan, blan, blan, blan!” from young children all around, that is, until I said “Bonjou” or touch their small hands, look lovingly into their vibrant young eyes and yell “Ayisyen” back in response - - -“White”... “Haitian”..... “White”..... “Haitian” !!

We interviewed 50 men and women about the death of their loved ones over a six- week period. Not one flinched when sharing deeply personal and tragic details about their lives. They knew that sharing would not change their lives in an immediate way, but would help others down the road. Their dedication to their fellow Haitians was astounding. Their survival in the midst of calamity may be attributed to a generous love they possess for their friends and family. The Haitian people are highly resourceful, courageous, and flexible to such a degree, that there is a verb in Creole to describe it, degaje, to make do. You make it work. You figure it out, regardless of the odds. That is the Haitian way. Haitians are survivors. Fighters. As their fate gets tossed around in air-conditioned offices in Geneva, Switzerland and Washington D.C., Haitians degaje. They make do. They continue to live, smile and laugh, find joy, appreciate their blessings and seek to improve their lives and those of their friends and fellow Haitians, even in the face of such odds.

Regardless, Haiti still needs our support. We can and should give them aid with two goals in mind: towards sustainability and with humility. Donate to causes that will provide the people with the capacity to take our money and make it into something more valuable, like an education or a micro-loan to start a small business. Donate with the recognition that the life you are so generously ‘saving’ is precious and holy. Yes, children all over the world and in your neighborhood will die each day from malnutrition and disease, but each life is dear. We learn as Jews, that to save one life is to save the whole world. We can learn much from the people of Haiti during our high-holiday period of reflection.

If you decide to travel to Haiti, even just for a few days, take steps to learn some Creole or French. Although far from fluent, I learned to speak Creole. This demonstrates more than a long-term commitment to the country and people of Haiti. It tells the people that they are your teachers, that you want them to show you how you can help them build their country. To have them as your teachers, I believe you need to be able to speak to them, even if it is in basic terms. And consider visiting Haiti just to experience the incredible beauty of this tropical island. Waterfalls, rivers, clouds forests, fields of Cala lilies, mountains, oceans; the country is brimming in nature’s divine artwork; Beauty that we do not see in the news, yet is splendid and abundant.

And if nothing else will convince you to visit and love Haiti, I hope this will: THEY HAVE MANISCHEWITZ WINE.

Julie Rivo

*Name changed.

Pimp my Ride: Haitian Tap-Tap Version

Monday began with an early morning drive to the airport in Port au Prince to pick up Dr. Walmer and Allen. On the way into the city, we drove by a tent city that made it into mass media because it sits on the median of the major road between PAP and the southwest of Haiti. The residents are in perpetual danger of being hit by oncoming traffic. An aid group set up latrines for them, but they must cross multiple "lanes" of highway traffic. They are just some of the many Haitians living in flux.

Because traffic is so unpredictable, we arrived near the city early and drove through its chaotic streets. A concrete lined ‘river’ was filled with an astonishing quantity of plastic bottles and other pubol (trash).

I will never get over the lack of environmental consciousness in this country. Although there are reasons why notions I take for granted, have not caught on here, it is still unacceptable in my eyes. I have seen many physically different parts of Haiti that it is hard to reconcile disrespect for the land. We drove by the presidential palace that sits in ruin in the center of town. Its domes toppled over, supplicating to the will of the earthquake.

Every inch of the streets were filled with people walking, selling and yelling, with tap taps, Obamas, motos and with all of the goods that sold in the open air: ovens, mattresses, mangos, dressers, spaghetti.

For lunch, we stopped at the only indoor fast food style restaurant in PAP called Epi’dor. It was air-conditioned and served a random selection of food- burgers and French fries, freshly baked cakes and cookies, crepes filled with a tomato-sauce, ham and cheese, and some baguette-style sandwiches. Lets just say that the melted cheese in the crepe was so delicious, as was the tomatoes in the sandwich. If you can’t tell, I am very excited to eat and cook back in the US, not that I haven’t eaten well here. We are blessed with good and enough food for every meal.

Leaving the mayhem of PAP behind, we headed up in the mountains around the city to Fort Jacques. Built in the early 1800s, it survived intact until January 12^th. We learned some of the history from a local and toured around the small stone structure. We even peered into a tunnel that connects this fort with another fort nearby. The fort overlooks PAP and the cul-de-sac shaped coastline.

