SquidRoad

It's a good day

...when you can't remember what day it is. Which means today has been a good day. Tomorrow we return home from our ever-so-brief vacation at Outer Banks in North Carolina. It's been a series of come-and-gos since the weekend, but we've had the best time with family and friends. Not to mention we ate our weight in great dinners. Even the weather cooperated, for a little while anyway. Tomorrow night, we get home late, in time for a very full end of week. If you've ever taken time off and returned midweek to work, you know this is a bad idea. Everyone else is "warmed up" while your brain is still in a pleasant (read: ignorance is bliss) state of mush. I hope we at least slept more away than at home, but that's up for debate. In any case, I can't wait to return to the coast. If you haven't recently been near a large body of water, I highly recommend it.

Does thinking make your head hurt?

A few years ago, I had one of those Aha! moments.

This one was a sinker: I realized I hadn't done any real, deep thinking in awhile. The kind that hurts. That kind that makes you struggle deep down inside, argue in your own head...so, naturally, it gives you a headache.

Now...it seems deep thinking is all I do. It's good--great, even. Just a little exhausting. Lots of headaches.

In terms of the online space, I've been trying for sometime to figure out what I really want to talk about as a blogger, or where I can make a contribution that's meaningful. My work is nonprofit. I work for an international org...spent years on the international side, in fact. I'm a marketing communications girl with a whole lot of interests.

While attending the NTEN Nonprofit Technology Conference several months ago in Atlanta, I was telling some friends how, when I used to travel extensively, I felt safer traveling nearly anywhere else abroad than here in the US. Got a very puzzled look and a load of disbelief.

It's true, for the most part. I mean, there are definitely cities where you feel stalked if you don't look like everyone else, but honestly, that happened maybe 1% of the time. And closer to home than you think.

But I digress....kind of.

There are two main things I've learned in my work:

1. The human race -- we're all the same. We want the same things--to belong, to be loved, to make life better for our kids than we had it. Everywhere, it is the same.
2. International work is hard. It is supremely rewarding, just incredibly complex.

So I've decided to attempt to write, at least some, about working across cultural lines. Not that there aren't people much more expert than I...believe me, there are many. But I can speak to my own experience struggling with the same things any international NGO works through--making a real difference in the lives of others...and making that difference mean something to the person who supports the cause.

On the nonprofit side, this is where I'll start. Wish me luck.

If I get anywhere near my target, it'll feel like a homerun.

Haiti: Back in "the day"

One week shy of seven years ago, I made my first trip to the developing world with then-new employer, Compassion International. First tour? Haiti. Ten days on the ground, filming and documenting life there, forever altered my outlook on life.

A year later, during the 2004 overthrow of Jean-Bertrand Aristide, I finally got my thoughts together enough to journal about it. It's a long read, but it'll give you an idea of what life was like there...before the earthquake, and even as recently as two years ago.

Looking back at Haiti: From my journal, 2004

It’s been exactly one year since Haiti hit me like a brick wall.

From the frenzied exit out of the Toussaint L’Ouverture International Airport, which bears a strong resemblance to a huge warehouse with sparsely equipped stations, to spewing from my mental vault the phrase, “Non, merci, non, merci” as many times as I could dish it out till we could get to the car—it was sheer madness.

The minute we were in the car, our host firmly commanded us, “Lock your doors! Lock your doors now!”

That was just the beginning.

Nothing I’d ever experienced had prepared me for the next several days, when I learned how hard life is on a normal day in a developing country—let alone during the uprisings of recent days in Haiti, our neighbor to the south, the Western Hemisphere’s poorest nation.

There’s no order to anything in this tiny Caribbean nation, home to 8 million poor and largely unemployed (80%) people and island-mate with the more prosperous, more developed Dominican Republic in the eastern half of Hispaniola.

