Dirty Water Vending Machine - New York

4,200 children die of water-related diseases everyday.

UNICEF attempts to change that by shocking the public to create awareness with their Dirty Watercampaign.

There are 8 “flavors” of water that represent common diseases that affect the global poor: malaria, cholera, typhoid, dengue, hepatitis, dysentery, salmonella, and yellow fever.

Thirsty people can choose their favorite infected water to support the charity – each dollar goes to UNICEF’s efforts to provide clean water to those that need it.

A purchase of one bottle provides 40 days worth of potable water for a child.

Watch the video at:

http://www.psfk.com/2010/07/unicef-installs-dirty-water-vending-machine-in-manhattan.html

Simply Life

“Blanco. Blanco.” I hear far below the street that hugs the cliffs.

“Bon soir. Comment y est?” I say to the women that have called out.

And with voices of laughter the reply reaches me. “Pas plus mal. Et vous?”

A little beyond, a face stares darkly at me. “Bon soir” I say. And what unfolds is a brilliant sparkling smile, lighted eyes and “Ah, bon soir cherie (with alacrity). Ca va?”

Cap Haitien is on the North coast of Haiti. To the west, the city is tucked into a mountain side. To the east a river delta levels the wide valley and another range of mountains rests in the distance. We were staying at a guesthouse, run by nuns, that was perched on a steep bank right over the ocean.

Growing up in land locked Calgary, I now never tire of looking out over the ocean. Or of watching the wooden fishing boats (that reminded the romantic in me of 18^th century pirate boats) row out in the wee morning hours and sail back in on the evening breeze.

It is early, 5 am, and the road below is full of younger and older out running before the heat of the day. There is a group just outside the gate of The Sisters grunting through their routine of push ups and sit ups on the cobbled driveway. The dogs that have been up all night are finally quiet, just in time for the cocks to start crowing.

The garbage, the pollution, the rotting garbage filling the waterways that lead directly into the ocean could fill my attention, but that is where too much Blanco focus already lies. My gaze glazes over those scenes and refocuses on the little treasures of assurance that life’s simple pleasures are abundant even with the challenges that face this nation.

Instead it is the flowers that catch my eye as their radiance stands out against the dusty roads.

The chicks that tweek, tweek around the feet of their mother hen, the young goats at play make me stop in my tracks.

Joie de vivre emanates from them. They are fiercely independent and are emotionally engaging. They love sport, laughing, teasing and telling joke after joke.

Their genuine nature is refreshing.

It's the essence of the place that infuses itself in me. The simplicity contrasting the chaos. The beauty contrasting the filth. Their open welcome that contrasts the fight in them.

Life is more apparent with the contrasts. It is raw, simple and right in your face.

It is simply life.

Kassav and Momba

Kassav is a labour intensive, delicious, crusty, mandible exhaustive flat bread made of cassava root.

Cassava is a woody shrub vegetable originating in South America and now found world wide. It looks like a sweet potato but very hard and fibrous. They first hand peel the root, mash it through a stone grinder and then put it into bags. The bags of the ground root are pressed (see below) to remove all the water.

Cassava flour is sieved to capture the finer pieces of flour (see below).

Huge round platforms are heated with burning coal where the cassava flour is grilled like a gigantic pancake.

Freshly shucked and hand grated coconut is spread on top of the grilled cassava and a sprinkling of raw sugar. Another layer of the flour is laid on top so as to appear like a coconut sandwich.

When heated it has a soft, chewy consistency so they can use flattened sticks to make the divots in them.

With 6 fires and kassav rounds being fired at once all day long the crew were working hard.

Once grilled to a crispy perfection the pancake is left to cool and then it is broken into squares made easy by the divots.

So that is kassav.

Now momba is another local delicacy.

You might recognize it by the name we give it - peanut butter.

BUT, not just any kind of PB.

Spicy PB.

At first disconcerting but very addictive.

Yep.

Two meals a day.

Three weeks straight.

Heavenly Goat

Heaven is a lot of different things for different people. And right now I am in heaven. The crunch of green leaves, with chlorophyll, antioxidants and vitamins bursting in my mouth. I feel like a goat. A heavenly goat.

When I am a visitor to a country I try to eat as close to local custom as possible, it is easiest and a part of learning about the country and the people. But with an addiction to vegetables and an allergy to wheat meal time in Haiti gets a little complicated.

Breakfast always included Kaiser size, Safeway bagel dense white flour buns. Included in the fare served would be alternately stew with meat and home made pasta balls, spaghetti in tomato sauce, deep fried egg omelette, boiled plantain bananas with a meat soup to pour over them, corn maize porridge with meat or sardine soup, and some fruit (usually a banana each or on rare occasion sliced pineapple).

The main meal in Haiti is lunch. Every day I would look at the table of food prepared for us in wonderment at how many forms of starch can be prepared for one meal; boiled plantain bananas, lam (a white starch that grows on trees), sweet potato and rice.

This assortment of starches were served with some kind of meat stew or broth to douse them in, as well maybe sliced tomato, boiled carrots, avocado and iceberg lettuce.There was always a huge mountain of rice at lunch. Plain white rice or rice cooked with some form of bean (black, kidney, navy…).

Ritualistically they eat the other starches with the meat sauce and vegetables first. Then their ‘bisse’ or round two was a mountain of rice as large as could be contained on their plates.

(This would explain why every day after lunch I had scheduled in a siesta before continuing to work.)

Evenings we would find a platter of buns with processed cheese triangles or butter (that they would slather on to the same thickness of cheese) and a drink, either hot chocolate, tea or Tampico (fake fruit juice). Sometimes it would vary and there would be pasta again or potatoes.

This time, I will concede that I ate a form of green vegetable five times on this trip (boiled spinach twice and green beans twice and one day we even had a few leaves of fresh ‘herb’). Iceberg lettuce (with a faint taste of chlorine) was served a few times, but my proficient addiction to vegetables cannot consider iceberg lettuce green – it is merely cellulose encapsulating water. So if we calculate that in 21 days, that’s 63 meals. (That’s 7.9% of my meals that included something green.)

With such a lack of vegetables and a culture with a penchant for all things wheat, I became known for my capacity to eat kassav, momba and bananas in unparalleled proportions; at least two times a day and sometimes as a snack in between. There really wasn’t anything else.

As I tuck into my first salad in three weeks, I can feel the nutrients barreling through my veins. And yet, as I sit here I can’t deny that regardless of how good the greens are, the people and the laughter that I shared for every one of those 63 meals more than made up for it.