In 1965, my husband was recently out of graduate school and was teaching at a university in Puerto Rico. We didn’t have much money, but airfare to Haiti was cheap and hotels moderately priced, so we decided to go there for a long weekend during spring break. After 46 years, my most vivid memories of that trip are the beauty of the countryside, the poverty observable in Port au Prince, the stark contrast between the well-to-do and the very poor people, the grace of the women who carried baskets or bundles on their heads, the beggar children who mobbed us with outstretched hands as we walked the marketplace or when our taxi slowed to a crawl or stopped.
The outdoor marketplace was fascinating. There were seemingly hundreds of vendors selling fruits, vegetables, flowers, hand-carved wood sculptures, hand-woven baskets, pottery, clothing, leather goods, postal cards, and some things which seemed rather odd, such as single cigarettes and single tampons. Many of the vendors were women who simply wandered around with their small stock of items in their hands, and who approached us to offer their goods. Most of the people were smiling and polite, even when we did not purchase anything from them. We did buy a few lovely baskets and a carving of a woman with a bundle on her head.
We spent one afternoon going a rather long distance into the countryside to visit a plantation that distilled rum. We were told that visitors were welcome, and when we arrived, unannounced, we were invited to sit on a veranda with a spectacular view. The woman who owned the plantation had married a French perfumer who had created several flavored rums. She served us small samples of all of their products and chatted with us the entire time we were there. Coconuts are one of my favorite foods, and their coconut-flavored run was heavenly. We purchased six bottles of it – the maximum, we understood, with which we would be allowed to return to the U.S.
We also visited a church-run orphanage where the children appeared to be well-fed, nicely clothed, and happy, we saw a small parade of soldiers, and we drove through the seaport docks.
We were aware that Haiti was a poor country before we went there. I had envisioned slums more or less like what one sees in some American cities. I don’t know if the taxi drivers deliberately steered us away from the worst areas, but most of the (for want of a better word) hovels that I saw had neat yards, the children were no dirtier than what they had picked up in a day spent outdoors, and none of them seemed to be starving. Even so, the trip was an eye-opener. I saw obvious poverty that seemed to be mitigated by a people who were determined to make the best of what they had.
I have never had an opportunity to return to Haiti. I would like to go there again.