Buttons, Diplomats and Carafes..

I almost added guns to the title, but...

I have just returned from breakfast on my fourth working day at our Save the Children office in Haiti. As I approached the elevator to rise to my room, I had to side-step a couple of UN gentleman in full battle gear; the goggled helmets, automatic weapon - the regalia. I have no critical comment here, but I was in the delightful throes of a full pot of delicious Haiti coffee and the run or flight reflex needed no priming at that moment You never no what you might encounter in life, but isn't something different nice, especially as content to tell others?

When I returned to my room on Tuesday, I was surprised that my laundry was back from submitting it that morning. Well, there was two identical, not one, exquisitely typed (not computer-generated, letters on water-marked stationary neatly enclosed in hotel stationary laid on my desk. The writer curtly stated that one of my shirts had been damaged by a machine and that the body was being returned for my disposal and I was being credited five times the laundry charge. Ha! I got them, They over-credited me by three times the original price of the shirt obtained from El Salvador three years ago. Actually I loved that powder blue (my favorite color (hence my consulting business name, SixBlue Data)guyavera as it is called. It is the traditional latin american businessman's shirt, very comfortable. Well, if that is the worst that happens on this trip....

Oh, regarding laundry. I recall a Warner Bros. Looney Tunes cartoon from the 1930's peering into a laundry service. After (significant this) the washing and ironing, there was an individual with a hammer smashing the buttons on each shirt that rolled upon a conveyor in front of him. I guess if your shirts buttons escaped unscathed then the button-smasher had missed his quota that day. Well, it seems that the button smasher got laid off or replaced by an inefficient optical-targeting system. But nowadays, they insert insidious little tags identifying your room number ot obtensiously ensure return to the owner. I must reveal myself here, it was several trips abroad before I began to discover these irritating tags placed at strategic points in order to cause a welt on ones' body over time (neck, waistband...and other locations) The tags can be as innocuous as a tiny strip of that medical adhesive tape (remember, it came in curiously enclosed metal rolls?) , or worse yet a small piece of cardboard attached to your underwear waistband with a pointed tie-wrap. I recall discovering these adhesive strips on the inside of each of my socks after my third or fourth trips overseas. After examining each of my clothes for their removal, I began to understand why I had grown increasingly grumpy in the last few months - you would too!

This hotel is overrun with high level diplomats, VIPS. My Save the Children ride does not show up until a little before 9AM each morning, but I always excitedly run out there to watch everyone depart for their days' activities. Of course, the proper persons always stand within the marble foyer waiting for their Mercedes SUV to arrive. As for me, I stand outside adjacent to the circled driveway near the parking attendants (a lot more friendly group once they accept you as a blan (this took a couple mornings of friendly greetings and surprised handshakes with them). But from my posted angle I was able to have a view of the VIP's shouting at the drivers and attendents for their vehicle being late (it got there when it got there), the slightly visible holstered huge pistols inside the drivers coat as he jumped out to open the door. My favorite was, since my vehicle left after the majority of vehicles had departed (I only had 1/4 mile to go, but was advised not to walk it for security reasons), the increasingly angry VIPs pacing further and further out into the arrival zone as my attendant friends amused themselves over the pacing.

Also over time, I had met my glum waiter at breakfast. This is the gentleman who and I wrestled momentarily over the carafe of delicious Haitian coffee i had absconded with from a nearby table last year on my prior visit. I had mentally wrestled with this incident since, and had planned to approach it in a more humane manner on this visit. On my first breakfast morning here, I had be-friended the sub head waiter and now when I approached the breakfast area and gained his eye, I just motioned with my two hands in a vertical position, palms horizontal, separated by the approximate height of the small treasure of a carafes' dimensions. If I was early enough, we would have a chance to talk with our synthesized English (his) and French (mine). But, on Tuesday, after requesting a small carafe as I whisked through the area on the way to my balcony table, it was delivered by my uncooperative waiter from last year. We recognized each other. He then, instead of placing the carafe on my table after pouring the tiny cup full of coffee, he turned to leave with my carafe (possessive, aren't I?). I raised my eyebrows and stated, "Un moment, monsieur". The monsieur appellation caught him off guard, since I have not heard anyone call a servant/waiter by this entitlement. Her paused, and looked my way, then I met his eye and said, "Ici, por favor". Well, he tried to hold back his mirth, but let out a chuckle that I had combined both French and Spanish in my desperate attempt to not have that carafe depart from my presence. He returned it and I did my best to thank him in the proper linqua franca (I should learn Creole!).

The truth of this matter is that this young man is likely constantly harassed and demanded upon by guests even more rude than myself. He is also at the bottom of the hotel economic caste level (although he has a significant employment opportunity compared ot the rest of Haiti). Also, he probably has a wife and young children, or at least, an elderly mother. And based on his age, he has likely observed first hand atrocities that I have only read about. Coffee is not very important.

Also, one of the significant accomplishments of this trip on a personal level. I have become highly respectful of all, and I mean all, of the Save the Children vehicle drivers I have met. Never once has a Save staffer allowed me to sit anywhere other than the front passenger seat on our long, bumpy rides. I have tried, but always routinely get kicked out of the rear seat where usually three staffers crunch in. I am told that I need ot be comfortable and to have a good view of the country side. I suspect that it is so that i will not get carsick and ruin the trip. No, everyone is so thankful for my showing up (thanks Lee, Ed, Vicki). But these drivers are real professionals, and i ma amazed at their skill. There are drivers that I will never forget, and what a relief to see one holding the sign at the airport after a 10 hour flight.

Well, here in Haiti, I have been able ot ride the short distance with Anon, my driver who drove us for three days over the roughest roads I have ever experienced in the world. Anon, inexplicably, never warmed up, even after hours of sitting next to him. Last year, I attempted to gain his friendship by offering small gratuities e.g. ensuring that I leaned my head back in the car so he could see the approaching ox cart (this was definitely self serving), or pouring his coffee at breakfast before mine. He would have none of this and for those three days he never turned his head towards me or met my glance. I was knowingly peeved at his spurning of my advances, but I also realized that he knew no English, and i am aware of how this dispense one towards not engaging in communication. also, he was, by nature, to just drive and had probably been strongly admonished not to speak to passengers (my rationalization for him).

Anyway, Anon picked me up at the hotel, and I was met with the same indifferent gaze. On my alighting from the vehicle, I did my best to tell him that i felt that he was a professional driver and that he had always made me feel safe. I had spoken this to him before in broken French. Well that afternoon, I found myself standing next ot Anon during a hosted lunch in the garden honoring our Save the Childre CEO, Charlie McCormack (another story) who had arrived with an Alliance group. Anon actually smiled at me and Roseval asked to take our picture with my PDA camera. Anon replied with a surprisingly enthusiastic, "Oui". Anon threw his arm around my shoulder, pulling me in and leaned his head against my shoulder as Roseval took the picture. Unfortunately, the thumb was obscuring the lens (lack of training). So, once again, I had been wrong. My smallish rants had been just that, small. I have a lot more ot learn, and thankful for the opportunity to learn more, not about others, but myself.