Our day ended with unexpected luxury. We stayed the night at The Lodge, a beautiful small hotel in the town of Furcy. At this elevation, the cold air gave me a very deep night of sleep. The next morning, after a breakfast that included an omlette (!!!), we drove to the starting point of our hike, climbing part of the 6,000 ft that would take us to our destination of Seguin. No cars passed on this road; people walked or rode horses or donkeys. We were in rural Haiti.

We walked for 7 or 8 hours that day, mostly uphill, along the road that winds through these mountains. Crossing over the valley, the mountain range sprawled about reflecting the sun and collecting moving clouds within its folds. Some women carried small children in their arms while prodding other children along the steep road. Others walked with bulging bundles of carrots, radishes, onions or potatoes balanced on their head. Some were barefoot. Most walked without water. In contrast to those around me, I bent over aching with the weight of my backpack carrying water and clothes. We witnessed rural life. A sparse number of houses crossed our path, despite the many people along the road, suggesting that people walked long distances between their homes and a market or a school. The people were lovely. One woman walked with Shilpa and I for a few hours. If she got far from us, she would look back to make sure we were treading at a steady pace. She would laugh with us when we took infrequent breaks and plopped down on rocks along the road. Destination Seguin. Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

Finally, we reached a grand height, 6,000 ft, and moved off the edge of the mountain to walk within a cloud forest. Huge trees lined our path. Rain began to fall and continued to do so during the last 1-2 hours. The forest was not overtly dense, but very green and luscious. The trash-filled streets of PAP were a distant memory.

Finally, after slipping and sliding our way across muddy paths, we arrived at an oasis. Up in Seguin, a Haitian-American named Winny owns a guesthouse. We were served hot mint tea and given shelter from the driving rain. After removing wet clothes, we were treated to a delicious lunch and to the personality that is Winny. This man, born in Brooklyn to Haitian parents, moved back to Haiti after having a dream of being in these mountains. He staked out land owned by his family and discovered it as the place in his dreams. Winny has spent 35 years as a selfless and forceful leader in the area. He has been instrumental in stopping the deforestation in the area and promoting environmentally sound practices. His foundation, Foundation Seguin, is helping locals start farming bees to produce, package and export honey. He wants to plant and export fields of white Calla lily flowers that would grow well in the climate. Opinionated about the need for change and is committed to this area, he chooses his words carefully and speaks with a French accent. (http://fondationseguin.org/)

Winny also gave Rene Preval his start in Haiti and calls him a friend. His family owned a bakery in PAP and sold it to Preval when he arrived in Haiti without political capital or much else. Preval ran the bakery successfully for a few years, paying his monthly fees on time. During this time, Preval became friends with Arisitide, moving upward. The bakery was burned down during a poliltical demonstration, but Preval had bought insurance and paid Winny’s fathers his insurance check. Ten years ago, during his campaign for presidency, Preval promised Winny that he would tackle problems like deforestation and environmental conservation. Winny told him to stop making false promises, telling him that it would never happen, and he knew it. They haven’t seen each other since that day.

Winny with his faithful dog, Zoe

We stayed two nights in Seguin. Winny took us to a waterfall, a 20-minute walk from his land. Along the way he pointed out areas that have been reforested, flowers that can be boiled and act like LSD and found wild mushrooms that we ate that evening for dinner. Winny ate meals with us. After finishing, he liked to say that his stomach was at peace, vant gen lapé.

That afternoon and all evening, it rained. We woke up the next day ready to hike down, but had a few issues. We heard that there were demonstrations in PAP that may prevent us from driving back home. With all the rain, there was concern that the river at the bottom was un-crossable. After a bit of debate, we set out. Going was rough, harder than the way up. Our rock-filled path was narrow and winding. With the rain, every rock was slippery. Each step was a possible twisted ankle. The sun was at its peak. We were all puttering along, while trying to step carefully. I probably fell five times, on my butt.

Our surroundings kept us going. When we began this downward hike, I could have told you that we were in Austria or Scottland. The fields were rolling and green. As we moved downward, we had a view of the mountainside AND the bluest ocean below. To our left a waterfall fell down the top of the mountain and to our right, a river led to the sea. It was spectacular.

