Where I left off...

Since I last wrote I became a wife, mother, and student. Busy, doesn't quite capture it.

I started this blog - the 30'th year - expecting that it would be about my life in Haiti. But, as I wrote previously those plans quickly changed. Since then I found myself in Wisconsin, Guatemala, California, and currently in DC.

A little over a year ago, Rafael and I got our own apartment, and in my "nesting" mode at the time, I began to put our mark on it. It had been SO long since I could unpack fully and make a place my own. And, additionally, we'd soon be adding a little creature to our lives. I had it stuck in my eight month's pregnant mind, that I had to paint the walls. The "had" is the operative word. It was all I thought about. I finally, took a detour on the bus-ride home one day and stopped in at a paint store. Three cans and colors later, along with brushes, tarps, tape, and all of the other "painting gear" imagined I lugged the goods back to our apartment. I pretended it wasn't heavy, since I was going against my Doctor's order and Rafael's keen watch not to carry heavy items. Rafa looked at me as I walked through the doors and stated "is this really necessary?" "um, yes, it is." I remember being near tears, I couldn't imagine bringing a baby into this world with all white walls. Perhaps, just one of the loopy things that persisted in my cell depleted pregnant brain. Rafa, saw the urgency and rather than taking up a battle, proceeded to paint the walls under my desperate direction.

Just as soon as the linger of the paint smell dissipated baby was born! That is a story in itself. But I will shorten it to: yoga move = water breaks, slowest taxi ride known to mankind, 15 hours of labor, equating each contraction to a mountain range - this helped my geography - elude to motherhood multitasking, no dilation, tired me, distressed baby = cesarian. Baby boy Antonio Ronan born, sucking his thumb!

In August, I started back in school full time. Not one of my more brilliant ideas. However, now that the semester is in sight of being over I can say it is at least done. As many new parents do, I thought Antonio had found his groove as a nine-hour-a-night sleeper. This all changed on my first night of school. He began to wake up every few hours wanting to be held or nursed. Fatigue set in. It's kind of a constant to feel my brain is only as sharp as a butter knife. I have found solace in the belief that "becoming" comes with growing pains. And only in the past 15 or so months becoming a wife, mom and student at once has put me into overdrive. By the way this is not a rant or complaint...just a reflection.

I just finished one of my papers for school - a quantitative research project. While I enjoyed it and found it stretched my thinking, it also made me yearn for writing on my own terms again. So I am going to discipline myself to sit down every few weeks and write about anything I want without including a literature review or policy recommendation... or maybe, even, I will.

This is just the beginning of the brain dump. I hope with time and with practice my dull knife will sharpen and catch some light and creative insight again. It is time to nurture the right side.

Almost

It has been awhile since I last wrote. I need to write. Feels like I'm ready to implode.

A lot has happened. I'm almost 31. I'm almost a wife. I'm almost a graduate student. I'm almost Obama's neighbor. Almost in that order.

So what does one feel when they are almost. in this case gawky, like a toddler. wobbly. impatient and expectant. as though shedding a large skin.

I have begun to breathe. Realizing that the ground work is laid. and, that is mostly what becoming almost is. making decisions to propel forth.

A year has past since I left my position as Development Director at Safe Passage. That day marks the day I became Director of Developing me. It's been a bumpy rode as I've learned to take risks and chances in order to make space for my needs. It sounds very cheesy. but often people take off to "find themselves." there is no need to take off. only a need to make space. to have time. to critically reflect, digest, reflect and decide.

I look at this ring on my finger and think "how?" In just one year my life took so many turns. And not always clear ones. I fell down a lot. But, there were always people there to help me get up again. I let my world open like the big grand canyon and positioned myself for opportunities. And when they came I was ready to make decisions.

and therefore, I am now almost.

I’ve been thinking of extremes.

The first came in October after weeks living with my brother and his family. It left me wondering. Wondering if what I had in mind for my life plan was truly what would nourish my soul. Did I want kids? Did I want a husband? Did I want a settled lifestyle that included nursery school drop offs and interrupted sleep schedules? Did I want to hear a child crying as the first thing to wake up to? Or to make compromises and shared decisions? I decided, no. I didn’t want all of that. period.

so I thought.

