Bonjou, Salut, Bonjour, Bonswa, Bonswa, Bòn nwit.

Outside the airport, Bennett (one of the founders of Hope on a String and an Amherst alumn) and I were met by the program’s Country Director, Lara. With her were her friend Cassy, who will be my interpreter for the children’s violin classes, and our driver Fèlix a.k.a Fefe (fayfay). After exchanging brief introductions, we piled into the car, blissfully air-conditioned, and proceeded to sit for about thirty minutes in standstill traffic before Fefe even put the jeep in gear. Driving in Port-au-Prince is a unique, ridiculous, and terrifying experience. I could not detect the slightest hint of traffic laws. The roads were all dirt, full of large rocks and holes, and there were no traffic lights. Passing on the left, heading directly into oncoming traffic at impressive speeds, is encouraged. All the while you are frequently passing the Haitian taxis, called "tap-taps," which are extravagantly colorful and decorated events on wheels. Although they are often nothing more than embellished trucks, tap-taps will hold around 20 people sometimes stacked one on top of another like legos. These vehicles, too, will hurtle by at absurd speeds. This city was designed by Dr. Seuss.

We made one stop at a bank to exchange American dollars for Haitian gouds. This process involved Fefe quickly grabbing our money and dashing inside, past the guard holding a large shotgun at his side, while we waited in the car. What happened inside the bank I cannot fathom, but twenty minutes later Fefe emerged holding our new, colorful money.

At long last we made it to the village, Corail, in the municipality (or “zon”) of Arcahaie. The first thing I noticed were the walls. Those who can afford them surround their homes with concrete walls topped with barbed wire or broken bottles. Because the wealthiest people live on the main road, it looks like a dusty, dismal hallway.

Our house is beautiful. A soothing yellow color with a generous porch and plenty of treated water, this is my safe place. I have a room and bed to myself, but will be sleeping in a hammock every night due to the heat. The three of us “blans” are living here for now, but Bennett will fly back to New York on Tuesday, leaving the house to me and Lara (and whoever wants to visit).

After getting settled, Bennett and I went for a walk through town. I quickly learned that it is NECESSARY to greet EVERYONE you see, and even those you don't. To walk by somebody without acknowledging them (a simple nod of the head does not suffice) is to insult them. I imagine that this is what ‘nam was like, constantly checking over your shoulder to see if there’s anyone lurking in the shadows or under a tree. At first I thought I looked and sounded ridiculous, waving hands and sending “bonjou’s” in every direction at Bennett’s encouragement, but then I realized that everyone was doing it. Despite its poverty and perhaps because of it, the community is extremely tightly woven.

It was on this walk that I made my first friend, Pato. Pato is a charming mutt who for whatever reason follows us everywhere we go. I guess he has nothing better to do. We instantly became friends when I patted him on the head instead of kicking him in the side (common etiquette towards dogs in these parts). After Pato, Bennett began introducing me to people on the street. Though I don’t remember most of their names, a few stand out. I shook hands with Sexy, a twenty-something-year-old street vendor, talked with Mamai about the weather (hot as hell), and watched Professor Champagne teach a class in beginning flute.  We also ran into Choupit, the most highly regarded vodou priest in town. He mostly stays indoors in solitude but occasionally goes out on his bike, riding so slowly it’s a miracle he stays upright. Wherever he rides, silence and respect surround him. Salut. By the end of our walk, it was past noon, and so bonjou’s became bonswa’s, one of which I unwittingly sent in the direction of the town drunk, Sebyen. When spoken aloud, this name literally means “it’s good”. In response to my greeting, Sebyen raised his bottle and said his own name a few times. Yes, I thought, it's good.