Saturday, September 3, 2011
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
My relationship with numbers. And rats.
There are few experiences like moving to a new place to make you feel lost, humbled, and hungry for a little capability.
We've been here almost four weeks, and I'm still celebrating the little victories: The right Kreyol phrase at the right moment, knowing the name of all the fruit on the breakfast table, constantly switching between Haitian Goudes, American dollars and the ever-present but technically non-existent "Haitian Dollar."
Haitian Goudes are the official currency here. They come in bills: 10, 25, 50, 100, 250, 500, 1000 and coins (I know there are other coin amounts, but I've really only seen 5 goud coins).
There are 40 Haitian Goudes to the American Dollar.
Haitians usually ask for things in dollars. BUT the trick is, they mean the "Haitian Dollar" which means 5 goudes. It would make their week if you accidentally paid in American dollars.
Still, I know we usually get charged more for being foreigners, no matter the currency. The fact is, we can pay more. Just by having a home, food, and a small income for teaching, we are well-off in Haiti, and we can pay a few extra goudes for our Sprite or fresh green coconut.
So we're constantly doing the math in our heads. "Ok, 6 dollars, that's 30 goudes or basically 3/4 of an American dollar which is like 75 cents oh crap what are these numbers, what currency am I in again. My name is CJ, I don't know math, I am learning Creole I like coconuts!!"
Yes, I just devolve into a squawking lunatic, spouting numbers and random phrases. I'm cool.
That's been happening for the entire four weeks, and Nathan's knowledge of French has saved us in every mathematical situation. He knows French numbers, which are the same as Kreyol numbers. Also, Nathan knows more than numbers; He knows French. All of it, it seems like.
In every language I've tried to learn (German, Italian, Kreyol), numbers have been the most difficult thing for me. I'll be able to talk about family, food, and God before I can count to ten. I remember being in my fourth year of German and still looking over my friend's shoulder when the Frau told us to flip to a page in our textbook. 176? What is that again? Hundert sechs und...?
I don't want to be like this in Kreyol. Last night, I asked Nathan to drill me on numbers with flashcards, hand signals, math, counting, written tests, everything.
Bail (say Bye) and Gracieuse (say Gracias with a U), the women we live with, found our lesson to be more entertaining than the night's chores, so they also yelled numbers and cackled when I messed up. Bail was washing clothes on the porch and Gracieuse was cooking dinner, but both were happier to hurl numbers (and sometimes joking insults) my way.
Graciuse called me "thick-headed student" or "etidyan tèt di" because it took me so long to remember four, five, fourteen, fifteen, forty and fifty. Something about those fours and fives, I can't explain it.
Now add to this scene a few rats that kept running between our living room and the back door. I was fixated on scaring them, and stomped my feet every time I saw one (about every 2 minutes).
"Karant senk (45) AHHHHH" I yelled, jumped up and screamed at the rat. Bail peered in from the front porch and yelled, "ou dezòd anpil" or, "you're really disordered!" Which means she was telling me I needed to be institutionalized. I'm happy to be the entertainment.
I'd rather be a blan who speaks Kreyol than a blan who screams at rats in English. I'm learning to curse them in Kreyol, and I can count them too (as long as there aren't more than 100).
We've been here almost four weeks, and I'm still celebrating the little victories: The right Kreyol phrase at the right moment, knowing the name of all the fruit on the breakfast table, constantly switching between Haitian Goudes, American dollars and the ever-present but technically non-existent "Haitian Dollar."
Haitian Goudes are the official currency here. They come in bills: 10, 25, 50, 100, 250, 500, 1000 and coins (I know there are other coin amounts, but I've really only seen 5 goud coins).
There are 40 Haitian Goudes to the American Dollar.
Haitians usually ask for things in dollars. BUT the trick is, they mean the "Haitian Dollar" which means 5 goudes. It would make their week if you accidentally paid in American dollars.
