Real life
Last week, I gave in to pressure from Gerard, one of my young friends in Limonad, to let him have a go at taking photos with my camera. Of course, as soon as I looked away, he disappeared off down the road with it. But when I finally caught up with him later in the day, I was pleasantly surprised by the results. Along with countless photos of various girls that he is chasing, Gerard had managed to achieve what I have been trying to do for months: taking unposed photos of Haitian people doing normal things. These pictures are, I think, a better depiction of life in Haiti than any of the others I have posted so far.
This is what business means to many people in Haiti: a small stall outside their house, selling imported biscuits (cookies) or sweets to occasional passers-by. I don't know the woman in the photo, but a typical family will engage in a little commerce like this, and often will have a small patch of land too, with a few mango trees, sometimes other fruits, and perhaps some sugar cane. If they are lucky, they may also have a few animals: around Limonad, many people supplement their income by investing in a cow, and selling the milk each day to a yoghurt factory in the town. Perhaps the husband finds occasional work as a labourer, or driving a taxi moto, or perhaps he is working illegally in the Dominican Republic, sending a little money home when he has the chance. But all this does not add up to much income - and it will have to support a large extended family, including (usually) several children. It's not easy to make ends meet, even in a relatively prosperous town like Limonad.
Haiti is a poor country. Over the months, I have come to realise that poverty is not just about being hungry or not being able to the children's school fees (though there is plenty of that too). Haiti also suffers from a pervasive poverty of the spirit - people feel they have no opportunities, no hope that they will be able to make a positive change in their lives. Boredom is a fact of life here.
The bus station at Okap. We always refer to the half-dozen buses which serve the Okap-Limonad route by the names painted on them, almost as if they are individual personalities: Mon Rêve, Esaïh 59 v. 1, and (my favourite, though I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of travelling on it), the Limonadienne.
Okap bus station on a late Saturday afternoon: merchants are heading home to their towns and villages after a day buying and selling in the city. If only you could experience the heat and the intense smell of burning trash as well....
This is what business means to many people in Haiti: a small stall outside their house, selling imported biscuits (cookies) or sweets to occasional passers-by. I don't know the woman in the photo, but a typical family will engage in a little commerce like this, and often will have a small patch of land too, with a few mango trees, sometimes other fruits, and perhaps some sugar cane. If they are lucky, they may also have a few animals: around Limonad, many people supplement their income by investing in a cow, and selling the milk each day to a yoghurt factory in the town. Perhaps the husband finds occasional work as a labourer, or driving a taxi moto, or perhaps he is working illegally in the Dominican Republic, sending a little money home when he has the chance. But all this does not add up to much income - and it will have to support a large extended family, including (usually) several children. It's not easy to make ends meet, even in a relatively prosperous town like Limonad.
Haiti is a poor country. Over the months, I have come to realise that poverty is not just about being hungry or not being able to the children's school fees (though there is plenty of that too). Haiti also suffers from a pervasive poverty of the spirit - people feel they have no opportunities, no hope that they will be able to make a positive change in their lives. Boredom is a fact of life here.
The bus station at Okap. We always refer to the half-dozen buses which serve the Okap-Limonad route by the names painted on them, almost as if they are individual personalities: Mon Rêve, Esaïh 59 v. 1, and (my favourite, though I don't think I've ever had the pleasure of travelling on it), the Limonadienne.
Okap bus station on a late Saturday afternoon: merchants are heading home to their towns and villages after a day buying and selling in the city. If only you could experience the heat and the intense smell of burning trash as well....
posted by Rob at 10:21 pm
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