In Haiti – Day Eight – Ten

On day eight in Haiti, I left the Le Plaza Hotel in the bustling central area of the Champ Mars Plaza – the major tent city area – moved to the Inn @ Villa Bambou. It was the most beautiful luxurious place I ever experienced. Later I would discover when visiting Haiti, Villa Bambou is the favorite spot for the likes of President Clinton and Donna Karen. Both visit regularly for business purposes. Clinton has a hotel he is developing in the nicer part of Port Au Prince called Peitionville. Karen visits the artisans to give her inspirations for her jewelry lines.

Although, not too far in distance from the Le Plaza Hotel, Villa Bambou was an extreme opposite. In my daily conversations with the owner Monica Ansald, a fourth generation Haitian of Brazilan decent, I learned her perspective of Haiti and its condition and culture. The Villa which used to be her private home where she raised her now two USA college-bound children, was converted years ago to a bed and breakfast – The Inn at Villa Bambou. Monica studied at the US schools in Haiti and received her undergraduate and graduate degrees from the US. The “Villa”, serene and well-secured nestled in an acre or more of beautiful garden grounds, although not far away from the people selling their wares who are just around the corner. If it was not for the bountiful gardens and trees you could see the people at the end of the property line walking up and down the street.

The “Villa’s” staff members, I estimated about 10 full-time black haitians, includes the security guards who cover the grounds and the main gate, kitchen support, general garden and house managers. During our afternoon and dinner chats, Monica shared her stories of Haiti. Most striking was the story of Monica and her family being targeted years ago, which was the main reason she initially hired her bodyguard who at one time heavily armed. Today, the circumstances has changed, although he still travels with her to the grocery store and daily errands. She reminenced, during her families dinner time on the open air terrace – where I was sitting at the time – bullets would fly up from the bottom of her property. I asked why would you want to live in such dangerous predicaments. She explained that she was fourth generation Haitian, raised in Haiti and why should she leave the place she loved just because of her skin color was white. During those years, many of her friends and people she knew were largely kidnapped, tortured and held for ransom. All I could think to myself was “where am I”. There were a few nights at the Villa I did not sleep sound. The energy in the city was high and the people were upset due to the President’s decision to hold the official Carnaval in Les Cayes. Carnaval, since inception had always been held in Port Au Prince. The people were ready for Carnaval. There had been pre-celebrations the weekend prior and small community celebrations in preparation for the official Carnaval. The residents and even the Port Au Prince Mayor held tight to the belief that the President would come through with some monies. But it did not happen. During celebratory remarks by the President in the Champ Mars Plaza, right in front of my previous Le Plaza Hotel, gunshots started with several innocent people injured and sent to the hospital. I reflected I was so happy I left that neighborhood area. I believe if I had not been traveling alone, my visit would have not been so scary. At least moving to the Villa I was able to relax some, but not much. When my host representatives would pick me up daily I would find myself clinched and tighten. I do not think I could ever get used to seeing so many thousands of people in dire straits everyday all day long. I noticed it did not seem to bother my hosts, the Villa owners, no one. From the “Villa” I was able to see the other side of the world of the very resourced. In Haiti it was either you were extemely poor or not.

Although I enjoyed and appreciated my most comfortable stay at the Villa, I could not help to feel for all those thousands of people I would see everyday on every street struggling to make ends meet selling live chickens, charcoal, clothes, food, etc. How could there be such an extreme division? It did not appear to be a middle or upper middle class – just poor and upper class.