Haitian Countryside: There Are Buses

 Here's a little insiders view of what its like to commute in Haiti from William's trip to Haiti last week.

Day three of our experience led us away from Port-au-Prince and onto the first paved road we had seen since arrival, and unless you have had the unique experience of bouncing violently inside a crowded bus (expertly driven, mind you), it is tremendous.

Pavement means speed, and speed means wind. Open windows, flowing breeze, fresh air.  Moving toward towns and settlements, Eau du Charcoal (surely a failed Febreeze scent) fills the air. Car horns blast like wailing sirens, and Tap-Taps weave expertly, frighteningly, through crowds, around motorcycles and, well, us.

School Buses: Serene. Yellow. Motorized Pachyderms, benevolent guardians of the American Child. In Haiti? Folks, expect a scene from "Fast And Furious 6: Montrouis Drift".  Moving at rates of landspeed defiant to their size, buses are overcrowded. Riders cling to ladders affixed to the rear more by sheer will than mechanical construction.

Men ride like perched gargoyles, vigilant over stacked plantains, while bodies cramped inside struggle for air free of added scent.

Outside, their sides are tattooed and painted with images of the Madonna, with artwork, sometimes colorful political statements; their eyes are threatening, flashing, multicolored lights.  Joe Francis would be envious.

Suddenly, our destination is upon us, and when the gates open we find our oasis: New Vision Ministries' Orphanage in Montrouis.