Humanity is always in style!

 

Is it possible to look stylish and help a good cause at the same time? We say yes!

We have just had a sneaky sample delivered of our first ‘Style with Substance’            t-shirt which delivers an important message whilst ensuring you still look chic and fabulous.

The first 20 of these will be available at the Safa Park market on Saturday in Dubai priced at AED 100. 

The profits will go to helping rebuild Haiti, starting with supplying Babby with the items required to build his home after  the storms last week.

 

For those of you not in Dubai, fear not, they will soon be available to buy here online – yippee!!

For a chance to support in style, pop a comment below and we will let you know when you can get your hands on one.

 

Safa Park donations

Just 2 days to go until the Safa market where we will be selling our wares to raise some funds for my friends in Haiti.

I am still working through the myriad of boxes, but here’s an idea of what we have so far.

Cds, beauty products, jewellery, clothing (baby, female and male), books, games, just about everything but the kitchen sink – we do have an iron though!

We are sure there’s something to entice you!

 

Safa Park Market – Help Haiti

This weekend I will be selling items to raise money for our friends in Haiti. Many of you have been very generous, and contributed many of your discarded treasures, to help me raise a decent sum of money.

http://alligatorsontheroof.blogspot.com/

The money raised will be going to the translators who looked after me so well during my time volunteering in their country. As if life isn’t tough enough for these young boys, they have once again been affected by Mother Nature in last week’s storms.

This is Babby.

If you have read my blog you will recognise him from many excerpts including – teaching Babby to swim.

http://alligatorsontheroof.blogspot.com/2010/09/16-teaching-babby-to-swim.html

He has contacted me desperately looking for help as his ‘home’ was severely damaged during the storms:

“Melissa my house is very broken during big windy october 24th

Did you know big windy saturday terrible an my home tree folled vrey creack i need help

don't forget me my friend i believe in you a lot thank you a lot. I nedd 15 woods 2 by 4,12 plywood,20 sheets metal and nails and hammer not to much money to build it please help me tot build it i believe

 

Melissa i have project to build a room cause where i sleep is bad can you help me to build it God bless you”

  If you are free, please pop down.

What: Dubai Flea Market at Al Safa Park on 02nd October 2010

Where: Al Safa Park, Entrance Gate 5, Al Wasl, Dubai. There is plenty of shade so don’t worry about the heat

When: 08:00 - 15:00

Entrance fee: Entry fee for visitors is AED 3 only and is paid at the gate of the park (Gate 5).

Alligators on the roof.
                                                              
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1 – How it all started

Once in a while something or someone touches your life. This may not always be someone you know, or something you have a connection with. It may consume you in a way you didn’t think possible, but once it takes hold, you know that you have to everything you can to try and help.

On Tuesday, January 12th 2010, an earthquake registering at 7.0 on the Richter scale hit the island of Haiti in the Caribbean. The earthquake destroyed much of the already fragile and overburdened infrastructure in the most densely populated part of the country.

When I became aware of this, it affected me in a way I cannot describe or that made any sense. The impact of seeing the news with the daily reports and scenes of devastation  really hit home the desperation of the situation. Since that day, I have been determined to help in any way I could.

Over the next few posts you will view my photos and footage, which will hopefully give you a picture of my time in Haiti.

 

 It all began with my fundraiser

 

 

Thank you so much to my friends and family who gave such amazing support and donations.

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It’s the day before I set off and I take a walk along the beach to slow down and mentally prepare for the journey ahead. I am surrounded by sun worshipers, surf riders, the rich and the poor labourers and try to imagine how different things are going to be. Looking out to the horizon and the new adventure ahead, I become almost angry at the way of life that is taken for granted here and by the relative ease that we go through life.

I return home to pack my bag with its countless sections of clothes and medical supplies compartmentalised, almost like my thoughts in preparation.

2 – Arriving in Ayiti

 

As we start our descent, I press my forehead and nose tightly to the plastic view hole to see Haiti for the first time. Beautiful, picturesque, lush with greenery and mini mountains are the first sights I see. But next to these areas, in stark contrast, are baron stretches of flat land. Incredibly straight roads or tracks which appear to reach into the mountains. On a closer look, I start to think that these are not roads but instead products of erosion, dry river beds which once ran with fast moving liquid, possibly as a result of a heavy flood or down pour.

I then start to see large areas of white and blue tarpaulin, and on closer inspection, I can see that these are actually make-shift camps- temporary accommodation and shelter for thousands of people who have been left with very little after the destruction of the earthquake. The presence of the army is another startling reality of my new location and the fact the ‘I am not in Kansas anymore’. 

That said, it’s only due to the numbers of military looking machines and jeeps and helicopters that allows me to come to this conclusion. I haven’t actually seen a single soldier or body in uniform yet.