Still, I know we usually get charged more for being foreigners, no matter the currency. The fact is, we can pay more. Just by having a home, food, and a small income for teaching, we are well-off in Haiti, and we can pay a few extra goudes for our Sprite or fresh green coconut.
So we're constantly doing the math in our heads. "Ok, 6 dollars, that's 30 goudes or basically 3/4 of an American dollar which is like 75 cents oh crap what are these numbers, what currency am I in again. My name is CJ, I don't know math, I am learning Creole I like coconuts!!"
Yes, I just devolve into a squawking lunatic, spouting numbers and random phrases. I'm cool.
That's been happening for the entire four weeks, and Nathan's knowledge of French has saved us in every mathematical situation. He knows French numbers, which are the same as Kreyol numbers. Also, Nathan knows more than numbers; He knows French. All of it, it seems like.
In every language I've tried to learn (German, Italian, Kreyol), numbers have been the most difficult thing for me. I'll be able to talk about family, food, and God before I can count to ten. I remember being in my fourth year of German and still looking over my friend's shoulder when the Frau told us to flip to a page in our textbook. 176? What is that again? Hundert sechs und...?
I don't want to be like this in Kreyol. Last night, I asked Nathan to drill me on numbers with flashcards, hand signals, math, counting, written tests, everything.
Bail (say Bye) and Gracieuse (say Gracias with a U), the women we live with, found our lesson to be more entertaining than the night's chores, so they also yelled numbers and cackled when I messed up. Bail was washing clothes on the porch and Gracieuse was cooking dinner, but both were happier to hurl numbers (and sometimes joking insults) my way.
Graciuse called me "thick-headed student" or "etidyan tèt di" because it took me so long to remember four, five, fourteen, fifteen, forty and fifty. Something about those fours and fives, I can't explain it.
Now add to this scene a few rats that kept running between our living room and the back door. I was fixated on scaring them, and stomped my feet every time I saw one (about every 2 minutes).
"Karant senk (45) AHHHHH" I yelled, jumped up and screamed at the rat. Bail peered in from the front porch and yelled, "ou dezòd anpil" or, "you're really disordered!" Which means she was telling me I needed to be institutionalized. I'm happy to be the entertainment.
I'd rather be a blan who speaks Kreyol than a blan who screams at rats in English. I'm learning to curse them in Kreyol, and I can count them too (as long as there aren't more than 100).
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Gelée Beach spectrum
Les Cayes, Haiti (where I live) is next to a few public beaches, and they can be crazy party hot spots or relaxing vacation destinations, in turns.
Gelée Beach is one of those places.
Last weekend, the town and people from all over Haiti came to Gelée to celebrate the Assumption of Mary. This Catholic holiday celebrates Mary's (as in Jesus' ma's) rise into Heaven. Catholicism is the official religion of Haiti, and I'm learning that Catholics and non-Catholics in Haiti are always excited for a reason to party.
This event put the craziest shindig I attended in college to shame.
Digicel (Huge cell phone company in the Caribbean) sponsored much of the party, and there was live music, hundreds of people swimming in the ocean, mobs of dancers, drinkers, and people walking around selling whatever liquid courage you wanted. We went with some friends (including their toddler, MoMo, who was fascinated by everything) and sat at a restaurant overlooking the water and the party.
We ate goat, fried plantain, avocados, and piles of pikliz (my favorite food in Haiti-- a very spicy coleslaw-type topping). We drank Prestige, the beer of Haiti, and watched people trying to push through the crowds on motorcyles.
Just a few days later, this Friday, we returned to Gelée and had dinner with the director of our school. It was just us, a few couples, and small groups of teenagers on the beach.
I loved feeling like locals here--we were there for the party, and the chill of the week after.
Nathan looks over the water (and at the piles of trash left over from the fun of last weekend).
Me with boats. Forrest Gump would say, "Thats ma boat," but I couldn't because it wasn't ma boat.
The best dinner in Haiti so far: I had lobster seasoned with lime and peppers. Nathan had conch.
Kreyol Vocab learned:
Lanbi: Conch
Woma: Lobster
Gelée Beach is one of those places.