I thought the chaos—the yelling, the frantic horn-honking, the labyrinthine drive down every potholed street—was just characteristic of Port-au-Prince (PAP), the capital city. But we found the same was true of the northern coast, which rebels who today are calling for Aristide’s ouster now have blocked off from the rest of the country and from critical food and medical supplies.

Even on Haiti’s largest offshore island, La Gonave—looked down upon as “home of the hillbillies” by equally poor and jobless city dwellers—roads are impassable by anything short of a four-wheel drive vehicle. Graffiti both for and against Aristide and neighboring nations—not to mention any names—adorn the ubiquitous cinder-block walls that provide security to most operational buildings. The broken bottle shards coming out of the top keep wall-jumpers out.

Anything of value = survival

And, just like in PAP, people lined the streets selling anything from scavenged rolls of toilet paper to fist-sized pouches of water from Culligan. The Haitian gourde has devalued so much that, purchasing much more water than that is cost-prohibitive.

(One day I tipped one of the housekeeping staff in our PAP home-away-from-home, Hotel Montana—the hotel-of-choice for foreign diplomats, aid workers and media. The US$2 tip made her face light up with joy. This was, after all, about two months’ wages. There are high-ranking, well paying jobs and there’s everything else. She fell in the “everything else” group.)

Fortunately, the French I’d spent so many years learning came in handy (thank God for language immersion and my summer “studies” in Nice). I talked with people (I’ve been praying for them ever since…why didn’t I pray with them then??) who most of the time were trying to sell me something.

There's always dignity

I could tell hardly anyone had looked them in the eye or treated them with respect. At the end of our hotel’s road were roadside vendors selling anything from jewelry boxes to original oil paintings. As I haggled with them, I assured them I wouldn’t take advantage of them, and when I said I’d return to a specific vendor, I did. It seemed to make a great deal to them that we didn’t avoid them. Haitians seem well aware that dignity is almost all that remains in their possession, and they fight hard to keep it.

 One gentleman along the coast just south of St. Marc, where the anti-Aristide rebellion started in early February, told me how it was becoming difficult to sell his jewelry. Not only were tourists not coming to Haiti, they weren’t coming to the north coast, which has a couple of eerily vacant resorts, including what was a Club Med just a couple of years ago. He told me how difficult and expensive it was for him to buy supplies like mere metal clasps that would provide closures for the typical island-motif necklaces he had made.

Meltdown

I had my first meltdown while we were interviewing one young man at one of the locations where we serve a few hundred of the 40,000 Haitian children in our program. The interview didn’t go that well, but in the sweltering heat and dust of this largely un-arable land, out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of a little baby—about 9 months old, I guessed—sitting outside, playing.

It’s how she was playing that broke me: she only had a shirt on, no pants, no panties. She sat there, her bare bum soaking in a puddle that was likely laden with bacteria. No protection from anything. That’s how it is there. There’s no buffer from poverty—not for adults, or for children.

As if that weren’t enough.

The smells of Haiti are distinct. You can tell when Haitians are firing up their makeshift stoves—rusted-out steel barrels in many cases—for cooking. The smell of charcoal fills the air, the bay outside PAP fills with smoke, and by afternoon it’s whisked away by wind currents.

In some parts, a persistent, dank smell hangs in the air. It’s the aroma of dumpsites everywhere—what we might call landfills—that also serve as outhouses. Dumps seem to be a “given” in countries where [civic services] like running water, electricity and trash pickup are virtually nonexistent or cost more than most earn in a month. So when new “deliveries” arrive at the dumps, many rush to the site for salvageable items that could fortify their homes.

Oh. How could I forget the homes? My second meltdown came on our return trip to Miami: more about that in a moment.

Half-buildings are the norm

I’m guessing the average Haitian’s home ranges in size from about 100 (yes, 100) to 500 square feet and gives shelter as many as eight or 10 adults and children. Made of tin, wood or cardboard, most homes have no roof, unless as squatters, people have been able to pirate space from buildings left vacant by builders or on-the-run drug lords.

