Konbit Pou Ayiti

Yesterday we had what I call a perfect Haiti experience. As I mentioned before, we are completing construction of a new kitchen, dining area and computer lab in the front of our house. The next step is the pouring of the floor, and before we could begin we needed a truck to deliver our cement. For over a week Joe and Guypson have been trying to track down the driver, pay him, and have him deliver the load.

After a very windy morning yesterday, we started to have sprinkles in Cyvadier, and about an hour later rain started to pound the village. We were still at the hotel when the rain began, but fearing the worst at our house (which is no where near waterproof!) we all ran through the rain to the car. On the road the water was already flooding potholes and rushing down the irrigation ditches, overflowing across the street in many places and trapping people in their houses.

Our driveway is a temporary affair that has been known to swallow many a truck during or after a heavy rain like the one we were experiencing. We all held our breath as we headed down towards the house, hoping that our truck wouldn’t get stuck. When we arrived we all stayed in the car a few minutes, waiting for the rain to let up for a second. As it became clear the rain wouldn’t be letting up, we ran in as fast as we could.

Not twenty minutes passed before we heard yelling and a truck engine straining in the driveway. Joe was the first to realize it was the cement truck, and as it came around the first bend we could clearly make out Guypson’s voice, telling the driver to stop and not come any further. It was too late already – the driver would not consider stopping and soon he was stuck in a deep rut a stone’s throw from the house.

The driveway is temporary and in terrible condition because the neighbors directly between our house and the road have refused to give us passage. According to Haitian law, when you sell a piece of your property you must grant passage to the buyer. Joe did not have this written into the contract when he bought the land and we have been paying the price ever since. When our neighbor to the west created a driveway to deliver materials to build her wall, we began driving on this same path and convinced the man who owns the land between the end of her driveway and the back of our house to let us cross his field.

It is far from ideal – not only is it someone else’s driveway, but where we turn to cross the field two irrigation ditches are in our path. Where we turn around at the back of our house is the edge of a field, currently filled with banana trees. We already knocked one of the trees over when turning around in the dark! We haven’t wanted to invest serious money in this driveway because of its temporary nature. Even after missing flights to Port-au-Prince, having several trucks get stuck, and traipsing through the mud in bare feet countless times, we haven’t done much to fix the problem.

Looking at the cement truck stuck next to a coconut tree, I couldn’t help but laugh a little. What stupidity had created this situation! You only need to look down the driveway from the street before you turn to know that this is a path you will not tread easily. Guypson was with the truck as it made it’s fateful decision, and he was begging the driver to wait one day, until the hot sun could come and dry the deep, thick mud. Convinced that making a go of it had better odds than waiting a day in terms of making his money, the driver rushed on in. Haitians are notorious gamblers, after all.

Guypson, Joe, our friend Michael, and several of our neighbors gathered around the truck, their pants rolled up to their knees. They began to push, becoming covered in the rich red soil from head to toe. After an hour the truck had been moved, mainly by the men’s physical force, back to the first turn in the driveway. At this point, a second driver replaced the first and the pushing began again. Halfway to the road the engine on the truck died.

Getting the truck stuck in the mud and having to push it all the way back to the road really should have been enough. But to make this a more extreme Haitian moment, after the engine turned off the original driver shamefully informed the group that his truck does not have a starter. He had masterfully kept the standard engine alive through nearly two hours of tug of war with the mud, but now the day was over.

Since then we have been engaged in an ongoing debate about how long it will be before the truck is moved. It will require a larger truck to come and pull it out, and in the meantime our truck can’t get out to the road. We can only hope that the driver will wager that he loses more money by leaving the car in our driveway than he will to have it towed!

Now I am going to put my shoes in a bag and walk barefoot to the street, where I will try to clean my feet in the irrigation canal, so I can get to the internet. I won’t be able to get the red stains off my feet for the next couple of days, and anyone in the know will immediately recognize me as an abitan, someone who lives out in the fields.