Last weekend, the town and people from all over Haiti came to Gelée to celebrate the Assumption of Mary. This Catholic holiday celebrates Mary's (as in Jesus' ma's) rise into Heaven. Catholicism is the official religion of Haiti, and I'm learning that Catholics and non-Catholics in Haiti are always excited for a reason to party.
This event put the craziest shindig I attended in college to shame.
Digicel (Huge cell phone company in the Caribbean) sponsored much of the party, and there was live music, hundreds of people swimming in the ocean, mobs of dancers, drinkers, and people walking around selling whatever liquid courage you wanted. We went with some friends (including their toddler, MoMo, who was fascinated by everything) and sat at a restaurant overlooking the water and the party.
We ate goat, fried plantain, avocados, and piles of pikliz (my favorite food in Haiti-- a very spicy coleslaw-type topping). We drank Prestige, the beer of Haiti, and watched people trying to push through the crowds on motorcyles.
Just a few days later, this Friday, we returned to Gelée and had dinner with the director of our school. It was just us, a few couples, and small groups of teenagers on the beach.
I loved feeling like locals here--we were there for the party, and the chill of the week after.
Nathan looks over the water (and at the piles of trash left over from the fun of last weekend).
Boats on the shore at dusk.
Me with boats. Forrest Gump would say, "Thats ma boat," but I couldn't because it wasn't ma boat.
Sun casting colors on the clouds.
Places like this remind me of Haiti's beauty. It could be a tourist destination, not just for people wanting to "help" or "evangelize" but for people who just want to see a naturally gorgeous place.
Kreyol Vocab learned:
Lanbi: Conch
Woma: Lobster
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Nonprofit lesson planning
Nathan and I have arrived in Les Cayes, where we will be teaching at the Bishop Tharp Institute. We both signed up to teach two English classes, as well as a special course each: Nathan will teach micro economics and I'll teach Nonprofit management.
A great teacher of mine from IU had her class donate some Nonprofit books that I'll be using for lesson planning and articles.
I also just finished a brutal book about that topic. It's called "Travesty in Haiti" and gives examples of how aid (especially thoughtless food aid) has been a disaster in Haiti. If you want to hear another side of the aid story, read this book. It'll make you think again about where you put your money.
I hope to use examples in this book as discussion starters in my NGO class. For example, is foreign food aid a helpful way to feed more people in Haiti, or does it destroy Haiti's own system of farming and selling?
I've been warned many times that Haitian schooling is based on an old French system of memorization and repetition. Teacher talks. Students listen and write down everything. They regurgitate it for the test.
I'm not crazy about this method. There needs to be discussion, especially for students learning about NGO power in their own country.
I'm trying to plan lessons that will allow for some memorization--terms, policies, etc. But I'm hoping to think of engaging discussion questions and group activities. That's one of my tasks for today and this semester and would love any advice from friends and teachers.
A great teacher of mine from IU had her class donate some Nonprofit books that I'll be using for lesson planning and articles.
I also just finished a brutal book about that topic. It's called "Travesty in Haiti" and gives examples of how aid (especially thoughtless food aid) has been a disaster in Haiti. If you want to hear another side of the aid story, read this book. It'll make you think again about where you put your money.
I hope to use examples in this book as discussion starters in my NGO class. For example, is foreign food aid a helpful way to feed more people in Haiti, or does it destroy Haiti's own system of farming and selling?
I've been warned many times that Haitian schooling is based on an old French system of memorization and repetition. Teacher talks. Students listen and write down everything. They regurgitate it for the test.
I'm not crazy about this method. There needs to be discussion, especially for students learning about NGO power in their own country.
I'm trying to plan lessons that will allow for some memorization--terms, policies, etc. But I'm hoping to think of engaging discussion questions and group activities. That's one of my tasks for today and this semester and would love any advice from friends and teachers.
Yon Papiyon
Yon papiyon = a butterfly
While visiting Okap (Cap Haitien) Nathan and I worked with a nonprofit organization called Meds for Kids. It's St. Louis-based and creates a thereauputic peanut butter (In Creole, medika mamba) for severely malnourished children.
