Voodoo

Voodoo in Haiti is something that is heard not seen. On certain nights drums fill the air past dark and chanting echoes off the concrete walls blending with the never-ending patter of rain that makes it’s way from the mountains to the sea. Now that I am alone here the only other foreigners I’ve seen aside from Mario and Clare who carried on with their journey earlier this week are the UN Soldiers whose waves have been replaced by hungry grins and winks while passing by in their armored trucks. My evenings are spent mostly in solitude where I write and read by oil lamp, taking time to lay across the tile floor and watch the shadows of the trees move with the wind.

Last night as I was sitting alone watching the rain and listening to the drums I head “Psssttttt…Elena!” and was then greeted by four faces making their way up the stairs with a little plate of mango. With the rain falling harder than ever before we traced light against walls and placed wings where they belong as the cries in the valley rose to match the beat of the storm.

#haiti #dickensonproject #poetry #wander #photo #artofleaving