GrassRoots for Haiti

I have decided, at least for the immediate, to convert my former Haiti blog into the new website for the agricultural project I have in the works for Crochu and Thomazeau, Haiti. On here I will post pictures, presentations, and other important information that few people, if any, will read.

Blank Canvas

FOREWORD: Play the Youtube video at the onset of reading. If I timed it right, hopefully it should crescendo at the right moment and sync (with minor and major keys, tempo, etc) with the content of the blog.

Explosions in the Sky

"Memorial"

The Earth Is Not a Cold, Dark Place

Well, I think this is going to be my final blog post. I'm tired of writing blogs, I leave in 10 days (Friday, May 4th), and I want to live fully in the moment for the rest of my time. Even if there is a massive coup-d'etat I will not blog about it. And, funny enough, there has been some significant civil unrest the past few days and I have been confined to the house 2 of the past 3 days.

I came to Haiti seeking a blank canvas. For seven weeks I thought I had found it.  For the past four weeks, I have learned that no such thing exists. Everything we know, see, think, taste, touch, or smell is being interpreted by our minds. Our mind gives each experience a unique backdrop of archetypes and preconditions that are determined by what we have previously known, seen, thought, tasted, touched, or smelled. Nothing is completely fresh; we might be using new colors, but all we are doing is applying them to a previously painted canvas.

When I arrived, I found a land of lawlessness, disorder, and chaos. There are naked babies in the streets, police riots filling the sky with clouds of black smoke and automatic rifle fire, and cholera outbreaks ravaging the most impoverished and destitute. As you begin to learn more, you realize that there are four more questions behind every question you felt has been answered.
You first feel hopeless, because you see the complete break down of society, of humanity.
Then you feel inspired, because you know that there can be order and humanity; you've seen it in the US; you're ideas will surely work here. You have a college degree. You do see the humanity here, but it significantly different than what you are used to.
Then you feel frustrated because you quickly realize that this is not a Western culture focused on the ideas of efficiency and capitalism. This frustration can linger for some time. It turns many people away eventually.
Then you feel angry because you feel like you are wasting your time. You have so many good ideas and good intentions that are squandered by the shear weight that Haiti exerts upon you.
Next you feel lost. It's a combination of persistent diarrhea and other illness, isolation and loneliness, and the realization that you only are comprehending 10% of all conversations you hear. You are wandering around a vast desert and are desperate for some fresh water and American food. None is to be found.

But then, hopefully, you have a breakthrough.
Hope. You see it, you taste it, you heal it, you feel it. This hope is a reawakening, a rebirth, a redemption from all of the previous pains, sins, and negative energies you have been carrying. You feel like a kite soaring in the breeze.
With this hope you are reinspired. You know your ideas might, just maybe, stand a chance. You know that you have done incredible things even if you feel like a worthless and wasted vessel. And you realize then that Haiti is in your blood; it is not the blank canvas you thought it was. But, instead, your conscious mind and its canvas, the bruised and broken masterpiece that it is, has been reworked. There had obviously been something missing and now, with a few new colors, it suddenly looks more clear, the image more defined. And you also realize that you are not the artist. God is the artist; your soul is the endless pallet of colors; your body is merely the paintbrush allowing you to create a masterpiece.

When I got off the plane and stepped in the dusty, humid air on February 17th, I felt like I was a new man. I was on a crazy adventure, entirely alone. And I was hoping to leave behind all of the baggage that had been weighing me down back at the airport; all I needed were the shoes on my feet and a soul ready for experiences.
Palm Sunday, April Fool's Day, I realized otherwise. I was suddenly knocked off my donkey and realized that I was indeed the exact same foolish and imperfect soul I had so desperately hoped to leave behind. The vast array of new colors on my canvas had temporarily blinded me to my past. And yet, in my blindness, I was still walking, thinking, and doing the things I had hoped to leave behind. My vision suddenly changed. The tired and dirtied souls (of my feet) were cleansed. I felt redeemed. I wandered out of the desert.

I came to Haiti seeking a blank canvas. I was seeking a physical canvas, a landscape, a new home, upon which my egotistical and "white-savior-industrial-complexed" soul could "save the world", or at least save a country. I dreamed of the grandeurs of Paul Farmer and other saintly figures of this world and worlds before mine.
Alas, this canvas does not exist either. Haiti might indeed be a lawless, disordered, and chaotic society. But it certainly has lots of colors. Just look at any tap tap. Unlike the dreams of many naive (but still very well intentioned) youth in organizations such as Invisible Children and Falling Whistles, you can't paint a whole new image upon a previously painted work of art and expect it to be better or more beautiful. All we can do is find a tiny area in the magnum opus where the colors have been painted outside the lines and try to redefine the boundaries a little better. This simple task is enough for a whole life time. Painting a whole new canvas takes an eternity. It takes infinity. Only one person can do it. God.

