Jim Knopf vs. Port-au-Prince

I have been a neglectful blogger, I know, but not because of sheer flakiness. Part of me has been debating whether or not it makes sense to continue pointing out miniscule details in the German culture that I find strange, unsettling or unpleasant, after my experience in Haiti. I had one of those, "you think you've got it tough" reality checks on life and I felt like Bush Girl had little relevance in a world where people are still starving.

But even after seeing children in tent cities, babies lying on filthy pavement with NGOs driving by, even after understanding that aid is a business just like any other, I still came back to my life, this life. I had a different perspective but that did nothing to change my personal history and what irks or interests me on a daily basis.

For example, I recently went to a school picnic with my children and in a span of one hour, I'd been offered a Negerkuss and then saw a wooden statue of this Sambo/Lawn Jockey look-alike, aka Jim Knopf, (pictured above) at the playground. It drives me crazy that this figure is still depicted like this. So I asked an American, "Is it just me?" He replied, "No, that's pretty bad."

But I have evolved. I simply said to the mothers "They're called Chocolate Kisses now," and they looked at me stunned. They'd been calling those things Negro/Nigger Kisses all their lives and it never occurred to them to call it anything else. (And for the record, the German official dictionary, The Duden, even says the term Neger should no longer be used in spoken German)

The Jim Knopf thing is a little more complex because it is simply a matter of conflicting historical backgrounds at play. Americans, of all races, are fimiliar with the Sambo character and Jim Knopf looks exacly like him. Here in Germany there is simply no such association with the caricatur and millions of books have been printed with this ridiculously dark and big-lipped kid on the cover, the hero named Jim Knopf.

Is it still important to discuss? I think so. Does it still bother me, even after I saw things in Haiti that are more disturbing? For sure. Is it the end of the world? Definitely not, but that too, is a matter of perspective.

Street Corner Irony in Port-au-Prince

The car might have a better chance at being repaired soon. . .

"The strange life," in the background is a UN truck.

An ad for condoms. Behind the earthquake rubble it reads, "Pleasure and Security".

The barbed wire can't keep out the bougainvillea. . .

Photos: Rose-Anne Clermont

"Mwen pa wè aid la."

I don't see the aid. This I heard from people I interviewed in tent cities, which are spread across the landscapes of Haiti. Thousands of people moved into these temporary homes since the January 12th earthquake and, nearly five months later, they are still living in them.

Living is a relative term. I tried to spend more than ten minutes in such a tent and I grew sweaty and dizzy. The floor is dirt, the air is stifled. When it rains, some tell me, they simply don't sleep. They stand and wait for the rain to stop, which can mean long hours that creep into dawn.

Lucky children wake up in their tents, put on uniforms and go to school, some of which are also under tents. Parents try to sell something, anything. Everyone in Haiti, it seems, has something to sell. I wonder who is buying the bags of water, the cut up sugar cane, the homemade peanut sweets?

Trash is piled high on the rubble. As we drive through undrivable roads, we all close the windows because the smell of garbage is nauseating. In Carrefour, I see a woman and a family of pigs simultaneously looking for something to eat in the rubbish pile.

In Port-au-Prince, I see two NGO trucks speed past a baby sleeping on the side of the road. I see toddlers playing with trash. I see things I was not prepared to see five months after the international community donated millions of dollars to Haiti.

I see their SUVs, I see their well-staffed offices, (which is more than I can say about the Haitian government, which is eerily absent) I see their names printed on tents, but I wonder, too, Kikote aid la? Where is the aid?

Photos: ©Rose-Anne Clermont