Bonjou zanmi!
We're settling into the swing of a hot and busy summer here. May brought Mother's Day, June brought my birthday and Father's Day, July will bring Eisley's birthday, Gloria's Haitian Creole boot camp, and a trip to see K again! We are missing our little love like crazy, so have booked a (very quick) trip back to Haiti at the end of July. We'll again stay at the creche, wake up with the roosters, and spend the days playing, cuddling, and feeding K snacks. (This is the current way to her heart and one of many reasons why I know she is my girl.)
I'm counting down the days until we get to squeeze her again, and I admit that (among many emotions) I'm feeling nervous. How much will she recognize or remember us? Will we have to rebuild our connection from scratch, and spend the entire trip working to reestablish trust and comfort? Will the nannies continue to laugh at our poor attempts at Creole? (Just kidding. This one is a given, and that is okay. We're working on it.)
I realized that in the midst of our busy days, I've fallen off the blogging train. I've even had a draft percolating since we came home from our bonding trip last December about some of day to day experiences in Haiti. In all honesty, it took so much energy and emotion to process the experience, let alone refine it into consumable words, that I've not been able to go back and finish that particular draft. However, in thinking about actually being back in country again, I wanted to dust it off.
-------------------------------------
If you want to put yourself back into the scene again, go back to Our Bonding Trip: The Arrival and Our Bonding Trip: Connecting with K.
A few memories from how we passed the days on our bonding trip last year:
As we settled into the creche, it took some time for us to find a routine or sense of normalcy. Two weeks is a long time to be in one place, let alone in a small orphanage tucked away on a remote mountainside in Haiti. The surrounding area was breathtaking. We had a small deck behind our bedroom with just enough space for two chairs and a table that overlooked the mountain and surrounding foothills. During the kid's nap time or when the sun went down, Justin and I spent time sitting here, decompressing. Reading, writing, listening to music or podcasts, or just gazing down at the valley below, it was a small space away from the chaos of the day.
In the morning, children who lived in small shacks in the valley climbed up the hillside to walk to school. Goats grazed on the brambles here throughout the day. In the evenings, the sounds of parties drifted up the mountainside, bonfires crackling.
After waking in the mornings, we took turns running (almost literally) through the cold, slimy shower. The bathroom was fed by a water reservoir above the building, and at times it collected a thick, dark green algae. On lucky days, the trickle of shower water slowed more than usual, and unexpectedly spit out chunks of algae. A free spa experience!
We were fed our meals away from the children in the classroom that overlooked the playfield. Typically we ate before the kids, so as soon as we'd downed our food, we would hurry back to K's room and help with the feeding/entertaining/dressing. (Really, we tried to assist with whatever we could, however we could insert ourselves.) During our first week in the creche, K was still in the infant/waddler room, so the help seemed mildly appreciated. During our second week, when she moved into the toddler/preschool-aged room, the little ones were expected to feed themselves. It was challenging to watch this transition, from no autonomy (in fact, they were discouraged from using their own utensils in the littles room, perhaps because of how slow and messy it was, and it was hard for me to adapt to that) to total autonomy at meal time.
We passed the days with K and the other children playing and sitting, mostly on the play field. Once K was semi-comfortable with us, we scooped her up and spent a couple of hours with just her in the classroom space. This allowed us some time away from the fray of all of the children, connecting with her individually in a quiet space. It was clear at first that she was not sure yet how to play. Blocks, crayons, playdough - it all seemed foreign. This was a good reminder to us that in this environment, with so many children and only so many hands to go around, one-on-one learning time was just not possible. But with some time and patience, we saw the most incredible strides, even to the point where she could mimic us pushing a paintbrush around on a canvas or stacked up blocks and then gleefully crashed them down, like any other two year old. Each activity lasted mere minutes, but each minute of play gave us a tantalizing peek into her growing, hungry, capable brain. On a few of the days, she was overly tired and not interested in playing, and I was able to rock her to sleep. I feel teary now thinking about her napping in my arms, her soft snores and hot breath on my neck. These are the delicious moments.
After she grew bored with us, and our small bag of snacks was not enough to distract any longer, we'd take K down to the field where the other children were sitting or playing. I may have mentioned it before, but this had been built not long before we arrived, and it is an integral space for them to play safely together. I can hardly imagine what they did before it was there, and feel so grateful for all of the hard work others put into creating this space. The kids were down there for many hours each day, and the first few days moved slowly. Then, we learned to bring down a bag of big legos, blocks, and soft toys from the classroom space and dump them on the field. The first day or two, this led to total chaos: they did not know how to share or play together. But, kids are remarkably smart, and they soon learned to (mostly) disperse the toys and the bags they'd come down in. These, a small tricycle, and a couple of soccer balls passed the afternoons in the sunshine. K would usually sit contentedly on or near one of us, hoarding a pile of legos, and screeching when friends tried to take them from her. I think I was chanting pataje (share) and pa jete (do not throw) in my sleep.