And so, I went to Guatemala secure in my new perspective. Responding enthusiastically to those who asked, “I’m heading to grad school, on the plan Rachel plan, no room for anyone else plan,” perhaps not put quite so bluntly. I went along minding my business. Fully enjoying myself in Antigua, Guatemala. In fact I felt "at home". And then Saturday came along. I realized I still had not called Rafael. We had dated ten years prior. He had contacted me to let me know he would be in Guatemala and would love to see me. I too wanted to see him. We had been in touch via email for awhile flirting with the possibility of reuniting. I called him from a friend’s phone. I left a message. It was lame. I left another message, it was even lamer. Yet, he returned my call and assured me he'd see me that night.

I walked into the bar that would soon be filled with friends, staff, and families of Safe Passage celebrating our ten years together. And Rafael, who ten years prior, had walked into a bar in the highlands of Guatemala and hit me with a love dart, was sitting there in front of me. The sparks and arrows flew again. Electric. Cupid was at work.

Shit. I thought I had made a clear decision. “Rachel plan.” Yet, Rafa had a plan of his own. Within the first two hours of catching up he made it clear that I was the one for him. Always had been. He didn’t want me to slip by again. I swallowed my wine hard.

I returned to Madison. I returned to my classes. Yes, this is it. I must continue with school. Then the GRE which tried to show me different. Then the calls everyday from Rafa. He finally being granted a visa. And flooding me with praise for who I am.

The routine at my brother’s home was comforting too. I felt this enormous love for my nephew and niece walloping me up and swallowing me whole. Months ago I had felt so solid in my “path for one” perspective, and now it was being rejected by the many influences in my life. Even my economics professor seemed to throw the subject of marriage into each of his lectures!

Everything was changing, again.

I left for Guatemala in December this time to spend a month traveling with Rafael. Upon meeting him at the airport, I knew. While years had passed without seeing him, it was like reuniting with an old friend. There is no awkward space with him. And the silence is as meaningful as the chatter.

The days passed quickly. Each day, filled with water, sun, adventure. We were two moon-children, two happy crabs, filling ourselves up with the company of the other, learning each other, remembering each other, loving each other. Days that unfolded seamlessly. Naturally.

And then finally. The last day. We left early for the lake. obligated to go there to pick up purses for a friend’s business in the US. It was foggy on the drive. I sang along with the radio at times. Rafael encouraged my singing. a voice I do not share with many. He cursed the cold weather. I curled my legs up onto the seat. Tired from weeks of travel. Tired in the way one is tired after eating a warm hearty winter meal. As we descend upon the lake the sky opens up and reveals the lake in all of its beauty. I have never, in my ten years seen such a clear view of it. Our hearts let out a sigh. it is beautiful, on the verge of miraculous. We snap a few photos and continue. We meet an old friend of Rafa’s in Panajachel, a village on the lake, and load up on eggs and potatoes at my favorite garden cafe. We are greeted by an 80 year old Mayan woman who wants to sell us woven Guatemalan bracelets. She is about 4 feet tall, has no teeth, and is covered from head to toe in blue and purple weavings, colors signature of the lake. Rafael sweetly tells her to find him later. she smiles and pats his shoulder.

We walk along the streets. the day is basked in sun. lost in time. we remember our first dates here. partying till late with friends. visiting the nearby villages by boat. eating ceviche. being told my feet smell like french queso. A blissful memory lane. Rafa suggested we rent a boat and visit one of the villages rather than just return back to Guatemala City. I agreed. We took “Jennifer”. Just the two of us and two young Mayan boys, one to drive the boat and the other to navigate. Rafa and I landed at Santa Cruz, a village I know well.

Yet there was a new eco-chic lodge that was advertised at the dock and I was curious to see what that would deliver. We meandered along the grassy path along the shore. Rafa had his mind on getting a cold cerveza. I had my mind on exploring the gardens and new homes that seemed to have popped up in the three years since I had been.

