 
On the Road in Haiti
April 2006
Tim's Journal (Jamie's
Journal below that)
"Nou mange la lune!" exclaims Jo Jo, a hyperactive
seven-year-old who jumps all over our shoulders, backs, necks,
and wraps around our hips with fervent energy. He tells us
that we will eat the moon as he laughs out loud. Jo Jo hangs
out with a crew of young people who have been building juggling
balls with us out of sand, balloons, and sandwich bags. They
were all very good at making 130 balls with us in less than
and hour, but now we've been having trouble keeping the balls
out of their mouths. Jo Jo is a leader in the ball deconstruction
business as he sucks on the plastic and rubber as if he is
trying to eat the sand. He eats the sand, he wants to eat
the moon--there is so little food.
Clowns Without Borders-USA has just returned from a 10-day
exploratory expedition to the southern part of Haiti. Working
in partnership with Maison de Naissance and the White/Flowers
Foundation we performed 15 shows from hospitals to rural rice
fields in the Cayes/Torbeck region. Despite warnings from
the US government, the negative media surrounding Haiti, the
pre-election violence in Cite Soliel, Port au Prince, and
surrounding areas, we were entirely safe and warmly welcomed
by our Haitian friends. In fact, we could not imagine how
any negative press about political violence could come from
the region where we were staying. When I asked one of our
hosts San San about violence in the area, he shook his head
and laughed, "Violence? Do you see violence here? No,
pas du pwablem!"
Liz Turkel, Jamie Lachman, Ivor Prickett, and myself baked
in the humid sun, surrounded by friends, and children eager
to juggle, play, and laugh.
In the course of our visit our audiences ranged from 20 to
200, burn victims, infants, and an older drunken man who found
his way up on stage during our map lazzi wanting us to show
him where the US was and to help us find our way home. "Nou
Pedi!" was the chant that began every show. "We
are lost!" Most laughed and joined us in this chant;
this man took it literally and was overly helpful in trying
to guide us home.
Daily, we witnessed the brutal health conditions that envelope
Haiti. Our first day of work we visited the Cayes General
Hospital Pediatric Ward. After performing for an hour or so
with patients, on our way out of the hospital we noticed a
crowd of nurses around an infant's bed where we had performed
and members of the MN team had visited. I first thought the
nurses were administering some sort of treatment for the ailing
child. As soon as we left the building though, one of the
doctors from the US informed us that that infant had just
died. Another child dying from malnourishment--a common and
sobering occurrence throughout Haiti and that would follow
us throughout our trip. We rode home in silence as we passed
fields of rice, corn, and fruit trees.
Our trip was full of joys and sorrows as unpredictable as
the treacherous roads. We gave clown noses to elderly widows
awaiting the construction of a new home, took over a dance
club with our antics, and even had to wrestle a pig that Jamie
had frightened with of his antique car horns. The startled
pig broke free from its rope after hearing the honking and
ran for the road, we cut it off and muscled it back to safety.
Every day offered something new and quite unbelievable.
Our work brought us full circle, back to the Cayes General
Hospital. On our last day of performing, we returned to the
explosive joy of the many of the patients and staff and had
a festival of laughs in the pediatric ward. After doing the
"moushwen" handkerchief disappearing trick ad nauseam
and the Johnny Depp/Benny and Joon hat bouncing off the head
gag, we had worked with almost every patient in the area.
I then found myself in the back corner of the malnourishment/rehab
section with a child who seemed nearly forgotten by the rest
of the joyful kids. She was an infant, born with HIV and was
suffering severe malnourishment--her body half the size of
what it should be for an infant of her age. She moaned as
she tried to move so I sat next to her and started to strum
my ukulele. I played the only chords I know, the tune to "Good
Night Irene" and she gradually lifted her head. This
act alone looked like it took all of her energy. She rolled
her head to one side and groaned with nearly every breath.
Her sister, a bouncy young girl with light curls crawled into
the bed next to her and started to gently stroke her. The
infant's eyes gradually stopped rolling around in their sockets
and focused on the uke. Her groans began to change in tone
and began to resemble happy goo's and gah's.
We played, we connected and she calmed down, just gazing and
the instrument. We played together for quite a while, I stopped
the strumming occasionally to brush the flies off of her face.
This trip to Haiti is the beginning of much more clown work
to take place there. We plan to perform more, do more workshops,
make more juggling balls, build a circus...and one day maybe
even eat the moon.
Woch nan dlo pa konnen doule woch nan soley.
