Limonad

Market day in Limonad, the small town which is now my home in Haiti.

Exchanging the morning gossip. The "taxi moto" and the market-woman carrying her goods on her head are ever-present symbols of rural Haiti.

As far as I know, I am the only foreigner living in Limonad, which makes me quite conspicuous. An American student stayed in the town for a few months last summer, and people often ask me if I know him. Since he was black, I was quite surprised when one of my neighbours refered to him as "Lòt blan ki sanble ou" ("the other white guy who looks like you"). Haitian people often tell me that all blans (which can mean either "white people" or "foreigners") look alike.

Limonad is on the main road between Okap (or Cap-Haïtien), Haiti's second city, and the border with the Dominican Republic. That means that the road you can see in this photo is a major arterial route - a constant stream of trucks bump along it, piled high with goods entering Haiti, and with migrant workers leaving. Considering that volume of traffic, this road is in horrifically bad condition. The stretch of road in the photo still has some asphalt left - but for most of its length, it is just a narrow dusty track.

The furthest place I travel to work is Wanament, on the Dominican border. Wanament is less than 50 km from Limonad, but the journey can sometimes take several hours. Following a light rain shower one day this week, large stretches of the road turned into muddy puddles, deep enough for small vehicles to become bogged down.

The amount of wasted time (not to mention the extreme discomfort) which Haitian people spend bumping along this country's roads is shocking. A few decent roads would make a huge difference to people in this country, by helping them to get their goods to market more cheaply and easily. There appears to be some hope of change: the European Union has recently agreed to fund development of this road, and surveyors have already started work. The new president, René Préval, appears to view road-building as a priority. But in the meantime, I am not looking forward to travelling during the coming rainy season.

Last weekend was a big festival in Limonad, with music, dancing, food, football matches, and (essential at all Haitian parties) loud konpa music which continued for most of Sunday night. Unfortunately nobody was able to explain to me the significance of this dance routine - with children dressed as police officers carrying plastic swords - but it was fun anyway.


This photo is not from Limonad at all, but I like it anyway. This is Monsieur Joseph, father of my friend Toussaint, from Lachapèl in the central region of Haiti.