Haiti 03: M'ap Boule!

Embouchure is set at the junction of rivers where a weekly farmers market happens on Tuesdays. The pre-exisitng church was irreparably damaged during last year's earthquake and we are participating in the rebuilding of two schools on that site; the larger of the building's will be used for church sevices on Sundays. The setting is breathtaking.

When Shane and I arrived we were greeted by a group of people sitting in front of the temporary school near the river bank, just down from Madame Luke's house (Madame Luke because she's married to a guy named Luke). Among them, the school principle, his serious/studious looking son, some local for-cash workers on the project and a few children. All of them knew Shane - who is convinced he was born in Haiti - and greeted him warmly and smiled encouragingly as I assaulted them with my clumsy Kreole greetings.

Up to the school buildings where we reviewed the almost complete first building and checked out the frame of the second. Awesome workmanship. The buildings are meticulously constructed and sturdy as you would expect a school constructed by people who will be sending their children to learn and play in.

Building 2 from Roof of Building 1

We would be sleeping in the school house number one tonight so we positioned our cots in spots where the rain wasn't dripping through the plywood of the un-roofed roof making for a choatic arrangement of beds, cots and bunk-scaffolding. Thus arranged we headed out to explore Embouchure. 

Kokoye

We first enjoyed a fresh coconut ("kokoye"/never "koko") in Madame Luke's house while being watched (openily stared down) by the beautiful kids hanging around. It takes several tries to get a kid to crack open to conversation but the effort is well worth it.

Bonjou! (Good Day) Nothing.
Kouman ou ye? (How are you?) Tilt of the head.
Ti moun, pas cap pale? (Little person, can't you speak?) Homour and a little fierce intensity brew in the eyes.
The next question should be about another person in the area or the school so they know you are "local" then watch out.

Polite answers to our questions turn into questions of their own which in turn becomes a torrent of inquiry into where we are from, how many children do we have (how many wives), do we own the helicopter that flew the trusses in, are we aviators? can we buy them a bicycle? can I come home with you (my parents would be very happy)? can you write English on paper for me so I can learn to read it? 

That interview we had on the hillside with a boy named Iseya who was walking his cow home for the evening and engaged us with bright, well considered questions delivered as if by point blank cannon. Gesturing expansively on the path switch-back with Shane and I and two younger kids his participating audience. 

Kids are not afraid to tell you you are doing something wrong and Iseya knew enough french to tell me directly when my Kreole sucked. Thankfully kids also like it when they are better than adults at something so the role of the thorough, patient, laughing hysterically professor was taken on by all three on the hill and I was treated to my best Kreole lesson yet as the sun set warmly on the countryside. We promised to deliver my printout of Kreyol - English phrases to Iseya's mother's house (Madame Luke's) the following morning and seriously wishing we had our helicopter to give them a ride - we said bon swa! a plus tard! and headed down to the school buildings.

It was dark when we got back and I could hear the swishing and striking of soccer being played by the construction workers on the concrete slab of the newer building and I immediately jumped in. Playing soccer against people who have practiced religiously since being able to walk is one thing - doing it with a flat basketball in a building under construction with temporary diagonal cross-bracing in the dark is another. More hysterical laughter (from adults) ensued and we played until I was drenched with sweat and hot as hell. M'ap Boule! Time for a bath and bed.