By

Andrew Crone
The day started out great. I woke up sort of early and had a good breakfast of watermelon, cantaloupe, mangoes, toast and fried eggs. I strapped my backpack to the motorcycle with a couple of bungee chords, filled up the gas tank and hit the road.
My hammock and I head south to Port Salut at day break. I confirmed today that I won’t have any more meetings this week, so that frees me up to explore new ground. It rained earlier this evening for the first time since I arrived. I hope the roads are fine. It was dark when...
It’s Saturday evening and I’m sitting on the roof of the orphanage, looking out at the mountains all around me. There are some people I would like to meet here in the city next week, so I don’t want to venture out on any big trip to the country just yet, but I feel like...
My belly is full tonight. My drinking water is safe. In Cite Soleil, down by the harbor, many people eat clay, nibbling a little bit here and there throughout the day just to keep their bellies from aching as they go to bed. They flavor it with salt to make it taste better.
I have been shocked now for three days straight. I feel like I entered into a dream and haven’t woken up yet. It just gets more and more strange. Monday I took the tap taps up to Petionville by myself. This city is so unreal. Imagine Time Square on steroids except it’s a free-for-all for...
Wow, I wasn’t expecting anything like this. Poverty is so systemic it’s mind-boggling. Seven million people live in Port au Prince and their entire city and society make me feel as if l am on a different planet.
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