My husband accompanied me to Haiti on November 17. While I was busy in meetings and on my laptop, he volunteered with the group of construction workers that are charged with rebuilding St. Joseph's Home for Boys in Port-au-Prince and got a firsthand look at the work that our volunteers assist with on the ground when they come to Haiti.
This article has been reblogged directly from http://www.embryocreativegroup.com/blog
Working in Port Au Prince @ St. Joseph's. Picture by Andrea Atkinson
Haiti Blog #1: Life Lessons from the Bucket Brigade
Posted By: cantonowich | Date Posted: November 30, 2010, 4:37 PM 
In late November 2010 I spent a week in Haiti's capital—volunteering on a rebuilding project at St. Joseph's orphanage. The following is the first in a series of blogs about the culture, values and traditions I experienced during my brief time in Port Au Prince.
"Yo, Blanc!"
Out of the tens of thousands of words uttered amongst this emboldened group of Haitian construction workers, these are the only two I can understand. Roughly translated, they mean "hey, white dude!"
For three days, I volunteered in a hot, dusty, deep ditch in an effort to help rebuild part of St. Joseph's new orphanage in Port Au Prince. I was part of a bucket brigade - carrying 30 pound buckets of dirt up three flights of makeshift stairs (essentially toppled boulders) and dumping it off in a large pile of earth. For the brigade, this ritual would continue ad nauseum for 8-9 hours a day in the blistering hot Haiti sun. Doing my best, I was able to put in about 2-3 hours of labor a day before I felt like my heart and head were ready to explode. These conditions are grueling, to say the least, but for me it offered a unique opportunity to understand and appreciate how people in this world earn an honest day's pay.
The workers have nary an ounce of fat on their frames. These guys are all built like NFL cornerbacks. And they can probably hit just as hard. On day one, I feel they are wary of my presence. I enter the brigade and pick up a bucket. I cautiously climb down the mountain of rubble to the bottom of the ditch to get my bucket filled. I climb up with the rest of the group to add to the ever-expanding dirt mound. "Yo, Blanc - here!" yells one of the shovelers - identifying where to dumb my bucket of dirt. I look around and see that I am the only white person in sight. It's a feeling I don't believe I've ever felt before - to truly be a minority of one based on skin tone. Since the language barriers are too much to climb, and given my limited knowledge of Creole, I decide that my best path for success is to shut my mouth, work hard and smile as much as possible.
This tactic seems to pay off, as day two when I enter the pit, a few guys say things to me in Creole and greet me with a fist bump. For the first time, I feel welcomed. It makes me want to work harder to prove myself to these guys. The trouble is, my body simply isn't built for 8 hours of hard labor in the sweltering sun. I make it my personal goal to get 10 buckets at a time (about 1/2 hr of work) - then stop for 5-10 minutes for water and to slow my heart rate down from a boil. During these 10 bucket stretches, I learn to distract myself effectively. I think about work to be done for Embryo. I think about friends and family. I think about sci-fi movies. I try to recount the names of old high school acquaintances - people I've forgotten about for years. I do just about anything to try to keep my mind off the fact that I'm carrying 30 pound buckets of dirt again and again and again up a 3-story boulder hill.
For the most part, this technique works. I go deep into thought, the workers sing or carry on conversations - anything at all to keep you brain occupied while your body goes through hell.
On the third day, the brigade is happy to see me. I get a greeting from almost all of the men - fist bumps abound. I feel like I've earned their respect - even though I've hardly done more than 50 buckets a day to their probably 250+ each. Nevertheless, the last day comes to a close and we say our final goodbyes. I talk to them through an interpreter about the idea of getting new shoes - since most of these men work in flip flops (hard to believe). They seem luke warm to the idea but I promise them I will reach out to American work boot manufactures to donate 20-25 pairs of boots by this January.