Under the Haitian Sun

"What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun."- Ecclesiastes 1:9            

           Well, I finally got to the beach. 64 days in the Caribbean, but I finally got there. And it was as amazing as could be expected. The water was incredibly warm and clear, the waiters delivered cold Prestige to you, and the views of the steep hillsides and La Gonave in the distance were priceless. And then there was a fabulous sunset. I really don’t know if there is anything better than laying in the sun. It’s a golden glow that produces a kind of warmth, the kind that makes you feel like your spirit is being thawed by some holy power. Or maybe that’s just Vitamin D. Either way, you’re plugged in to some force, some energy. The sun is the sole producer of every calorie of energy our planet consumes. Coal, oil, wind energy, everything.

 Its power can be shared by all.

            I’ve been in the sun a lot these two months. And while I am always very intentional about applying sunscreen, sometimes it doesn’t always work. Especially when you miss spots on your back or chest. I now look like I have some weird skin disease. I have thought about just quitting my sunscreen application and really try to blend in. A few second-degree burns and maybe I’ll be “caramel”. I’m so tired of being called blan. Yes, thank you, I know I’m white.

Speaking of skin color and blending in with the locals, there was a great moment this morning. I took a break from the second church service of the day to take care of Dieumine’s baby, Nikita. I was sitting in one of the classrooms of the school, with her sleeping soundly on my lap, when a few Haitian teenagers walked in. In broken English, they asked me “Is that your baby?”. I laughed. I didn’t quite see the resemblance. I said no and then they asked if it was my wife’s baby. I then had to break the news that I wasn’t married.

            I was in the sun on Thursday too. I had perhaps my most unique experience so far. The driver, Jimmy, dropped me off on some random hillside in Crochu in order to plant a bunch of Jatropha seeds on some land Pere Val owns. I ended up meeting a Haitian man who didn’t know a lick of English and walked with him up this steep limestone incline to this gorgeous piece of property overlooking the valley. Here I planted 65 seeds (take that hippies on Earth Day!). As you might expect, the sight of a lone blan on the hillside caught the eye of many. Thus, I had a small crowd gathered around me thinking to themselves (yet again), “What is this crazy white boy doing?” They then started hassling me for seeds, which I reluctantly gave away. I did my best to explain to them that the seeds and the tree were poisonous. They likely ate them for dinner.

            After my gardening experiment was complete, I was then on my own to walk the mile or so down and then up and then back down…and then back up, to St. Alban’s Church where the doctors from Missouri were working. Besides being yelled at by a few children, I had a peaceful stroll across the Haitian countryside. The hike, however, was less than easy; it was burning hot, there was no shade, and the hillside was as steep as the trail ascending from the Inner Canyon in the Grand Canyon. The views made up for my suffering.

            And then, just this morning, I was stuck back in the sun. This time on the back of a taptap. We got a flat tire on our way to the second church service in Lilavois and hailed down a taptap (a Haitian taxi for those who don’t know). Sitting perched over the back tire on a 1984 Ford Ranger, I realized yet again that I stood out like a sore thumb. I myself have never seen a blan on a taptap.

         My days in Haiti are numbered. I’m really ready to not have intestinal issues, mosquito bites, and goat for supper. But as I reflect back on the past 65 days under the Haitian sun, I can help but realize just how much I have learned, experienced, and grown. My boredom and isolation has seen me read whole scenes of King Lear with an English accent, giving each character a distinct voice. I have written roughly 100 pages of a novel and three songs. I have read nearly 1,500 pages. I have laugh, cried, grown up, and thrown up. But I’m going to miss this place. The sunburns, the electricity going out in the middle of a Skype call, the roosters at 4:30AM, the cold showers. It makes you appreciate what you have back home.
But for now, I rest; I’ll be back in the sun tomorrow.

"Sunshine"

Matt Costa

Brushfire Records, 2005

Time (and Mazda Miatas)

I realized today Tuesday marked two months down island. It is amazing how fast time has flown. And in four weeks time, I will likely have my feet back on American soil.

