The one about the climb
(and no, not by Miley Cyrus. Although, her song would have helped me reach the top with more ease if only I had thought of it sooner)
***
After watching the roosters for a bit, we got a little antsy one evening and decided to climb to the top of Mount Everest this hill.
If you strain your eyes you can see the tree at the tippy top where we took photos. Where ever we went, you could be sure that there were children in tow.
Left to Right:
Back Row- Caleb, Carey, Me, Jil, Kitty, Lindsay, Peter, and Adam
Down Front- Lindsey and Roy and oodles of kids
Once up at the top, we realized our hill top led to another then another then another. Like infinity of hill tops. Which made me wonder how many other villages there were without a place like Missions of Love, without a clinic, or with one and needed help. Had roosters that need to be cheered on and babies that need to be cuddled and kids to give Tootsie Rolls by the thousands and hill tops to be climbed at sunset.
The one about the roosters
***
The next five days we spent in Jolivert began each morning (as many of you have already learned) with a roughly 4am wake up call by the neighborhood assholes roosters.
I cannot adequately express the feeling of terror/hatred that would burn through my not-a-morning person heart upon seeing one of the many roosters strutting past my window. They were cunning and spiteful. They would lull you back into an almost sleep, sneak back up and blare as loud as they possibly could, and then they didn't even have the decency to file a report. They would pick up their skirts and high tail it to the next window. I akin the feeling to a hit and run. A crow and dash.
I also firmly believe that they are descendants of velociraptors.
That's right, keep running before Caleb catches you and turns you into dinner.
Now that we had made it to Jolivert perhaps I should give you a run down of the people (since apparently my family was trying to count names to figure out how many there were of us).
Project Starfish aka "The Team":
The prescription writers- Adam (the emailer extraordinaire), Carey (the dancing queen), Peter (the DJ), and Kitty (the black cloud who sutured a woman who got kicked by a cow at the market and a boy who got bit by a dog while the rest of us drained pus...).
The grunts- Lindsay (the giver, I'm pretty sure she would have given away all of her possessions as well as mine if she could), Caleb (the Mr. Fix-It, he even fixed my headlamp by putting the batteries in correctly, a feat I had failed at), Jil (the baby stealer), and Roy (the internet hogger).
Angel Missions Haiti who Project Starfish partners with to find children who would benefit from medical procedures in the states:
Vanessa (the big Mama), Beth (the videographer), Liz (the physical therapist), and Lindsey (the globe trotting soon to be social worker).
This is Grace, a 3 month old who was found in a dumpster and with the help of AMH is awaiting approval to come to the states for the medical care she needs.
Jil, the baby snatcher
Lindsey, I'm pretty sure she was never put down
Missions of Love is an organization that helps operate and fund the clinic and outreach programs in Jolivert. A few board members from Michigan (Mary Ellen, Brooke, and Rick) had flown in and traveled to bush clinics with us during the week. We also worked with 2 Haitian doctors training for their degrees, 4 translators (Wedz, Charlene, Ensey, and Mildride), Dr. Asa and his wife Jean (who I think I may have worked with their grandson at Massanutten holysmallworld), Christophe (the head honcho doc at the clinic), and Blaud (our easy going Coke connection and manager).
After working in the clinic or out in the bush, each evening we would gather to play cards or tell jokes or hide in the shade. Unfortunately our shady spot was in rooster territory and Dr. Asa could not believe our fascination with the mating habits of livestock (complete with a cheering section). I think we're in Haiti now.
What would you do for entertainment?
Seriously.
A little afternoon delight? "Who needs Cinemax?" -Carey
Photo Cred: Roy Greensberg, impressive for hanging out the back of a tap-tap
Photo Cred: RG
The trash filled chaotic gob of humanity that is Port-Au-Prince was pretty much what I was expecting. The drive through the country side plus many side comments made from previous team members had me thinking we would arrive in Jolivert to a thatch roof hut and a hole for an outhouse. What I was not expecting was how beautiful the drive was (at least the first 2 hours of the 4 hour drive).
It's a total of 4 hours from Port-Au-Prince to Missions of Love, Clinique de Jolivert. To help you navigate refer to: MAP. The first 2 hours of the trip consists of a nice minimal bounce pavement drive north along the coast to Gonaives, this is also the majority of the distance we needed to cover. We stopped for a leisurely 3 hour meal in Gonaives, where Jil and I split 2 dishes: the shrimp curry and the cabrit creole with fried plantains. Amazeballs.
Cabrit! (Aka goat)
The next 2 hours would take us close to Bassin-Bleu (if you're still following the map) and were spent bumping, jostling, careening, and using a passenger bus as if it was an all terrain vehicle. It's not an all terrain vehicle if you were wondering. Before I could disown my ass cheeks as being part of my body we arrived in Jolivert!
