Corruption Aid

It is with the saddest heart and the greatest disappointment I present what purports to be a new school in Haiti.

When a shining star of a prominent and important public building done on behalf of the Ministry of Education to house the most vulnerable students in Port-au-Prince becomes a glorified cow shed and neglects to provide vital sanitation needs to the children it accommodates we are compelled to you ask the question "What went wrong?" 

The answer is a cataclysmic cluster of incompetence, corruption, apathy and ignorance coming together to make the perfect storm. 

Leadership in design and management being replaced by intense apathy by a Head of Mission whose sole purpose is to tick the "done" boxes for ignorant donors.

Donors with a lack of understanding to what construction actually requires, equating the handing out of buildings to a food drop from a plane. If it were the same this particular food box would have landed on the head of a one-legged orphan child.

Contractors who have zero interest in making their own country a place to prosper, who are driven solely by the desire to uphold the status quo of rich man good, poor man bad and make the quickest sickest buck possible. Contractors who have been quoted as dismissing the seismic issues that won't be relevant for another 100 years at which time you can rest assured their progeny won't be attending any diminutive education establishment in Haiti. 

Contractors chosen with the assistance of cosy, friendly, loquacious managers with strong political inclinations who are not afraid to side step the nebulous corruption policy consisting mainly of 7 low quality A4 clipart posters. 

Employees who actually care being disempowered and tarred with a brush of belligerence for seeking to push for higher results and expectations on behalf of those that can’t demand it for themselves. At times being removed from the equation entirely when quality over quantity is not the order of the day and attention to long term training and upskilling is an over-burden of an under-budgeted project.

The result of this Big Crunch of Development is a school that architecturally resembles an animal shelter, where the quality of workmanship can be guaranteed to degrade in two years; a splendid example of temporary building built for the price of permanence. A building that has changed so vastly that the alterations destroy the structural veracity to a point that the design can no longer promise safety in the event of an earthquake. A school absolutely bereft of sanitation for 900 primary children.

In essence the children for whom it was fought so hard to provide a better, safer and clean education environment might have been just as well off to remain within the crumbling walls or in the tents that they had to begin with. At least then they had somewhere to pee!

Some people should hang their heads in shame… but they won’t.

Zorbing though Haiti

Boing! Boing! Boing! Boi-oi-oi-oi-oi-oing!!! The ngomobile recklessly snakes it was through a sea of black. It cargo safely locked on the inside. Occasionally bumping into a local carrying 10 gallons of water on their head but carrying on regardless. Labelled security measures as opposed to a hit-and-run and quelling all semblance of innate humanity. This is how we manoeuvre through Haiti sometimes. Neglecting to fully engage with the people we hope to serve. 10 years ago I wrote a thesis manifesto about including the people we build for in architecture to the nth degree, yet now when we have this opportunity at our disposal we stand behind a collective fear of immersion.

Every so often our bubbly Zorb will find it’s was to the NGO Party Docking Station or compound. The only place the pre-programmed codes will allow the machine to hiss and squeal open. Pristine white blans emerge from their chrysalis to interact with other pristine white blans. Perhaps there are hidden cameras from the set of The Island hidden behind tropical banana trees observing our curious insular behaviour. Despite our shiny existence we still pale in immaculate cleanliness when compared with our Haitian counterparts who live in the river of dust and grime of the city yet remain unscathed.

We are not alone in our collective isolation booths. The fabled bourgeoisie have bullet proof steel reinforced Zorbs with tinted glass windows to obscure even more of the reality. I have been lucky to meet some people in the higher echelons of Haitian society who worry incessantly about the excess of green leaves in their staff prepared soups or worse travail over the ennui of life despite living in a world of complex abundant intrigue. Not wanting to accept that to change the fabric of Haiti they first have to change themselves and how they live. Why would you want to change a luxurious habit of a lifetime? Why would you want to know that people defecate in plastic bags because they have no other option? Why does anyone want to look upon problems from a place of blissful comfort? This is not a problem endemic to Haiti but true of home where I have just landed too. The only difference being the level of disparity makes the contract all the more stark. Bling! Bling! Bling!!!

I stopped at Saint Christophe last week, a mass graveyard created on the northern road out of Port-au-Prince following the earthquake.  It’s a remote monument to the pain people suffered, marked only by a small lonely sign on the road leading to the beaches of plenty. It’s was an ethereal desolate place to stop and remember what brought me to Haiti in the first place. Constant efforts are underway around the country to move forward, to rebuild, to forget, but our greatest steps forward are often taken with a firm desire not to repeat the mistakes of the past. There is suffering here in every black cross. Anguish made beautiful by voudou ritual and art; made beautiful by its place on a hillock overlooking the sea, made beautiful by its silence. The key is how you channel the pain productively - whether a heartbreaking song or a delicious tasting flapjack you can choose to use your hurt to create wondrous things.

