When I first arrived in Haiti a few weeks ago, I had settled in my house for just a few hours before it overwhelmingly seemed that the rest of Haiti was settling into my house as well. I was tired from my flights that began at 6am and had just experienced the initial shock of driving through the streets of Port-au-Prince. All I wanted to do was unpack and relax for the night. As I shifted my stuff from suitcase to closet, however, I heard the beating of a drum and the chatter of unrecognizable conversation downstairs. Before I knew it there were about 5 or 6 Haitians hanging out in the living room with my roommate. To give some background, my roommate Ben had already been here for a month before I arrived, and having spent a year living in “Little Haiti” in Miami, he speaks fluent Kreyol. Not surprisingly this has given him the ability to get to know a lot of people down here and foster a lot of friendships with Haitians around our age. I was excited to meet new people and we spent the night trying to parse out sentences of mixed languages. It was the cultural interaction I had been yearning for since my months in Namibia—and it was so fun!
The thrill of fresh faces, however, wore off rather quickly after a few days or so as I failed to understand about 95% of the words coming out of their mouths. “I don’t speak Kreyol!”, I was thinking as they continued to talk to me despite my obvious blank stares in response, “Doesn’t anyone here speak English?”. It was all too much. These Haitians (or at least 1 or 2 at a time) were over at our house every night. By some sixth sense, they magically appeared about 10 minutes after we got home from work—whether we arrived at 3:30 or 6:00pm. Could I just get some privacy in my own house? Could I just have a conversation completely in English without having to stutter over words and sentences lost in translation? Could I at least understand the jokes that everyone else in the room was laughing at?
Many of you probably got an earful (or an email-ful) describing the overwhelming nature of my first few days here. I was frustrated with a lot of things, almost all of which had nothing to do with my new Haitian friends. It was the Kreyol…the heat…the safety…the job. But I also think I placed some blame on the visitors to my house. I wish I had seen in the first few days, like I do now, just how important these people would become! These locals have become my lifeline to survival in Haiti, my means of learning a new language, my understanding of a culture, and what looks to be my great friends for the coming year.
These new Haitian friends, despite the conversational barrier, quickly took me under their wing. They showed me around the markets and helped me barter for food. They spent the time to speak slowly so that I could begin to learn the language. They explained the history and people of Haiti, growing a vital background knowledge required for my success here. One of them, a musician named Godson, even calmed down would-be muggers, forming a human shield between me and two teens trying to get the cell phone out of my pocket. Yves, another friend, cooks us dinner every-so-often with his delicious Haitian recipes. The craziest part for me, though, is just how much I think we understand each other despite my shaky Kreyol and their piecemeal English.
All of this goes to show just how important relationships are in forming a better, more true understanding of the world around us. It’s easy to travel or live somewhere while separating ourselves from other people. We get comfortable in our bubble. But it’s amazing what you stand to gain (and to give) when we branch out and form relationships. Whether it be making friends in a foreign country or simply bonding with other cultures and races in the United States, it’s always a little awkward at first. Neither party quite grasps the intentions of the other. But with some time (or maybe more quickly than we think), we always find we have more in common than we thought. We destroy stereotypes. And more than anything, we simply enjoy each other’s company.
I look forward to the next year with my new Haitian friends. We’ve already begun to debate politics and religion and music and so many other topics that I similarly discuss with my American friends. Excitingly, Godson is teaching me drum lessons throughout the year, with the hope that I’ll eventually play in his band for a few shows. My Kreyol is improving quickly. And now when I walk downstairs in the afternoon to hear the chatter of the living room, I smile knowing that my struggling through the words is synonymous with progress and a greater connection with the country where I’m living.
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