The river crossing was far from impassable. The current was rough and went up to our thighs, but we pulled ourselves across. A pick-up truck was waiting on the other side and I slept in the back all the way home. This hike made me the sorest I had ever been. I still won’t put on a pair of sneakers if you paid me, but I saw a part of Haiti that the world is blind to. In this Haiti, Calla lilies grow in fields and kind people help you up mountains. In this Haiti, you remember glorious mountains and sparkling water, not the smell of burning garbage and squalid conditions in tent cities.

Julie, Julia and Shilpa - healthy and strong after seven weeks in Haiti

I have attended Catholic mass twice in my life and in the most unlikely places: in a tiny town in rural Nicaragua where I spent a summer and in Fondwa, here in Haiti. ( I am Jewish! Sorry Rabbi, I haven't found a synagogue here yet.) I wrote about Fondwa in an earlier blog post. This town is in a valley and you must hike down to it, after driving UP the mountain. This weekend, the board of Family Health Ministries met here in Haiti. Yesterday, Sunday, the entire group pilled into the FHM van to visit Fondwa and attend mass.

Mass was beautiful. Half of the service was singing, joyous songs, mostly in Kreyol. During one song, everyone shook hands with their neighbors. A bunch of little girls sitting around me poked me the whole time. We were warmly welcomed into their place of worship.

I have spent 50 days in Haiti and have just 7 left. It is hard to reconcile that we are leaving. We are at home here, with the friends we have made. We are finishing up our research, taking our final photos, giving lots of hugs and thank you's for the love that that this country has given us. I truly have come to love this country, it will be difficult to say goodbye.

Discovering Birth, Camp D'Amite, our Bird and Rose, and Destra

Although I am doing research on death during pregnancy, I have never seen a birth! That is, until, this Friday at 4:52 a.m. The doctor we live with, Dr. Delson Merisier, OB-GYN, received a call during dinner that a patient in labor was on her way! After finishing his fish, he prepared for the probable long night ahead. As we sat around playing an evening game of cards, the pregnant woman in the next room over, moaned as the contractions came and went. This is not the first time we have been exposed to the distinguishable and unique way Haitian women express pain. Its sort of like how Venus and Serena Williams have their own style of ‘grunts’ when they play tennis! Haitian women express pain in short, but full-bodied sounds “woah, woah, woah!”. As this woman moaned along in her final hours, a noisy cow outside seemed to mimick and respond to her all night long. “Woaahhhh” “Moooooooo” “Woahhhh” “Moooo”. Perhaps, he was sympathizing with her!

Hours into the night, as we were sleeping, Dr. Merisier and his wife, Diane, who is a nurse, cared for the woman. The baby slowly made its way, in the correct position, out of its mother’s womb! I had gone to sleep ruminating on the fact that a child would take its first breaths just a few feet away from where I slept. At 4:30 a.m., Missy, also a nurse who had stayed up much of the night, crept in and whispered that the woman’s time was close. I managed to grab a flashlight (but not my glasses) and joined a few others who had woken up for the birth. We watched (with the mother’s okay) the final pushes. As the sun crept over the mountains filling the sky outside with a dim light and the roosters began to crow and that cow ‘moooed’ away in congratulations, Dr. Merisier did what he does best, brought a healthy child into the world. It was a most unforgettable ‘first’ birth.

Multiple clamps were placed on the umbilical cord. The new baby girl gave her first cries. Her skin was very, very pale – surprisingly light skinned for the child of a very rich dark skinned mother. She was gently cleansed and dressed in some fine baby attire, pink and white booties and all! After the placenta came through, mom was already laughing and joking with Dr. Meriser. Mom finally saw her new baby safely wrapped in a blanket and stayed resting until morning.

Instead of our usual research routine, we spent this past week volunteering at a summer camp in the area. Most children here don’t have structured activity during the summer time, but some were lucky to attend Camp d’Amite. It is held at Petit Village, an area down the road from the FHM clinic, that houses a school during the year and has a soccer field (until recently, used as a big tent city). We signed up to volunteer for the week. I taugt a ballet/dance class, Shilpa taught a little Raas, an Indian dance with sticks, and games; and Julia taught English! It wasn’t your traditional dance class: it was outside on concrete, no sound system, no ballet barrs and the children were barefoot. Nonetheless, the children learned plies, releves, position of the arms, and so on. I can’t say they all loved learning ballet, but we did have fun.