And in Haiti WE are choosing to rebuild, create a new vision for the future. WE being everyone there right now making the efforts regardless of any perceived segregation. It’s time to burst the animated Zorb. It’s time to combine collective healing energy from every source. There is hope. You can begin to see the slow rise of the phoenix from the ashes and rubble as the good living souls push themselves forward on the strength of fond memories of the dead.

“The most authentic thing about us is our capacity to overcome, to endure, to transform, to love and to be greater than our suffering” - Ben Okri

Haitian Traditional Recipe for Disaster

• Take one freshly bankrupted French colony
• Remove all vegetation stalks through over farming
• Spinkle with a healthy serving of tryanical dictators
• Add 17 handfuls of Ton Ton Macoutes
• Shake well with a magnitude 7 earthquake until crumbling
• Mix in disease carrying UN troops
• Spread cholera throughout the mixture until golden brown
• Infuse with eau de Celestin and a drawn out corrupt election process
• Leave to bubble and simmer for months

This is the Haiti I experienced last year marinated with fear and frustation. Devastation hung heavy in the atmosphere. Lock downs were the plat du jour at the Architecture for Humanity maison and not everybody handled the pressure well.

Enter in, with trumpeting fanfare President Sweet Mickey, riding his bubble gum pink my little pony, defecating rainbows as he goes. Who cares if semi-naked is the new black, we have to rap to get money out of the ATM machine and new the new Haitian flag is cerise and white. We are ushering in a new era.

Already you can see the subtle manifestations of change with a new road all the way to work and a gleaming new sign at the end of our road. Hell by Irish standards he's just proven they've elected the right man for the job. Pot-hole politics at it's best.

In truth there is something different in the air though. It's small and almost intangible. Dare I call it hope. People have started to find a semblance of normality. The streets seem cleaner with less rubble. The animals seem to have found their way back to the garden. The stifling reigns of security have been loosened slightly. The man elected by the people for the ordinary people of Haiti has brought an element of contentedness with his big personality and left the bourgeoisie disgruntled. A favoured outcome of mine. Let's hope the shiny happy exterior puppet has the right people commanding the strings. Only time will tell...

And change is not just afoot on the broader scale. The Architecture for Humanity office has begun it's transition too with the aim to hand over as a fully Haitian operation in the next 18 months. The juxaposed condition of our work that if you have negotiated yourself out of this job you are doing it right. It's great to be working with local people who are flocking home to make their country a better place. If there were enough trees left post deforestation we just might be able to hear the winds of change rustling through them. Or maybe I am just being Optimist Prime today despite my stomach churning tropical disease - rum is tropical right?

In unrelated news. I nearly died - following a freak kamikazee dive-bomber hummingbird incident. Our clever feathered friend mistook the metal flower in my hair for the real deal and tried to pollinate my head. This is not a euphemism for anything. So if I can give you one piece of advice for the future it would be to not stand perfectly still EVER you are sitting duck for surprise natural attacks. And WEAR sunscreen.

If you still want to donate towards my time out here you can check out all my project details on www.lisainhaiti.com I will be working my sweet ass off (yes I still work out!) this week to get the bid package for my school out the door. Fingers, toes and eyes crossed.

Old Blogs: Uganda: Land of a Thousand Dogs

Five years ago I cried. Ok! I have cried approximately 473,451 times since then, a disturbingly large proportion of those attributed to Home and Away, but on this occasion, and at the risk of sounding trite, I was leaving Ghana after a 3 month life changing experience. It could have been even more life changing if the suspected “touch of the malaria” turned out to be more than malarias evil twin brother but thankfully/alas (delete as appropriate) I am still here to tell the tale!

And as I walked out into the sea of black faces in Entebbe airport the memories all came flooding back to me. Moments later, whizzing through the African night with the window down I will filled with an intense sense of belonging. Surrounded by the loud, vibrant and chaotic street-life of Uganda I felt at that moment I was exactly where I was meant to be in the world. In a strange way I felt like I was home.

Don't get me wrong there is a harrowing grief and hard underbelly to Africa where the majority of people struggle to survive in a land pillaged of natural resources and prolific in life-threatening disease but under this shadow of the proximity of death there emerges a personal freedom within the Ugandan people. When you are threatened by so much hardship maybe you have little choice but to appreciate every precious moment you are given. This is something we have lost here in the progressive Western world being bound to rules and obligations of commercialism, advertising, fashion or social acceptability. Africa puts your life in sharp focus and perspective. It trivialises our supposed troubles. If I were a doctor I would recommend a high dosage of Africa to all first world patients. Stat.

In welcome and celebration of the raucous Ugandan nights I fell asleep that first evening to the soothing orchestral cacophony of a thousand, potentially rabid, dogs. Perhaps the previous 17 hours of wakefulness aided the melody although the wolfhounds in the string section seemed particularly accomplished musicians.