I left Duke and the United States hating words about "sustainable", "renewable", "green", and every other fake word that gets put on boxes of cookies, lumber, oil changes, and in restaurant windows. But after two months in Haiti, all I have realized is that NOTHING down here is sustainable, renewable, or green. In fact, they are the antithesis of all that is sustainable. Which has been the main impetus behind my desire for a reforestation/ environmental project. They deserve something that is sustainable. And in seeing the need for sustainability here, I have been reinvigorated for the desire to bring sustainability to all. My first place to start is where I was essentially "born": Sewanee, TN. I have taken a job to work as the right hand man to the school's new Sustainability Director.

But the one thing that I know I must learn to accept with my new project down here is patience. This project and its subsequent growth of seeds and biomass will certainly take a long time. It will be at least two years before any product can be produced.

My thoughts of time were born out of a very interesting phrase I conceived of the other day:
God's renewable resource is time.

We might have infinite water (to a degree), air, and even lumber (if grown and harvested "sustainably"). But just like resources of oil, natural gas, and coal, we humans do not have the luxury of infinity. To quote a girl who came down here with the Richmond mission team, Kathleen, "We are only given just enough time." Some people will use there time to establish Fortune 500 companies and amass ungodly sums of wealth. Others will use there time to end up in prison five times and foster unhealthy drug addictions. Most of us fall somewhere in the middle. It is obviously best for us to make the most of our time, utilizing the gifts God has given us to best serve our fellow humanity.

God does not have to worry about this. For him, there is no birthday allowing him to legally drive or go to bars. He will have no mid-life crisis where he goes out and buys a pitiful Mazda Miata. He will not retire and he will never die.

It has always been a mind-blowing realization to think about infinity, which is the only word we can use to describe God's view of time. He is the Alpha and the Omega. But for him, there is no middle of the alphabet. He sees it all at once. It is not one long timeline that he is manipulating like an audio recording, throwing in a Messiah here, a Ganhdi here, a reformation there, and a Hitler here. To him, it is all, simply, one moment, one creation.
To think about it this way can be quite scary. The only idea that ever helped me grasp my mind around it was to think about heaven as such:
If God is infinite, then heaven must also be infinite since it is his home. If we die and go to heaven, then we enter infinity. If I die in 2045, I enter infinity then. If my child dies in 2076, then he enters infinity then. Yet once you enter infinity, it is all one single moment. Thus, my child will be already be there in heaven when I get off the bus. And so will everyone else before and after me. Pretty amazing, right?

As I write this, I cant help but think about my time here in Haiti. In the long run, it will simply be a quarter-year diversion in a Third World Country. And hopefully my little plot of Time that I am harvesting on this planet is only about one-quarter exhausted. I sure hope that my "Peak Oil" moment comes far down the road (and that I don't buy a Mazda Miata). But for now, I am slowly using the last third of my exhaustible resource plot that exists here in Haiti, drinking a cold Prestige with three adults from Springfield, Missouri and talking Razorback football. I guess that's okay for now.

Song of the Day:
All signs say I should choose "Time" by Pink Floyd. And while one of my greatest concert experiences ever was with the band Moon Taxi covering that song, I will leave Roger Waters for another day. I could play my favorite instrumental song "Time Stops" by Explosion in the Sky. Or "Time Will Save the Day" by Ben Kweller. Or maybe even "Your Time is Gunna Come" by Zeppelin. But instead, here is "White Daisy Passing" by Rocky Votolato. My favorite lyric is in a vain with "Time" by Floyd:
"I'm going to sleep at the bottom of the ocean because I couldn't let go of the water at the setting sun"

Li Fini!!!!

Translation: "It is finished!"

12 sharpies
150 folders
20,551 files later.

I have alphabetized the entirety of the filing cabinets at Lespwa Timoun.
Carmel made this remark: "Daniel, I found 5 files in 10 minutes." Considering it took me over an hour to find one file previously, it appears as if I succeeded. #Winning

BEFORE

AFTER

In contradiction with most Christians, I believe very strongly in reincarnation. It just makes a lot more sense to me than some paradise of golden streets in the clouds.
As such, I have proof that it does indeed exist.
The Alabama Shakes are an up-and-coming band from Athens, AL. If their lead singer, Brittany Howard, isn't proof that she is the reincarnated form of Janis Joplin, than I don't know what is. Either way, this band is great, especially if you like Janis, Mo-town soul, or Southern rock.

