Miscellanea, etc. / 05 Feb 2015

Happy new year!

Although we're already a month into 2015, the year still feels fresh and brimming with possibilities.  It's also brimming with snow here in New England.  Some of the snow drifts and shovel-crafted mountains are taller than my head -- which isn't very difficult, given that I am only a smidge over 5 feet (or about 1.5 m for the rest of the world).

One of my new year's resolutions (a post on resolutions to come) is to write and blog more often, perhaps up to once a week if I can get my act together.

A glimpse of campus under cover -- about 2.5-3 feet.

And now, the miscellanea for this week: Five links that have caught my eye in the last few weeks, a mix of serious, random, and fun:


January 12, 2015: Five years since the Haiti earthquake, or is it three centuries?

A wordless comic with splashes of color illuminating a hunter's inadvertent adventure.

While waiting for Season 2 of Serial (my winter podcast discovery), a fun hyperlinked illustration to satiate the appetite.

Does joint pain have anything to do with the gut?  Some say yes.

Keeping your personal information out of the hands of data brokers.

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Don't fall too far down the rabbit hole, though.

Late night tracks / Gueldy René

Another late night, and another singer-songwriter!  And lest you think my musical tastes run one genre wide, take a listen.  Gueldy René is different.  In his own words, "My guitar is my weapon, and peace is my goal."  He's fighting prejudice, injustice, corruption, and poverty with his music.  Whew -- makes me feel lazy in comparison!

Gueldy is from Bois Neuf on the outskirts of Cite Soleil, Haiti's largest slum.  The place has a violent reputation, but he and others are trying to change that.  I first heard about Gueldy from friends and acquaintances working in Port-au-Prince.  They launched an Indiegogo campaign to help record his first album, and with the help of many backers he's on his way to the studio!

While I've never met Gueldy in person, his charisma in the video above -- a song written in the wake of the 2010 earthquake (with a great little back up singer) -- and in others makes me like him a lot.  But it's his lyrics and the meaning behind his songs that really launch him beyond just "nice" music.



Here there is a clip from his song "Konbit," a Creole word for cooperative communal labor that is the essence of community and working towards a future together.  The lines that struck me the most:

"The winds of change are coming.

...

Konbit, konbit, to save our nation
Konbit, konbit to save our youth."

The song calls for education, for governmental accountability, for mutual respect, for "democracy free of demagoguery."  Even for clean canals and planted trees.  It seems like a laundry list of impossibilities, but there's progress being made through various communal efforts (like Konbit Soley Leve) and the help of outside organizations to get things rolling.

Back in 2011, I visited Haiti for a research fact-finding trip (or, a "I don't know what I'm getting myself into but here goes!" kind of trip).  The Tall Man (at the time my Tall Boyfriend) and I were too chicken to visit Cite Soleil during most of the week, but we finally threw reservations to the wind when we were given the opportunity to tag along with friends from Haiti Communitere, the NGO we were staying with.

What had I expected?  Maybe something scary?  I had been to various parts of other development countries before, but never in a post-disaster situation and never feeling so out of my element and exposed.  I have written a bit about this before but will write again that what I found was stunning.

One of my favorite photos from the trip

Clean, paved roads.  Planters with trees and saplings along the drainage trenches.  A nascent recycling operation to encourage people to clean out the clogged canals and earn some income.  This was accomplished with the initiative of a then-13 year old who was tired of having his shoes reeking with the stench of sewage and wanted things to be different.

So the neighborhood of La Difference within Trois Bébés in CS transformed over time with tireless work from the community, and more neighborhoods are undergoing change as you're reading.  (There is even a Cite Soleil Peace Prize!)

Change (chanjman in Creole) comes with a soundtrack, and one of those voices is Gueldy's.

Good night for now!

Late night tracks / Leyla McCalla

Once again, it's a late night and I'm lazing on the couch, listening to songs on repeat.  And maybe the night has a certain velvety atmosphere to it because just like last time, I find myself serenaded by yet another singer-songwriter.  (Nothing wrong with that!)

Tonight's soundtrack features the talents of Leyla McCalla, a New Orleans-based Haitian-American singer with her hands strumming across an ensemble-full of instruments: cello, banjo, guitar - and probably others that are slipping my mind at this hour.

What I enjoy the most is the simplicity of the instrumentation and yet the richness she is able to achieve with such elements.  Some of her songs are in Haitian Creole (kreyol ayitien), some are in English, some are folk songs or based on Langston Hughes poems, but all are soulful and lilting.  It's like having a living room jam session, Nawlins-style.  And something more.

From her new album released earlier this year, Vari-Colored Songs, one of my favorites is "Mesi Bondye," a folk song sung to the jaunty tenor banjo.  Some lyrics (kreyol and English):

Mesi Bondye, gade kijan la mize fini pou nou. 
Mesi Bondye, gade kisa la nati pote pou nou. 
Lapli tonbe, mayi pouse. 
Tout timoun ki grangou, pwale manje. . . .

