half a grand idea

Shortly after the January 12 earthquake in Haiti, the U.S. government announced that Haitians living illegally in the United States could apply for temporary protected status, which grants permission to work legally in the United States.

It was a reassuring move on two counts: it showed that the Obama administration recognized the informal supply lines that run through Western Union service stations—it is estimated that 1 to 2 million Haitians live outside their country (half a million of who live in the U.S.) and send $1.9 billion to family and friends back home annually. This was the second reassurance: temporary protected status could provide better job security and thus a steadier stream of funds to those in Haiti.

But the money orders and the checks are written in slim, double-or-triple digit amounts—according to the Inter-American Development Bank, the annual monthly remittance is $150. It is a number nothing short of miraculous when considering the cost of rent and food in, say, New York City versus the wages paid for the type of work that most legal employees avoid.

And thus it appears that government foresight is a bit myopic. It costs nearly $500 to apply for temporary protection status. Waivers are granted, although eligibility is based on meeting criteria such as providing “a list of all assets owned, possessed, or controlled,” “your monthly essential expenditures for each of the three months prior to the filing,” and “your monthly gross income from all sources for each of the three months prior to filing.” Presenting such information would be a hassle for any individual, let alone those who likely live much of their life on U.S. soil explicitly off the books and under the table.

According to the New York Times, the Department of Homeland Security reported that thus far, less than 35,000 of the estimated 100,000 to 200,000 Haitians living illegally in the U.S. have applied for protected status. Aids groups are petitioning the government to it easier to apply for a waiver.

For those who qualify, one wonders what happens when the 18-month protection period ends. Often, aliens apply for renewals, and this seems to be the proposed plan for eligible Haitians. But with the tumultuous history that marks U.S.-Haitian relations, one can understand why many Haitians living illegally in the United States might feel there are better ways to spend $500.

man with the orderly mind

Despite the downward screech that is the Michigan housing market, B’s house in the Detroit suburbs closes tomorrow. It’s located off what must have once been a farm road; there’s a Steinway showroom a mile away and the predictable replication of chain restaurants and grocery stores. To get into the housing development, you carry a device, much like a garage door opener; when you press the button the gate zips into the air at such a speed that makes it a tempting catapult launch. Lacking such a gadget, you speak to the man sitting in the sentry-house. “6400 P–,” I say, but this is not enough. “Mrs. H–. The house is selling tomorrow.”

“Oh yes,” he replies. “Mrs. H–.” The gate flies up.

B and her husband lived in the condo association for over twenty years; they kept up with the couples on their semi-circle, but now B runs through the ailments and the deaths. Alzheimer’s. Stroke. Deceased. And now B, a year after her husband’s death, has officially moved away. The house has that flat, forlorn look—carpet exposed for the first time in years, walls bare but for hooks and smudges.

A man comes to haul away the residual items and refuses my repeated offer to help, even after a large metal desk crashes off his dolly, so I slip into the house to give him some privacy. (One would think that with such a peculiar name as “Kosher Garbage,” employees might have a sense of humor, but he didn’t appear in the best of spirits, even after I reassured him that I really was kidding about the “Oh, I forgot—there’s a couch” comment, which I had saved up for the moment he began pulling tie-downs over the overflowing bed of his pickup truck.)

The garbage cans are stuffed with hangers and headless broomsticks and rusting screws harvested from the toolbox. A frequent mover of homes, I am loathe to leave the garbage and cannot believe my luck when I spot the garbage truck lurching its way through the neighborhood. “You saved the day!” I exclaim, fearful that the garbage man will be annoyed with two stuffed cans and my poorly parked car. But this is indeed a day for miracles. The M– Village garbage man, who must not be unaccustomed to medical rubbish and the non-bodily remains of the deceased, looks at me, upends one of the cans into truck and replies, “You know, with the way people are leaving this earth, I’m just grateful for every day I get.”

           What do you think of us in fuzzy endeavor, you whose directions are

            sterling, whose lunge is straight?

awry

I have thought more than once this week of the times I quoted Burns to my students, wondering if the care I spent explaining how language could evolve from gang aft agley to oft go awry made me neglect the underlying lesson. 

And thus, after an afternoon session on hold with Delta (Northwest has now merged with Delta…), and an evening with Spirit (You can book one of the big front seats. Did you know that Spirit offers Spirit snacks and drinks? Spirit offers snacks and drinks!), I am trying to remember the lessons easily forgotten. How my indignation, righteous as it may be, is oxygenated by life in a place where we expect airlines to contact us in a timely fashion regarding canceled flights. A place where $500 plane tickets can be purchased with little forethought, and are guaranteed some degree of recovery. A place where letters can be written, questions can be asked, and it is not unreasonable to expect a reply.

Certainly, this is not black and white. I am still waiting for an answer as to why it might take a week to inform a customer of a canceled flight; as well as why one airline may fly, but not another; which also spurs the question: In the temporary absence of competitors, is it merely good capitalism for an airline to increase its fares, or might that carry a hint of crime about the starched white collar?

One needn’t travel outside of the United States to learn that what often gives money its strength is the convenience it can buy. Yes, dear choir, I hear your robes rustling, and so here is the lesson of gang aft agley: My record for trips to Haiti is now 1 in 3. The frustration of such a record pales, however, with details drawn during the 10 days I have managed to spend there. The assassination attempt, suspiciously political, that remains unsolved after 10 years. The long journey to the capital, merely to obtain a drivers license. The hours spent studying for a high school exam written in French and not one’s childhood tongue. The impossibility of paying for the apprenticeship required to become a lawyer.

