Awareness in to Action

This is Erick’s fifth Saturday meeting and he has them right where he wants them; on the edge of their seats, full of information and ready for the next step. With little encouragement they spoke confidently about how water is contaminated, how to treat water, and why hygiene is important. As they were obviously brimming with this new knowledge, we were curious and determined to better understand why 12-14 year olds were sitting at their school desks at 8 am on a Saturday morning.

A young boy, Zoyon, confidently shares the motivations of his group,
“So we can share what we have learned and to protect our families from sickness.”

After meeting two separate JEPA groups (Jeunesse pour la promotion de l’Eau Potable et l’Assainissement or Youth for the promotion of safe water and sanitation), Olivier and I were charged.

Despite the overwhelming challenges that confront Haitians today, Erick has kept these students engaged. The groups have an obvious potential for greater and broader Action. This WASH awareness project, that focuses on water treatment, hygiene and sanitation, is one initiative of CAWST’s WET Center program in Haiti.

Having a dynamic, engaging, motivated and committed individual like Erick working with the people of the Artibonite valley explains why PAIDEH (CAWST’s WET Center Partner) has been able to reach 7068 adults and children here in the last 1.5 years and consequently stimulated demand from local organizations for training in implementing Household Water Treatment.

Erick has already witnessed the impact of these JEPA groups on the families of the kids involved. “Monsieur Erick, what do I have to do to get a filter, because my son is bothering me?” one parent asks him. And that was the basis for forming JEPA groups, to have an impact in the kids’ schools and hopefully beyond. And that is exactly where Erick’s capacity to empower them comes in. They are now ready to be equipped to take their WASH awareness into Action.

The emphasis and agreement today was that to share a message successfully, one has to represent the message by example.

And they are right where they need to be, ready for Action.

Haiti

Haiti. A place that I can't say I knew much about until a couple months ago.

Once I knew I was going to be there in May working for CAWST delivering training and helping in the development of a water treatment, hygiene and sanitation program for youth, it became clear that I needed to learn more about the country and more importantly the people and their culture.

What is their history? What has shaped them? What kind of perspectives might they have? But really there is only so much reading you can do about a place that cannot in any way bring you to a full reality of the place.

Strangly, as soon as we deplaned, I was reminded of India.

The chaos at the airport was a good start. The earthquake of Jan 12 destroyed the original terminal. In it's place, they converted a still standing small airplane hanger that included immigration, a baggage claim area and even toilets. The recent addition was the baggage carousel that Olivier noticed was an addition since his trip here in March. Although the 30m loop of the carousel was quickly overwhelmed and luggage was piled high off to the side making the search for your bags that much more of an adventure.

Upon leaving the building, the throng of shiny, dark faces were all jostling for a small job of either giving you a ride somewhere or helping with your luggage. Habituated from past travels, I was aware of their anchored persistance; just making eye contact equates tacit agreement to hiring their efforts. As we made our way through the crowd I was convinced I smelled incence. India? my mind asks.

Once we found him, we made our way with Thomas, the director of PAIDEH and our host, to our vehicle and beetle out of Port-au-Prince immediately. Plans have changed. We were supposed to gather up the materials we would need for the trainings we were doing, but didn't know that it was a holiday so all the shops were closed. Not only that, Thomas and his family were still living in a tent in one of the camps (like 3.5 million others) so we didn't have a place to stay. Luckily, the family house survived the erathquake even though many of their neighbours' houses didn't. Still, even though their house survived , they are still afraid to sleep in it.

As we drove out of the city (past numerous spontaneous settlements of internally displaced Haitians) I was again struck by the parallels with India. The garbage, filth, disrepair, masses of motorcycles, horns blaring, hot and humid. The smell coming through the window was the familiar combination of diesel, dust, fried fat, diaper (from open sewage), sweat and sweet fragrance from the tropical foliage, all of which are forced through a furnace vent and up your nose. Not something that can be truly understood by words alone.

The decibel level is just as loud as any overpopulated area. (I remember returning to Shanghai after being in Delhi and was in awe of how clean and quiet the city of 15 million seemed.) Voices, moto engines, horns, diesel trucks, music and in general a chaotic cacaphony that boggles the senses into a heightened state then falling into a state of submission.

To be sure thought this is a classic case of not judging a book by its cover.

It has taken most of this week to really feel the beginnings of a connection to the essence of the people, their spirit, the complicated, dark and twisted path of their past and their tenuous and challenging path into the future.

But what little I do know is those that I have had the pleasure to share time with are quick to smile, to laugh, to joke, to live, to survive, which is not a reflection of the environmental disrepair they are surrounded by.

Joie de vivre

It was Friday night. The sun was sliding towards the horizon, casting its warm glow through the trees lining the narrow streets and gently caressing the age old buildings. Winding stairs reaching to the upper stories of colonial era apartments, to ghosts that must have a few stories to tell.

The atmosphere was electric and energetic, but far from frenetic. "Apportez votre vin" displayed in restaurant windows invited bottles into the hands of restaurant goers clutching them with a sense of glee as they moved towards their destinations.