And then emerged the lodge. A lovely garden that jetted out to the lake’s edge. We each walked out to the point of the garden that met the water and stood in silence side by side. We were mutually, agreeably, committed to being with each other. The moment was intense and left us giddy and joking about bringing our families there for a special event. Both of us knew what the other was inferring.

We returned to the boat, climbed in and blissfully headed back to Panajachel. It was no more than a minute with the wind on our faces that Rafa pulled me close, took my hands, looked into my eyes, and said “what are we going to do?” He spoke effortlessly about his love for me, respect, admiration, how he wants to always be in my life and me in his, to have a family together... and then I heard March. And marry me. And I replied “Si, Si, Si... but Marzo es way to soon.” He laughed and said “no, in March I want to make the engagement official with a ring and meet your family.” Ahh, okay. we have a deal. Once we met the shore, we bought matching bracelets from the 80 year old woman to seal our engagement.

And now, as I await news from graduate schools, and Rafa awaits news for jobs in the US, and he we plan this crazy wonderful life together, it seems that sometimes the extreme needs to happen in order to come back to the right path.

Loss

I am procrastinating from my economics homework. Usually I can push through and find interest within the topic. Tonight it is all about classical theories and assumptions that I don't see hold much credence in today's economy. I write instead. About loss.

Last week, I grabbed a cup of coffee and then wondered into a Psychic gallery across the street. I would say I'm a skeptic. While I am a spiritual person, and believe in connectedness between people, it is hard for me to trust clairvoyance. However, I was met by a woman in her late thirties, who was on the phone and waved me in to sit, before I could second guess my decision to enter the incense filled, maroon carpeted pod that while located on State St. actually sat between past and future.

I told her my name. Then for the next 40 minutes she reflected my life back to me including points that mark my future. I twisted and turned anxiously in my seat as she recounted details that only my diary and me know. She was blunt, bold, and at times offensive. Yet, she was right. At one point she stated "something happened nearly three years ago that completely changed your life, your perspective, it has challenged your belief." There was no question she spoke of Hanley's death. yet, it did surprise me that it has imprinted my being so heavily. And lately as we approach three years since Hanley died, the loss of her still teaches me further about life.

The first lesson that I learned in losing someone so dear to my heart, is that there is no end to grieving. There is no getting over it. To miss someone so deeply and painfully, is a measure of the love we've had and felt. And that in itself is a gift.

While in Haiti, I found a rock at a beach that undoubtedly spoke of Hanley. It was smooth, bright, and one half pink and one half yellow. the colors of her. I brought it with me back to the United States. And then with me to Guatemala during the week of the 10th anniversary. I then handed it over to a colleague who brought it back to Maine. And finally, the rock rests in the memorial created in June for Hanley. I was sent a photo of it last week. Who would have known that such a simple symbol and act of ritual could warrant such solace? It took time. And still, takes time.

Un Nuevo Camino

It seems that as soon as I actually turned 30 the writing ceased.

It wasn't on purpose. I'll blame it on the planets and stars. I am back.

Yet, the location has changed. I am now in the heart of the midwest learning about the shift in demand for brats when the price of beef falls. Well kind of. I am in the thick of economics courses that intend to bring me closer to my foreseen masters in International Development. I came to Wisconsin to stay with my brother, his wife, and two lovely children - to bond with family - while studying for the GRE, getting school applications together and taking necessary classes. Facing monumental school fees I panicked and got a job. Two in fact. I am waiting tables at two shwanky restaurants. I have not been this rooted down to a place for awhile. I mean, I even have a bus pass!

Just this past weekend I traveled to Guatemala for the 10 year celebration of Safe Passage. Days filled with reunions of every type, memories, blessings... it fueled me. I was reminded of my love for Guatemala and the people and that quite literally it feels like home.

