Haiti a Taste of Africa
There is something close to the earth, and stable about watching women wash clothes in the river. This is natural, the way life should feel, there is no second-guessing, this job needs done.
What is Africa like, do you want to know? Well, for 400-500 Dollars a person can buy a round-trip ticket to Port-au-Prince, Haiti, take an overpriced taxi north two hours to Mirebalais. You can be standing by this river having a small taste of Africa.
This girl smiles, she may slowly over the years become one of the plump ones. Today, just for today, she is all things good and happy.
Mirebalais, Haiti --- Tuesday, January 5, 2010
By Andy Graham of HoboTraveler.com
If you asked these women,
“How long does it take to wash the clothes?”
I do not believe they know, time almost stops when living this way, you walk to the river, and when your are done, you are done.
These women sit around in the water talking, I get angry, often frustrated, when one of them wants to tell me, “we suffer.” I just cannot wrap my mind around that idea. I sometimes will say,
“Who told you that, where did you learn this?”
The world does not have the right to tell happy people, they suffer, it just is not proper. Only and unhappy person would tell another person they suffer.
If you look closely at this photo, you will see that one woman is bending over, as if she was going to put her elbows on the ground. This is Africa; this is what makes a Black body different. If you go Asia, these women would be squatting on the stone, there is a difference, we are not all the same, and we are, who we are. Modern society washes away the family memories, our ancestors die, and we no longer can remember who we are. Maybe this is how I feel, walking down to the river, I somehow can remember my family.
The majority of cities are built close to rivers, lakes, and ponds, there must be a source of fresh water. Mirebalais is small enough; it remembers that water is needed for life to exist.
There are clothes drying on the stones.
My Grandparents have died; I wish I had asked them more questions, instead of being in such a hurry to go nowhere. Well, I think I finally found the word, why do go to Africa? It is because when I arrive at a small river like this in Africa, I know I am somewhere; I will be able to bend over and pick up a memory, put it in my pocket, and know I will never lose it.
I will always be able to tell my family, there was a time, when I went somewhere. When you escape, you will slowly open your eyes, the world will start to go slower, and you remember how to pick up memories along the road.
Haiti a Taste or Africa