Wednesday, October 28, 2009 Day 4-Opening Day
As it seems to happen every morning, we wake up yet again to the rays of sun striking us in the eyes as we throw the freshly wetted blankets off of us, revealing our wrinkled and soft skin to the brisk air of 80 degrees. The morning of ritual is done consisting of brushing teeth, doing the morning business followed by the paper work (all in the dark). However, today was different. The toilet did not flush. We had forgot to fill the water tank on the top of the house the evening before, so, I grabbed the trusty bucket, went to our well, got out a bucket and drug it to the third floor spilling a bit with every step. I took it to the bathroom and slopped it in the toilet bowl, being as careful as I can with five gallons of water to not go to fast, spraying my own ‘business’ all over the floor and more importantly me. Never did I know filling a toilet with water made it automatically flush, yet, it was an amazing sight to see it work!
After getting everything settled up stairs and our beds back inside, we marched down the stairs in a line like the armies of ants that litter the floors anytime food is left out. We were going straight to our feast left on the table for us: avocados, eggs, bread, juice and soda. I could live with this tradition for the rest of my life and not complain. We patiently ate as nerves were running through out stomachs for the first day of what we came to do. We were only hours away from opening the gates to a free clinic in Haiti. Of course there were going to be tons of people, all non English speakers of course. Who wouldn’t be excited for this opportunity of looking like an idiot when they think you are the doctor cause your skin is different?
Eight-thirty, time to open, rolls around and no doctor. Patients are lined up outside, but we can not let them in, because the doctor we hired was no where to be seen. Finally, about 9 o’clock, Alexandra, the doctor from NYC said she would see patients, even though this was not the intent of having her. But it worked, and we opened the doors. Instantly, our small waiting room was overflowing with anxious people. My duty was not to be anywhere near the chaos, but in charge of taking pictures from a distance, as well as managing our ‘free thrift store.’ We gave each patient a shirt or something else that we brought down from the States. They were very pleased to receive these items, but more often than not, tried taking more than one, which was not allowed.
My other job, taking pictures seemed awesome at first. It gave me a chance to try and get some good snap shots, and for more of a purpose than for my own entertainment, but for the University. However, I felt necessary to ask for permission before throwing a camera in someone’s face because they are at the doctor. Once again, the language barrier made this difficult, therefore, I put my sign language into use. It worked a bit, as I would hold a camera up and make the sign for please and take a picture. Some people agreed, but most seemed to rather not have their face plastered around the States.
As far s the clinic went, the real doctor showed up around 10 in the morning, after Valentine, our official chauffer (who was born on February 14, and his name reflects it) took out to find the doctor, and did just that. He brought him straight to work, and that is what he did. From 10 o’clock to 4 o’clock, he had straight patients, without a water break or food break. He is a trooper. Especially since he was in the hotbox of a room without electricity, yet, never complained. Through all the chaos we saw (I believe) 63 patients the first day with one doctor. I thought it was successful with numbers like that. And everyone, more importantly, left with a smile on their face and with a dose of hope!
We broke for lunch about noon, which was prepared by our own cook the entire morning. We watched her start our lunch at 7 in the morning, which, by the way wasn’t cooking. She started lunch by gathering up the two roosters responsible for keeping us all awake all night, and bent the neck backwards. She was nice enough to let me photograph and video her butchering both chickens. What an awesome sight, watching the future food that would be giving us nutrients. During the night when I told myself I wanted those chickens dead, I never thought it was going to happen, especially in my honor. The cook prepared them with the typical rice and beans, sided with avocado and plantains. An amazing Haitian tradition.
After we all ate lunch, the crowd started to slow down. We shifted around our positions, and taking picture in such a small clinic, I felt I had about every shot possible, but now it would just be with new people. Quickly, I felt it my responsibility to get out of the way and retired to the back porch for a little shut-eye. I awoke to the sound of Alicia tapping me and saying my name. I had no idea I had slept that much. It was beautiful! But word was we were going to the beach for the evening and for supper, so I sprung to life, getting the proper attire on. It was weird to walk through the waiting room to find that no one was there. Last I had seen it, it looked like what I would think of the slave ships. (This may sound awful, but it is true. There were tons of people shoved into a tiny spot, all shoving and trying to get in. This is not a racist comment, but true.)
When we arrived at the beach, it wasn’t like the ones I have grown accustomed to here in Miami. Yet, it was very beautiful in its own way, as the sun was setting on the Eastern part. Directly below the sun, the mountains sat with the silhouettes of about 10 naked Haitian boys playing soccer with a little ball and a homemade goal made from two sticks with a string going across the top. My camera instantly came out as it was one of the most beautiful scenes I had ever scene. It looked like something from a picture magazine. After taking about 100 pictures, trying to get the perfect one, I let it rest and walked into the water. Haitian beaches are very dangerous, as the riptide is extremely powerful. The waves were enormous and very powerful. Only the brave dared walk into the water, so I stayed on the beach. Not because I wasn’t brave, but because I wasn’t in my suit. I came for food, not for swimming.
All I had heard about Haiti was the conch that was served on this particular beach. We all put in our orders and waited about an hour over great conversation about how the first day went, and what we can do to make it better. Finally the food came out, and sat on the plate looking as good as anything I had ever looked at food wise. We all enjoyed the wonderful taste of the grilled conch, as well as the fried plantains and pikliz, which you will soon learn is my new favorite food. This combination was like eating a party in your mouth. It was an instant circus dancing around your taste buds, all the way down to your stomach, and then the party continued. Only this is when the party went downhill. Figuratively speaking and naturally, downhill. While the vibrations continued in the stomach, it was vibrations of being upset, which eventually led do the puking part of the party, or, in the case of this party, something much like puking. To spare the details, I will just say my stomach juices churned this stuff into instant diarrhea, but I will leave out the color and all the information that makes it good.
After sipping on a bit of Haitian whiskey and sharing more stories, we quickly paid and left to escape the bites of mosquitoes. Not knowing if I would be back to the beach, I grabbed a bottle from the trash and filled with sand to return to dad for his collection back home.
Arriving home, we pulled all the mattresses back outside, and took the necessary precaution of the biting terrors that were sure to come out for the night. Wrapped up in a blanket and closed my eyes. The dreams of AC and my bed didn’t come fast enough, but eventually did.
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