When we returned to the States via Miami, the Florida coast’s aerial view was dotted with brightly colored homes—definitely Caribbean style. But these weren’t the half-buildings we had just witnessed seen in Haiti. These had rooftops, walls that were joined and that provided protection from the elements.

I lost it again. The contrast was so great, and the distance so little. Why did it have to be this way?

 

The pain of remembering; the hope of rebuilding

Now, a year later, the words flow as I reflect on my first visit to Haiti. But writing about it is like re-living it. It’s painful. Grim. Agonizing. My heart is breaking all over again, and all I want to do is return with an army of people willing to serve and work—hard.

There are certainly many things in short supply there: jobs, money, food, medicine, opportunities to be educated. And right up there with the “tangibles” are trust, peace and hope. They’re there, even if hanging by a thread. By God’s grace and through our steadfast prayer and support, surely the mustard-seed faith of one man, woman or child can turn this island nation into something great. I believe it will happen.

*2004. Many updates since: Haiti's population today is 9+ million.
Compassion now serves 65,000+ Haitian children through 230 local church partners.

 

Tired and cranky

After a 4-day week when it seems an entire 7 were crammed in, I'm pretty pooped today.

And now I'm in an airport terminal with screaming children everywhere. Can't blame them though. If it were within adult decorum to scream right now, I'd probably do it too. Our flight keeps getting delayed, and it's grating on the natives. I'd post a photo but I'm afraid someone in security would nail me.

Lots of military troops leaving for the field today, too. It was actually quite difficult watching their kids and wives wave very tearful goodbyes as troops stripped down for security checks (along w/all the rest of us, of course. It was one happy nudist party.)

I need to get it together before getting into town to take care of my mom. I'm not well rested, and I'll still need to drive from Indy to South Bend this evening. Hopefully there'll be no further delays and the back end of the trip will stay on schedule.

Ok, I'm done whining. For now anyway.

I ran like OJ today.

Yep, just like that.

But to no avail. For me, all flights I could've taken home before this evening were cancelled. But for OJ (to quote a YouTube comment), Hertz got him there with an hour to kill. (Was that a boo?! Oh no you didn't...)

It's a long story, but I put in some mileage (on foot) at DIA today. It's probably a good thing, because I've been sitting on my butt all day, every day since Thursday. Bummer that I didn't get to get "oot and aboot" in Boston much. Next time...and I'll take Mikey w/me then.

Still, I can't help but remember the little ol' lady in the commercial cheering, "Go, OJ, go!" Hopefully she didn't live to see what he has ended up running from.

Flat Stanley: In town for a limited time only

A friend of ours has a son, Colt, whose class in school is trying to send this little paper figure off to interesting places. Since they knew I travel a lot as part of my work, they sent one to me.

Meet Flat Stanley.

Part of Flat's mission is to go to as many interesting places as possible.

I am a deadbeat friend--I've only remembered so far to take him out for sushi on Friday. I think Flat's as excited about my new favorite, the White Tiger Roll, as I am!

He was supposed to come along as a cheerleader to my match today, but someone (I won't mention any names, Mikey) forgot to fold him up and pack him in. His loss--Flat missed a hot match.

So off to work he will go w/me tomorrow. Maybe I'll have him run a meeting or something. Yeah...

A time to learn

There's a time for everything, including a time for soaking up new ideas.

A huge curiosity has awakened in me during recent months, and I have not been quite sure what to do with it. Connecting with my heritage has always been important to me, especially after taking an elective history class at University of Houston about Mexican Americans in the U.S.

That led to extensive genealogical research of the Cabello surname--my father's family name. (It's easy to procrastinate on researching my mom's family name, Garcia...similar in its common-ness to "Jones" or "Smith.") Which in turn led to the launch of a bilingual greeting card business my brother and I started (long story), and that meant learning how to function at Latin events. So salsa dancing was next. And...and...and...

With my work, I've traveled a bit to Latin America, and my reading on it has added to a fresh desire to learn more about and explore my heritage. Now, it's time to look into all the options and discover what's next. Here's hoping it becomes clear before long!

