Let me tell you, I was not prepared for the way that Haitians eat. When I came, I was under the assumption that it could be a very long trip indeed if I didn't like Haitian food, so when I found that rice, beans, and cornmeal mush are actually entirely edible here, I was thrilled. I knew that, at least most of the time, I would be fine. Oh, how young and foolish I was (three weeks ago)! In truth, the things that eats away at me (pun very much intended) is the monotony. Would you like my menu for the next week? I can give it to you right now: five days of rice and beans, one day of cornmeal mush, and one day of cornmeal with with beans. All seven dishes served with some vegetables (onions, green peppers, the occasional tomato) in a beef or goat broth.
Now, I like the food here. I enjoy eating it, and I don't think I'll ever really get sick of it. But my entire body goes up in a frenzy when it even thinks of anything else. Chocolate? Cheese cake? Chocolate? Ice cream? Chocolate? My mouth waters like mad and my brain feels detached from my skull. I think I'm having a withdrawal from refined sugar. All this time, I thought staying away from coffee made me better than everybody else, but now I know that I was just as hooked as anybody.
But not for long!
One surprising result of my new diet is that I've lost weight. The complete lack of sugar and minimal fat content has combined with the fact that Haitians don't believe in snacks to nibble at my waistline. I found this out rather suddenly when Matthew, Jean's youngest son, informed me in his broken English that I should pull down my shirt. Oh. Good thing I brought belts.
I was, however, prepared for the driving here. A New York taxi cab seems tame compared to these drivers, and intersections (lacking stop lights, stop signs, etc) all look a moment away from a tragic accident, but it seems that the zen approach to driving that I developed in the States is serving me well. I figure if somebody is still alive after driving for a decade, they must be reasonably competent, so I should just buckle my seatbelt and go. The former part I have to omit, because Haitians don't believe in seat belts.
They do, however, believe in insect extermination. I have become a high-ranking hero--I'm sure I would be low-ranking deity by now if they were Hindu instead of Christian...thrice-accursed monotheism...--after discovering a particularly effective way to kill the local CODs (Cockroaches of Death). These two-inch monsters don't respond well to conventional methods such as insecticide or bricks; they outlive any normal attack and have a terrifying habit of playing dead so that when you pick them up (there aren't rubber gloves here, but a liberal amount of toilet paper works just as well) they suddenly squirm and fly away, leaving you in convulsions for as long as it takes you to remember that Men in Black was just a movie.
There isn't time for a night dining experience de jure after working all day, so instead we all have peanut butter sandwiches and go to bed. Because I have a habit of reading while I eat, a book I found called The Household Encyclopedia or something like that has become my supper companion. Reading cover to cover, it wasn't long before I stumbled upon the topic of "cockroaches." "To kill," it said, "put rubbing alcohol in a spray bottle and spray the cockroach. They will die quickly."
Now, The Household Encyclopedia was published some time in the 1800's--well, long enough ago that it uses drawings instead of photographs, anyway--but I didn't think cockroaches had changed much in the recent past so I dumped my bug spray that I never use anyway (apparently using DEET on Haitians bugs is the equivalent of using a water pistol for game hunting) into a water bottle (no comments please; I labeled it with a sticky note) and dumped a liberal amount of isopropyl into the spray bottle. Thus armed, I hunted for a cockroach.
It didn't take long. The little bugger (no pun intended) was in my bathtub--that's right, the one that doesn't have running water--and in my eyes it was as good as dead. I sprayed it twice for good measure and sat back to watch. It squirmed around and wiggled its legs and died just as it (and this is ironic) attempted to escape its unknown attacker by rolling over to play dead. Its tiny open circulatory system passed its last sensory input to its nerve bundle of a brain, and the tiny legs retracted in defeat, all hydrostatic pressure disappearing into the ether. It was touching.
I'll move on, since I'm sure most of you have a life outside of reading these updates. It's time for today's Haitian Creole!
Where is Beatrice Boulevard? : Ki kote via bulva Beatris yi? (key-kote-ay-wvee-ah-bool-vah
It is not here. : Se pa la. (Say-pah-lah) This literally means "is not here." The subject is implied,
I can see that : M'ka we sa. (mm-kah-way-sah) As you may recall, the "M" is a contraction of "mwen," meaning, "I." "Ka" is the verb for "can" ("kapab" is a longer form that means the same thing), and "sa" is a word meaning both "this" and "that."
If you are new to this newsletter and would like some background, please visit my blog, which contains an archive of all my updates. Here is my contact information:
Phone Number: 011-509-617-7720
Address for Letters: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, P.O. Box 407139, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Address for Packages: Pastor Jean Petit-Frére, 2525 NW 55 Court, Hangar #24, Ft. Lauderdale, Fl, 33340
Important: Remember to address it to "Paster Jean Petit-Frére" and put "Attn: Dan" on the back of the envelope or package. Thanks!
God Bless,
Dan
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