The restaurants lining the streets could compete with UN representation: Italian, Greek, French, Korean, Japanese, de l'Ile de Reunion, Moroccan, Vietnammese, Afghan. All of them chock full and brimming with musical chatter, clinking glasses and laughter. I felt as if I had been transported to Europe, Paris perhaps. And yet it had only been a four hour flight.

Same country, different world.

Can it really be the first time in 30 years that I have set foot East of Calgary in my own country? Why have I waited so long? (I asked myself that question quite often particularly after noticing very quickly the high concentration of incredibly attractive men :).

From the moment we landed the differences started, not just the atmosphere, the language as well. French first, then English over the announcements. Signage the same. Music to my ears and poetry for my mind. I have always felt lucky (well in my adult life for sure) that my parents put me in French immersion, but it was here that I felt proud that as a Canadian I am able to speak both national languages. I appreciated that here, when I spoke French, they responded in French. Unlike in France where they will jump to English, if they can, at the slightest indication that you are not French; both parties vying for the opportunity to practice our respective second languages.

For three days in Montreal I feel as though I languished and soaked in as much as I could of this city and it's enraptured joie de vivre. And now, time is too short for I am sad to leave. When people all around me are enjoying the outdoors, running, biking, playing, it's hard for me not to just grin in happiness for them and myself as their witness.

I was captivated by the parks that were everywhere and full of small to large groups participating in impromptu baseball games, throwing a football or tossing a frisbee, practicing their balance on slacklines, playing music (a lone violin, a group of guitars or the full on Tam Tam drumming experience) or just enjoying a bottle of wine and a picnic on a blanket. The language, the parks, the streets, the shops, the motorbikes (Ducati heaven), the people watching, the whole package. And now the desire for more. I will be back. That I know.

Joie de vivre is a hot commodity in my bank these days.

Taming Spirits, Wrestling Monkeys

It came back just as it always does, eventually. Dragging itself in the door, eyes barely able to meet mine, matted with dried saliva, leaves and twigs poking out at random. Curling up in a fetal ball at my feet. The difference this time is that I was Home. Home, because finally I could no longer keep going.

I curled my Self around the ball at my feet and held on. You see, the form that I, my Body, wrapped my arms around was my Spirit.

Up until now it has been running wild, doling out its Energy at the slightest request and allowing itSelf to be taken wherever the wind would blow that was new, wherever someone was in need or to wherever It thought a challenge or adventure had presented itself; paying no heed whatsoever to It's own conservation or balance. Until finally, It's well had run dry.

This time I had actually stopped, exhausted, no longer able to chase, with no energy left to even care about catching up.

The days that followed were difficult. I had never been good at taming my Spirit. Every so often, It would start to rally, lift It's head and try to claw out of my grasp like a Stray Alley cat, ready to bolt off at the slightest scent of adventure. I held on with my last reserves of strength. Withdrawal set in and the addiction pains ran deep, but I held on and finally We started to breathe the same rhythm again.

Both of us started building a resistance to the temptation of Scheming, Planning, Committing to everything but today, and anything but exactly what Body and Spirit needed to do, which was rest and be right here, right now. The only problem was there was one last Piece that was missing.

The final and most difficult to lasso (Ok, I'm an Alberta girl, but did you know that the ancient Egyptians used them too??) and wrestle to the ground. At full speed.

The Mind.

No matter how much conscious presence I focused on, how much yoga I did, or how much stimulation I revoked my Mind always found a place to swing off to in a highly developed, efficient and sophisticated manner. All day, and night too.

I would wake up in the morning exhausted, looking haggard, hair askew (and I have enough of it to make quite a display), eyes puffy as though I had been wrestling a Monkey. And that blasted Monkey was still raring to go, teeth bared, hopping up and down, cackling. There wasn't a lasso long enough or strong enough to counter those wrangy arms and legs.

Practicing meditation had no greater result. Sitting in stillness, staying present, breathing and still that relentless Monkey would take me on a journey through my past, my present and then into my future and back again in a matter of seconds. It would get me all tied up and unable to extract or find Myself. Questioning, Toiling, Tumbling.

Where am I going? What am I doing? Why did I do that? Why didn't I say that? What does this all MEAN? I can do this next year. I could do that next month. And then maybe next week I can... Next, next, next.

Finally, an intervention. As a collective, we figured that if We don't sort this out and get on the same page We are going to end up in the deepest, darkest depths of a loony bin --maybe I am there already...feels like it some days.

After long, arduous negotiations (since each party figured they were the most qualified to make the decisions) there is now a Democracy of Three. Three equal votes. Me, Myself and I (one step further than Jim Carrey). Body, Mind and Spirit.

A quote I was introduced to this week says it so well. "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing every day and expecting a different outcome." Thanks Einstein. (Ok, so I am Not a genius.)

I have been on so many paths. They have all overflowed with adventure and challenge at a high pace. I never knew until now that just sitting in the middle of the path, closing my eyes, looking inward and enjoying the simplicity of the act and the moment is as much a challenge as any I have undertaken. And with Monkey wrestling it's an adventure as well.

(Now don't kid yourself (because I don't myself) into thinking that I have given up my passion for new places, adventure and challenge with my eyes wide open. I can tame, lasso and wrestle with the best if them, but I am who I am. I just have a new appreciation for the balance and peace that this new form of adventure has brought and taught me.)