Lunch was served, and the littles were quickly put down for naps. Sadly, there was very little play time between nap, dinner, and bedtime, but we found spaces of time that we could slip in and be silly with the kids, or bring K outside of her room to play with us and a few soft books in the setting light.
When the noise of the children crying became overwhelming, we would leave the creche grounds for our daily walk. I'm not a great estimate of distance, but our walks took us over the winding, pothole littered roads back to the main road; maybe 30 minutes each way? Part of our walk was dusty and desolate, part of it was verdant and populated. We'd practice our Bonjou! or Bonswa! as we passed groups of children in their school uniforms, families sitting outside of their small homes, or motorbikes taxiing passengers to and fro. More than once, brave school children darted out to practice their English with us. One afternoon, a little girl clamped onto my hand and held on, staring up at me with wide eyes down the long path home, while her two girlfriends stared and giggled. We were clearly a foreign sight, a novelty, and it was humbling.
We got into a regular routine of walking down the mountain to a particular bend in the road where we could pause and sit on the wall built next to the road and look down over the valley and all of Port au Prince. It was gorgeous. At times we could watch fog and clouds roll over the hillside, shrouding the city. We could almost taste the precipitation hovering in the air. I don't think I would have made it through the two weeks without these walks that broke up our days and allowed us some respite together.
On the second week of the trip, when the second couple came to the creche, we'd sometimes walk together. The wife of this duo has spent time working in Haiti, and was much more comfortable in making her way around. On our treks, we wandered by what appeared to be a small store front, a small wooden building with items stacked on shelves. Outside, locals often sat around tables or a small grill, drinking and throwing dice. With her additional knowledge and confidence, our new friend recognized that we could purchase bottles of dusty, cold Prestige, the local beer, from the shop. Amusingly, one evening, we had dinner at the director's home, and director L slyly mentioned that he'd heard we had enjoyed a Prestige the prior evening. "I have eyes everywhere." he commented and laughed.
-------------------------------------
Baby girl, we know from the few pictures we've seen that you are growing and changing every day. We miss you so, and will be there soon. Nou renmen ou, manman ak papa
We're settling into the swing of a hot and busy summer here. May brought Mother's Day, June brought my birthday and Father's Day, July will bring Eisley's birthday, Gloria's Haitian Creole boot camp, and a trip to see K again! We are missing our little love like crazy, so have booked a (very quick) trip back to Haiti at the end of July. We'll again stay at the creche, wake up with the roosters, and spend the days playing, cuddling, and feeding K snacks. (This is the current way to her heart and one of many reasons why I know she is my girl.)
I'm counting down the days until we get to squeeze her again, and I admit that (among many emotions) I'm feeling nervous. How much will she recognize or remember us? Will we have to rebuild our connection from scratch, and spend the entire trip working to reestablish trust and comfort? Will the nannies continue to laugh at our poor attempts at Creole? (Just kidding. This one is a given, and that is okay. We're working on it.)
I realized that in the midst of our busy days, I've fallen off the blogging train. I've even had a draft percolating since we came home from our bonding trip last December about some of day to day experiences in Haiti. In all honesty, it took so much energy and emotion to process the experience, let alone refine it into consumable words, that I've not been able to go back and finish that particular draft. However, in thinking about actually being back in country again, I wanted to dust it off.
-------------------------------------
If you want to put yourself back into the scene again, go back to Our Bonding Trip: The Arrival and Our Bonding Trip: Connecting with K.
A few memories from how we passed the days on our bonding trip last year:
As we settled into the creche, it took some time for us to find a routine or sense of normalcy. Two weeks is a long time to be in one place, let alone in a small orphanage tucked away on a remote mountainside in Haiti. The surrounding area was breathtaking. We had a small deck behind our bedroom with just enough space for two chairs and a table that overlooked the mountain and surrounding foothills. During the kid's nap time or when the sun went down, Justin and I spent time sitting here, decompressing. Reading, writing, listening to music or podcasts, or just gazing down at the valley below, it was a small space away from the chaos of the day.
In the morning, children who lived in small shacks in the valley climbed up the hillside to walk to school. Goats grazed on the brambles here throughout the day. In the evenings, the sounds of parties drifted up the mountainside, bonfires crackling.
After waking in the mornings, we took turns running (almost literally) through the cold, slimy shower. The bathroom was fed by a water reservoir above the building, and at times it collected a thick, dark green algae. On lucky days, the trickle of shower water slowed more than usual, and unexpectedly spit out chunks of algae. A free spa experience!
