Bring on the Spirits

There's a saying in Haiti that 90 per cent of the people practice Christianity and 100 per cent practice Voodoo.

In the space of three weeks I attended two voodoo festivals, one in Seau D'eau, three hours from Port au Prince in the interior, with an impressive waterfall and the second in Plaine du Nord, in the, uh, north, featuring a mud bath. Covering any voodoo festival is interesting and exhausting. Along with all the practitioners, the ceremonies bring out the beggars, thieves and pickpockets. When your not taking pictures and trying not to fall in the water or mud, you're grabbing hands that are diving in your pockets and bags and threatening people with a death worse than any sacrifice. And there's always the smell. That is something beyond description that must be experienced to be understood.

More fun in the sun

Ah, well, another long absence. There's either too much going on leaving me no time to post or else there's nothing going on and nothing to post. In any case, as a quick update for all of you, Haiti remains an enigma and an impossible country to break down into manageable and understandable bites. Mostly things around the country are quiet and have been quiet since the elections back in February. There are, however, occasional piles of flaming shit that launch out of one cesspool or another, splatting on the face of those that think things are rosey.

Last week an entire neighbourhood of was forced to flee their homes because rival gangs were having it out. That in itself is not uncommon, but one gang decided that in retribution for some earlier grievance they would assassinate the families of members of the rival gang. Then one side or the other (and it makes no difference which, they're all fuckwits) decided to burn down peoples homes. The result was at least a thousand people loading whatever they could carry onto their heads and walking for hours to some safer place. 300 plus of these people, mostly women and children , ended up in a Baptist church compound. There is no food or water for them and no sanitary or cooking facilities, even if they had anything to cook or water to clean with. The people running the church claimed they called the government numerous times but received no responce. The Red Cross, World Food Program and Yele Haiti have all donated aid, but it takes more than they have to feed 300 plus people a day. I will be back there this week to see if anything has changed.

In Cite Soleil the gangs have decided that they've waited long enough for the new president to revitalise their neighbourhood and have called for Operation Baghdad to recomence. Three Brazilian peacekeepers were shot a few weeks ago when they foolishly decided to do a foot recon of an abandned neighbourhood school. The gangs figured the UN was trying to establish another base and were having none of it. Naturally a lively firefight broke out, leaving at least 5 civilians injured and at least one woman who was working at the market dead. Her daughter showed up shortly after I arrived on the scene. Needless to say, it was heartbreaking to watch the realization dawn on the daughters face that the motionless body on the ground was her mother.

And the day before yesterday, a family that owns a bakery a block for my apartment was ambushed in their car by two men on a motorcycle. The bastards simply rode up beside the family and opened up killing the 2 year old boy and fataly injuring the father. The mother survived with only minor injuries and aside from lifelong trauma, the daughter was uninjured. This all happened about a block and a half from my place on a road I regularly travel. Rumor has it, it was a retaliatory attack. Word has it that a year ago, the father decided to hire security guards for the front of his store to curb the incessant kidnappings that went on in the street in front of his place. At the time it was successful. Arrests were made and a few wannabe kidnappers were given a direct, do not pass go and collect $200 pass to the firey gates of hell. Success, I guess, is hard to measure in the Karma cup. Good for some is inevitably bad for others. And those who feel they've been wronged have a much longer memory. In this case, they waited a year, then served up their revenge ice cold.

And in the midst of all this, Mr Secretary general of the United Nations, Mr Kofi Annan, decides to stop in for a little visit. Due to plane troubles in New York, his two day tour was cut to one - which, for all our sakes, was a blessing. One day of security guards pushing us around was more than enough, thank you. So what came of this visit? No really, can someone please write me and tell me what the fuck it was all about? I mean, really, you would think that with all the shit storms brewing in the middle east and the rest of the world that the head of our Global Peacekeeping organization would have more pressing concerns than traipsing off to a country that has neither nuclear arms, chemical weapons, rockets, tanks or any ambition to invade anywhere (not that they could even if they wanted to). I'm trying to come up with some pithy line to sum it all up, but I'm at a loss. Consider this an interactive blog and you can finish it off however you see fit.

Haitian life

Normal life in Haiti is what I find truly astonishing. All those things I take for granted like clean water, a full fridge, light and hot water - most haitians live without. Still, with all the hardship and apparent misery, they keep on living, making do with what they have.

job description

Hmmmmmm, which part of my job do I love?

normal abnormality

Carnival

It's all about the wait

I think this will become somewhat of a regular occurrence - me apologizing for the lengthy delay between posts. Chalk it up to interminable technical difficulties and plain ol' laziness.

In any case....