I land, queue for immigration, which is relatively straight forward and collect my bags along with a myriad of other people who have just landed. Haitian business men - I later learn that these proud people wear their ‘Sunday best’ on many occasions as their appearance and the way they are perceived by others (both neighbours and strangers) is incredibly important to them. A giant group of Canadian aid workers (spanning over three generations) occupy a large space and insist on documenting their arrival one by one. With constant clicking and flickering flashes, they take turns stepping away from their group to capture this memory. This brash action leaves me with mixed emotions. Whilst it is fantastic that there are so many enthusiastic bodies wanting to help, I’m unsure whether the photos, happy faces and sense of smugness is at all appropriate among the locals returning home, to devastation. 

As I leave the baggage area there is a plethora of greeters with name signs and airport porters desperate to carry my bag for me. I scan the area of dark faces holding up signs, can’t find my name and become a little concerned. I stand back so as not to get in peoples’ way and slowly survey each sign another time; still nothing. At the end of the stretch, a large steel prison-looking gate keeps the hordes out. Perhaps my greeter is on the other side. But should I go out? Is it safe? Can I get back in? As I edge closer, I see a white smiling face beckoning me towards her. I can’t see a name board but she is calling my name and her smiling face is drawing me closer. This is Georgia.  Not one of the organizers but another fellow volunteer who recognizes me from photos on Facebook. It’s only when the shoving and screaming fades that I see another white, pale face to Georgia’s left with a “Melissa Higgins” sign. This retiring individual turns out to be Michelle, our group leader from GVN who has been working for the organization for the past 7 years. I can’t help but feel that if it hadn’t been for Georgia, a 24 year old volunteer newbie, there was a possibility that I could still be standing at the gates.

An unfamiliar feeling surged through me as I walked to the other side of those gates. A feeling that clearly said, this is it! You are actually here. The reality of this trip struck me fast and hard and, for a couple of seconds, I swear my body trembled ever so slightly. I gulped down my emotion and walked the rubble road to our ride.

We arrive at our temporary accommodation to find out there are 2 camps. The people who had arrived this morning were sent to Jacmel and the remaining 6 (including me) would go to Croix des Bouquets – 15 mins from PAP. Fear and anger appeared, as we had all be told and prepared for Jacmel.

Lucy (ICC) had kindly put me in touch with two friends in Jacmel who were expecting my arrival and now I would be unable to let them know of this change of plan. A second camp had never been mentioned. Our group was a very small 12 to begin with so it seemed very strange to break us into 2 even smaller groups. Friends, family and I had taken comfort in the fact that I would be far enough away from PAP – not on its doorstep!!! Do I tell my parents or will that worry them? Should I tell Iain so he knows where I am should something go wrong, or will that worry him? Without hesitation or discussion, Georgia and I swap passport photos of ourselves in the horrible instance that we might need to ask people if they had “seen this girl!” Of course I appreciate that this is a disaster zone, but GVN have so far been disappointing. There appears to be a lack of infrastructure and the individuals are disorganized and timid and I am not only unimpressed but begin to feel scared and unsure.

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3 - Market

We (Georgia and I are together) wake around 4.45am and read or play Sudoku. We shower, as this may be the last time we get a chance to do so, and get dressed for breakfast at 8am. The phone alarm rings at 7.50am, which is the time we had set it for the night before, to wake us. Coffee is served along with toast and succulent fruit – mango, watermelon and pineapple.  Jade, Michelle W and Lisa arrive to help us through our orientation. We are ready at 8.30am to begin but Michelle M has yet to surface and have her breakfast. Orientation starts slowly and we still feel unsure of the organizational skills which are presented to us. We break for lunch and I tell myself that if I must roll my eyes for the remainder of the afternoon orientation, then I must at least try to do it more discretely. Before the bus arrives at 3pm to take us to our new camp, we ask if we can be taken to the market (where we have been told is the place that you can change $s to Haitian Gourds). Of course, we all struggled over the past week to obtain small denominations of dollar notes as per our instructions from GVN – at no point were Gourds ever mentioned.

We change into our walking shoes and begin our trek with the 2 Michelles leading the way. This is our first time outside our gates and we try to absorb as much of the ambience, smells, crowded, unfamiliar sights and sounds without drawing too much attention to ourselves. This is complete naivety on our part as our ‘Blanco’ figures are quite visible, walking confidently along the side of the rubbled road. All of a sudden, Michelle W motions for us to jump on the passing Tap-Tap. This not only adds to the excitement of our first outside encounter but gets us to our destination more quickly.

 

It’s very difficult not to look wide-eyed and eager and, though our surroundings are not shocking as such, they do manage to have an unbalancing effect. The Tap-Tap is like an estate car with the doors taken off. They are brightly and beautifully decorated and scream in stark contrast of the grey, dirt and muted colours of the back-drop. These cheap, happy and noisy vehicles act as a status symbol – the louder the better, the most up-to-date songs from the US, even better. We pile out at ‘our stop’ as we are instructed.

