You know when you’re a kid and your parents tell you they’re taking you for ice cream, and you’re so excited thinking about what flavour you want, and whether or not you want sprinkles… Well, I got just as excited when Karen said she was taking us on a little road trip to St. Marc.?
St. Marc is a bustling town where Karen does her banking and occasionally picks up groceries. But as the saying goes, it’s not just the destination…sometimes it’s the journey; however, on this road trip, it’s definitely both!
I don’t know if you take a different kind of road test to get your license in Newfoundland, but Karen certainly navigates the highway type roads and busy town streets as if she’s been driving them since she first got her license in Springdale! There is nothing I can compare to driving here. Successful driving here is a mix of confidence, skill, courage, faith, a little bit of luck, and even a sense of humour! You also need great concentration to weave around the gazillion potholes all over the road. I told Beate that it looks like someone drove through the streets dropping grenades at random places. At times, I think a small child could disappear in some of them! Maybe it’s a little like Cape Breton roads after a hard winter!
But going to the bank in St. Marc doesn’t happen without Karen picking up one of her off duty security men–she doesn’t go to St. Marc for $20 withdrawals, if you know what I mean! So, we pick up Ronald (Ro-neld) at his home not far from the orphanage. It is hard to imagine his ‘security’ persona, because he has one of the widest smiles and pleasant faces I have seen, yet, obviously, he gets things done when he needs to.
When we finally get to St. Marc, I understand why Karen brought him along. It’s Wednesday–market day–and there is barely an empty space on the streets and sidewalks. Karen said some people begin the trek down the mountain at 2am carrying their goods on their backs, so that they get set up in the market on time. Say what you will about the poor living conditions, but it’s another example of how some people are determined not to be defined by their situations. The market was alive with conversation, sometimes heated ones, and the smells of chicken and meat cooking in pots on sidewalk canteens. Just like home, you could pretty much figure out which ones were crowd favourites–there were lineups that would rival the morning coffee rush at Tim Horton’s!
I think there was divine intervention for Karen to have found us a parking spot just outside the grocery store. The mid 40 degree heat here was heightened by the exhausts of so many cars, so we made a quick exit to the air conditioned Haitian Sobeys. It’s much like home, except for the security guard at the exit with his mirrored Terminator type sunglasses, earpiece, and ‘no fooling around’ look on his face. I didn’t want to know what else he had in the pocketed military style navy pants!
After packing up our boxes of cornflakes, diapers, and some other goodies–coke and a chocolate bar for Ronald, who kept watch of the truck–we were on our way to the all important stop at the bank.
Karen, Ronald, Beate, and I traveled in a single line–me in the middle of the pack–balancing our steps between the narrow edge of the sidewalk and the busy street, constantly watching out for “motos” (motorbikes) and anything else on wheels.
Standing outside the big white concrete building that is the “Banque Nationale,” I see the first security guard, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark bottoms, with a no nonsense look on his face. He is also holding a metal detector wand that he uses on people going into the bank carrying any type of bag. Certainly gives me the impression that going to the bank here is serious stuff.
When we come to the darkened glass doors, however, he does greet us with a quiet hello and waves us through. Besides the sign reminding people that guns and cell phone usage are prohibited, Karen said we also need to be very quiet when we talk–too much noise, I think, indicates potential commotion, and we certainly don’t want the other guard and his shotgun to think there’s any commotion!
So, as Karen once told me last year, sometimes you need to take pictures with your eyes, so that’s what I did as best I could. Employees and clients were quietly cordial, sometimes exchanging handshakes and smiles of familiarity. The lady who helps Karen there was friendly enough, and quickly acknowledged her with a smile, then began the formal process of making the withdrawal, which includes much paperwork and the 4 of us quietly waiting in the waiting area by the main desk.
About a half an hour later, Karen got “the nod” indicating her withdrawal was ready. She followed the bank lady to a separate room, and shortly thereafter, a smile and goodbye–we were on our way, with Ronald carrying the goods!
It was a quick, uneventful exit back into the crowded streets, as we made our way in single file again, back to Karen’s white truck. Phew…a little excitement coupled with some nerves, but that’s all part of the adventure.
I had a little feeling of pride and sense of accomplishment on the way home, after realizing that what is a simple outing to the bank and grocery store at home, is not without its challenges and risks, or maybe adventure, here. But no matter where Karen offers to take me, I’m willing to buckle up–we’re going on a road trip! Hugs from Haiti ??
~Heather
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