The next day as I set out to experience the work of A-Z Children's Charity first hand I was again reminded of an openness, as children randomly grabbed my hand or climbed up my leg. A few hours later in stark contrast to this image I was present at a volunteer HIV testing day in the clinic. The clients are provided with pre and post test counselling and get their results within minutes of their blood test. As I was being talked through the clinical and efficient testing process someone pressed pause on the world as I stared at one random positive blue dot. How could something so seemingly innocuous, like watching the negative of film develop, have such detrimental consequences to somebody's life? What's even more disturbing is the nonchalance with which the patients seemed to face the news. Its unfathomable. We tried and failed to psychoanalyse the reaction. Perhaps with death so close at hand, HIV looming in your future is just another way it could happen. In any case I could postulate for hours (or pages) and I think it will still remain incomprehensible to me. With 7% positive results that day, one of which was a child, (more or less the national average) it was a poignant encounter, and my closest with the disease illustrating quite plainly the huge impact it has on Ugandan life. Although difficult to understand at least this step in getting tested gives people the option to take some sort of proactive response to their illness.

The rest of my journey was spent on my sustainable architects soapbox waxing lyrical about the potential magnificence of soil stabilised blocks and generally interrogating our unsuspecting Ugandan architects in an effort to create the best Paediatric clinic possible. Then retiring home to dance around the lethal, randomly exploding, electric shower and passing out in my fairy princess mosquito net enclave. I have, since returning, acquired a mosquito net for my bed here in Ireland so I can maintain the regal illusion.

I managed one wild night out on the town where I was allowed, nay, encouraged to take pictures of skimpily clad ladies, gyrating their buttocks for my general pleasure. Strangely I had not, as per past travelling track records, wandered into the local seedy brothel (I know it surprised me too) or if it was, it paraded under the guise of African Cultural Appreciation. Needless to say when they invited audience participation in the “Booty Celebration Dance” I was the first on stage taking out 3 drummers, a goat and the eye of a small child in the rush to get there.

A week however was not long enough to be invited to or through “All The Kings Roundabouts”! A roundabout fitted with two gates that are opened ONLY for the King who after a brief 10 minute wait is allowed to drive through it. All us other mere mortals are forced to drive around it without having to stop at all. It has got to be in the top ten “Best Worst Inventions Ever”. When I get those keys though I know I will have made it in Uganda. Given the dilapidated state of the gates I imagine some people have attempted the drive-through feat sans-keys. Perhaps pumped up on some hallucinogenic local palm wine they are convinced of their ability to drive through metal. I'll have 3 bottles please.

Suffice to say I loved my time in Uganda but let's be honest despite all the aforementioned the real reason I developed such an affinity with the country is that my bulbous ass looked decidedly normal sized over there!

Luv Aunty Travelling Lisa

PS The Plug: Seen as I am in my new job I am obliged to get you to check out A-Z Children's Charity projects and all the events we run on www.azkids.ie

Old Blogs: Dawn Chorus Mexico 02.11.06

There is nothing like it is there? Waking up early, dozing lightly and therapeutically listening to the little cheepy cheep of all those lovely happy birdies and if that is what I had experienced this morning I´m sure I would have been much more prepared for the 7 hour bus journey complete with 5 road blocks (the indigenous folk around here are having a bad day by the looks of things either that or balaclavas is the costume of choice for "The Day of the Dead" in this part of Mexico). But no Dawn Chorus Mexicano styley is more like an unexpected motor rally in the middle of the jungle and lasts a good two hours, give me a disorientated cock crowing any day. I think it goes something like this (if you have never heard a howler monkey you must imagine the roar as a supernaturally large dog who hasn´t been fed in 5 days and is seriously pissed!)

Big Chief Howler Monkey 1: Here lads check this out....(obscenely loud roar)
Smaller Subservient Howler Monkeys 1 thru 20: Laugh out loud...(20 simultaneous loud roars)
Big Chief Howler Monkey 2 (from the splinter breakaway faction down the road/trail): Thats rubbish you big girls blouse...(even louder obscenely loud roar)
Splinter Group Howler Monkeys 1 thru 40: Laugh out loud...
...well you get the picture. Its like some primeval burping competition. No need for the snooze button around here I tell you.

So that was this morning and if I keep going like this I am liable to break all former records for emailing drivel. I know this is probably heading straight for the junk folder anyway but I shall battle onwads and at least it will save me the hassle of actually writing a diary!

So thus far I have been on a speedy gonzalez tour of the central america and even manage three countries in as many days (Honduras, Guatemala and Belize) If I keep this up I should be home by Christmas! Feel free to buy me presents as a precuationary measure.