For the few of you that still bother to check this site for updates, I'll give you the low down. Haiti is in what I consider to be the "honeymoon" phase, the wait and see what the new government's going to do. Since the elections, things have been quiet. Personally I've been relishing it. As you know, the elections were a touch busy for me, so now I'm trying to recoup and put back some of the dozen pounds I dropped during all the fun.

There have been touches of excitement and insanity. Haiti's Carnival was one of them - two, actually, since they it ran on two separate weekends in two separate cities. The first weekend in the beach town of Jacmel was smaller but more costly. Everyone I knew who went had something stolen off them. I included. Luckily it was only cash - $450 - but at least I didn't have my passport and credit cards pickpocket. I have to say they were quite skilled. Granted it couldn't have been too hard consider the intense crush of bodies in the streets.
On the next weekend in Port au Prince, more than a hundred thousand people turned up each of the three nights for the spectacle. During the early afternoon, performers dressed in multitudes of colourful costumes sang and danced their way along the route. People in stands and on the street cheered them along. When night fell, though, is when all the lunacy commenced. Trucks decorated and sporting massive speakers, blasted along trailing swarming masses of people who jostled, pushed kicked and smacked each other in their attempts to stay with the music.
The first night I waded through the throng, giving as good as I got, but by the third night my age got the better of me and I spent it in a stand overlooking the fun. But here's what blew my mind. At 4 in the morning, as we drove back up the hill to Petion Ville where I live, we kept passing people who were running home. Running! They'd just spent the entire day jumping, dancing, singing and fighting through crowds and here they were running home. Uphill! Man if Haiti ever gets its act together and gets some people in the Olympics, those long distance runners better just hang up their cleats and call it a career.

Other than that, like I said, things are quiet. The kidnappings have dropped to maybe one a day. We don't even hear about it anymore. The gangs are quiet, waiting to see what the president-elect, who they supported so strongly, will do. The UN is working on the second round of elections that will decide the Parliament and Mayoral landscape and the Haitians are still living day to day, getting by.

The only big news I have for you lately is my purchase of a motorcycle. I guess I haven't been shot at lately so I needed to go out and do something absurdly dangerous. Let me just say that after a week or so of negotiating my way through the streets of Port au Prince I have come to the realization that dodging bullets is much safer than dodging Tap Taps. Have I mentioned Tap Taps? The bane of my existence here in Haiti? If not, they are pickup trucks done up with canopies over the bed, loaded down with up to 20 people and missing fundamental necessities like lights, mirrors, brakes. The drivers of these jalopies have one thing in common; they all firmly believe that they are the only person on the road. It is normal for them to go from the left lane to the right lane only to pull an immediate, blind U-turn. It makes for a very interesting trip to the grocery store. The only saving grace is that the roads and traffic is so bad that it's almost impossible to get up to terminal speed. Almost.....

Normal?

A fellow blogger (Ugh, don't like that word; sounds like something your dog does when it's eaten too much grass) asked me what a normal day in the life of a forign correspondent is like. The only answer I can give is the question, "What is normal?" For me, it's normal not to know what the next day will bring. Not to know if the next street you walk down will hide kidnappers or some scene that fills you with wonder. I think, for many of us people filled with a sense of restlessness, that that blindness is a sort of rapture. Life on the edge is so much more real, more distinct, more alive than the "normal" life that my friends back home lead. To some, my way of life would be an unendurable torture. A very close friend of mine who knows me as well, if not better, than I know myself, can not fathom my decision to live and work here. To her (and you know who you are T) I am a nutcase - someone who needs serious therapy and possibly electrotherapy. I can't argue. I know that if I was forced to return to my former safe life, you'd most likely see me on the evening news, "An unknown man has lept from the Lions Gate bridge wearing only a speedo and a bulletproof vest."

photo time

Just a few images to show all the fun over the past month.

election mayhem

It's been a month since my last entry and all I can say is "Thank all the gods that ever were and ever will be that it's all over!" In all that time I didn't have enough time to scratch my ass never mind sit down and entertain all of you. But now that it's done I'll fill you in on the highlights of covering an election in Haiti.

For one thing try to understand that the normal rules of the universe do not apply here. Time, for one thing, is rolled up and squashed together and at the same time strung out like carnival candyfloss. Every day feels like a week yet every month flashes by in an instant. So now, when I look at my calendar I'm at once amazed that a month has passed and at the same time feel as though I have been running frantic for a year. My body and mind are at complete odds. All I know for certain is that I need sleep in the way a newborn needs to shit.