Thank you God, look how misery has ended for us. 
Thank you God, look what nature has brought for us. 
Rain has fallen, corn has grown. 
All the hungry children are going to eat. . . .

The conclusion is: let's dance!  That should be the conclusion to many things, right?

I didn't find a great video of this song, though, so included a different kreyol song about the Arbonite region of Haiti, with great instrumentation (plus, just watch the musicians get into the groove!).  And here's another:

I discovered Leyla through the Twittersphere, which is serendipitous and makes me feel indebted to Ta-Nehisi Coates, who happened to hear her music in his friend's car.  (Yes, 140 characters can contain this much information.)  This little episode showcases one of the reasons why I even joined Twitter in the first place: the ability to discover unexpected new things, like bread crumbs in the forest when you weren't even looking for food (or a trail).

Not by map, but by sight

I came across this intriguing essay in The Atlantic / Cities :

How Do You Navigate a City with No Street Names?

The place in question is Amman, Jordan, a labyrinth of nameless streets and alleyways.  I love the anecdote the author uses to illustrate the problem of navigation:

"It's totally normal to be lost and confused," says photographer Regina Mamou, who spent a year studying how the people of Amman get around. Once, she remembers getting directions to a party via a map the hostess had Photoshopped herself. "I had recreated it on this Post-it, and i still couldn't get to her house," she says.Finally, her friend climbed to the roof of her building and called for her. "There's a sense that this was totally normal," Mamou says. "The fact that we have to get on top of a roof and shout down." 

Here, it's all about the landmarks.  These are the primary nodes of navigation based on visual and experiential memory, not the rational memory of street names and gridlines.

Reading this reminded me of being in Port-au-Prince.  From the very moment M and I hopped in the taxi from the airport to the Haiti Communitere compound, we were told again and again that the best way to orient people to the place was not to tell them we lived on Rue Pelican in Clercine, but that we were staying across from the Jedco.  (As far as I could tell, Jedco deals with industrial-scaled cleaning and management of sorts.)

And you know what?  It worked every time.  Moto drivers (basically taxis for 1-2+ people) never ceased to know where we wanted to go if we were going back -- it was more the going out that was tricky.  Gotta learn the landmarks.  There's something really meaningful and simple about that.

[ayiti] The smallest construction site

 Last night, the smallest construction site was in operation from 11:15-11:35pm. Some of my thesis studiomates had a good laugh at this process.  It just seemed so ... real yet fake.  I was working with "real" materials, yet in such miniscule quantities that it was more akin to doling out medication doses than cubic meters of construction matter.

Welcome to my studio-turn-production center.  Maybe it seems silly, but I wanted to do a (literally) little test of a recycled concrete mix design, what material is best used for formwork, and what release agent is ideal for the process.  Scaling a building panel down to 1/10th its size meant that each piece was roughly the size of a credit card.  How much will I learn from it?  Well, it's something.  The concrete is still curing.  In the meantime, I made this stilted animation courtesy of Phil's smart phone and a little bit of Photoshop* :

* while I figure out how to upload animated GIF files to this blog - 

a subject that many a blogger has struggled over but have not come up with a simple solution - 

click on the photo for now to see the animation.

It involved mixing concrete using the following essential ingredients:

• cement = Quikrete (because I don't have time for the real 7 day cure)
• large aggregate = gravel from Killian Court as "scaled rubble"
• fine aggregate = playground sand
• water = taken from the women's bathroom
• work area tarp = trash bag
• work gloves = latex-free gloves from the fab lab
• release agent = WD-40 (a real release agent, but perhaps too powerful for corrugated cardboard)

My mix design was essentially 1 part cement, 4-parts gravel (inaccurate due to using plastic cups for measurement), 6 parts sand.  I might need to use more sand and less gravel next time, or let these things cure longer since the first one broke after I separated it from the bottom formwork to reveal a mini piece of concrete reminiscent of a gray Blondie with chocolate chips.

In any rate, more experimentation to come as our thesis midreview looms!

[ayiti] La creativite naturele

NATURALLY HAITI from David Belle on Vimeo.

Another take on life in Haiti, through the eyes of local artisans.  I had previously heard about the art of converting old oil drums into steelwork, but seeing the process, people, and other examples of craft was a refreshing inside look.

///

via Architechnophilia
Thanks to Juliet for the link!

[ayiti] La Difference on camera

Watching this video almost made me cry - more out of delight than anything else.  This was our 'last stop' before flying out of Port-au-Prince last month, but it is also my strongest memory of Haiti.  (Ok,  I guess the hysterical moths that came out to mate during the rainstorm at GRU is also a pretty vivid memory.  Or any conversation with Harvey.)