I learn many lessons from my experience with the bucket brigade. I learn what it means to dedicate mind and body to an seemingly insurmountable challenge. I learn what it takes to earn an honest day's pay in Port Au Prince. I learn that carrying 30 lb. buckets of earth on your head up and down a flight of stairs in the Haitian sun is the most extreme cardiovascular workout ever (it's inspired me to climb stairs in my gym carrying a medicine ball for my new workout). But more than anything, I learn that being a part of an effective, hard-working team is the best key to success.
If you'd like to support the effort to rebuild St. Joseph's, donate to Hearts with Haiti here - the money goes directly to rebuilding costs: http://www.heartswithhaiti.org/
Out of the tens of thousands of words uttered amongst this emboldened group of Haitian construction workers, these are the only two I can understand. Roughly translated, they mean "hey, white dude!"
For three days, I volunteered in a hot, dusty, deep ditch in an effort to help rebuild part of St. Joseph's new orphanage in Port Au Prince. I was part of a bucket brigade - carrying 30 pound buckets of dirt up three flights of makeshift stairs (essentially toppled boulders) and dumping it off in a large pile of earth. For the brigade, this ritual would continue ad nauseum for 8-9 hours a day in the blistering hot Haiti sun. Doing my best, I was able to put in about 2-3 hours of labor a day before I felt like my heart and head were ready to explode. These conditions are grueling, to say the least, but for me it offered a unique opportunity to understand and appreciate how people in this world earn an honest day's pay.
The workers have nary an ounce of fat on their frames. These guys are all built like NFL cornerbacks. And they can probably hit just as hard. On day one, I feel they are wary of my presence. I enter the brigade and pick up a bucket. I cautiously climb down the mountain of rubble to the bottom of the ditch to get my bucket filled. I climb up with the rest of the group to add to the ever-expanding dirt mound. "Yo, Blanc - here!" yells one of the shovelers - identifying where to dumb my bucket of dirt. I look around and see that I am the only white person in sight. It's a feeling I don't believe I've ever felt before - to truly be a minority of one based on skin tone. Since the language barriers are too much to climb, and given my limited knowledge of Creole, I decide that my best path for success is to shut my mouth, work hard and smile as much as possible.
This tactic seems to pay off, as day two when I enter the pit, a few guys say things to me in Creole and greet me with a fist bump. For the first time, I feel welcomed. It makes me want to work harder to prove myself to these guys. The trouble is, my body simply isn't built for 8 hours of hard labor in the sweltering sun. I make it my personal goal to get 10 buckets at a time (about 1/2 hr of work) - then stop for 5-10 minutes for water and to slow my heart rate down from a boil. During these 10 bucket stretches, I learn to distract myself effectively. I think about work to be done for Embryo. I think about friends and family. I think about sci-fi movies. I try to recount the names of old high school acquaintances - people I've forgotten about for years. I do just about anything to try to keep my mind off the fact that I'm carrying 30 pound buckets of dirt again and again and again up a 3-story boulder hill.
For the most part, this technique works. I go deep into thought, the workers sing or carry on conversations - anything at all to keep you brain occupied while your body goes through hell.
On the third day, the brigade is happy to see me. I get a greeting from almost all of the men - fist bumps abound. I feel like I've earned their respect - even though I've hardly done more than 50 buckets a day to their probably 250+ each. Nevertheless, the last day comes to a close and we say our final goodbyes. I talk to them through an interpreter about the idea of getting new shoes - since most of these men work in flip flops (hard to believe). They seem luke warm to the idea but I promise them I will reach out to American work boot manufactures to donate 20-25 pairs of boots by this January.
I learn many lessons from my experience with the bucket brigade. I learn what it means to dedicate mind and body to an seemingly insurmountable challenge. I learn what it takes to earn an honest day's pay in Port Au Prince. I learn that carrying 30 lb. buckets of earth on your head up and down a flight of stairs in the Haitian sun is the most extreme cardiovascular workout ever (it's inspired me to climb stairs in my gym carrying a medicine ball for my new workout). But more than anything, I learn that being a part of an effective, hard-working team is the best key to success.
If you'd like to support the effort to rebuild St. Joseph's, donate to Hearts with Haiti here - the money goes directly to rebuilding costs: http://www.heartswithhaiti.org/
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