11 March 2009
We piled into a van with two duffel bags, stilts and a portable amp for the show with a few of the team members of "Viva Rio" to drive to their site in the Bel-Air section of Port-Au-Prince. I can only feebly try to put into words the relatively short trip. The traffic moves slowly, motorcyclists zipping past and people spilling out everywhere: on the stoops of the most simply built concrete structures covered in graffitti; women cooking on oil filled woks over mini-propane camp stoves; children half naked or shoeless playing in alleyways. It is mid-afternoon and the air is a little hazy with diesel smoke and smog. We turn onto a more main road and there are two lanes of traffic, UN trucks, a few schoolbuses and now, women selling fresh fruits and vegetables by the side of the road. This area gets intermittent electricity and in this super overpopulated area, hardly any at night, which I can't/don't want to imagine. We pass over a canal choked with garbage. And it is no wonder that "Viva Rio" and almost every other non-goverment organization (NGO) we encounter has some recycling initiative in addition to education or public health. The water flows in a light grey hue to the ocean. As I understand it, these suffocating canals can be the only source of water for thousands.
"Viva Rio" is a NGO from Rio de Janerio in Brazil and one of the most powerful programs I have encountered. Theirs is a model they started in Rio, and are experimenting with in the Bel-Air section of Port-Au-Prince. The site of the project is an old factory, warehouse site that they are refurbishing and making their center of operations. Aspects include a water treatment facility that off-shoots into a fish hatchery (eventually), a recycling program and a youth intiative, which is based on capoiera, a Brazillian martial art that utilizes music and can appear like a dance.
I am immediately impressed with the huge, clean space of the youth center. Each child, immediately takes off their shoes and sits in the ever-growing circle as we enter, the level of respect is subtle, but apparent. I don't put my finger on it at first, but there is something different about this organization to any other school or place we have played so far. Then I realize, these kids are completely and utterly self-motivated to get to this place and this program at this time every day on their own. No adult gets them here, or maintains their schedule. It is questionable, if most go to school, but they make it here. There is a sense of self-responsibilty from the smallest child to the oldest, every single one participating with alert focus and dedication, especially during the capoiera horda.
Our show goes well, with much clapping, cheering and hollering, they are a captive and generous audience. Afterward, we join them for the horda, the practice with live musicians of capoeira where two individuals play/spare in the center of a singing clapping circle. It was incredible. There are many elements of acrobatics in our show, and so the opportunity of the audience to turn around and show us amazing skills was quite beautiful.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
The Streets of Port-Au-Prince
7 March 2009
Pulling up to the blue painted caste iron gate, cars, trucks and tap-taps swerve around our beat-up maroon Isuzu Trooper; there are just as many people walking around the car as we wait for the gate to open. The sidewalks aren’t wide enough for the vendors, selling everything from brightly wrapped candy to plates of spaghetti and clothes, people walking and others just sitting. The walkers spill into the street holding the hand of a child or effortlessly balancing baskets on their heads. These streets are wild and full.
Haitian car signals are unique to the country, as far as I can tell, consisting of pointing in the direction you are planning to go, waving someone else on there way, honking in different rhythms to indicate your presence/change of direction and maybe yelling. It is anarchic to say the least.
Tap-taps are the primary form of most inexpensive transportation. For the Haitian equivalent of a dollar you are packed like a sardine into the bed pick-up truck, with wooden plank seating and a caste iron overhang built over the truck bed. Most that we have seen are wildly spray painted in so many bold colors, with portraits of Jesus, Bob Marley or Aristide and all with sayings like “shalom” (peace in creole), or “merci jesus”.
As soon as we pull through the gate, a calm quiet prevails in comparison to the seemingly chaos on the street. We bump along a white rock road with lush, green overgrowth past wide open church, many homes and smaller gated/walled areas. We pull up to our destination, as we are ushered into the kitchen/living room and asked to sit, twenty orphan girls between the ages of five and thirteen enter to sit with us. They each politely pick an adult of our group and give a cheek kiss-kiss greeting to introduce themselves. We sit and talk or play a little, Olivia’s hair is the biggest novelty, as we speak with the adults and hold hands.
It is the first group of many, where the children can stare for a long time.
We decide where we play the show, they carry our things and chairs for themselves; rather than let go of a hand they have found to hold.
They are all wearing dresses. I don’t know why I found this curious, until I started writing and realize they were all wearing dresses. Not a one was wearing pants or shorts. Yet, they played and danced and ran around no matter the dress or shoes they had on. After the show, we played with them, letting every child try more than once the acrobatic balance of standing on our thighs: Angel pose. Some of them began doing Angel together.
The time when we have to leave is particularly hard when we have gotten a chance to play or do a workshop with the kids. Olivia said she had seen that look before-- a deadening in their eyes as they understand we have to leave, just as they have been left before. We had both seen it before, but never from every single child.
This is the hardest part. This is the part that can make it complicated and makes me wonder and think how I can do more.
(Leah, and two girls from the orphanage)
Pulling up to the blue painted caste iron gate, cars, trucks and tap-taps swerve around our beat-up maroon Isuzu Trooper; there are just as many people walking around the car as we wait for the gate to open. The sidewalks aren’t wide enough for the vendors, selling everything from brightly wrapped candy to plates of spaghetti and clothes, people walking and others just sitting. The walkers spill into the street holding the hand of a child or effortlessly balancing baskets on their heads. These streets are wild and full.
Haitian car signals are unique to the country, as far as I can tell, consisting of pointing in the direction you are planning to go, waving someone else on there way, honking in different rhythms to indicate your presence/change of direction and maybe yelling. It is anarchic to say the least.
Tap-taps are the primary form of most inexpensive transportation. For the Haitian equivalent of a dollar you are packed like a sardine into the bed pick-up truck, with wooden plank seating and a caste iron overhang built over the truck bed. Most that we have seen are wildly spray painted in so many bold colors, with portraits of Jesus, Bob Marley or Aristide and all with sayings like “shalom” (peace in creole), or “merci jesus”.
As soon as we pull through the gate, a calm quiet prevails in comparison to the seemingly chaos on the street. We bump along a white rock road with lush, green overgrowth past wide open church, many homes and smaller gated/walled areas. We pull up to our destination, as we are ushered into the kitchen/living room and asked to sit, twenty orphan girls between the ages of five and thirteen enter to sit with us. They each politely pick an adult of our group and give a cheek kiss-kiss greeting to introduce themselves. We sit and talk or play a little, Olivia’s hair is the biggest novelty, as we speak with the adults and hold hands.
It is the first group of many, where the children can stare for a long time.
We decide where we play the show, they carry our things and chairs for themselves; rather than let go of a hand they have found to hold.
They are all wearing dresses. I don’t know why I found this curious, until I started writing and realize they were all wearing dresses. Not a one was wearing pants or shorts. Yet, they played and danced and ran around no matter the dress or shoes they had on. After the show, we played with them, letting every child try more than once the acrobatic balance of standing on our thighs: Angel pose. Some of them began doing Angel together.
The time when we have to leave is particularly hard when we have gotten a chance to play or do a workshop with the kids. Olivia said she had seen that look before-- a deadening in their eyes as they understand we have to leave, just as they have been left before. We had both seen it before, but never from every single child.
This is the hardest part. This is the part that can make it complicated and makes me wonder and think how I can do more.
(Leah, and two girls from the orphanage)
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