"Hold On"

The Alabama Shakes

ATO Records, 2012

A Spring of Hope

"...We always thank God...because of the hope laid up for you in Heaven. Just as it is bearing fruit and growing in the whole world, so it has been bearing fruit among yourselves from the day you heard it and truly comprehended the grace of God."

Colossians 1: 3-6

For the first time since arriving in Haiti, I am filled with a great sense of Hope. 

Satan in the Inferno

This place can sure be pretty hopeless. Just when you don't think you will see anything worse or anything crazier, you see an adult woman defecating in the middle of the market place or another adult woman running around topless like its Spring Break.  Many people, including Haitians such as Pere Val's brother,  Jean,, describe it as Hell. I'm not quite sure what level of Hell we are in, but I would have to agree. Where else are there emaciated, mangy dogs drinking beside naked babies bathing in sewage-clogged drainage ditches, and all the while, relentless trash fires burn about. And by the way that every time this place and these people get a chance and move forward, something terrible like the earthquake happens and they are forced to start back from scratch, I think we might be at the bottom. This is because at the ninth and lowest circle of Hell, Satan, frozen in ice, is constantly chewing with his three mouths upon Judas, Brutus, and Cassius. Haiti is one of these three men. The others I don't know, but hopefully Hitler and Dick Cheney. Oh shit, he isn't dead yet is he?

Life in the Garden

I went to the garden as Lespwa Timoun. It's growing. After only three weeks and all of the beans and corn are beginning to sprout. The grass, which was brown and dead the last time I was there, is a brilliant green. All of the mango trees planted around the grounds have added new limbs and leaves. Perhaps the Hope I am experiencing is simply a Haitian Spring, which doesn't really exist since there are no seasons. Things never go dormant; things here are alive eternally.

Another reason I am hopeful is perhaps rather selfish. I have started pulling things together for my environmental project I plan to start down here. And everything is coming together great. I have learned more than I ever thought I would know about switchgrass, elephant grass, and Jatropha. And best of all, I have even been given a bag full of jatropha seeds to test-plant in Crochu. If successful, this bleak community could have a new industry: biodiesel.

I have a lot of faith and a great deal of hope that my project will actually work. If it works, it will not be serving my egocentric desire for wealth or fame, but instead, will simply give an income and an industry to people who have nothing. If it works really well, it might even be replicated by others throughout the island. But for now, I am just starting with some seeds. Because all things have to start small in order to grow large and bear good fruit. 

In the spirit of growth and Spring, something amazing has occurred. I learned this weekend that one of the Valdema's dogs has had puppies (tichin). They are about a month old and absolutely precious. I watched them chase pigeons this afternoon. Nothing could be cuter. 

And if all of this isn't reason to have hope, I also see the light at the end of the tunnel. Or perhaps its just the blazing Haitian sun reflecting off skin of the three white people from Springfield, Missouri coming this Saturday. It's been four weeks since I have talked with an American. I'm ready for some blans. 

Sometimes, you just have to find the silver lining when looking for hope. It usually doesn't come with a presidential candidate (remember the iconic Obama campaign photo), a multi-million dollar donation to charity, or some Savior descending from the Heavens on a golden chariot. 

It comes when the temperature at night drops so cold you actually have to put on a long sleeve shirt to keep warm. 

It comes with a big slice of Digiorno's Pizza and an episode of "30 Rock".

It comes when you realize you only have 1 letter left in the filing cabinet.

It comes when you see a massive pile of cinder blocks and a truck full of men ready to get to work.

Song of the Day

This song is by a young singer-songwriter, Brett Dennen. Children of the 60's say Bob Dylan tapped into some invisible undercurrent of human experience and emotion, thus making his musical speak to people. Many of Brett Dennen's songs speak to me in a similar fashion. This is his best example.

"There Is So Much More"

When I heard the news, my heart fell on the floor

I was on a plane on my way to Baltimore

In these troubled times, it's hard enough as it is

My soul has known a better life than this

I wondered how so many could be in so much pain

While others don't seem to feel a thing

Then I curse my whiteness and I get so damned depressed

In a world of suffering, why should I be so blessed?

I heard about a woman who lives in Colorado

She built a monument of sorts behind her garage door

Where everyday she prays for all whom are born

And all whose souls have passed on

Sometimes my troubles get so thick

I can't see how I am going to get through it.

But then I'd rather be stuck up in a tree,

Then be tied to it.

I know there is so much more. 

I don't feel comfortable with the way my clothes fit

I can't get used to my body's limits.

I got some fancy shoes to try and kick away these blues

They cost a lot of money but they aren't worth a thing.

