Life is Good

I teach four violin classes a week: two for children and two for adults. I also give a few private lessons. On the weekends I host English classes with my friend Michel, who is one of the two Haitians that speak English in Corail. The other one, Cassy, is my interpreter for violin class. Together, they form my window into Haitian culture: the art of haggling, for example...

Yesterday I drove to the beach with Michel and two other friends. The minute I got down to the water I remembered I was in the Caribbean—apart from the coast there are few other indicators. Turquoise water as warm and salty as the sweat running down your neck, a shore made of a million small white rocks like so many polished little bones, a man sixty feet up a palm tree bombarding the beachgoers below with fresh coconuts.

We were out waist-deep in the water playing and splashing each other like children, having the time of our lives. Seeing us, one of the many extremely invasive beach vendors figured that a white guy like me had plenty of money to spend (I didn’t) and was determined to make a sale. Unprovoked, he literally waded out to us with two large platters of lanbi (conch) and spicy dipping sauce. None of us had asked for this, but Michel said “how much?” The vendor said not to worry about it, we could just pay him when we left. I immediately said no way, but not before Michel had a few lanbi in his mouth. Oh well. It was truly delicious.

Later, when we were heading to the car, the vendor stopped us, demanding his pay: 800 Haitian gouds. Michel handed him 150 gouds, less than 4 American dollars, and told the man he should have named the price earlier and that we didn’t have any more money. We got in the car and left. I am learning.

Here's something we saw on the way

Back to the music classes. The children are almost impossible to control. I quickly had to learn the phrase “PA FE SA!” which means “DON’T DO THAT!” The “SA” in question can refer to many things. Balancing one’s violin on a girl’s head, for example. One boy ate a tuning peg. Among these little monsters, however, are some real gems. These are the children who show up thirty minutes early (unheard of in Haitian culture) just to watch me get set up for class. They devour every bit of information I give them, eager to work out each new technique on their own for as long as it takes to learn. After class they will climb onto my shoulders and pull my ears or steal my shoes and wear them as hats—I love them.

The adults are even more spectacular. One guy drives all the way from Port-au-Prince (1 ½ hours without riots) to attend my class. Today was the third time he’s touched a violin, and after class I found him under a tree playing beautiful music with a guitarist. I taught them a tango and they picked it up right away. Incredible. If the internet connection were any better I would post the video, but alas.

Now, pleased with my day’s work and my belly full of goat meat (see SNL, season 26 episode 20), I am laying in my hammock with my laptop, swaying back and forth with the warm breeze. It’s a hot night, but my body has long since given up the fight against the weather—I no longer drip sweat at all hours. Patrice is telling Lara and me a story. She’s sleeping in the next hammock over and I’m only half listening. Something about a man who traveled to Cap-Haitien to find the woman of his dreams. He doesn’t mind that nobody’s following the details, he knows I just like to hear him speak. His voice is like a big warm house. Even though he speaks softly, it has a way of surrounding you and making you feel safe. Patrice stays here at the house with us even though he has a family of his own. He wants to protect us, and despite our assurances that we’ll be fine, he won’t have it any other way.

Oh, I turned 20 two days ago. They threw a great party for me. Maybe more next time. I’m nodding off, so I’d better end it here for now. Bon nwit.