So, to the story.... It all started many months ago. When I arrived here my mission was simple; cover the first democratic elections since President Jean Bertrand Aristide was summarily evicted in February 2004. By Haitian constitutional decree the elections should have taken place 90 days after Aristide's departure, but as I've said, time doesn't work normally here. The original election date was set for October of 2005. I was sent in July to set the groundwork for a seamless coverage. No problem. As it is obvious, they didn't happen as planned. They also didn't happen the second, third or fourth time they were planned. For that entire time I'm reserving rental cars, hotel rooms, drivers, telephones, then canceling them, then re-reserving, then canceling, then ... anyway, you get the picture. It was nuts.

So finally they get set for February 7th and the powers that be scream, "They will not be postponed again!" despite the fact that the electoral council that was set up to organize the elections couldn't set up a piss up in a brewery. Not matter, the powers declared, these elections will happen. Trust me, I was happier than anyone. Just get the damn things over with, I prayed. Really, there are only so many rallies and counter rallies you can cover without feeling like you're in some vicious loop of rhetoric and banner waving.
When it became clear that all was a go, the rest of the crew showed up, pumped up and neurotic. Gotta get the story, gotta beat the competition, was the mantra.

I must be stupid. I thought that with a crew of 5 cameramen, two producers and a logistics person I might be allowed to do my shooting and be done with it. As it was, it was like a hive of bees had invaded the country. For a month straight we ran screaming, trying to make sure every event; every news conference, every rally, every counter rally, every political speech, every reaction to a political speech was covered. It didn't matter if the person being interviewed had anything to say, or if we'd already covered 5 rallies that day, it had to be done. So we did it. And finally Election Day came. And people voted. No violence, no shooting, no machetes, nothing, just people doing the usual push and shove in an attempt to carry out their democratic right to elect someone who most likely won't be able to change this sorry country.

And guess what, the international news agencies felt like they were ripped off. So they left. Before the results were even in, mind you. It's not over, I kept telling them, a storm's brewing. Thankfully my company listened to me and stuck around. And this is where I get to say my favorite line; I fucking told you so.

What happened was that despite a smooth vote, the super competent electoral council was dragging their feet on handing out the results. A week after the vote, only a partial count was available. Their big mistake was releasing results at the 20 per cent mark that showed that Rene Preval was leading with sixty some odd per cent of the votes counted. Then a few days later releasing results that had him down to fifty some odd. Then a few days later they had him below the 50 per cent level. This did not go down well with the Preval supporters. You see, many of the trouble areas, what the UN calls the red zones, are Preval supporters. They are considered the base, or the people of the country - not the elites or even the middle class, but those who live on less than a dollar a day and share their neighbourhoods with gangs and kidnappers and general trouble makers. So when these people smell a conspiracy they don't just call their congressman, they barricade streets with burning tires and destroyed cars. And that's what they did. They entire capital and a lot of roads leading in and out were made impassable. Dark, toxic smoke rose over the city and people took to the streets heading for, of all places, the Montana hotel.

Let this be a lesson to any hotel in a volatile country; do not have anything to do with the electoral process. And for God's sake, don't set up a press center where are the results are released from. You are asking for trouble.

The Montana sits atop a hill overlooking the city. The country's elite stays there as well as every journalist that can get a room. You can swim, play tennis and get an massage in the gym. It really is the antithesis of all that the base is.

You can imagine the surprise when thousands of people showed up at the flimsy gate and demanded entry. Chaos, that's what. But here's the thing. After they'd overrun the few UN guards posted at the bottom of the driveway and stormed the gate and entered the hotel proper, they didn't go nuts. They broke very few things, and those things were an accident. They didn't force their way into rooms and rape and pillage. They did, however, overtake every floor in the hotel. It was a show of force. A reminder that others may have the money, but they have the numbers and the will.

Now just to be clear, I didn't see any of this first hand. I was in the city where it was burning but safe. I'm basing all this story on the accounts of those there and on the photos and video I saw.

My favorite clips by far were when the people started to leave. A few hundred, though, decided that after the long walk up the hill a swim would be very nice indeed. And so these few hundred plunged into the Montana's pristine kidney shaped swimming pool. There was much splashing and covorting and jumping around. Some even found soap and turned it into a public bath. From stories I was told, some didn't even know they couldn't swim until they jumped in. Other people jumped in and dragged them out just to watch those same people hurl themselves once again into the now cloudy water. Their enthusiasm and joy had overtaken any fear or common sense.

Then they all left. They just up, said thanks for the swim, and walked the eight or so kilometers back to their respective neighbourhoods.

