Getting to Haiti

I returned to Santo Domingo on Thursday afternoon (21st Jan.) with just a few days to fit in a few more appointments with people connected with Los Guloyas. I had also decided to try my best to visit my friends in Port-au-Prince. I had been in contact by text and I knew that the banks were still closed and that if I could get over there and give my friends some money it would be some help. The only one of my friends who had responded to my texts was Danielle, a superb dancer, musician and artist who lives in one of the wealthier areas of central Port-au-Prince. She had been able to tell me that my friends there were ok although my drumming teacher’s child had been killed in school along with the rest of their class. I was to find out that this was a common fate for many children attending afternoon school in Haiti.

My phone had worked perfectly well in Cuba but for some very inconvenient reason the coverage in the Dominican Republic was very poor. I spent an incredible 2 months studying and living in Port-au-Prince in 2006 and met many wonderful people however I remembered very well that it was not very comfortable walking about the city as an obvious outsider (I believe largely due to an understandable mistrust towards outsiders who are most closely associated with the over 10,000 different NGOs operating in the country, many Haitians see few benefits to their own lives and can see that each NGO has its own 4X4s and salaried workers). I wondered just how much more difficult it would be with so many people having lost their families, homes and livelihoods. I had decided that I would only go if I could stay in good contact with Danielle and I had not received a reply from my last couple of texts that I had sent in Cuba, I also wondered how she was able to keep her mobile phone charged up. The other problem was money due to the impenetrable security of Lloyds TSB (please only bank with these people if you never plan to take money out abroad!). Thank goodness for Mastercard.

I had dropped off my bags in the afternoon in San Pedro de Macoris with my friends, Los Guloyas and rather rudely had to leave straight away as at that moment I was able to make contact with the Secretary of State for Culture Xiomarita Perez. The only time she would be able to see me was right away in the capital, Santo Domingo. She was extremely kind to me and we had a very productive meeting. Xiomarita is an expert in the folkloric dances of the Dominican Republic. She is also an accomplished teacher and more than happy to give lessons to anyone who happens to be visiting the country. I must also share with you the details of an outstanding percussionist and teacher Edis Sanchez who is the UNESCO representative in the D.R. and is working with me to facilitate the visit of Los Guloyas to the UK. He is also available for private tuition and his wife is also an outstanding folk and contemporary dancer.

After leaving Xiomarita’s place I made my way to my favourite budget lodgings in Santo Domingo, Pension Papa Daniel. The feeling of this place is more like a social club than a hotel, with no sign outside and the front door up a couple of couple of flights of stairs from one of the dodgier back streets of central Santo Domingo. The reception area is full of Haitian’s recently arrived or passing through tucking into fresh steaming stews and watching the communal TV. Papa Daniel more than lives up to his name; a black, bald and sturdy fellow of Haitian parentage with a deep mellow voice, kind face and calm paternal air.

I had used the hotel quite often in 2006 when I had done the dreaded bus trip three times. What I didn’t know was whether the roads were open and if the journey was still possible. As expected the good people at Papa Daniel’s were full of the latest news about Haiti. There were many who had been or were going back to find out about their nearest and dearest. I asked some people how their family were and they would calmly reply that they were all fine and in the next sentence would mention that a number of their friends were dead.

The concierge Amancia was particularly kind to me finding me a room at the last minute and helping me plan the journey. After insisting that I could not go unless I made contact with my friend because of the danger of the escaped prisoners currently at large in Port-au-Prince, she said that it would be possible with Miguel a friend of the hotel who is a driver on the buses from Santo Domingo to Port-au-Prince.  Miguel was not due back until midnight. My phone still had no signal, I tried sending a message with Amancia’s phone.

When I got to speak to Miguel he said that it would be fine to go and that like him I could sleep in the bus. However with a weary determination he said that tomorrow was his day off and his next trip would be Saturday. He reached for his bottle of beer and poured himself another cup.  “I like to drink beer”, he said, “things are terrible over there”. But if I waited till saturday it wouldn’t have been possible for me to be back in time for my flight to the UK. After some more discussion he kindly agreed to help me find another trustworthy bus company the next morning. We had to leave at 8.30. Amancia had not received any text in reply from my friend Danielle.

After an early start, finding a shop that would sell me a mobile phone, 2 unhelpful banks and a last resort cash machine I was finally on the coach. For the first time this trip I was using my money belt which I usually avoid using, but I don’t usually carry around large amounts of money and I was definitely glad of it in this case. The early bus was full by the time I got there and so I was set to arrive in Port-au-Prince at 7pm. Thinking of arriving after dark strapped with a fair bit of cash did make me think of myself in not entirely joking terms as shark bait!

I had actually felt more nervous about the prospect of making this trip when I first thought of it in Cuba as well as just before touching down again in Santo Domingo. Within a short time of being sat on the coach however it felt like exactly the right thing to be doing and I was sure that it would work out ok: at least for me who can get in and get out.

These buses are the cheapest you can get to do the journey. The striking feature of the bus trips from Haiti to the D.R. in 2006 was that going from Port-au-Prince to Santo Domingo was rammed to the rafters, whereas the return trip was always well attended but not standing room only. Another feature was that the Dominican officials don’t stop the bus on the way to Port-au-Prince, even without a passport a Haitian passenger is gladly waved through for a small fee of a couple of dollars. Coming the other way is a vastly different story with as many as 16 different checkpoints after a long stop at the border, where everyones documents are scrutinised and everyone frequently herded of the bus for a thorough and suspicious search of the vehicle. This means that whereas the journey is 10 hours there it is 12 hours on the way back.

This time the bus seemed that bit busier than 3 years ago and there were 2 other ‘rich white outsiders’ a young French guy with a glamorous Haitian wife and a photo journalist accompanied by the wife of the Haitaian ambassador the to the D.R. and a large number of bags and cases.

Iwas sat next to Fremond Wesner, a young singer with an Evangelical church based in Santo Domingo with mission work in Haiti. He had moved to Santo Domingo from Port-au-Prince a few years ago and was going back to look for old friends he had not heard from since the earthquake. As seemed to be the pattern so far, his family was ok but he had many friends who had died.