One Pillar-Banking Haiti Style

It was 7am on Saturday morning and I was lined up outside a bank in downtown Leogane. The bank didn't open until 8.30 but I was only tenth in line. Most banks had fallen over in the earthquake so this one was very popular, especially on Saturdays. I had to get an advance on my credit card, because the only cash machine I knew of in Haiti was thirty kilometres away in Port au Prince.

It was already about 30 degrees and the line was steadily growing. I was the only white guy in the que, and an old man started talking to me in English about the orphanage he ran. Could HODR help refurbish it for him? He needed some running water and a coat of paint. He had fifty orphans to look after and it was hard to keep them clean without a water pump.

He was also a self appointed que disciplinarian. People kept showing up and trying to cut the line, and he would take them to task. He was only a little guy and didn't have much affect. Incidentally Haitian line cheats all look the same-their shoulders hunch a little and their faces set, staring at the ground, a humourless smile on their face-the look of a guilty Haitian who knows he (always a male) is being naughty but has decided it's worth it.

I got chatting to orphanage guy. He said that there was a problem in Leogane at the moment because there was no police force. That must mean there is a lot of crime in the camps then?

Actually no.

"You don't want to get arrested for anything around here my son. If you go to the police station they will let you back into the street straight away. The gaol got smashed in the quake."
"So what's the problem with getting arrested then?"
"Well it's simple. If the police can't punish you for doing a crime then we got to do it ourselves. If you get arrested then you did a crime, see? Then when you get let out the people will make sure you don't commit any more crimes again."
"So things don't get stolen around here?"
"No my son. A man stole a moto from a house one day a few weeks ago. When the police let him out, that night, he disappeared. They found him, dead, chopped to bits, burned, and dumped in a river! So nobody steals moto's in Leogane any more."

Good. I'd parked Matt Engeles' moto round the corner. He was a long termer on a break-he'd bought it for US$800 but was overseas on a holiday and said I could use it.

A couple of times I had to move my shoulder in front of guys who thought they could move in on me. There was nothing I could do about people who jumped in right at the front. My new friend the orphanage director tried his best though. He walked up and down the line yelling at people, jostling, and asking for order. He was like a cattle dog nipping and barking at the herd but having no real effect. He lamented to me that one of the problems here was that people didn't respect rules, this wouldn't happen in New York City. How could his country improve if nobody obeyed simple rules!

As the clock ticked down to 8.30 the line had grown to at least eighty people. There was more open pushing and shoving now, and two huge Haitian men had sauntered up to the front and were standing there, grinning with the look of the guilty and not moving. One guy in particular was a giant. I flipped him the bird and mouthed that he could get f%cked. He threw his head back and laughed as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

When 8.30 ticked over and the door to the bank opened the line disintegrated and everybody bolted for the entrance. It was like the starters gun had gone off at the City 2 Surf, everyone was trying to funnel into a single doorway, and it was violent. The big guy I had abused earlier turned out to be a security gaurd patting people down as they went in. His mate with a shotgun braced himself in the door, using his gun as a staff to hold people back.

People began tearing at my shoulders, dropping low and pushing through, pulling me back and thrusting, jostling themselves forward. There was no way I was getting into that bank unless I started shoving my way through the crowd. It was a rugby scrum, but with old men and frail women in the mix. A tall skinny guy in a white shirt pushed in front of me and I grabbed his shirt and dragged him backwards.
"You stretch it, you stretch it!" he cried
"Beg your pardon old chap, but one feels you jumped the fucking que!" I shouted, gesturing behind me with my thumb. I was getting angry.
Two of his friends turned on me, barricading my path and allowing him to push away through the crowd. At no point did they make eye contact.

I let it slide. I felt very conspicuous as the only blanc and didn't want to draw too much attention. It was every man for himself. This wasn't like any bank line I'd been in before. I was forced to drag old women and skinny men out of the way. To force your way through the crowd you had to move your shoulders in front of someone then lever them backwards while you moved into the gap. The women fought ferociously but got more elbows in the face than forward motion. They were just too small. Anybody in front of me got shoved aside until I was near the door way. I reached over head of the old lady in front of me and grabbed the frame of the cage door with my right hand-now nobody could move in from that side because I locked my arm in place. Then I reached over and did the same thing with my left hand, so I had a little clear space in front of me. The giant was panting with the effort of holding people back and patting them down as they came through the door. Once he had checked me he shoved me through...I was in.

The guy in the white shirt was standing in front of me. I prepared for a confrontation. "My brother! I am sorry, this is the way it is here, I meant you no harm!" He cried with a giant smile on his face. What the fuck!?

I had been taking things the wrong way. There were no fights or swinging fists, the shoving and mauling was just how people got into banks around here. When white-shirts friends had not looked at me even while they were barring my way, it was like they were acting against something in nature rather than a person. They kept it impersonal, which meant there was no violence.

I walked into the main reception area, sweating like a pig and breathing heavily. Feeling quite pleased with myself, just for getting inside. There were about thirty Haitians lined up waiting to be served. I'd only lost twenty places in line-not bad for my first time! They all turned to stare at me and I felt wary. What was going to happen next? As one they all broke out huge smiles and started clapping! I couldn't believe it! They were genuinely happy that I'd stuck it out the same as they had to get into their bank. It was incredible and bemused as I was, it is easily the most memorable banking experience I've ever had.

I left the bank with a wallet full of cash and rode back to base. Mimi was waiting for me there. A few days earlier I had announced that I was going away for the weekend, leaving Friday morning, taking Matts bike and going to Jacmel. Who wanted to come?

Mimi did, and she waiting for me when I rode back to base to pick up my backpack. We strapped our stuff to the luggage rack and took off. The sun was belting down out of a bright blue sky, not a cloud in sight. It was steaming hot and we rode in nothing but shoes, shorts and singlets. I had a hat on and sunnies, and it felt fantastic to ride out of Leogane and into the countryside knowing that we didn't have to work for three days, three days to kick back and reset our heads. It was freedom.

We stopped at the first service station and bought a few beers. Mimi held the drinks while I rode, and would pass the bottles of Prestige forward when I was thirsty, which was quite often.

Jacmel is on the South side of the Haiti, and to get there you need to traverse a little mountain range in the centre of the island. The road going over the top is well paved and smooth and the views are fantastic. From the side of mountains we had views of tropical rainforest and lush green pasture through the omnipresent haze, from smoke, sea spray and evaporation.

The trip across the top was a hairy adventure, and I'll leave that story for another entry.