When all other things are equal...

...jetlag's not all that bad.

But when freak things happen in the middle of the night and it happens right at the time your body wants to be awake...look out. Life won't be pretty after that.

Have a seat over a glass of whine with me. Is it me or are these a little freakish?

• Last week on my work trip, my roommate received a hot work assignment while traveling that she had to complete before we even hit the 2nd morning of training. She started around 4am, right when my body preferred to be awake (we'd been there 2 days, so not entirely clicked in). I'd just been to the bathroom, so my body was slightly awake. Anyway...lights went on, A/C off. Click, click, click...till about 7am.
• Next night, her email was coming in all night on her phone, announcing its arrival with a little ringy-dingy or two. (I shoved her phone in a drawer and put on my headphones.) Finally, we both rested well and were fairly perky by end of week.
• Come home. Still clicking into time zone here...The power generator in our now-empty kitchen erupts this morning like a violent alarm clock...around 4am. So all appointments with sleep tonight are null and void. And now I'm hungry. (Funny, but the male gene didn't do much to activate my husband into swift action to turn the motor-monster off.)

OK...I think I feel better now. But a bowl of Cheerios will really get me over the hump.

Holy mole: JIT health

But it was a close call.

Needless to say, I'm glad my cold is on its way out. Thank God--just in time. If only I hadn't sat outside for dinner last Thur night on the terrazzo of my hotel in Mexico City (but the view...it's so beauuuutiful!), it might be a different story.

Truth be told, I wouldn't trade a visit to Mex. City for the world...I love that place, even if it means coming home with a head full of snot.

Still, having a nasty head cold or remnants thereof isn't fun when you're about to board a bunch of flights with strangers who may have one of any number of ailments. And it's not nice to share it with them, either. But... I'm about to board a bunch o' flights for the next work trip...a long one (Thailand).

Seems like a long time since I've been on a long trip. For Asia, it's been nearly 3 yrs--yikes! I'm out of practice with my Thai (not that I'm fluent or anything).

Even though I can't stand lengthy travel, I do get a lot of thinking, exploring and writing done during work trips. I load up a tone of web pages on my laptop and pray I'll have in-seat power. Else, the stress sets in. Then it's must me and paper-whatever, and before long I bore myself (surprise). Even an iPod only has so much juice.

Things I have loaded to watch: Ugly Betty, Donnie Darko and some other stuff, including a beautiful new release from Gloria Estefan (her 4th Spanish album...they all should have been in Spanish, IMHO).

Ok, party's over. Night-night.

Happy New Year! or, I'll drink to that

It may be partly my brain freeze (feels like single digits outside tonight) or just the overall stress of traveling thru crazy winter storms--twice in one week. Either way, I'm rather glad 2006 is now behind us.

The drive out to Texas was certainly white-knuckle for the first half (after last week's storm we went east out of CO and into OK, then south to TX), and not necessarily a good idea. The ride back included a stay in Amarillo (a.k.a., the overnight from hell) and a 3-hour drive to go just 36 miles. All that to find out the road would be closed till tomorrow morning.

Grrrrr.

Add to that driving with in-laws who have a fixed formula for their drive to/from Texas and who were suddenly subjected to utter unpredictability of weather and fellow travelers, not to mention to our own increasing impatience with each other...and you have a fairly exhausting day.

Oh, and our friends who were watching Syddie (our cat) had to leave town on an emergency. Thank God for them...but I'm so sad for our kitty. We'll see her early tomorrow afternoon, if all goes well.

We're looking at traffic cams of Raton Pass, which we have to go over tomorrow to get home. I'm already dreading that part of the drive...uphill's fine, but downhill is another story. This is one of many times we're thrilled to have a 4-wheel drive, but let's face it, ice is still ice. I keep telling myself:

"It's only 7 miles.
It's only 7 miles."

More on that later (I think). For now, happy new year!