Chookooloonks

haiti no more

It appears I am no longer going to Haiti: the trip has been canceled, for reasons mostly related to security. There is a part of me that is deeply disappointed: despite all of the traveling I've done in the last 5 years, say, none of it has been to a place that was entirely new to me. I was looking forward to going somewhere where I actually felt like a foreigner, where I could practice another language, where I could expand my horizons. Haiti would've certainly provided me an amazing opportunity.

But then there's this other part? Well, that part is just plain relieved.

In some ways, the relief is irrational. I am, if nothing else, an incredibly seasoned traveler. I've been flying since I was a month old. At last count, I've been to 30 different countries -- not all of them very safe. I've been to Nigeria, where a soldier with a machine gun escorted my every move. I watched the events of September 11th unfold from my hotel room in the Middle East. I used to fly to sketchy parts of the world with hardly a backwards glance. There was a time I'd have charged into Haiti with nothing but the grace of God. And yet, something has changed.

I was telling a friend recently that as little as five years ago, I never used to fear death. In my mind, death happened to everyone, it was the natural conclusion to life, and when it happened to me, I'd be ready. After all, I used to think, I've lived a good life. I'm well-educated. I've traveled the world. What more is there?

Then, I met Marcus. And while flying has never been my favourite mode of transportation, I found myself more and more saying a silent prayer before every trip: please, God, keep me safe. I want to have more time with this wonderful man. Don't let it be my time yet. And then I'd smile, and chide myself for being so melodramatic.

Then Alex was born. And since then, I find my prayers are becoming more and more fervent: please, God, please keep me safe. Alex is so young. I'm not finished being her mother. We're not finished being a family. There's still so much to do.

So even though I won't get to see Haiti, and get to experience the first black independent nation in person, see its vibrant art, taste its incredible French-inspired food, and meet amazing people like Wyclef Jean (and others), there's a part of me that is also relieved that I won't be visiting one of the most corrupt, dangerous countries in the world, as well. Because all of a sudden, considering the risks is actually important.

Because, happily, my priorities have changed.

what i'll be doing in haiti

Okay, apparently my anti-malarial medication (which, so far, has made me nauseous, and the first day after I took it, made it difficult to see*) has clouded my faculties a bit; so much so, in fact, I've decided it's okay to give you some detail about what I'll be doing in Haiti. I know. I'm nuts like that.

As it happens, Wyclef Jean, of The Fugees fame, is Haitian, and he runs a foundation called Yele.org, an organization whose stated mission it is "to empower the people of Haiti and the Haitian diaspora to rebuild their nation" through combining "the power of music with the tools of development in the areas of education, health, environment and humanitarian assistance." You can read more about their projects here. Next week, in the small town of Jacmel in Haiti, and in conjunction with the Jacmel International Film Festival, Yele.org is hosting Yele Fest, which culminates in Wyclef's first concert in Haiti in 8 years, and is expected to draw a crowd of 50,000.

And my boss has asked me to fly to Haiti to cover the event. On camera. You know, for people to actually see.

I have to say that I'm approaching this with a mixture of fear and unbridled excitement. My fear is due, in part, from the fact that I have read very little that is flattering about Haiti (and the US Department of State isn't helping matters any), plus, I've never worked on camera before -- without a script anyway. I'm excited because I'm going to get to see a country that I otherwise would have never visited on my own, which is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity in itself, never mind the fact that I may get to meet some amazing people in the process.

So, anyway, that's what I'm up to. Needless to say, I have tons to do before I leave on Tuesday, but I managed to get the first important thing out of the way today, by cutting about 2 pounds of hair off my head:

I call this "Haiti Hair." I figure by cutting it this short, there's little to no chance of the wind catching my hair and doing something inappropriate on-camera.

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* Actually, the symptoms haven't been that bad so far. The worst, however, is that I have to take these things for four weeks after I get back, and since they could cause liver damage, I can't drink for the entire time that I'm taking them.

No drinking for 6 weeks.

Through the holidays, until 2007.

Pity me.

i suspect i'll look not unlike a mangy dog

Quite unexpectedly, I'm going to Haiti -- HAITI! -- on business next week. I can't really give you details (yet), because I can't quite believe it myself, but suffice to say that I'll be doing something I've never done before, and I'll be doing it on camera.