I want to free my feet from the broken glass and concrete

I need to get out of this city.

Lay upon the ground, stare a whole in the sky,

Wondering where I go when I die.

Go Fly a Kite!

Holy Moly Holy Week!

This has been hands down the most ridiculous week in my time in Haiti, full of ups and downs, hurricane force winds and the doldrums.

Unlike 1,982 years ago, it did not begin with me proudly riding into Croix-Des-Bouquets on a donkey but instead with a vicious bout of stomach flu. Instead of waving palm branches and smiling children, I was surrounded (or really I surrounded) a mosquito-infested toilet. On the bright side, the week really could only look up, right?

As it turns out, not quite. After battling the bug until Tuesday night, I was finally beginning to feel better. Yet in a desperate moment Wednesday night when the harsh realities of some past egregious actions of mine became apparent, I hit an all-time low. I was desperate to talk to my parents and yet the internet was laughing manically at me, as if he was some cruel eight year old who had learned how to use a magnifying glass to burn off my antennas. I was so angry; I squeezed my Nalgene bottle as hard as possible, trying (and failing) to break it. Those things truly are indestructible, and all that broke was my thumb, which awkwardly dislocated for a brief moment.

Finally the internet worked and the week began to take off, like a kite riding a thermal breeze.

Following a supernatural Maundy Thursday service (see last blog) and an excruciatingly long Good Friday service (over 4 hours), I was realizing that I was back in my Haitian stride, at the whims of the zephyrs. 

Yesterday's piece of paradise

Yesterday, I soared. It was my best day in Haiti so far.

In typical fashion, I was awoken from my slumbers at 7am to rapping at my chamber door informing me "Let's go to Petionville. We go to buy flowers and you can get your pizza." All I really needed to hear was the word Pizza and I was sold.

After several stops along the way, we were finally there: the Caribbean Supermarket in Petionville. Walking into the air conditioned grocery store and hearing the beeps of products being purchased and the clink of slamming cash registers, I realized where I was: I was home.

I returned to capitalism like a child in a candy store. I wanted everything. In the end I settled for:

Poptarts, two Dr Peppers, raisins, butterfingers, apple sauce, a can of baked beans, a Digornios pizza, a can of refried beans, the makings for tacos, tortilla chips, and salsa. When I saw the Mexican food, I almost cried.

Riding the high that only conspicuous consumption can create, I returned to Croix-Des-Bouquet soaring high over Cloud Nine. Until I was informed that my day was about to get even better. We were going to the swimming pool at Moise's work (Morning Star Christian Academy). For 51 days I have been praying for a swimming pool; I had yet to submerge myself in any water, only cold showers. The water in the pool could not have been any better.

I write now following an amazing Easter service. As it is with every church in America, St Simeon's was packed, likely from your typical Chr-Easters. But the sanctuary was beautiful, decorated with freshly cut palm branches and flowers of white. The choirs sang, the band played (video hopefully to come soon), and it was in that moment that I realized Easter, not Christmas, is by far the greatest Christian holiday. You could feel the rebirth and joy of Christ in the room.

Dominique and Phania flying the kite on
the roof.

Alleluia, He is Risen! Jesus has been resurrected from the dead and he himself has taken to the sky like a kite.

Why am I talking about kites so much, you might ask?

I have learned and now have practiced a Haitian Easter tradition. Flying kites. Every year, all of the children make a kite to fly on Easter. After church, Dominique, Phania, Darlene, and I took to the roof, letting Dominique's masterful craftsmanship soar into the sky...until it got stuck in a tree at the neighbor's house. All around, the sky was full of kites triumphantly partaking in a timeless mystical dance with their eternal partner, the wind.

Seeing all of these kites got me thinking about the great parallels between kites and mankind and the human condition.

Some days the wind howls, some days its perfect, and some days it just don't blow at all. Sometimes you get caught in a tree or feel like you are being controlled by some reckless force at the other end of a long string who is determined to bring you crashing to the ground. But as long as we stay in the air, all is well. The wind will always blow, sometimes it just doesn't blow when we want it to or where we want it to.

I chose to title this blog "Go Fly a Kite" because my favorite artist, Ben Kweller, recently released a new album with the same title. I have chosen the best song from the album, "Full Circle". If Tom Petty got lost in the back roads of the hill country of Texas and ended up drunk on stage with David Crosby and Steven Stills, this song might have been made.

Full Circle

Ben Kweller

"Go Fly a Kite" (2012, Noise Co.)