La Difference also inspired me to consider how something as simple as paving can figuratively 'pave' the way for further clean up and community development.  Is there a way to go back?  J'espere que oui.  (And hopefully I'll sometime be able to translate that into Creole.)

- - -
video via Citizen Haiti and The Haiti Independent

[ayiti] Someone to watch over me

I've been going through my photos and picking out ones I want to print for thesis.  I was about to pass this one up before I stopped and took a closer look.

You first notice the woman carrying the basket of fruit on top of her head.  Everywhere you see extraordinary women (and sometimes boys) like that, who can confidently and deftly saunter down the street without so much of a teeter.  Most of the time, these are the 'traveling salespeople,' walking around with their wares and advertising them to passersby.  Marcus and I learned to pick up the sound of "sashay dlo," which means "bags of water" for the thirsty.  These are the most common and convenient ways to get clean water, although you still find water bottles all over the place - mostly tossed into road-side canals.

Then you have the man watching up in the corner.  This is a common sight, particularly along Boulevard Toussaint L'Ouverture - one of the major thoroughfares that runs by the airport, UN Logbase, and other MINUSTAH compounds.  Someone is constantly watching.  What I found funniest, though, was that Haitian merchants and artisans have been able to profit from this constant official presence.  Because most all of the peace keeping soldiers and other relief workers are foreign, they make for a bizarre class of tourist.  Want a souvenir to show family and friends that you went to Haiti and back?  Artisans have shrewdly set up their wares right outside compound walls for easy browsing.

[ayiti] How to summarize a week in Haiti

The short answer is: You can't.

Some people told me I didn't need to go in order to have a perfectly proper thesis.  Others urged me see the place for myself - that it would change everything.  I ignored the naysayers and knew that I needed to somehow get to Port-au-Prince, and only when God made a way for that did I understand instantly - maybe even just as I saw the coast loom into view from the plane window - that this was so true.

The thing that hit me - overwhelmed me, and still overwhelms me - is how Haiti engages your senses.  Just reading news stories or seeing pictures isn't enough - it's not simply visual, but also intensely seizes your ears, nose, tastebuds, and even skin (because it was about 115 degrees F and humid everyday - and dusty).

On the flight over there, I was puzzled by the number of Haitian men who had boomboxes as their second carry-ons.  What an odd piece of luggage, I thought.  Once we landed and were launched into the midst of the chaos called baggage claim, I realized what they were for: mood music, of course!  They turned up the calypso and became instant DJs - perhaps to lighten the frustration that came with an hour of searching for our bags.

Who is big in Haiti?  The media says NGOs, the UN, and everyone who is there to help bring the country back on its feet.  Tap-taps, the local bus transport, say it's God ("L'Eternel est grand"), and I would also have to say it's the people and those who stand alongside them.

I still find it hard to tell people in a "nutshell" how was my weeklong trip to Haiti.  There's a lot to process, but hopefully little gems will come out from the sifting of thoughts, emotions, and memories - not to mention images, sketches, and notes made along the way.  I'll try to write at least one post per day I was there, in the hopes of somehow piecing out the experience.

More than first travel blues

I don't remember where I found this photo, but it's one of my favorites of live revived in PaP

I recently read an article by the Frugal Traveler about the 'blues' typically faced by travelers on the first day, when you're bumbling around in a new city, not understanding the language, and nothing seems to be going right.  I have certainly faced those times, but typically it just gets better and, as he concludes, it's these 'trying out' times that make one feel actually familiar with a new place.

I can't help but think how different visiting Port-au-Prince for the first time.  It will likely be filled with a certain level of confusion and discomfort, but not because of the typical traveler's dilemmas.  Instead, it is the first-hand experience of a havoc only read about in the news or heard about second-hand.  Some say it's horrible, lamenting the slowness of recovery.  Others say it's a beautiful place - and my, how the beaches are lovely!  (A Haitian woman told me this, and I smiled.  Maybe next time?)

I'm actually tired of using the word 'disaster' because it is a term devoid of hope, although there are few alternative ways to phrase it without resorting to euphemisms.  But who knows what my first reaction will be?  I asked one of my friends how to mentally prepare.  She told me to be ready for some level of shock, but that it would be individual to the person.

So I won't get lost because I will always be with a driver or someone who knows their way around.  I might not get to wander the city at night because of a 10pm curfew and safety measures.  I will meet other travelers, but not ones who somehow "stumbled upon" the destination but rather those who came knowing they were risking their lives to a certain extent.  Will it be overly somber?  Exuberant in the resilience?  It's hard to say now, with two feet firmly planted on American soil.

I'll let you know tomorrow.

Fighting 'ensekerite'

You don't need to know Haitian Creole to have an idea of what "ensekerite" means. It looks like "insecurity" and indeed, it's the local word used to describe the country's past and current perpetual condition of instability.