That sounds sort of dirty, doesn't it? I assure you that even though I'm wildly excited about the opportunity, there's nothing unseemly about what I'll be doing.

Anyway, my employer has required that I take anti-malarial medication as a prerequisite for going on this trip. To be honest, I was a bit apprehensive when I heard this. You see, I've taken anti-malarial medicine before for a trip to Nigeria, and if memory serves, the drug I took, Malarone, had the unfortunate side effect of diarrhea. Still, I remember considering myself lucky: most of my coworkers had taken Lariam, resulting in some becoming really depressed, a few having freakish nightmares, and at least one who repeatedly dreamed of killing his wife. So, you know, an irritable bowel seemed hardly anything to complain about.

It turns out that there are different anti-malarial medications which are prescribed, depending on what part of the world you're visiting, since there are different strains of malaria. (Who knew?) After much to-ing and fro-ing with the health authority, I finally received my prescription today, and as of this evening, I've taken my first dose.

The good news? It's not Lariam. It's not even Malarone. It's something called Avloclor.

The bad news? Well, according to Dr. Google, the following are the possible side effects:

Disturbances of the gut such as diarrhoea, nausea, vomiting or abdominal pain

Headache

Skin rashes

Itching (pruritus)

Low blood pressure (hypotension), this might make you feel dizzy

Visual disturbances

Loss of hair colour

Hair loss (alopecia)

Fits (convulsions)

Disturbance in the normal numbers of blood cells in the blood

Damage to the retina of the eye (long-term use)

Discolouration of skin, nails, or mucous membranes, eg inside of mouth

Hearing distubances, eg ringing in the ears (tinnitus) or hearing loss

Anxiety, confusion, hallucinations or strange or abnormal thoughts

Weakening of muscles

Weakening of the heart muscle (long-term use at high doses)

Changes in the electrical signals in the heart (seen on an ECG)

Liver disorders

NICE. Almost makes you want to risk malaria, doesn't it?

Anyway, all this to say: if, in the coming months, you stumble across a video of me with patchy bald spots, apparently blind and definitely scratching, you'll know why. Be kind.

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a nibble at the big apple

Me, waiting for my flight at Piarco International Airport, November 16, 2006

My trip was fast and furious and on the whole, quite a bit of fun. The flight to New York was thankfully uneventful, but for two events: the first involved a highly irritable and ghetto-fabulous woman sitting to my left who, upon learning that the airline had forgotten to include her vegetarian meal, protested most vociferously, yelling loudly and mercilessly at the poor, overworked flight attendants. ("The fact that you haven't got my meal is not MY problem!" she screamed, and, my little kumquats, it took all the willpower I could muster not to whisper to her, "Actually, ma'am, in fact it IS your problem.") I felt so sorry for the flight attendants that I felt compelled to be extra nice to them in compensation. It turns out this was a good move on my part: the same crew was working my flight back to Trinidad today, and they recognized me -- and while I was seated in economy, they made sure to keep me well-lubricated in free mimosas from first class. Good times.

The second event on Thursday's flight occurred as soon as we started our descent, when another blingly-dressed woman got up to speak to a man who was seated one row in front of the woman across the aisle from me (got that?). Ms. Bling bent over to speak to her friend, resulting in her ample bottom parking itself within three inches of my face, and her tight, low-rise trousers giving way to reveal about one-third of her bare ass. Stunned, I glanced over at the woman across the aisle from me, who proceeded to collapse in helpless gales of laughter. I couldn't help it: I started to laugh as well, and by the time the plane landed, the two of us had tear-streaked faces and were positively weak.

The rest of my trip was great -- my coworkers, thank heavens, are as delightful in person as they are on instant-messaging, and we all got along famously. I also had the opportunity to share a glass of wine with Nancy from But Slenderly, and I have to tell you that she's one of the nicest people I've met in a long time, with a smile of pure sunshine. We promised each other that the next time I'm in New York, I'm bringing Marcus along, and we'll spend more together with her and her husband. I can't help but feel I've made a fast friend.