Wait a minute... am I on the set of MASH?!
WHOA! Helicopter overhead! I guess this is my unmilitary account of the going-ons...
Jil and I were completely prepared to spend the next 6 days sans a shower and armed with 5 different kinds of baby wipes between the two of us. Shockingly enough there were several bathrooms and... wait for it... Internet?! We're in the middle of no where Haiti third world country and we have the inter web. One panoramic view of the mountains would we reveal no fewer than 3 cell phone towers. Electricity was only on for certain hours at night and the only way to know for certain if there was power was to listen for the tell tale hum of the generator. Showers are a gentle trickle giving you the feeling of being peed on, except if you were actually being peed on it would be much warmer. Sigh. But there were beds and lights and trickles and nets and those prehistoric vehicles actually did run.
If you need to take anything away about Haitians, they are highly adaptive and put all of our mechanics in the states to shame. To shame.
I think I need a sound machine now that I'm home,
or 11 other people sleeping in close proximity to me...
I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting from Haiti, but I do know that what I had in mind turned out to be very different from reality.
***
On Friday April 19th, Jil and I hopped in the car and drove 3 hours to Greensboro, NC where we were to meet up with 5 of the 7 other team members we'd be spending (and smelling) the next 8 days with. After a stop for gas, a stop for Sheetz, and a stop during a tsunami rain storm where the lines on the roadway were some how concealed by Forest Gump sidewayupwaydiagonal rain we checked into our hotel complete with stale smoke incense and box spring stains. Little did we know those rooms would be the worst of our weeklong adventure.
Next we headed to a japanese steak house for our last supper before departing and we finally got to meet Adam, Kitty, Carey, Lindsay, and Roy. We stuffed ourselves with sushi, Grampy Gif would be proud as we covered the two best topics of dinner conversation (death and poop), got to know each other better, and speculated about what the next week would hold for us. I don't think any of us were sad to say goodbye to the glorious Days Inn, and after an early wake up call headed for the airport. Compared to the Haitian airport, checking in was a breeze even with 14 bags of medication weighing 50 pounds each. Since the medications were to be checked through to Haiti, we hefted 8 days worth of clothing and food through Greensboro and boarded our first flight to Miami. There we met up with the final 2 members of our team, Peter and Caleb, and headed for Port-Au-Prince, Haiti.
I had a mini panic attack when I thought my carry-on was lost (not because it had my food, but because it had all my clean underwear) but we managed to make it out of the airport with all of our carry-on bags AND all of the checked bags. After some confusion as to where the van was parked (some how ending up on one side of the fence with the teenagers), we piled our things in and all opted to squeeze into one tap-tap for our first of many bumpy/hot/dusty rides through Haiti.
Jil and Carey
My first view of Haiti
9 people in the back of a tiny pickup truck with 2 benches? Fantastic idea!
We jostled and bounced our way to St. Josephs, a home for boys that rents out several rooms in a guest house tower. I actually have no recollection of how long the drive from the airport to St. Josephs was, I must have blocked that part out of my travel exhausted mind. Port-Au-Prince is the largest city in Haiti, and standing on the rooftop of St. Josephs guest tower all you can see are concrete rooftops on top of other rooftops with tents and laundry and chickens in between surrounded by mountains and bordered by the ocean. The longer you stood at the railing the more you actually saw, layers and layers of people and kids and cars and livestock all piled together.
I'll see your guest house and raise you a tower
Some of the boys playing what I can only assume is an awesome combo of basketsoccerhand ball
Port-Au-Prince was exactly what I was expecting. Tons of people living so closely together its hard to tell where one roof ends and the next begins. Where tap-taps and cars and motos and bicycles and pedestrians all try to go in opposite directions at the same time. It's chaotic and loud, but when you look up at the mountains or the ocean you almost forget about the mass of millions surrounding you.
After an amazing dinner, 9 no longer strangers (it's hard to be a stranger when you keep sweating on and bouncing into each other) met on the rooftop for a cold drink and relaxation before bed, because the next day would bring us to the clinic at Jolivert and the reason for coming.
So, like any expectant mother that is about to kick said LoveChild from the womb, she's feeling a bit under the weather. Add to that a stomach bug and I've got one sad MamaSis on my hands.
How do I cheer up my MamaSis when she's halfway around the globe? How do I make her giggle, if only for a millisecond when LC isn't giving her a swift roundhouse to the bladder? By sweet talking our mother into self waxing our legs. At the kitchen table. And sharing the tale. Duh.
