By the time we arrived in Corail I was feeling pretty hopeless.. And after the remove, suspicion, and wariness of so much of the trip to that point, on our second afternoon, I was caught completely unaware walking down the hot, dusty street, by one then two then three pairs of little hands that appeared out of nowhere and took hold of mine. They stuck by my side, smiling, laughing, jockeying with each other for the best grip on my BLANC! hands, and when we followed the sound of music into the Hope on a String courtyard, and found an impromptu jam session underway, the children - the same ages as my children - danced, and insisted I dance with them. It was, hands down, my most surprising, gut wrenching, enduring impression from the week, and a clear answer to what I'll take from Corail...
A big part of our reason for visiting Corail was to see Hope on a String - a grassroots nonprofit focused on creating social and environmental transformation through music. After all we had seen up to that point, as we drove into this dusty town without electricity, without running water, without a paved road, I remember thinking, "Music? Really? Is this really the place to start?"
But something about dancing with those children changed my answer.After so much feeling of impossible distance between my life and theirs, the ability to be present and together and joyful in a shared moment was deeply moving and really caught me off guard. I felt it too our second and last night in Corail, watching a community concert. A bunch of kids pouring their hearts out on recorders and piano and in song and dance, before a packed audience of family, friends, and neighbors that felt no different at all from the assemblies at my kids' schools back in Boston. Here's a sampling of my favorite moments that lands on picture of dumbfounded me:
But something about dancing with those children changed my answer.After so much feeling of impossible distance between my life and theirs, the ability to be present and together and joyful in a shared moment was deeply moving and really caught me off guard. I felt it too our second and last night in Corail, watching a community concert. A bunch of kids pouring their hearts out on recorders and piano and in song and dance, before a packed audience of family, friends, and neighbors that felt no different at all from the assemblies at my kids' schools back in Boston. Here's a sampling of my favorite moments that lands on picture of dumbfounded me:
On my final day with them, I asked and took a few pictures of my host family, including these of my host mother, who all called, Mami, and who insisted on the second , both of us crouching beside the fake plant in the blinding sunlight.
But at that point I was feeling way woozy and had already begged off the breakfast she had clearly slaved over (over the charcoal stove) for me.
"Pa grangou," I said, "Malade" rubbing my stomach and feeling so guilty I would have done anything she asked.
And then she asked something I didn't understand and then said it again and again and again until finally her son said, "Give?" And I realized that, when, on my first morning, her daughter had snatched and unwrapped all of the gifts I'd arrived with - a solar powered radio, marbles for any children, drawings of our life in Boston from James and Maya, and a copy of my book - though they were gifts I had intended for the whole family (and which I had assembled not knowing what kind of family I would stay with), they had gone one to a person, with Mami assuming I had forgotten her, a rich foreigner happy to receive her impossibly gracious hospitality - one of the only rooms with a bed, abundant meals served for me inside at the table, as others sat outside on the dirt eating the meager-looking gruel we'd been warned was all we should expect. All that and not give anything in return? The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. I tore through my suitcase. My Nike running shoes and training shirt for her son. My yellow polo button down and green sleeveless workout shirt for my guide. My red Marmot rain jacket for Mami. Who needs it all?
Not me.
In many ways, being in Corail was the best experience of the trip - one the whole week had been building to.
But it was also very difficult.
I felt relieved to pile onto the van again.
A stop to see the model homes.
Back through Port au Prince.
Back up into Petionville and the Karibe Hotel.
Swimming and relaxing and luxuriating again at the Karibe Hotel.
That night, we put on the the best of what remained of our clothes, and drove to a sendoff soiree, where we wined and dined by the pool as the children of Haiti en Scene bowled us over with joy and power of song and dance.
That night, home in Boston, creeping into James and Maya's room as they slept, and losing it.
Just losing it.