Anyway, the rest of the story can be found in pictures here -- although, because of my rushed state, I didn't take as many as I would've liked. Unfortunately, I was unable to get a picture of Ms. Bling (what with her bottom being between me and my camera, and therefore, I couldn't get to it -- the Nikon, not her bottom), Ghetto Fabulous (because I was afraid she might punch me), or Nancy (because we were having such great conversation, like a donut, I totally forgot to pull my camera out before she left).

With that, I'm off to have dinner with my family. I hope you're all having a great weekend.

(P.S. The Kind Blogroll is up. I think I got everyone; however, if you've put the image on your site, and you don't see your name on the list, please e-mail me: chookooloonksATgmailDOTcom. I'll rectify post haste.)

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if i can make it here

My favourite boots, purchased when I lived in London. I'd like to thank the City of New York for allowing me to take them out for a spin again.

Hello from New York City!

I got in late last night after Captain Bronco Buster safely put the plane down at Kennedy airport through some insane wind shears. Seriously, everyone on the plane clapped when we finally slowed to taxi speed. Yeesh.

And now, I'm off to meet my coworkers in what I like to call my "West Indian Pillsbury Dough Boy Takes Manhattan" look -- inspired, in part, by your suggestions. So if you happened to attempt to give me guidance, and you see me walking down the street, and think to yourself, "No, Karen, that's not what I had in mind," I apologize in advance. I honestly have no idea what I'm doing.

More tomorrow when I return to Trinidad.

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our navajo wedding vase

When Alex was exactly six months old, we all took our first family vacation together. At the time, we were living in Houston and Alex's adoption wasn't final (the hearing was scheduled for the following week), so instead of leaving the country as Marcus and I would've liked to do, we were required to remain in America. I did a little online research, and decided that we should go to Santa Fe -- a place neither Marcus nor I had ever visited.

It was, singularly, the best vacation I've had my whole life. Santa Fe is an incredibly spiritual place; you can feel it as soon as you enter the city limits. The weather was stunning, the scenery breathtaking. We walked through the square, we hiked through ancient Native American ruins, we visited tons of art galleries. Of course, I took lots of pictures. And since at the time, both Marcus and I worked outside of our home (and neither of our jobs allowed for paid maternity or paternity leave), it was the first time we were able to spend seven straight days together as a family, all day, every day. It was a time of intense bonding for the three of us, and by the end of the seven days we felt closer to each other than ever.

On our last full day in Santa Fe, we wandered into this kitschy souvenir shop, and the vase you see above caught my eye -- I couldn't help staring at its briliant blue colour. A salesperson walked over.

"That's a Navajo wedding vase. It's traditional, symbolizing union."

"Really?" I picked up the vase and ran my hand on its smooth bowl. The vase is small -- only about 6 inches high -- but to me, it was perfect.

"Really," he smiled. "Let me know if you need help." And he walked away.

I stood there, thinking of our great holiday, and how the following week, a judge was going to pronounce us a family. Sort of like we're all officially getting married to each other, I thought to myself.

I bought it on the spot.

So, this little blue vase is not only a reminder of a great Santa Fe holiday, but also of the time we officially became a family ...

... and not just because a judge said so, either.

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UPDATE: Collette, a Pueblo, has informed me in the comments that this vase is of a Pueblo design, not a Navajo. The bottom of this vase is actually etched by the artist with his name, the date and the word "Navajo," which resulted in my (and possibly the salesperson's) misidentifying the vase. I apologize for the error!

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my favourite coffee mug, and weekend update

I received this coffee mug over the summer, a gift from AlphaMom in exchange for an interview. While the interview was fun, I was able to meet the amazing Isabel Kallman and the fabulous LeahPeah, and, let's face it, smart women do thirst for knowledge, I love this mug particularly because it's ceramic, and has a wonderfully deep bowl with which to hold my morning coffee.

I admit it: sometimes my reasons for loving my favourite things are, unlike this mug, rather shallow.

Anyway, lately I've been looking for new blogs to capture my attention. So, while you're having your morning coffee, here are a few that you might also find interesting:

- I originally was drawn to Hula Seventy because of the vivid photography, but I've been really pleased with how her words keep me coming back.

- Speaking of vivid photography, I recently stumbled across Ms. Kathleen. I haven't actually read her yet, but the images! Oh, the images!