Apart from all the wonderful people running and volunteering at the camp, we met Maxo, an Igbo-nago and Igbo-congo teacher. He taught the children these two African dance styles. When the older girls danced, we joined in and learned some of the deep bended and rhythmic moves as a drum accompanied and controlled the dancers.

On our final day of camp, Friday, a "talent show" was held. Well, the requirements were not quite talent, but rather a will to perform and share something you enjoy. A group of older girls danced, little 5-year old girls recited short poems in French, older boys sang some heartfelt tunes, a game of tug-of-war ensued and all of us got up and danced konpa.

With all of the campers at Camp D'amite. We are way in the back!

The river we cross on the way to P'tit Vilage

'Apart from Dr. Merisier’s family

and us blans, a few other Haitians practically live with us, Zazu (below) and Rosemary. I spoke of Zazu in an earlier post; her real name is Israel. Zazu is the nickname the Meriser family has given her. Zazu means little bird, which describes Zazu’s petite frame and delicate movements, but not her endless patience. Zazu helps care for the three Merisier children and helps in the kitchen.

Rosemary (above) cooks our meals.

She has five children and four grandchildren and lives down the road from the clinic. They are both photographed with this gigantic papaya (Dad, look how big this papaya is! It is bigger than ours!) I love to sit in the kitchen with Zazu and Rosemary, and ask them about Haitian cooking. Kabrit, Kalalu, Legim, Banan Peze, Boullion, Papay, Pwason, Lambi, Lanm. What wonderful and kind people. Endless thanks for their hard work and kindness.

Destra is a small fishing village on the coast with a population of approx. 300 people. It’s a short drive from Leogane, but had a beautifully isolated sense to it. Hannah has a friend who works in the area, organizing a soccer program geared towards building environmental consciousness. That Saturday, however, a German medical team was coming to do a clinic. Accompanied by John, a Destrean and friend of Hannah, invited us to come with him as he helped managed the clinic. We arrived in this tiny town dominated by a small multi-purpose concrete building that would serve as the clinic that day.

The Germans, 4 doctors and 1 nurse and their Haitian co-workers, 1 doctor and 2 amazing translators (they spoke Kreyol, French, English, German and I think, Spanish, wow!) were setting up as we arrived. Patients were just beginning to line up. After talking with the doctors, we were invited to shadow! For us, “pre-meds”, it was quite an experience. I sat with a Pediatrician, who in contrast to his bulky frame, had a gentle touch. He explained and answered my questions on each case. How to quick for anemia by looking inside the eye, how to distinguish different types of headache, how to see and feel for abnormal breathing in babies. He cared for the youngest and the very old. We saw sky-rocket blood pressures, skeletal thin elder women and strong back muscles that create a deep crevasse for the spinal column. They ended up seeing 150 or so patients that day!

The trio with our amazing translators and friends!

Shilpa, Eunide, Julie, Robinson and Julia.

Our household minus the Dr. and his wife. (Missy took the photo!)

Frandy, Shilpa, Delshana, Julia, Julie, Hannah, Daniel, Genevieve and Jiji!

Delicious meal at a new restaurant in town! We are going back soon!

Sharing Stories-Chairs-Glances-Handholds… Not Skirts or Crackers or Babies…

Madeline* was tall, wrinkly and weather-beaten, but very strong. She looked to be in her 70’s, from my American standards. Despite my protests, she sat me down in the nicest chair she owned and sat herself down on a cement block. “M ka chita isit. Se Bon. Ou ka chita nan chez la!!... okay, okay okay. Meci anpil!” “I can sit here. Its good. You can sit in the chair!!.. okay, okay, okay. Thank you very much!” Smiling. It was our 3^rd interview of the morning. I was ready to sit down. This was my 3^rd or 4^th visit to this tent city. It is huge. Thousands of tents sprawled along a flat area between the more urbane area of Leogane and the mountains. It seems that if I chita-pale (chita means to sit and pale means to speak, chita-pale = sit and talk => to interview) along this road forever, I would eventually reach the undisturbed mountains up ahead.