We were fed our meals away from the children in the classroom that overlooked the playfield. Typically we ate before the kids, so as soon as we'd downed our food, we would hurry back to K's room and help with the feeding/entertaining/dressing. (Really, we tried to assist with whatever we could, however we could insert ourselves.) During our first week in the creche, K was still in the infant/waddler room, so the help seemed mildly appreciated. During our second week, when she moved into the toddler/preschool-aged room, the little ones were expected to feed themselves. It was challenging to watch this transition, from no autonomy (in fact, they were discouraged from using their own utensils in the littles room, perhaps because of how slow and messy it was, and it was hard for me to adapt to that) to total autonomy at meal time.
We passed the days with K and the other children playing and sitting, mostly on the play field. Once K was semi-comfortable with us, we scooped her up and spent a couple of hours with just her in the classroom space. This allowed us some time away from the fray of all of the children, connecting with her individually in a quiet space. It was clear at first that she was not sure yet how to play. Blocks, crayons, playdough - it all seemed foreign. This was a good reminder to us that in this environment, with so many children and only so many hands to go around, one-on-one learning time was just not possible. But with some time and patience, we saw the most incredible strides, even to the point where she could mimic us pushing a paintbrush around on a canvas or stacked up blocks and then gleefully crashed them down, like any other two year old. Each activity lasted mere minutes, but each minute of play gave us a tantalizing peek into her growing, hungry, capable brain. On a few of the days, she was overly tired and not interested in playing, and I was able to rock her to sleep. I feel teary now thinking about her napping in my arms, her soft snores and hot breath on my neck. These are the delicious moments.
After she grew bored with us, and our small bag of snacks was not enough to distract any longer, we'd take K down to the field where the other children were sitting or playing. I may have mentioned it before, but this had been built not long before we arrived, and it is an integral space for them to play safely together. I can hardly imagine what they did before it was there, and feel so grateful for all of the hard work others put into creating this space. The kids were down there for many hours each day, and the first few days moved slowly. Then, we learned to bring down a bag of big legos, blocks, and soft toys from the classroom space and dump them on the field. The first day or two, this led to total chaos: they did not know how to share or play together. But, kids are remarkably smart, and they soon learned to (mostly) disperse the toys and the bags they'd come down in. These, a small tricycle, and a couple of soccer balls passed the afternoons in the sunshine. K would usually sit contentedly on or near one of us, hoarding a pile of legos, and screeching when friends tried to take them from her. I think I was chanting pataje (share) and pa jete (do not throw) in my sleep.
Lunch was served, and the littles were quickly put down for naps. Sadly, there was very little play time between nap, dinner, and bedtime, but we found spaces of time that we could slip in and be silly with the kids, or bring K outside of her room to play with us and a few soft books in the setting light.
When the noise of the children crying became overwhelming, we would leave the creche grounds for our daily walk. I'm not a great estimate of distance, but our walks took us over the winding, pothole littered roads back to the main road; maybe 30 minutes each way? Part of our walk was dusty and desolate, part of it was verdant and populated. We'd practice our Bonjou! or Bonswa! as we passed groups of children in their school uniforms, families sitting outside of their small homes, or motorbikes taxiing passengers to and fro. More than once, brave school children darted out to practice their English with us. One afternoon, a little girl clamped onto my hand and held on, staring up at me with wide eyes down the long path home, while her two girlfriends stared and giggled. We were clearly a foreign sight, a novelty, and it was humbling.
We got into a regular routine of walking down the mountain to a particular bend in the road where we could pause and sit on the wall built next to the road and look down over the valley and all of Port au Prince. It was gorgeous. At times we could watch fog and clouds roll over the hillside, shrouding the city. We could almost taste the precipitation hovering in the air. I don't think I would have made it through the two weeks without these walks that broke up our days and allowed us some respite together.
On the second week of the trip, when the second couple came to the creche, we'd sometimes walk together. The wife of this duo has spent time working in Haiti, and was much more comfortable in making her way around. On our treks, we wandered by what appeared to be a small store front, a small wooden building with items stacked on shelves. Outside, locals often sat around tables or a small grill, drinking and throwing dice. With her additional knowledge and confidence, our new friend recognized that we could purchase bottles of dusty, cold Prestige, the local beer, from the shop. Amusingly, one evening, we had dinner at the director's home, and director L slyly mentioned that he'd heard we had enjoyed a Prestige the prior evening. "I have eyes everywhere." he commented and laughed.
-------------------------------------
Baby girl, we know from the few pictures we've seen that you are growing and changing every day. We miss you so, and will be there soon. Nou renmen ou, manman ak papa