An article in the MIT News caught my eye, focusing on the claims of Erica James, an anthropologist at the Institute, that the country needs a more focused rebuilding from within rather than well meaning yet outside aid. She targets the psychological trauma faced by Haitians, which I've considered but never really thought about deeply. The media broadcasts horrific photos of destruction and despair, but the crux of their stories are rarely about mending people rather than mending infrastructure.

I guess this goes back to what I've mentioned in previous posts: equipping people to help themselves.  But easier said than done...

The rubble project I was working on last semester has been put on pause lately, although I'd like to inject some life into it. I feel torn between 2 approaches: learning more about the technical side of potential solutions and bringing the project to a point that it can be implemented, OR taking a step back and learning as much as I can about Haiti, the people, the culture, the history. But maybe they need not be such mutually exclusive approaches ... time as a limiting factor, though, gets me.

There's the enduring 'ensekerite' that Haitians experience, and then there's my own temporary 'ensekerite' to fight against.

NGO-weary Haiti

 via NYTimes / Photo credit: James Estrin

I just read this article in the NYTimes about the stagnation of Haiti's rebuilding efforts, referenced by this international development blog I just started scanning.  It's sad to read about how so many people's well meaning efforts, with the best intentions (because hey, who starts an NGO with overtly selfish goals?), are actually not meeting the people's needs, or are too fragmented to make a cohesive difference.  Are for-profit businesses the solution?  Regardless of the initiative, I would like to see more Haiti-based organizations (for-profit, non-profit, or whatnot), since hundreds of outside aid agencies are currently doing work in the capital but so few are homegrown.  Maybe this accounts for the people's sense that they are being "occupied" (with unfortunate parallels with war situations like Iraq).  What will happen, then, when they leave?

Although I still am interested in doing further work on the rubble project Diana and I were working on for the IDEAS competition, I'm hoping it can actually be of actual use rather than a student's project being implemented for academic credentials...which sometimes ends up being the unfortunate case for these types of projects.  I'm still not sure how I should move forward with it, but hopefully will get some insight soon.

My cousin David (or "cuz") was recently in Port-au-Prince and Leogane, building temporary housing with the Christian missions organization, Samaritan's Purse.  So even though the city may be NGO-weary, at least there is still good to come from the efforts, even on a small scale for individuals.

 - - -

Note : Just came across this particular post about local Haitians' skeptical interactions with NGOs, with a reference to a recent This American Life episode.  I agree that NPR has a great way of tackling large issues like foreign aid with bottom-up stories of individual lives.  If I ever go into journalism, I would definitely use them and the deadpan Ira Glass as a model.

Still on the mind

via the UN / Associated Press

It was over 3 months ago, but the rebuilding continues. I was reminded this weekend to keep praying - not simply for my role within all the scattered efforts, which is such a small piece, but for

the people.
The country.
Healing.
Uplifting.
God's work to be done in Port-au-Prince.

It was written for a different context, but the Irish band Bluetree's song, "God of This City" (later covered by Chris Tomlin - check this out for the story behind its penning) seems very relevant, especially the line:

greater things have yet to come,
greater things are still to be done in this city...

What exactly they are, I'm not sure - but I'm trusting in the One who has all things in the palm of His hand.

For more info about a potential project in Haiti, log into the MIT Global Challenge site and look up Rubble Rousers, formerly Foundations for Haiti. (And vote if you feel compelled!) More on that soon...

Small change = steps for justice

(via notmartha.org)

Christians are slowly getting out of their stereotyped pigeon hole of being right-wing supporters of the status quo and are being recognized for fervent work on global justice. Diana forwarded me this recent Nicholas Kristof piece called "Learning from the Sin of Sodom," mentioning World Vision as the largest U.S. based international relief and development organization and calling for more cooperation among liberals and evangelicals (and everyone in between) to bring about justice. Although this is a small step of recognizing Christian organizations' work, it's an important one that builds bridges rather than points fingers.

Steps have also been made on our campus. Last month, a bunch of fellowships on campus - lead by Jesus for Justice (J^2) - banded together to continue campus awareness about Haiti's needs and raise money for sustained relief. In total, we raised an awesome $1033.50 donated to World Vision and Partners in Health, resulting from collections of loose change and private donations.

The photo above is sadly not of the massive number of coins we collected, but you get the idea. These were heavy to lug to the bank, though, and were mainly counted in Jasmine's dorm. According to this site on coin distribution, a pound of coins amounts to about $12.96, although I feel like ours was a bit less, since people have a tendency to donate dimes, nickels, and pennies while saving their quarters for laundry or meters.

In any rate, this collection was super encouraging and challenged my notions about provision, and how faithfulness in the small things can multiply into big change (pun intended). It also reminded me to remember those with little or nothing and who could be helped by our abundance.