Severet and now today

Yesterday was another good day in clinic. Afterwards we went to the home of one of the staff members for some awesome stew over rice and some fresh avocados, which are in season right mow and just hang off the trees. After dinner we rode home as the sun was setting, several of us drinking cold Presidente beer from big 40 ounce bottles.

The clinic was in Severet, a small village several miles from town. The only thing about clinic that wasn't pretty routine was that I got to go on two home visits right after lunch. My interpreter Mark (moved from Haiti in February after the quake and learned Spanish since then), the cooperadores (village health worker) Katherine and I walked about a half mile (hell yes it's hot!) to their homes. The first was a very old lady who had lost a leg years ago but was otherwise remarkably healthy. The second was a tragic case- a 44 year old lady who, five years ago, had suffered some kind of "event " (probably a stroke) that left her with physical deformities, unable to walk and with an altered mentation. Ever since she's had "attacks", probably seizures, but wasn't evaluated until she was hospitalized eight months ago. The family takes good care of her generally, but their understanding of her disease and how to treat it is minimal. It was pretty sad.

I awoke this morning at 4:30 in the midst of a gentle thunderstorm and have written this sitting in the dining area overlooking the valley and the Caribbean Sea while the sun rises and the day unfolds. There are clouds covering the mountaintops, and below me I can trace the river's route by the telltale mist that rises from it as it snakes it's way from the mountain to the sea. The sound and smell of the rain are relaxing and peaceful, and everything feels like it's been washed clean.

Today will be a challenging day, as we'll be in Pancho Mateo, a very poor community with a large population of migrant Haitians. The local sugar factory closed five years ago, and unemployment is the norm, about 80%. the factory and landowners let the fields sit in disarray, and burn off the cane every year or so, but won't allow the local people to grow food on the dormant land. I suppose it pays to keep the labor force starving and impoverished in case they ever need cheap workers again.

It's almost time for breakfast, so I have to run. I'll post more later.

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