The next day everything had settled down. Most roads were clear. Most tires were mere circular smears on the roads. And most people were going about business as usual. But the lesson had been learned. The Montana closed down the press center and vowed never to have anything political take place in their hotel again. Ever since the "invasion" they've been reinforcing their gate and have even begun building another one that looks like it could turn back Alexander's armies.

I'm sorry this is taking so long, but it's not over. A night or two later I get a very excited phone call from one of the gang leaders in Cite Soleil (a very, very red zone). We've found ballots in the garbage dump, he said breathlessly. What? Oh fuck. To me this was a worst-case scenario. This could be the spark that sets Haiti ablaze. Can you come down, he asked. What, now? I asked. Yes, of course now, he answered, we finally have proof.

Proof of a conspiracy, is what he claimed to have. Proof that some body or some group was trying to derail the elections, trying to stop another popular president fro taking power. It wasn't only the base people who believed this. Many of us were of the same opinion. There was definite monkey business afoot. Word was that the powers that be wanted a run off (an election between the two leading contenders should neither one of them break the 50 + 1 vote count needed for a first round victory). Why is anyone's guess? Some said it had to do with making everyone feel like they actually participated - which makes no sense to me. Another more plausible reason is that whoever won would have had to cooperate with the other parties in order to gain the support through the second round leading to a less dictatorial government. Whatever the case, these ballots were a shit storm waiting to happen.

But again, calmer heads prevailed. The powers that be, seeing the brown clouds on the horizon decided to cut their losses. They conferred with Preval and after what I'm sure was what they call a "marathon" session, they came to an agreement and declared him the winner with just over 50 per cent. Not fair, you say. What about the second place candidate? Yeah, he had 11 per cent and the third place guy had 8 - so we are not talking a close race here kids.

So now, finally everyone ahs gone home and I can resume my peaceful life in Haiti. That is until the inauguration, of course. Can't wait.

What do you mean "no problem"?

After having lived in Haiti for more than 6 months, the things that really surprise me are not the insanity and chaos - the random killings, the shootouts, the drivers that make drunken 12 year olds look like Mario Andretti - it's the small moments when the funk of ineptitude is momentarily swept aside to show a glimmer of competence. For instance, I had a check I needed cashing. I had a terrible premonition that it would be a long and tiresome endeavor filled with indignation, incredulity and foul language uttered at ear splitting volume. It went so far as to invade my dreams. I had sleeping visions of the bank informing me that I would have to travel to some far off branch, across the country, give a blood and a DNA sample, my first born and my left leg in order for me to wait 6 months for some semblance of action. I woke up just as I was yelling at the tellers, "How is it possible that I could email the Goddamn moon but the bank couldn't coordinate between branches!"
Later that morning I walked into the bank fearing the worst, but to my utter amazement, it went smooth as silk. Smoother, even, than it would have gone in Vancouver. I left with a pocket full of money, knife in hand (people have been robbed 30 feet from the bank after making a withdrawl - the robbers asking for the exact amount that had just been withdrawn) and a feeling of stunned disbelief (mixed with wariness, of course). Even though it went well, I still had to make it home.

back to the grind

This country never stops. I've been back not even a week from my much needed vacation in rainy Vancouver and already we've had the deaths of two Jordanian UN soldiers at the hands of heavily armed gangs, dozens of dead civilians from the fighting between said armed thugs and the UN, memorial services for the deceased, high level UN meetings with diplomats from all over the world, visits to the hostile areas of the city of Port au Prince by top UN honchos, medal cermonies for UN soldiers, and general pre election brouhaha.
Today is my first day of rest and I plan on doing nothing whatsoever. I don't even want to go grocery shopping because even that is a massive chore - what with all the poor, begger street kids who swarm the car yelling, "Moy grand gou! Bams moy dollars!" I'm hungry! Give me money! I know it's sad and I help as much as possible - handing out Gourds (Haitian money) like it grows on trees - but it's exhausting. There's only so much I can do and the kids - and adults - never seem to realize that I'm just a poor, working slob and not an aid agency or a bank.
Still, it's hard to say no when they ask; they're so small for their age, underfed and undernourished.
My question is: Where are the aid agencies? I see their cars whipping around town, but I never see them stop to help out those who need it.

me at work

What started out as a slow day, suddenly became quite exciting. So exciting in fact that in the end my camera had short circuited from an overzealous firefighter.

First Post

There's really no way to explain what is actually going on in Haiti. It's all a matter of perception. I have found, to my great consternation, that people from all sectors will argue with me about "what really happened." It's most annoying when I was in the middle of it and they weren't.
So, I'll make this promise now: I will tell you the truth from my point of view - on the ground, usually in the middle of the shit, up close and personal.