  

 Once again, we attempt poorly to blend in, but the 8 ‘Blanco’s’ are quite obvious in our new surroundings. No sanitation, waste or healthcare poses a huge issue in these parts. All around are innate, unnecessary mini mountains of discarded rubbish. Metal, plastic, food and many other items that are difficult to make out, are stacked on top of one another at short intervals along the rocky, rubble road. The market is a crush of hot, sticky bodies and merchants pushing baskets of produce at potential buyers. It could be intimidating but we are viewed more as an amusement than as a threat. Polite but aggressive, this one guy keeps pace with me through the pulsating street. He takes my arm and tries to direct me to a particular basket of wares, the owner of which will slip him a few Gourds if I buy something. I shake my head and he walks away.

 

 

We form a tight group instinctively and a man on a wooden high-chair is pointed out to us as the bank of foreign exchange. The thick wad of multiple inches of filthy bank notes would make anyone do a double-take. The kind of look that one can identify with the cast of Looney Tunes cartoons. You know the look when their eyeballs pop out of the sockets as if on springs and quickly shoot back in again? The Wylie Coyote is the character that springs to mind the most when I think of this comical moment. The nonchalant attitude the ‘wad’ man possesses is quite difficult to comprehend. Surely in an area so poverty stricken this man is an easy target? He does nothing to hide the vast sum of notes and strums his thumb through the piles like a dealer shuffling a deck of cards before a game of Black-Jack.

We each approach him with our $10 or $20 which we need to change into Gourds – the local Haitian currency. The Haitian dollar is another thing that confuses us in our currency transaction; it appears that the Haitian dollar is not a tangible piece of paper but rather a counting currency. You will be told how much something is in Haitian dollars (which don’t exist) which you then multiply by 5 to work out how many Gourds you will get in exchange. For $20, I get 870 Gourds, which I am told is what to expect, even from a ‘top-notch’ exchange bureau. We shove the tiny paper bundles into our secret pockets and begin our trek back. The sun beats down on this airless space and quickens the decomposing of produce. A group of school girls pass by in their gingham school uniforms; many are too small or too big, revealing that they once belonged to another owner. Inches of skin can been seen on the girls’ backs where there isn’t enough material  to hide their little bodies. Our transport waits to take us to our new home for the next few weeks, so we hurriedly pack and throw our bags in the back of the truck.

4 – First day at camp

On arrival, a woman’s day teaching session is in full swing. We are thrown in at the deep end –

“Je m’appel Melissa. I mean mwen rele Melissa. Jais 34 ans” – my basic grasp of the Creole language escapes me when confronted with 80 beaming faces.

“Are you married?” one voice shouts.

“Yes,” I reply.

“How many children do you have?”

“None,” I respond, awaiting the next question.

No further questions follow and I learn that it is because they don’t understand how I can have “yon mari”, but not have any offspring. I will leave that explanation for another day I tell myself, as I continue to smile and nod.

It has been agreed that this weeks’ Woman’s Day will revolve around hygiene and a contraception lesson. Whilst we were not here to change a culture or inflict our views, if there is any way that we might help to reduce the incidence of HIV and STDs, then we had to at least give it a try. With Jade translating in French and with the guidance of trained nurses, we set out the embarrassing condom on a banana scenario. After the initial blushing and discomfort, the woman seemed to understand the concept and how this could prevent them from getting sick. Things appeared to be going well and each woman took a handful of condoms for later use. As time was just about up and we were quite satisfied with our efforts, one by one, hands started to be raised in the air. They all had the same question – where could they get the bananas from? Although amusing at first, that’s when we realised that we had failed and we had to explain that if you put the condom on a banana, it’s not really going to have the same effect…

 

I had been assigned 2 of the English classes to teach. Actually, given the numbers of volunteers, those who were able to teach, had to do as much as possible. The boys (Jake and Jeff) weren’t really interested at first and they had more important tasks, such a building a roof, to keep them busy. Jake did volunteer later on to teach a male group as we soon realised that they responded well to a young man, somebody they could relate to. My intermediate ladies class today. looks at items of clothing, vetements, and putting them into a sentence. After the 1 ½ hour class, I feel rather deflated as the ladies don’t have the same focus that the boys have. The boys have a definite course, a final goal. Learn English, get a girlfriend, get sex, get a wife, get a job, and get out of Haiti. However, the boys and girls are all very sweet and shout out my name over and over wherever they may see me, not just at their class.

 

We have set up home better than I had expected and Georgia and I have agreed to stick together and share a tent. Essentials are kept in our tent for quick access(especially in the dark) head torches, bug spray, antihistamine, chlorine tablets and water, hand sanitizer, shower items (also known as baby wipes) more bug spray and super strength “take that” bug spray. There’s not much room, but we have made it as comfy as we can and are quite settled.

