Sylvia's Journal

At my arrival at Port au Prince I found that my trip was not over. I was out of the plane and through customs very fast. Even my suitcase showed up in the first batch, a rare occurrence that, this time, turned out not to be a good thing. It had acquired a big crack in its hardcover case since it left Accra and so this may well have been its final journey, if it makes it back in one piece. But that is a worry for later.

I did not find a driver waiting for me at the exit ramp as promised and demanded by MSH’s security rules. I was confronted, once again, with this awful dilemma where a seemingly (or may be sincerely) kind gentleman says he will help you and make sure you get to the hotel safely, especially if your driver has not shown up. This is where my trusting attitude bumps into paranoia. It gets worse when the gentleman confronts you when you act mistrusting and accuses you of racism or arrogance, expressed at first in milder terms but eventually getting there, if you don’t hire him in the end; honey before ire. Another taxi driver approached and they started to argue about whose charge I was going to be. I hate situations like this. We are very explicitly told to not take taxis or trust anyone other than a uniformed MSH driver but, after about 15 minutes in the hot sun (which is very long after two full days in transit) there was still no driver in sight. The kind gentleman offered to call any of the numbers on my staff list but, as I had learned in New York, most were incorrect or missed digits. Beside, in the bright sun I could not see what numbers he was actually punching in. He could have been dialing a co-conspirator for all I knew. Paranoia is an awful thing.

I thanked my kind helper and told him I was going to get back inside and sort things out in the cool air-conditioned arrival hall where he was not allowed to enter; luckily I was allowed back in. Of the three cell phone companies with kiosks only one was willing to sell me a simcard without a phone. I was able to reach Carmen, who I had talked with from JFK and who knew about my trials and tribulations and she told me the driver was there. I exited again and this time found him right away at a place he had not been standing before. At such moments one does feel like getting down on one’s knees and thank The One Who Listened.

Without any time to waste I was taken to the MSH office, then to my hotel (room not yet ready) and then to our project’s temporary quarters where we had a short meeting with the chief, Antoine. As there was no time to spare I sat down with my co-facilitator and we went over the program that starts today. She is an experienced trainer and facilitator but as far as the leadership program is concerned she is starting from scratch. We worked for a little over an hour until my eyelids started to close and my stomach started to talk. I handed out the Ghana chocolate bars I had brought and ate one myself to silence my stomach. I finally gave up and requested to be taken to the hotel and left my new colleague to digest all the stuff I had introduced her to.

I barely made it through lunch; the waitress had to wake me up as I had slumped over my plate, to put my onion tart in front of me. I vaguely remember eating it, taking a shower and then a good long nap.

That was my first day; four left to go and two events: an alignment meeting with all the partners today and a facilitator teambuilding and TOT to get them ready to run the first workshop later this month on their own. It is another just-in-time kind of intervention and I get tired simply reading my own words. It is 6 AM in the morning and I have to start to prepare for the grand entrance of the leadership development program here in Haiti, where expectations are high.