Did you know that Spirit Airlines sells snacks and drinks?

tu petit

Since the January 12 earthquake in Haiti (there have been aftershocks as recent as this morning), two language learning programs have released a portion of their Creole content for free, which I, both lacking in income and Creole, have taken advantage over the past few weeks. (Google also launched a beta translation program, although user beware—someone tested the phrase I feel bad, which you certainly would after telling someone mwen santi move, which actually translates to I smell bad.)

Thanks to both Pimsleur and Ann Pale Kreyòl, I’ve been doing my best to banish the Spanish from my brain—if you’re speaking quickly enough, for example, pa le poko (not as yet) sounds an awful lot like un poco (a little), which is what I thought I heard my sister say when her Haitian friends asked if I was married.

Beyond phonetics, what is most interesting about the language programs are what they teach. Pimsleur’s exclusively aural program is a bit confounding for the visual learner, but most bewildering was today’s lesson—one in which I: invited myself over to my companion’s home for lunch, asked directions to the restaurant, and inquired if my companion would prefer beer or wine.

Ann Pale Kreyòl is a highly regarded program, and has a bit more savoir-faire. Lesson one asks after the companion’s child. Lesson two includes a section on how to answer the question How are you? Five possible answers are given. By the fourth, you realize this is not just a lesson in language.

Ki jan ou ye?

Mwen la.           I’m okay.

M pa pi mal.     I’m no worse.
M byen.            I’m fine.
M ap boule.     I’m managing.
M ap kenbe.    I’m getting along.

packing

The first name I remember from the emails and letters my sister wrote during her time of voluntary service in Haiti was that of J–. He and my sister worked with Mennonite Central Committee (MCC), and in the years following we have celebrated from afar as J– passed the stringent high school exams, received a promotion at MCC, married, and had two children.

When I went to Haiti last August, J– came to pick us up at the airport, despite the fact that he'd just taken an accounting exam and had likely been up long before dawn to attend a men's Bible study. Later that week J–'s wife prepared a delicious meal of chicken, potatoes, bean soup, rice, and grenadine juice. She had hauled in water so that we could wash our hands, and purchased ice for our drinks. We'd spent the entire week thinking about water, or lack thereof: my sister was researching the affects of floods and mudslides in a rural watershed, although such calamity was hard to conjure in a land that hadn't felt rain in six weeks. The sight—indeed, the touch and taste—of a basin of water and a block of ice melting in an insulated cooler, was generous not just of deed but of thought.

Months ago, my sister applied for an additional grant to study post-disaster situations in Haiti. All too ironically, she was awarded the grant the day of the January 12 earthquake. I'm tagging along once again, and will be heading to Port-au-Prince at the end of the month. J– and his family, like so many others, have lost their home. Tents are scarce, and I'm hoping to bring as many as Delta's weight limits allow. If you or anyone you know is interested in donating money for waterproof tents or tarps, please be in touch (sara.versluis@gmail.com). Alternatively, if you're in my part of the world, and have a serviceable tarp or tent that's been itching to feel the Caribbean air, I've got some suitcases waiting to be packed.

all the news I need

To be fair, it seems to be a southeastern Michigan thing, this tendency for the weather, proportional, perhaps, to the number of drivers who cannot handle the snow. NPR reports on the snowstorm in DC, and then breaks for a local update on all the accidents around town. It is my first winter in the fleshy palm of the mitten. It snows rarely here, I have learned—so much so that we are inexperienced in the physics of brakes and ice.

Which explains our abiding interest in the weather.

I pick B– up from the senior center; she attended a program for those with memory loss. She spent part of the time worrying about the weather: if her son would make it from the Detroit suburbs, if they’d cleared the roads yet, what to do about her dog. She knew, because the roads were glistening, that the salt trucks had come through.

"God grabbed me and put me outside and I am alive."

My sister, Anna, is posting messages from friends and former co-workers in Haiti. She lived in the country in the late 1990s, and worked for RNDDH, a Haitian human-rights organization. Furthermore, she studied land change and use in a rural watershed as part of her doctoral dissertation, and continues to travel to the country for geography-related research.

yele

The Bob Corbett Haiti listserve warns that it is “a very active place...this is not a list for the faint-hearted and there is no digest version.”

It is, however, a preeminient source of current information about Haiti, in English, and the last 50 hours have lived up to its disclaimer.

Gleaned from the list...

Richard Morse, proprietor of the famous Hotel Oloffson and founder of the band, RAM, is tweeting.

Conversely, according to a woman at CHF International, an aid organization out of Maryland, President Preval and other leadership have little or no access to phones, as of 2 p.m. Thursday. “We just got off the phone with the Haitian Ambassador to the UN, and they are in an urgent need of 5 satellite phones for the President, Prime Minster, Minister for the Interior the Chief of Police and the Haitian Ambassador to the UN. The communication is severely limited and their ability to talk to each other as well as the US and other coordinating agencies is compromised,” she reports.

Someone at the UN base writes that,

AAWSM, observed

I am in the habit of trawling for stories; when my friend said "salmon" and "collective" and "Ann Arbor", I knew it was a keeper.

Wild Salmon Minyan

Now what to do about that salmon fillet in my freezer...

there ain't no rest for the wicked

This is, I'm sure, how George Eliot spent her days.

Peek into the weekly schedule of a writer who has influence, and you will notice that she's focused on platform growth. Very likely her planner is full of commitments, appointments, and deadlines, including scheduled time to write. You'll probably notice a steady stream of tasks to help her increase visibility, such as her speaking gigs, Web editing, and curriculum, flyer, or book development. Once you start working on developing your platform daily, your writing career will gain momentum.

This holiday season, don't forget the writers in your life.  If you are, however, considering a gift subscription to Writer's Digest, may we suggest, instead, titles such as The Atlantic Monthly, or Granta, or the Virgina Quarterly Review*?

*If you fear such titles will allow you to peek into the nose of said writer and see snot,  Kleenex makes a great stocking stuffer.