- Someone else's blogroll pointed me to Sewn with Gold Threads, where it appears the author has just returned from a trip to Africa; and finally,

- I also haven't read much of True Nature yet, but the author has just traveled to Uruguay, where she plans on making her new home. Also? The soundtrack to her life recently includes Everything But The Girl. You have got to love a person who loves Everything But The Girl. I can't wait to read more.

And speaking of travel, for any of you who secretly aspire to be a travel writer, you might want to check this out. You never know where it might lead.

Have a wonderful weekend.

of beaches, brides and bathrooms

Alex, laughing at breakfast this morning before we left for our flight home.

We're back from Barbados, where we attended our friends' wedding. Barbados is only about a 1/2 hour flight from Trinidad, so it's really sort of sad we haven't visited sooner -- it is a beautiful country. See evidence of its beauty, Sean & Chanelle's wedding and the fun we had here.

But before I go, a story: Ever since Alex has been potty trained, she's been a little disconcerted as to how to relieve herself when we're on the beach, due to (a) the scarcity of public facilities, and (b) the general nastiness of public facilities. And so, like any good mother would, I've been showing her how to go to the water's edge, dip her bum into the small waves, and pee (oh stop, you'd do the same).

On Saturday, while we were at the considerably populated beach in front of our hotel, Alex had to go. I took her to the water, sat her down on her haunches, and she did her thing.

Inspired by her performance, I took her back to her father, and said, "Stay with Daddy. It's Mummy's turn." I returned to the ocean, swam past the breakers, did my business and eventually returned to the shore. When I reached the lounge chairs, Marcus was smiling at me.

"Did you hear your daughter calling you?"

"No, I didn't."

His grin widened.

"While you were out there, your little cherub was screaming loud enough for everyone to hear:

'SQUAT, MUMMY!!! YOU HAVE TO SQUAT!!!'"

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tobago

Coconut tree at Coco Reef Resort, Tobago

We're sneaky. How sneaky are we? We're so sneaky, we've snuck away to Tobago for the long Independence Day weekend (that's Trini Independence, for those of you who are confused, wondering why I didn't post this back on July 4th).

If you'd like to see the incriminating evidence, click on the coconut tree above for a slideshow (feel free to click on each image of the slideshow to see a description, as well). Enjoy. You'll laugh, you'll cry, it'll become a part of you.

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a perfect little film to go with your first cup of coffee for the week

Sunday morning at Maracas, August 20, 2006

Yesterday, Marcus, Alex and I went to Maracas beach for the first time in months. Even though I'm generally a person who prefers a beach to be completely devoid of any other visitors when I'm there, I have to admit that I've gained quite an affection for this popular little place a mere 15-minute drive from our home. The mom of a friend of mine once called Maracas a "true limin' beach" -- that is, perfectly designed for just hangin' out. It's hard to argue with her: it is very difficult to be stressed at Maracas. Something about the sun and the surf, but also the occasional music, and the shark-and-bake vendors and the cold Carib beers just melt all your worries away. And whenever I start to get disillusioned about the crime situation or the crippling bureaucracy that plagues my country, usually a quick trip to Maracas with my family is enough to make me feel really lucky to live here.

In that vein, as I was putting together the collage of photographs above, I was thinking how far-away and strangely foreign my island must look to those of you who don't live in the Caribbean -- not unlike, perhaps, how I feel whenever I look at the photos that are on Irene's site from Paris, or Meg's Flickr from Vancouver, Canada, or Andrea's site from the Berkeley/San Francisco area. Goodness, I think to myself. What amazingly beautiful cities they live in. It would be so cool to live there. It's kind of odd, I suppose, because assuming that we all enjoy the places we live, for most of the time I imagine our home towns actually feel sort of ordinary and pedestrian to us -- even to those of us who live in extraordinary places. It's sort of groovy that we're able to experience other places though the 'net -- and that everyone else can experience ours.

Given all this, have you seen the "Where the Hell is Matt" video? If not, you definitely need to check it out. It's only a couple of minutes long, and I'm not sure exactly why, but I found this little film positively inspiring. At the very least, it's ignited a new sense of wanderlust in me.

You can see and hear it here.

Happy Monday, everyone, wherever in the world you might be.

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