Road rage in Haiti

If you have never driven in Haiti before, there is no good way of explaining what it’s like. The best way I know how to explain it is like leaving a mega church parking lot at 12:15pm on Sunday. It’s each man/woman/child to themselves to get out first.

The only two things that matters are
1) who was brave enough to inch up forward first
2) don’t get hit or be hit.

On one of my runs (I drop people off and pick them up to the airport here in Port au Prince) I was in one of the crazy intersections where you just inch up as far as you go, jog to the left or right, pull out in front of anyone that you feel has the breaks to stop before they hit you, and GO!. There simply is no rule(s). If you are to nice you won’t get through the intersection and you will get a verbal assault from the horn of the person behind you letting you know you are a coward.

So I have done this maybe a 100 times by now. I realize, the process and go. Now, one cannot properly describe in a blog how this works, but here goes. I entered the intersection and nosed up to the side of a dump truck crossing my path. This JERK behind him (who looked like one of those French guys by the pool that all the chicks dig, had this very hot looking lady chick next to him, and driving a car that screamed “I am special”) could have waited about 2 seconds and let me and my almost air conditioned Toyota pass, but he nosed in… cause he could. There we sat…. I am sure it was all of 10 seconds but felt like 5 minutes. My Toyata hood emblem was sited in perfectly at this bikini toting French guy. He was in my sights, a perfect bulls eye… now all I had to do is pull the trigger.

For those 10 seconds… I was so pissed off. Rage completely consumed me. I hated the fact that he out maneuvered me, drove a nicer car than me, looked like a sexy French guy, and of course… the girl. As for me, I was in a Toyota that you fill up with oil and check the gas, I won’t be caught dead in a French (insert what French guys wear in the pool here) cause I don’t have what it takes, and I was sitting next to a very unattractive man… I lost it.

To be clear, the guys in my car had no clue. I hide it well. I am a well-trained Christian man who can politely act Christ like in most any situation at the same time under my skin I am sinning like a mad man.

So we all got through the intersection and moving down the road and I found my self so angry. Just filled inside with rage. At that moment I could not tell you why I was so mad, angry, ticked… but I was all of that (inside). Now we get to the next intersection. I am thinking… revenge. So, without going into a detailed diagram of my Haiti textbook maneuvering skills, I went around the French guy and the hot chick like they were stuck in the mud and off I went. I was… victorious. You see… I had done to him what he had just done to me.

-pause-

I dropped off my passengers and on the way back I was having a little chat with God. Something that I do in the States a lot, but in Haiti you have a special pass and you don’t have to wait as long for Him to answer…. His whisper here is like a megaphone in your ear. To be clear, from the outside I did not sin. Did not do anything wrong. I drove the rules of Haiti and all was good. But inside, I had a lot to answer for to my Savior.

I asked God… hum…. “What that heck just happened?”. French guy did not do anything that I would not have, yet I was raged at him. I let my prejudice get in the way. I let my greed get in the way. You see, I like nice cars. I would love to look as hot as him by the pool, and yea… I want the hot chick next to me. I wanted all the things he had. I was consumed with greed and jealously.

I think God allowed me to rage over something I normally don’t rage about to show me the spirit of the people as a whole here. Americans come in driving cars (a car is luxury here), they come in herds (white guys in groups all taking pictures gets old to see), and of course the girl (I ain’t going there in this blog). To most Haitian’s, I am the French guy.

I am a snobby American. I come from a country that could give dignified housing to the million or so Haitians who this morning are waking up to urine soaked muddy tents, we could provide health care that is more adequate than the tents and board hospitals that I have seen, we could stop giving hand outs and start helping them help themselves, we could give more than 10% of the money in the Bush-Clinton fund help the people in Haiti today. I can’t blame them for their negative feelings about me. To them, I have it all. To me, the French guy had it all. I am sure the French guy is lusting after someone too. We all do. Some of us just hide it better than others.

Somewhere in all this I need to stop wanting what others have. I really suck at being content. I suck at being real with the folks around me. I am a master of hiding my feelings, my hurts, my fears. I am… a great 20th Century American Christian. I am a poor new testament Christian. What I aspire to be is a man who just loves Jesus and loves others regardless of the color of their skin or the wealth in their pocket.