“The rock in the water does not know the pain of the
rock in the sun”
There seems to be no way to stop sweating her, day and night
I drip. We drink endless amounts of water and add salt to
everything to keep up with the liquids lost everyday. It has
only taken us a few days to figure out that no work gets done
between about 11AM and 3 PM—it is just too hot.
On Palm Sunday, after hearing a rollicking sermon comparing
the state of Jerusalem at the time of Jesus to that of Haiti
while under various military regimes, we returned home to
soak in the sun with a little siesta before one of our most
exciting days.
Around 3 PM our truck arrived with Lackson behind the wheel.
We were going to embark on a trip with a program called Loaves
and Fishes, which provides rice (rice bought from the US,
despite fields and fields of rice in the Cayes area) to families
(many of whom live surrounded by rice fields) who do not have
enough food. This paradox alone is extremely frustrating that
food often gets shipped out of Haiti to the US and then bought
back from the US to consume in Haiti.
So we climbed in the back of the truck to deliver the rice.
This day we learned very quickly that it is impossible to
understand the need, pain, and hopelessness of many Haitians
held in the grips of this absolute poverty. “Woch nan
dlo pa konnen woch nan soley.” Because of this, our
work demands a different kind of compassion, one in which
we realize we cannot comprehend another’s circumstances,
we can only be available to listen and try to find a mutual
understanding in the present moment. The more we travel and
perform, the less we understand. The more lost we get, the
easier it is to connect with individuals. The more we stop
trying to “do good,” the more present we become
to the needs of a given situation.
About halfway through our stops we found ourselves way off
the main road in an enclave of trees so thick that we felt
like it was dusk. The shade of the tress fell upon a small
hut in which I barely made out the shadow of a man sitting
down. Our driver stopped the car and pulled out some rice,
he beckoned us to come, but we hesitated not seeing any children
around that might want to play. Out of nervousness I started
to juggle, to make us blans climbing out of the truck appear
that much more strange. Then, as I peered into the dark house,
I saw the man’s bright white teeth suddenly glow with
a smile. I thought of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland,
who, in the Disney Cartoon, disappeared completely except
for his broad smile. This man hobbled to the door, then another
person came out, then another. An elderly couple and, their
children, their children’s children came from the house
and the neighboring huts and before we knew it there were
at least three generations of people around us waiting for
our next move.
I quickly counted the crowd that had gathered and has Jamie
and Liz played music and did slight of hand magic, I reached
into my bag and brought out foam noses. We had plenty to go
around and so as we played and danced, we had the honor to
place a nose on each person, from the 80-year-old great-grandmother,
to the naked 1 yr old with a drippy nose. The neighbors flocked
in and we had witnessed the start of a block party. We were
kindly guided away from the 30 ft hole (a well) standing open
on the side of the yard and we danced, kissed, and hugged
our way back into the truck and on the road again.
Times like these were the most memorable for this experience;
times when we had no idea what to expect or even do; times
when we just had to be there, and inspiration came. We do
not understand, nor can we begin to touch the depth of suffering
the people we met face day to day. We are wasting our energy
if we try. We learned that our work must be heartfelt in the
moment, full of joy and honest play. Our strongest connections
on stage and off have come from simplicity, not trying to
hard, just looking folks in the eyes and saying “thank-you
for letting us see your country.”
The last morning I woke to watch the sunrise at the beach
down the road. I saw the silhouette of a fisherman standing
on the shore. The sun caught a glimmer on the side of his
face and he began to juggle two rocks. I slowly walked toward
him, and picked up some rocks to juggle myself. We both stopped.
He put his rocks down and told me all about fishing in the
morning here, he told me about the different types of boats,
he told me the joys of the sunrise and how the fish too love
coming up with the sun.
Jamie's Journal
Leadbelly in Haiti – A Loaves and Fishes Account
April 9th, 2006
Huddie “Leadbelly” Ledbetter was one of America’s
greatest and most influential folksingers. A former
sharecropper and prison laborer, he wrote and popularized
many songs including “Pick A Bale of Cotton”,
“Midnight Special,” and a once Top of the Charts
hit, “Goodnight, Irene.” His nickname, “Leadbelly,”
was given to him while serving a term at the Angola State
Prison because of his legendary ability to eat anything the
prisoners were fed without having any stomach problems.
In Haiti, where many children are malnourished and the majority
of people are hungry on a daily basis, the weight of an empty
stomach dragging down one’s spirit and health gives
new meaning to what having a “leadbelly” is all
about.