The Safe Passage b-boy break dancing group performed in Antigua's central park as part of the celebrations. They drew a huge crowd as they playfully battled with their talented moves. The confidence and pure enjoyment evident in every dance move was contagious and inspiring. At one point I was called out to *battle* dance with two of the Guatemalan teen girls in the dance group. I looked at my friend Shannon who is a great dancer and said "there is no way I'm doing this alone." We jumped behind a bush and made up some choreography that would hopefully pass with the right addition of sassitude. We brought it. And I ended up with legs bruised and a knot in my shoulder the size of a golf ball... all completely worth it! It was a moment that captured what Safe Passage is truly about. I am pretty sure that the kids partaking in the breakdancing would most likely be named to a gang by now if they hadn't found this outlet to express. It sounds as cheesy as a late 80's movie plot, but in this case it is beautifully true.

Now back in Madison, with leaves popping crimson and gold, the obligations of school and work marking my days, and the promise of winter before me... I am intrigued by this new path. This path that has tried to buck me along the way as it turns from one direction to the next without much warning. It is definitely a ride, and I find, one that is full of meaning.

Everything happens for a reason, thank goodness for those planets and stars.

A sweet day in Jacmel

We're on our way to Jacmel. It's a two hour drive from Port au Prince through mountains, dried up river beds, and lush patches of palms, Mango, and shiny leaved trees that stand as the rare reminder of what Haiti once was. the pearl o

f the Carribean. Frank has traditions along the way. 

First stop, a little town at the base of the mountain. We turn down a bumpy dirt road that I wouldn't have known was even there... between a coal merchant and a woman selling bananas. We squeeze through, then bump along for about a mile. Then a right up a steep hill. The men sitting in chairs on the side of this lane, passing time and stories, get up and each take a step back so that I can make it through. I chug up the hill. At the top is a proud church. White with baby blue trim. School children are on the steps of the church and joking around with each other, it is their recess. They see me. The eyes follow. They follow.  Frank jokes, "Ooh white girl."  The most curious come up to the side of the car as I get out. There is a hush of silence. I greet them with "Bonjou" they are quick to reply back. and to giggle. Frank buys a candle and we walk into the church... a handful of children following behind. We walk to the front of the church, they stay behind, eyes steady on us. Frank lights the candle and leaves a prayer. We head back to the car. I stall a few times. The kids giggle. As we turn around there is a blind man speaking to the sky. Frank calls him over and we give him some change. He is grateful - the sky is generous with answering his prayers. As we leave this little village Frank tells me he prayed for my mom. 

We drive through the mountains. The road goes up, curvy and windy - honking my way around each corner, and sometimes just squeezing by the passing truck that is always on my side - strangely we never hit.  An hour through the mountains like this. I now understand the Creole expression "mountains beyond mountains" here, it is so true.  My arms hurt, ass hurts, toes are cramped - this is the most intense driving I have done in my life. Finally, we begin to descend. Now it is about speed bumps. Or as called in Creole - polis kachay - sleeping/fallen police. I find that funny. It makes it a little more bearable to go over the dozens of them.

The the ocean is now up ahead, guiding us like a blue serpent. It is calm, majestic in its movement. We pass through a patch of jungle - it draws up memories of my childhood bible - colorful drawings of Eden. Green, green and greener. Frank explains this is what Haiti once was. It begs a tear of grief, for what this country has truly lost. It's beyond angering. The loss of trees and resources. The erosion, rash scars that rip through the villages - the constant buriel from the rocks and anemic soil that fall on the tin rooftops. We pass. I make a promise to myself to learn more about effects of climate change and what can be done.

Frank's next tradition. To stop at the riverbed. We make a turnoff on the road he has so often travelled. From what i can see it looks like dry cracked soil. We were wrong. Within 20 seconds we were sinking. We were stuck in mud. Surrounded by it in fact. We both let out a four letter word with the mix of laughter and panic. Or the panic was mine. Within minutes there were about 15 men ranging from teens to the well experienced in assessing these kinds of situations. They laughed. I laughed. The panic was over. I kept asking Frank to ask them to push us. He had it under control - they were now conversing - each giving their version of what happened. A handful of young naked boys who had been swimming moments before came running over and quietly sat themselves on the sidelines to watch the show about to unfold. It took all 15 guys to push, and push, slip and to push. We were all laughing by this time. They got us out. And still were smiling as we drove off with mud flying and spinning off every direction of the car. Now we were truly only minutes from our destination. Jacmel. I think.