Honduras was lock-in central, if we didn´t get locked in to your pub it wasn´t worth going there. Jeff inadvertently invented the drink called the "Panty Ripper" (coconut rum and pineapple juice for you budding mixologists out there). Angie got nicknamed "$3" by a big rasta man called Homer, and not for the sordid reason you are thinking, but because she refused to pay anymore than that for anything. My diving (I was going to say was a complete wash out until I realise the horrendous pun) was a complete failure. I managed to get down to the bottom on my one and only dive being pretty much dragged by the instructor, I like to think it's because my natural flotation devices have increased so much since last I was here. But it all resulted in my getting Barra Trauma Syndrome or something to that affect. All I know is that I was a Grade 4 and Grade 5 equals burst ear drums or a hurricane.

So I did the only thing one can on a paradise island...nothing. I did show up diligently at the dive center every day to get my cheapest beers on the island though. Didn´t want the folks there missing me too much. And I had seen 3 turtles on the dive so it wasn´t all a loss. Myself and Angie then proceeded to Belize doing a beach crawl of Honduras along the way. Had to stop one night in a dodgy old navel town in Guatemala along the way where the sailors only legacy was a string of very seedy brothels so far my impression of Guatemala is low but I hear its just goreous so I´m willing to give it another go next week.

Caye caulker was "Unbelizeable" as de rasta men who inhabitat the island can´t resist telling you about 20 times a day. You would not "belize" it. I´m sorry for inflicting those upon you but I do not tell a lie they just can´t get enough of it! Anyway in Belize we had crabs. We were sitting in the hostel watching tv and the next thing three crabs run across the floor just in front of us.The scared the bejesus out of us at first but you got used to the pitter patter on tiny claws as the night wore on. I found them quite good company in the end, like a hard slightly vicious but companionable dog.

The first night we went out and despite staying away from the lizard juice we ended up in the bar (the sunny place for shady people) for about 10 hours. We were there so long the staff even ordered in Chinese for us. That is where we met our new and very promiscious rasta friend Ross Creek who couldn´t help regale us with stories of all the naked lesbians he had on the boat. So naturally we chose him as our tour guide for the next day to go snorkelling on the reef. He had us swimming with sharks and taking obligatory pictures of us holding sting rays which are very placid friendly creatures so I really don´t know where poor Steve Irwin went so wrong. Sometimes they could be a little too friendly as the other tour guide ended up with a hickey on his stomach from where one of them bit him but I´m sure they were just playing! Much like when Tequila (the puma) used to wrestle me to the ground and bite the backs of my legs all in the name of fun. I also thought I would be terrified if I saw a shark but I got my directions all wrong and ended up swimming AFTER it instead of away. Note to self "Sharks have giant very sharp teeth". Our 5 days in Belize passed in a blur of going out and then recovering in front of the cable tv after that.

So on to Mexico with us where we found possibly the most fabulous white sand beach I have ever been on in Tulum. We stayed 2 nights in the hostel learning dominos, chess and new card games which no self respecting traveller should be without. And then spent 2 nights in little cabins on the beach complete with swing bed watching meteor showers at 2 in the morning whilst drinking Zubrowka and apple juice and getting bitten on the ass by weird sand creatures that only come out at night. From there we went to a place called Valladolid and got to swim in cenotes (cave lakes) watching the bats and stalyctites float by. The fish there took a liking to my feet but thankfully there were too small to do any long term damage. Saw some more ruins at chitchen Itza (the first ones were in Honduras and the second ones were at the beach in Tulum), I am offically ruined out, if I see one more dilapidated building...

Went Hammock shopping for a whole day in the hammock district in Merida because my bag just wasn´t heavy enough to begin with and we are now Hammoisuers. That Saturday night I displayed my wondrous natural drunken talent of salsa & meringue dancing skills on the street at Mexico Night and got home at 3. In our drunken enthusiasm we had made a pact to go to the beach with our new Mexican friends at 6 the next morning, but were sure they would never turn up. They did. So got a bonus day at the beach which mainly involved rehydrating, eating and hiding from the sun at all possible cost. We also invited ourselves back for Christmas cos that is the giviing kind of girls we are and well here I am now in a funky bohemian type town called San Cristobal about to don some form of costume to celebrate "Day of the Dead". We tried to go see MORE ruins the other day but having received free "posh" (some native drink home brewed and along the lines of poitin) from our friendly waiter the night before we just couldnt bring ourselves to do it. All part of the fun I guess. Sometimes you are just too damn lazy to be the excited "must see everything" backpacker.

Heading back to Guatemala in a couple of days to "find myself" meditating and doing yoga for a month. I am likely to come back a complete krusty or I may become enlightened and head off to a higher plane. Although I think they take a lot of drugs to achieve such a state so maybe not. So that is ze craic my pixie friends. Nearly 6 weeks down already. I know you are all feeling it of course my departure having left such a void in your lives.

You can wake up now this has all been a bad dream!