Raging Rues and Clean Kids

The old adage “When It Rains, It Pours” certainly is true in Haiti. I could be talking metaphorically about how when something bad happens (like world food prices spiking), it is much worse in Haiti (people starve to death). But, in this case, I’m talking literally. Lately when Mother Nature has decided to open her skies, she doesn’t just pull the drain plug—she dumps the whole bathtub on us. The last few days have seen some amazing downpours which have been both welcome and interesting.

They are welcome mainly due to the fact that it cools the 95 degree heat down for a little while—plus I just like to watch and play in the rain (yes, I know I’m 23 years old). Sunday night I was with some friends across town at a Haitian rap concert (Barikad Crew, in case you want to check the band out) when the deluge decided to unleash itself. I learned two things from that night: 1) Haitians avoid rain like the plague—hiding in houses, under overhangs, and cramming into restaurants and stores. 2) The only thing more interesting than a white guy walking down the street is two white guys running across town in a torrential downpour. With more than enough stares to last the rest of my time here, we finally arrived home about 20 minutes after the rain started—soaked, yet sufficiently satisfied to get in some good puddle-jumping.

But the rain is also interesting because it’s such a contrasting force of good and evil here in Haiti. Today, I was lucky enough when the rain started to be at the Insurance Company’s office on the other side of Port-au-Prince from Fonkoze and my house. I was waiting for my driver to pick me up when I saw the black clouds billowing over the mountains to the southeast, a sure sign that we were about to get slammed. After about thirty minutes of heavy rain, Roland finally arrived with the car and we set off for the usual short drive back to Fonkoze. I’d never gotten to drive through the streets during the storms and I was amazed at what I saw.

First, the massive amounts of water were incredible. To give you some background, most of Port-au-Prince lies at the base of the interior mountain ranges. On the other side of the city is the ocean. With that in mind, you might be able to grasp how all the water flows downhill engulfing many of the streets of the city. As I’ve mentioned in past posts, the stree ts are already filled with natural hazards like potholes and, well, super potholes. Add rushing water to this and you simply have craziness. While not all streets were completely flooded, many of the smaller roads we crawled up were gushing with torrents of trash-filled water often times covering the sidewalks and seeping into houses and stores. More than a few times our car was up to the bottom of the doors in water and we slowly eased our way between wading pedestrians still carrying merchandise on their heads and unknown asphalt drop offs below the muddy streams. All of this after about half an hour of downpours.

Now imagine last year when four major hurricanes hit Haiti—UNBELIEVEABLE! I can’t even comprehend how crazy things were in Port-au-Prince. And from many of the accounts I’ve heard, it is the rural areas which experience much greater devastation during storms as their mountainside foliage is all but completely deforested, causing mudslides and inundating entire villages with floodwater. Many parts of Haiti are essentially comparable to parts of New Orleans post-Katrina—minus the large number of recovery workers and aid dollars.

That is the evil side of rain.

On the other side, rain highlights the vibrancy and uniqueness of Haitian life. Although I mentioned above that many Haitians avoid the rain by finding the nearest shelter, today I saw just how important rain is to the people. As quick as the buckets of water started pouring from the sky, buckets were literally being placed under water runoff pipes—collecting as much of the precious liquid as possible. I even saw one girl who couldn’t have been more than 10 years old with her bucket balancing on her head while standing under the gushing overflow of a rooftop gutter. This water is then used to drink, to cook, to wash, to bathe, to flush toilets—to survive, basically.

Besides allowing Haitians to harness as much free water as possible, a rain storm means shower time! From children to teenagers, people were crowding under gutter pipes getting all soaped up and clean for the next day of classes. Trust me, water pressure is a luxury here. I get sick of having to scoop Tupperware containers of water from a bucket over my head each day to get clean, but at least I have a semi-bathtub in which to do it. If it weren’t for rain—and the subsequent rooftop runoff—showers are probably a pain in the neck for many Haitians. With a rainstorm, it’s like the cumbersome task of bathing meets the excitement of a waterpark. I almost wanted to get out there and slather on some Zest Body Wash.

So, alas, you can see how rain is both precious and dangerous at the same time—not to mention somewhat frustrating when you get home and your second floor room is filled with water from a leaky balcony door (but that’s another story that you don’t need to hear). Hopefully the pictures I posted above illustrate a little of my tale, but I think they’re largely insufficient. I guess pictures usually are. Nevertheless, it should be both exciting and interesting as we move further into storm season. Hurricanes and tropical storms are surely on the not-too-distant horizon (as I’m sure my meteorology friends from Valpo can attest). While I’m kind of eagerly anticipating experiencing my first Caribbean storm, I just hope that this year the weather spares the destruction of years past and that the the Haitian people can continue their colorful culture uninterrupted.