She was sharing with us the story of the death of her daughter, who died during her 10^th pregnancy. I had not yet conducted an interview in which a woman had had this many full-term pregnancies. Yesterday, Gerda*, a woman, who was a full 8-months pregnant herself, talked about the death of her sister. Her sister had many self-induced abortions, but died on her 4^th pregnancy. Often, if the woman is in her 20’s, it may be here 1rst or 2^nd pregnancy. Or, if the woman is in her 40’s, it may be her 5^th or 6^th pregnancy. 10 was unusual.

Madeline talked with a clear and certain voice, but the distant look in her eyes betrayed her sadness. The death of a pitit-fi (daughter). Every few moments, she would carefully look at me and I at her. The 19-year-old blan talking to the elderly Haitian woman about the death of her daughter. Sometimes as Eunide, one of our two incredible translators, is speaking to the interviewee in Kreyol, I step back and realize what I am doing. (Blan literally means white, but used as white person. Blan refers to anyone who is NOT Haitian. Shilpa, who is Indian, is called a blan too!) Fieldwork is both rote and spontaneous. The interview process is the same, as is the consistent smiling, polite words and the shouting of “Blan, blan, blan, blan, blan, blan, blan!” from young children all around (that is, until I say “Bonjou” or touch their small hands. Sometimes, I want to yell “Ayisyen” back in response. “White” “Haitian” “White” “Haitian”.)

But the spontaneity of field research is forever poking its head. As I spoke to this elderly woman out in some un-named area under the tarp outside her tent, I could focus on her, watch her expressions and appreciate her willingness to help. Often, however, the distractions are numerous. Yesterday, I interviewed Gerda around 11:45 a.m.; food was being fried and charcoal smoke drifted about. An old man with cataracts coughed heavily and painfully for a full five minutes. A young, tall and pretty teenager in her blue-and-white school uniform talked to me in my right ear as I listened to Eunide with my left. Three little boys were poking my left leg. A little girl was throwing around, and subsequently collecting, about 15 plastic circular bottle seals. Cousins, neighbors, brothers, sisters, young and old mulled about. At one point, 20 people seemed to be in this crowed space of three tents making an L-shape against a wire-fence. The ground was all dirt, no rocks or plants. Legs were covered in dust and flies buzzed. Within this relative chaos, we were interviewing Gerda about the death of her sister.

Apart from being singled out everywhere I walk from the yelling of blan!, I get asked for things. Women often tell me they want my jip (skirt) and I explain that unfortunately, m pa ka fé sa, poukisa m bezwen rad yo tou, I can’t do that because I need clothes too. One time when a cracker wrapper was sticking out of my backpack, a man asked if he could have my food. I pulled out the wrapper and said, Gade, m te manje epi m pa gen lót. M regret sa. Look, I ate it and I don’t have another. I’m sorry!

They also laugh when I speak Kreyol and they laugh when I go around during lunch sharing how much I like the food they are preparing. “Ohh M renmen kalalu anpil!” Laughter. “Se vre?” “Wi, se bon gou.” “Ohh I like okra a lot!” “Really?” “Yes, its delicious!” I am thankfully never offered food, but they seem to enjoy that I appreciate their food. A young woman was making coconut milk to be cooked with her beans. I explained that we have coconut milk in the Otazani (US), but that it is not fresh like this! The young woman took a coconut from her tree, chopped it in half, grated the white flesh on a crude metal grater, then soaked it in water and then began to strain the juice from the grated flesh. She did this soaking-straining process multiple times. Now that is coconut milk.

Don’t worry, these conversations are surrounded by plenty of laughter, not harsh words. I don't see it as begging, just that they might as well ask. They are curious. Today, as I looked happily along a sleeping baby, I was asked if I wanted it. I politely declined and take the requests as compliments. However, I love sharing my hands with everyone. Young children are constantly reaching out to touch me. Friends here also hold hands when they walk together. Today, Eunide and I held hands during our long walk home.

Although, we are not yet sure of the medical reliability of the data we are collecting, it does give us insight into what people think about their health and what they think is causing them to die. Eclampsia, Anemia, Only Jesus Knows, Not Enough Time, C-sections, Anxiety, High Blood Pressure, Birth Control, Negligence. These are some of the most popular causes of death from the 44 verbal autopsy interviews that we have conducted so far.

