Getting a hair cut in another country. I’d rather be strapped  in the back of a toyota on a wooden bench, going 40 miles an hour through huge potholes, with chickens pecking at my feet.

Let’s be honest, I couldn’t really get a hair cut in Haiti cause, well, Haitians don’t have the same kind of hair I do. They all want to touch it and stroke it. And, the only “salons” I see here are tiny one room things that just kind of look scary. I have a hard enough time going to the nail salon not knowing if they sanitize their instruments. I guess it’s the Esthetician in me, the side of me that has remained pretty quiet living here in Haiti. But this I couldn’t waiver on. Hence why, two months ago, a dear friend here agreed to cut my hair. She did an amazing job with the dull kitchen scissors, but it still needed to get it fixed up.

So, I decided the Dominican Republic was the place to do it. They all have hair like me, and considering I don’t know when the next time we are coming home it, I had to do something. I made an appointment at a salon a few miles from our hotel. I was worried about how to talk with her cause every time I open my mouth to speak the years of Spanish I learned, now only Creole comes out. I either mumble something in Creole or stand there looking pathetic. I knew this would not do in the salon. I had the front desk girl at our hotel (who spoke great english and recommended this lady for me) write down what I wanted, in Spanish. A simple cut right below my shoulders, and thinning out my hair cause it’s so,so thick. With my piece of paper in tow, I headed off to the salon.

The salon was cute, and was familiar. It had the typical salon smell. Ladies, you know that hot hair smell, mixed with yummy conditioner scent? It had pictures of sweet hair cuts all over, a lot from what looked to me like the 80’s. As soon as she called my name,  I instantly had the sweats. She took me back to wash my hair, which looked like your regular old hair washing area. So far so good. Then she went in the back and brought back two cups of two different colored stuff. Now, I have been coloring my hair for a long time, and I looked a lot like the color used for that!! I tried to remain calm as she leaned me back into the bowl, knowing that she wouldn’t put me in that bowl if she was coloring, right? It was an intense ten minutes. Finally she finished and my hair looked the same. Then off to the chair. This is where I met Mary, the lady who was cutting my hair. We talked in Spanish for, oh about one minute and then I ran out of words, so I handed her the card. She nodded.  Using sherades, I gestured where I wanted my hair to be cut-about 3 inches. She nodded. She separated my hair and began to cut. By now, I was very very warm. I was sitting under the black cape trying to look normal, casual even. I see large chucks of my hair falling by my feet keep saying to myself, “It’s only hair, It’s only hair, it will grow back” She then pauses and leaves me for about ten minutes. Finally she returns with color mixed up in a bowl. I gulp. Thankfully, I learned the words, “only cut please” and repeat them to her. She laughs and starts talking and pointing, with me still starting. Is she trying to point to someone’s hair to show me what color she’s doing? Did I piss her off and how she’s going to color my hair some wild color? No, she was mixing it for another girl who worked there. Whew. She proceeds for another long 20 minutes as I try not to stare in the mirror. Meanwhile, sweat is dripping off of me like I’m standing in the sun on an August day in Haiti. She finally finishes and removes the cape. I stare back in the mirror. It’s perfect. Perfect. I turn to her and actually tear up. We both hug, as if she knew how much it meant to me. I tried explaining to her how delighted I was, how I live in Haiti and they don’t even have salons there. She gasped and then hugged me again so I think she understood my broken Spanish. I tipped her more than I should have, almost half of what it cost for the cut, but as far as I was concerned I would have paid her triple that. I walked outside with huge pit stains under my arms, with my sassy new hair, and a smile on my face.

We’ve been a little mia lately, sorry about that. We are alive and well, not need to worry! We headed off to the Domincan Republic-vowing not to work or even hardly open the computer! Maybe you noticed, maybe not! Anyway…

I used to be more of a stickler for things like celebrating special events on the actual day they occurred.  But over the years I have come to terms with the reality that it can’t always happen. Life happens. People have busy schedules, others have strict working environments, and I have come to see that it’s simply important that the person, event, or date gets celebrated-regardless of the execution of timing-within reason of course!

Brandon and I had a week get away planned during our actual anniversary, the 24th, but some things came up where we pretty much had to be in Haiti during that time for work. And thus, it was ‘celebrate early, or not at all’ and of course I chose early! We looked at some exotic Caribean destinations, but kept coming back to the Dominican Republic. Mainly, it is close, cheap to get to, and, well, they have a huge downtown, Santo Domingo, and all I could think about was shopping!!! I just wanted to do ‘normal’ things that I, we, have been missing so much. Things like going to the movies, going grocery shopping like normal people, going to the mall to buy anything or everything, getting ice cream, eating fast food. And so we picked the Domincan, going to the amazing beaches near Punta Cana-tossed in with a day in Santo Domingo on the way there an back to satisfy my cravings for normalcy.