5 - PAP

 I wake up late at 6.10am, but stay in the tent as the other rotation of volunteers is moving out. Jade apologises in case she has woken me and Georgia. I dismiss this,  saying “don’t be silly, not a problem.” Nobody will admit it, but there is a bit of animosity between the 2 groups. There are 18 of them and only 6 of us and I understand how protective they are of the camp and the hard work that they have put in over the last few weeks. We are the new kids and they no doubt feel resent handing it over. I am sure that we will feel similar when it is time to leave. The sheer size of their group gives their actions a pack-like appearance; we are still hesitant of our surroundings and the fact that we are outnumbered tends to make it feel a little unwelcoming. Sally is wearing a CFDA t-shirt of which I am very envious, and I explain how much I wanted one and that I had been trying to get hold of one for the past 3 months. I had tried an abundance of avenues to source one, without success. Eventually the other gang leave the premises but the only person to say goodbye is Sally.

The ants are eating me!!!! I have experienced troublesome ants before, but never have I been besieged by them continually. There is no escape and resistance is futile. I am crawling with them and for the first time can genuinely say I have ants in my pants, and pretty much everywhere else too.

After a hell of a lot of faffing (bloody birds) we are all ready and hop on the bus to take us to PAP. I literally ‘hop’ on as (after falling down some crumbled stairs earlier) my cut and bruised leg is now bandaged up rather tightly. It is painful, but despite being ridiculously swollen and quite mauve in hue, doesn’t warrant any attention or consideration while we are here in Haiti. If one more person moans about the food, living conditions or say that they “ need some shade” I swear I am going to knock them out…

As ridiculous as it sounds, my worry about our PAP trip is that my phone is about to die, preventing me from taking any video footage or photos. My intention is not only to document the sorrow and devastation but primarily to highlight the beautiful and positive aspects of Haiti, where possible. The vibrant colours of the ‘Tap-Taps’, the vivaciousness of the city and its people and the spectacular serenity of the hillside backdrop. I want to show those who could not experience Haiti first hand all that makes this a place to rejoice and celebrate. Not the piles of rubble, faces of sorrow or the cacophony of noises from man, motor or beast. Anger and frustration envelopes me in a way that I have no control over. I knew I would be emotional and I knew I would feel helpless, but I wasn’t prepared for the broken dam of waterworks and resentment that suddenly hit me. It didn’t build up in a way that gave me enough time to give myself a harsh talking to. There is only one other time when I have felt this emotion, this sense of hatred and helplessness. Although on that occasion the cause was a cruel and disturbed human being, rather than a cruel act from Mother Nature. Although I was surprised by my reaction, it seemed not inappropriate considering what the Haitian community has gone through. Their struggle has been visible for centuries and has been unfairly amplified and brought to the world stage by the recent earthquake.

When I arrived in Haiti, the destruction and devastation simply took my breath away. It seemed that the colour grey was everywhere and the dust in the air was thick and constant. The cinderblocks that were the structure of so many homes and buildings were now just crumbled stone. I remember thinking to myself that BBC Worldwide was doing a great job of the coverage, but this is a thousand times worse than anything I have seen on the news. I can hear children crying, I can see the eyes of the surviving parents as they try to care for their children underneath a tent made of sheets. I can smell the odour that is unexplainable. And even though I have never smelled that odour before in my life, I knew what it was. My heart was breaking every second. I was in sensory over load and I could feel my body trying to protect itself from the images and sounds that were in front of me. My words and thoughts cannot begin to do justice to Haiti and the people of Haiti – so I will not even try. Hopefully the photos I managed to take convey the state of affairs in PAP.

 

I learn that we are now heading to a ‘swanky’ hotel for lunch, for a treat. A TREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How could we possibly justify that?!  Hypocritically, whilst I may have refused to eat any lunch, on principle, when across the rubble road people were barely staying alive, but I did manage 3 vodkas and diet coke. I justified this on the basis that it was the only way to stop to me shaking and to calm my nerves. A different reality lives just across the street. It couldn’t be any closer, but yet it seems a world far removed.

 On leaving the  hotel Plaza we peruse the goods on show at the  myriad of vendor stalls positioned by the side of the road.

Our group of ‘Blancos’ attract the usual attention but we were protected by our 4 gallant translators: Babby, Justeland, Samuel and Zacko. Each merchant does their best to encourage us to part with our cash at their stall, but I knew exactly what I was looking for. On the way into the hotel, I had spied one stall which had Haitian necklaces on display and I promptly apologised (“je suis desole”) to the other sellers and purchased my Haitian flag necklace. Just as we were leaving, I spied a Haitian flag bandana and handed over 50 Gourds for this other item to remember my trip by .