***
Growing up with dark unruly thick Newcomb hair while my mothers hair is more kin to albino didn't give me much in the way of visual guidance. I only had my razor, an unwillingness to actually press the razor to my skin, and a role model who shaves once every 3 months leading to unrealistically high expectations for what my legs should look like. Thanks Ma and my gene pool. Being swimmers when we were younger meant there was a reason to shave, "swim meets on Saturday, better shave to be ridiculouslysmallamountoftimefaster than everyone else" for ten years. Combine the end of my swim career with having to wear pants to work everyday and you get one lazy shaver. Surprise? (Not really.)
Fun Fact: I have super sensitive skin to the point I have to be careful what laundry detergent I buy, making shaving not so high on my priority list. Breakout vs. hair is the battle of my life. Fun Fact #2: My mother never shared Fun Fact #1 until my skin broke out when I was washing my own clothes in college. Wag of my finger, mother, I was terrified to wash my sheets. Fun fact #3: I used to beg Cara to pluck my eyebrows. She never did. Tip of the hat, I probably would have cried.
***
I've been thinking about getting my legs waxed, well at least for the past three years, but fear of pain and embarrassment at my aforementioned hairy legs held me back. Until this past week. I went! I cried like a baby did it! After paying (what I thought) a ridiculous amount of money to have someone else rip my hairs out, I decided to Pinterest-matters into my own hands
Step 1:
Make sugar wax. I have found there is some controversy about the best recipe to use. I was pleasantly ignorant that there was another way, so this is the way I did it.
2 cups sugar
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup H2O
Water, lemon juice, sugar.
Heat on Medium-High.
Heat some more. Don't burn it.
Honestly, it takes about 30 minutes, have a glass of wine.
Step 2:
Let hot sugar cool in air tight container, I left it over night.
Step 3:
Gather hair ripping equipment.
Old sheet cut into strips, baby powder, home made sugar wax.
Step 4:
Convince your Mama that this is a solid idea. Preferably include some alcohol.
Step 5:
Reheat sugar in microwave (honestly what do people do without these things?) for 30 seconds, wipe legs with baby powder, apply thin coating of sugar against the grain, press old sheet strip into sugar, deep breath, and rip hair out with the grain.
Step 6:
Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, take a shower before you start attracting bees.
Mother tested, daughter approved. This worked! I found it was less painful than my over-priced professional hair ripping hell. Added bonus, we didn't curse nearly as loud as I was expecting but at least we were allowed to curse since we were in the privacy of our own home.
I hope I was able to bring a smile slash take your mind off that growing belly for just a little bit. I miss you the most... because you would have been right there with us. Curses and all.
Christmas went by in a blur of food and wrapping paper. For every present Cara, Toff, and I opened, we would alternate opening a Trip present (to Trip: Thanks buddy! And don't give me that pout, you can't even hold onto wrapping paper yet). I must say, I was super excited to see what Santa brought him. Duh. We went to the beach on Christmas Eve, and although we opened presents and ate tons of food and drank Christmas drink, it really wasn't Christmas. No chill in the air. No crazy Wal-Mart stampedes. No Christmas sweaters. Another American in the house, Rosie, has decided to celebrate Christmas in Oz in June. Brilliant idea, and the weather agrees.
Then New Years Eve came, and even though Cara is a sleep deprived new Mama, she loves me so, and took a nap, then sprung back up in time for me to get off work. We strolled down to the beach, leaving Trip and Toff to sleep look after each other, and drank a bottle of wine, watching fire works. We didn't cure world hunger or find everlasting peace, but we did get serenaded by a swimming naked drunk Australian. Hands down one of my favorite nights of this visit. Duh.
I absolutely cannot/will not believe I only have 5 weeks left in the land of Oz. How did this happen? Where did it go? Packing planning saving spending waiting, then BOOM, I'm on an air plane to Australia to pack plan spend collect and wait, and then BOOM Trip is born, and it is time to plan save play kiss giggle... pack. I still have loads to do before I board the plane home, like head to Big Day Out on Friday, see kangaroos, and drink more wine. Duh.(P.S. If you thought I'd be bringing wine home with me, I regret to inform you that I have consumed all of it. Many apologies.)
BOOM.
Cara and Toff have decided I am no longer allowed to say I can't cook, because it turns out I can. Last week I made portobello burgers with grilled red peppers, arugula, and garlic mayo. Tonight I am tackling a roasted veggie lasagna, complete with pumpkin and eggplant. AwhatWHAT. Awesome.
A song to be serenaded to. Naked. Of course. It's Australia.
I can't believe that Christmas has literally flown by.. and now it's New Years Eve down under. And in true down under style (and casa de baby style) we will hopefully be sleeping ringing in the new year on the beach. Until then, can't help but dance.