Every day, I want to talk pictures of the people I meet and the places I go, but don’t because it feels so inappropriate. However, a few days ago, I did snag photos with permission of those photographed.

Notice their home is drapped in a tarp that says

"USAID: From the American People"

Cake, Mustard and Fellow Americans Bring a Good 4^th of July

Experiencing the 4^th of July in foreign countries is always a mixed experience; national pride mixed with a need to be culturally appropriate, as well as the limits of your surroundings. I have experienced the US Independence Day in Kunming, China; Mollejones, Nicaragua; Jerusalem, Israel and now, Leogane, Haiti. We planned to spend a nice day at the beach. To represent the flag, I wore my newly purchased (for just 100 goude = about $2.50) light tan cowboy hat with a red bandana and a blue dress. Not so creative, I know. On word of mouth, we planned to visit Gilou beach. After driving by the area where Gilou’s sign used to sit, we decided to check out Milou beach. On the way to Milou beach, we passed the people from Gilou beach who informed us that in fact, their beach was broken. We think that means that the sand… no, we have no idea.

We ended up a Valou beach, which was packed with Haitian’s spending their Sunday in a fabulous way, drinking rum on the beach. We enjoyed the water, relaxing in the sun in bathing suits rather than in our daily, stuffy FHM polo and the loud reggaeton and Haitian rap blasting from scratchy speakers. I enjoyed the zaboka epi fromage that I brought me with. Other blans were also enjoying their 4^th of July and after conversing, it turns out that they actually live at this beach, on a small plot roped off in the back. They are working to help rebuild and re-energize an orphanage in the area. They invited us to their 4^th of July BBQ and we enjoyed a lovely meal complete with cookies and a cake (and mustard! Yum. Its weird the things you crave here). I am always astounded by the generosity of others.

Grandma’s Famous-Haitian-Style-Ovenless-Chocolate-Peanut Butter-Cookies

Hannah used her brilliance to conjure up the idea that “No Bake Cookies” would be a good way to spend our goudes (Haitian currency). Without ovens here, home baked goods are not common. After I researched a simple recipe and the ingredients were bought at a relatively hefty price in Port au Prince and at the best pharmacy in downtown Leogane. We made deliciously chewy and rich cookies and enjoyed a relaxing Friday night sipping a nice red wine, watching “Love Actually” and eating our cookies.

Hannah busy stirring the delicious-ness!

Meeting the Future of Haiti

This past Tuesday, we were fortunate to be given the opportunity to present our ongoing research projects to two classes of 4^th year nursing school students. This is the same nursing school that I have referenced several times (http://www.haitinursing.org). Two wonderful women from the U.S., who are teaching short stints at the school, organized this presentation. One of the women is a nurse teaching Public Health and the other teachers, Midwifery. These students had never been exposed to public health, despite the need for a community approach to medicine in Haiti. They were both blown away by the eagerness of these students to transform their country.

We really enjoyed explaining both the GPS and maternal mortality project, including a short mock verbal autopsy interview acted out by yours truly and our fabulous translators. Other FHM volunteers explained their research, including the HPV and cervical cancer research. This research that I have neglected to talk about is multi-faceted and incredibly beneficial to the women of Haiti who suffer from obscenely high rates of Cervical Cancer. More to come.

The nursing students were beautiful. They are the future. I felt lucky to be there.

A nursing student standing next to Hannah, Eunide, Robinson and Julia while asking a question during the presentation.

Have you seen the movie, Hotel Rwanda? Dr. Meriser compared the day after the earthquake, of bodies strewn across the roads, to the scenes in Hotel Rwanda.

*Names are changed for privacy.

One Month in Pictures

WOW! One month down and one more to go!

Happy 4th of July! Hope your day is celebratory and festive!

(despite the fact that the US is out of the World Cup, its not 'time for Africa' -sorry Shakira, and Germany destroyed Argentina yesterday).

Thanks for all of the love and support!

Some of the Crew with Dr. Meriser and Emil!

Shilpa, Me, Missy and Julia at a local hangout, Masaje.

Clouds Setting Over the Mountains

Tuesday and Saturday Night Salsa/Cha Cha/Bachata/Kompa Dancing

Two Students Homeward Bound on the Road to Fondwa

Busy Morning in Leogane