With banjo, ukulele, concertina, taxi horns, and two bottles
of bubbles, Liz, Tim, and I accompany Lackson, a community
organizer, as part of the local Episcopal church’s Loaves
and Fishes program. Each Sunday, they distribute a 5
pound bag of rice to Torbeck’s most needy families.
We load the back of the truck with three huge bags of white,
bleached rice imported from the United States. Due to
farm subsidies, American grown rice is substantially cheaper
than homegrown grain here in Torbeck, a town in the south
of Haiti. After tentatively negotiating a broken concrete
slab that bridges three foot deep drainage alongside Torbeck’s
main road, our vehicle lumbers past fields of corn, banana
groves, and rice paddies. At each stop, children join
us on the bed of the truck, laughing and playing our instruments.
We let the wind blow bubbles behind us as if on a magical
journey while others chase the truck running barefoot through
the fields. Suddenly, Lackson stops the truck and tells
us that we must continue on foot to reach a more remote home.
Trudging down the path, I am struck by the beauty of Haiti.
In the distance, the Caribbean lulls in bright blues and greens.
Coconut trees and banana fronds sway in the warm breeze.
Rice paddies surround us – lush and vibrant. Here
we are, in an exquisite land walking by paddies brimming with
grain, delivering a five pound bag of rice from the US to
a family that starves surrounded by food. The irony
and injustice is staggering. Yet, the smiles on the
faces of the children remind me that this is not a time for
anger but rather for compassion and play. I strike a
chord and begin to sing:
Bon soir, timon, timon
Bon soir, timon.
Timon, bon soir, timon, bon soir,
Bon soir timon.
In my virtual inability to speak a lick of Creole, a song
is reborn – an adaptation of Leadbelly’s “Goodnight,
Irene.” Perhaps it is the hunger that inspires
the song or maybe we have quickly tired with “A la ouette”
and “Fais do do.” It doesn’t matter,
the song sticks.
We stop outside a bamboo hut with banana thatch for a leaky
roof. A family of 7 or so children and adults representing
three generations sit outside in the dust and shade. There
is a well in the yard without a wall – just a stick
in the middle to remind one that it is not a place to step.
I look down and see leaves and filth covering the top of the
water. Tim juggles his pins to my accompanying doodle
on the banjo for them as well as a growing number of on-looking
neighbors. Liz dances with a child of eight or nine
years old wearing a hand-me-down Pink Floyd T-shirt from the
United States. How many people wore it before it reached
the shores of Haiti? As Lackson delivers a bag of rice
to the toothless grandfather, we pause to take a breath from
the heat. We have sweated almost continuously for the
past 4 days – so much that a old routine has also been
re-invented from our perspiration. I wipe Tim’s
brow with a silk handkerchief, or “mooshwey” in
Creole, and put it in my hand. Whoosh! It disappears!
Liz goes into a trance and “feels” her way through
the crowd until she calls Tim over to pull the silk out of
an ear, a hat, a pocket. We continue to play with our
impromptu audience until Lackson tells us we must move on.
Another family to deliver another bag. We leave
everyone with smiles, red noses, and most importantly, food
to get through the week. As we depart, Leadbelly’s
“Auvoir, Timon” follows down the path with improvised
verses of thanks. During our last delivery, we repeat
the “mooshwey” routine to the delight of a couple
of widows. They tell us that soon they will be moving
into a recently constructed building next to the Pere Fan
Fan’s church. One of them is so taken with Liz
that she insists on walking her to the street where we see
two youth gesticulate to another showing him how we made the
“mooshwey” disappear. Not quite magic but
the emotional effect is a miracle nonetheless.
Later, during our nightly show at the rectory, we repeat the
renewed “mooshwey” routine with Liz’s trance-divining
added in. Although the crowd has seen it now four or
five times, they still enjoy it more and more as our play
organically develops. Our show ends with Liz leading
a young girl in a dance and then walking up mine and Tim’s
shoulders as the star of the show with a chance to shine before
her peers. In a society where women are treated as second-class
(boys are given priority in schooling and food), this becomes
a symbolic gesture of women’s empowerment. We
finally close another long day with our new song. Tim improvises
a verse in French wishing sweet dreams and giving thanks to
the crowd for creating celebration each night. As Leadbelly’s
melody echoes in the night I am grateful for to feel the bond
between us created through love and laughter that crosses
language, race, class, and culture. |