One of the days we traveled to peanut fields and learned about varieties of peanuts. We also helped irrigate a farmer's field, and two brothers followed us to watch. The boys would carry hoses or rope, get tired, and then run around in circles, eventually sitting down to keep an eye on us.
The older brother caught a butterfly, and suddenly something was far more amusing than us.
Ok, it might have been a moth, but it was the prettiest moth I've ever seen.
While visiting Okap (Cap Haitien) Nathan and I worked with a nonprofit organization called Meds for Kids. It's St. Louis-based and creates a thereauputic peanut butter (In Creole, medika mamba) for severely malnourished children.
One of the days we traveled to peanut fields and learned about varieties of peanuts. We also helped irrigate a farmer's field, and two brothers followed us to watch. The boys would carry hoses or rope, get tired, and then run around in circles, eventually sitting down to keep an eye on us.
The older brother caught a butterfly, and suddenly something was far more amusing than us.
Ok, it might have been a moth, but it was the prettiest moth I've ever seen.
The Citadel
Here's how we got to the Citadel, Haiti's impressive fortress built to fight off France in the early 1800s: Take a car into Okap. Catch a tap-tap (public pickup truck. Known for it's get-off signal: hitting the side of the truck). We pay a few extra gourdes to sit in the front seat. And because we're obviously tourists.
Take tap-tap to Milot, a charming valley town in the shadow of the Citadel. We meet our tourguide there, a man named Johny Remy. We pay for three horses, and ride them 7 miles to the Citadel, stopping for water and fruit breaks.
It's amazing the Citadel isn't more crowded. We saw few other people.
It's this historical gem that you can just roam around. You can touch the cannons, run your fingers along the walls, climb on the breaking stairways. If Haiti were to increase its tourism, this would be a place to invest in and protect.
Fun for a rock-climber. Sitting on top of the Citadel. Nathan has more photos on his blog.
On the way down, we visited the ruins of Sans Sousi, a regal palace. Here, leader Henri Christophe had a printing press, among other luxuries (I sat on his running-water toilet! One of the first of its kind). Indiana University's Lilly Library has a book that was printed at Sans Sousi, and a few years ago, I put it on display for an exhibit I created for the Haitian Studies Association annual conference. I loved seeing where it was printed, and how far it traveled.
Check Nathan's blog for more.
Tap-tap, photo from Wikipedia.
Take tap-tap to Milot, a charming valley town in the shadow of the Citadel. We meet our tourguide there, a man named Johny Remy. We pay for three horses, and ride them 7 miles to the Citadel, stopping for water and fruit breaks.
It's amazing the Citadel isn't more crowded. We saw few other people.
It's this historical gem that you can just roam around. You can touch the cannons, run your fingers along the walls, climb on the breaking stairways. If Haiti were to increase its tourism, this would be a place to invest in and protect.
On the way down, we visited the ruins of Sans Sousi, a regal palace. Here, leader Henri Christophe had a printing press, among other luxuries (I sat on his running-water toilet! One of the first of its kind). Indiana University's Lilly Library has a book that was printed at Sans Sousi, and a few years ago, I put it on display for an exhibit I created for the Haitian Studies Association annual conference. I loved seeing where it was printed, and how far it traveled.
Check Nathan's blog for more.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
A soccer game.
Our first night in Haiti, my boyfriend Nathan and I stayed here: The Matthew 25 House. We stayed in a brightly painted room on two cots and were thankful for the breeze moving the curtains. From this deck, we watched a soccer game between two local teams.
The self-appointed ball guy was the most fun to watch. He wore a pink ball cap and a leisure shirt with boats and anchors on it. He ran around collecting soccer balls that got kicked out of bounds and threw in new ones.
The goalie of one team needed a break in the 100-degree heat. A friend poured a plastic pouch of water over his head.
Finally, a breeze picked up and the flag waved above the crowd.
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