Although, we drove past Jacmel to Cayes Jacmel - a sleepier version, and quiet beach. I learn that Frank had lived here for several years. We are able to park our car on the side of the road in front of his friend's home - I'm learning Frank has friends all over Haiti!  We walk down to the beach. Beeeeaaauuutiful!  Three young boys come over, Frank gives them big hugs. He has known them since they were babies and it's been awhile since they've all seen each other.  Frank is kind of a pied piper.  Samson, Samuel, and Francoi. They run off and come back with coconuts. Samson, the youngest at about seven years old, uses the machete like a pro - he banks open coconuts one after the next. I'm still on my first. I joke that usually I drink it with a straw and that usually there isn't a gallon of juice in the coco's i'm used to. The juice runs down my chin. We throw the finished coco's onto the beach. The boys swing from the trees and do gymnastic tricks in the sand. I walk to the water's edge. blue blue and warm. Nature's bath. The waves uncover the pinkest stones. I think of Jane and Christine, back in Maine, who gave me heart-shaped stones from Maine's beaches upon my departure in May. I pick up two. And then I see a perfectly round stone 1/2 pink, 1/2 yellow. Hanley. The message is clear. It's her colors. The night before had been the dedication of Hanley's memorial bench in Yarmouth Maine. Stones that children painted from Guatemala had been placed around the bench. This stone was calling to go too. I picked it up - feeling my eyes burn, ready with tears. I brought the rocks to dry over by Frank. I told him the story of Hanley, her intentions in Haiti, her love of children, and then this stone. He smiled. replied "everything happens for a reason, I felt we were supposed to be here today. You know we're all so connected."  My turn to smile. the boys come over and sit next to us, their love for Frank is evident. they sit closely to him. I try a few of my creole sentences - they reply  - I try to respond badly - they are patient. 

Frank and I leave in search for Myel (honey). My mere presence in the car jack's the price up from $80 to $250 for a gallon. That is US dollars. Frank is baffled yet wishes them a pleasant day. I joke that the bees must be churning the honey with golden spoons. An image of little bees churning honey with their little hands, cracks me up. Needless to say we leave Jacmel without the honey. 

But it has been the sweetest of days so far.

Streets of PAP

I begin with the rain. Looking out through the slit glass windows of my home I watch it pound the greens of my backyard. I know that just outside the gate people are running in the streets, scattering in all directions to find a dry refuge. There are few. In minutes streets turn to rivers, washing dirt, garbage, and the like at rapid speeds downhill. In minutes too, the sun can push through and make this all seem like just a flash dream.  I prefer though to watch it. How the sky opens up around 5pm the lightning, and thunder begin...a dramatic symphony that has been the soundtrack to my evenings.

Erdem is in Europe for a conference regarding climate change - one that concerns Haiti in all measures. This has left me to navigate Haiti with a new perspective. It is that feeling that I remember so well upon my first travel solo, which was to Guatemala. When you are faced with the simplest tasks yet fail to complete them without the help of many or that you complete them in record time - that is of course, in an obscene amount of time. It is a mix of courage, challenge, and stupidity which result in a nice balance of humility. Every day has been so for me. 

I am borrowing Erdem's friend's Suzuki sidekick. It has given me freedom to explore, to get into hilarious and uncomfortable situations, and to get out of them hopefully as quickly. Driving isn't so scary anymore. I've learned it requires one eye on the passenger window, one on the rearview, two looking ahead, one looking out for pot holes, one looking out for people that seem to spontaneously jump in front of the car, one hand on the steering wheel, one hand constantly shifting gears (between 1 and 2) and one hand on the horn - that's how the game is played. I have taken several photos of both the less traveled roads (such as the narrow rocky dirt one that leads me to creole and drumming class) and the busier streets - although pics show them at their down time.

My head is full of new creole words. I love that there are so many English words where the "r" has been replaced by "w". Such as: pwoblem, woz, kawot, makawoni. They make me smile to say. Head is also full from dealing with the little things: phone card, power-outages, finding parking places, directions. The things that have no manual. I enjoy this. The pure exhaustion

of being fully awake.