It was delightful. It took about seven hours to get to Santo Domingo where we stayed one night downtown. I don’t know what I loved more-the warm shower (I realized why I was dawdling.. we have not had a warm shower for five months!!!), the amazing fast internet, the Baskin Robbins within walking distance, or the grocery store just down the street. I was in heaven. The next day we loaded up on another bus and made our way to the gorgeous coast. We happened to get a killer deal-who cares if it’s off season and the very beginning of hurricane season?- at what I would argue was one of the nicest hotels in the whole crazy mecca of tourism there. We were about 10 miles from all the other resorts, and the hotel we stayed was off by itself with a gorgeous tropical setting. Our room was only about 100ft from the beach with a full ocean view. None of the usual  ‘We have an ocean view if I stand on the balcony and lean on one foot with half my body falling over the railing’ nonsense. I’m talking full ocean baby! And they decorated our room with flowers and towels molded into creature-like on cruise ships. So fun!

Our vacations are usually more active, we like to get out, explore, and do things. But since this hotel was out on its own, with taxis being grossly overpriced, and us needing to just chill out, we decided staying put was just what we needed. Each day the only decisions that had to be made were which of the amazing, all right on the ocean, restaurants we wanted to eat at, or which deserted beach on their six miles of endless white sand and crystal clear water, we wanted to settle into.

The hotel also had this amazing aquestiran farm thing. It was a small trail that went back into a forest and had these bright aqua lagoons. We hiked in and through them and even went swimming in the crystal clear water. It was so strange and yet wonderful! Oh, and you golfers, especially you brother Ben, would have been so jealous-they have three different courses right on the water!

Okay, so we had to get out at least one day. We rented a car and drove around until we didn’t want to drive anymore and turned back. The country side was very pretty. Some areas were very similar to Haiti, and others so different you would never guess they shared the same island. There is much more industry and infrastructure there, which is seen is many ways. They do have many large cities that look just like LA-with a mix of very nice swanky areas and still have a few ghettos. Each little town in the country was different from Haiti in that many had municipal electricity, mostly paved roads, actual shops and restaurants, and were very tidy and clean.

Part of my job is to enter reports. Each time our national team goes out to repair pumps, they have to fill out a three page report. It has lots of great information-exact location including gps coordinates, information about the village (like how many people live there, how many use the pump, what they do to earn a living, what religion is present there, etc) they also fill in what they say when the LWI national team shares about Jesus, and a little about health and hygiene. All that being said, they usually do do about two pumps a day, and so I keep busy entering the reports and downloading the many pictures to go along with it. I love being able to see what our national team is doing through these reports. I love that they are the ones out fixing the pumps, they interview people from the community, and they take the photos. Since we don’t need to go out with every repair, doing the reports is a great way to see, know and read about how the repair went. My favorite part is seeing the photos, and coming across the occasional strange explanations. The main Haitian who writes the reports speaks only a little English. Currently the reports are in English-we are working on translating them-which makes more work for him. He has been doing it for a while, and so knows what each thing means. However, I think it’s hard to learn a new language, and especially to write that second language. He really does a great job, and for the most part, I can figure out what he means or what he’s talking about.

But, the other day I came across a report I have to share with you. We have a box they are supposed to fill out called “unique about this community” and it’s used only for when we used certain materials for the job. But, sometimes they forget that, or something so strange happens to them, that they write it down in this box. Today, the box read, and I quote, “Somebody asks me about the horse meat! How you think about it?? And I say, naturally, it’s a good meat. How many do kill per day?”  I about fell off my chair laughing!! It was so casual, so normal, it was hilarious!! It’s as if the community needed to know his opinion, and he thought it perfectly normal and great that they eat horse.

A little background: Haitians eat horses. In Cap Haitian, it’s just as casual and normal as Americans eating cows. However, not all Haitians eat horse, just like not all Haitians eat cows. We had a friend eat dinner with us who was from the far away, La Baie,-he came up here to help us move from Port de Paix. We were eating spaghetti with meatballs, and he was devouring them, until someone asked what meat the meatballs were. I said cow meat. This guy looked up, horrified. I can imagine it would be the same look you would give if you were eating this delicious meal only to find the meat was horse meat! You just don’t eat horses! Well, he thought, you just don’t eat cows! And, as hungry as I know he was, he stopped eating and pushed his plate away from him! We have yet to officially try horse, although in this country most of the meat we eat is of questionable origin, so I am sure we have had it.