[ Excerpt from my travel journal. ]

Excitement has a way of suspending one's appetite.

I slept and chatted nervously for most of the flight from Miami, glancing out of my window mwhen my mother wasn't looking so she wouldn't voice my excitement to me. She's takent this trip dozens of times, so it doesn't even phase her. When we landed, I faced my slight acrophobia by easing my way down a flight of wobbling platforms from the air bus we rode on. After that not-so-harrowing experience, we were escorted to 'Salon de Diplomatique' which is a section of the airport reserved for--well, that's self-explanatory. After being seated and given the opportunity to refresh ourselves, I cooled my heels by writing while a man went to fetch our luggage. The advantage of being a diplomat is that we need not suffer the headache of the airport. Even the security checks from Atlanta were bypassed.

There are things about Haiti I really like, and things that make me sad. For one, the extreme gap between the rich and poor, the poverty, is a dead ringer to certain parts of Nigeria such as Lagos. The backlash of political and civil unrest is indellibly etched within the faces of the locals, whom I viewed from behind a shield of bullet-proof tinted glass as our armored SUV rumbled along the ill-tended streets.

The landscape is another matter.

To say 'breathtaking' is to not do it justice. I don't even think the pictures I plan to post will do it justice. It's a painter's dream of cool greens and blues, and stripes of sand wind through the innumerable mountains. An artist hangs his life's works on the fenced-in park, a splashed riot of colors, vivid imagery, and immaculate details both in the sitll-life and live work. I long to jump out of the car and purchase a particularly dreamy piece that caught my eye, but that's not allowed, and I am forced to watch as art that is underappreciated in a poor country passes me by. Graffiti is scrawled along the walls here, all of it politically motivated: 'Viv Kanbel', 'Vote #97', 'Vote #33'...anonymous voices urging the people to raise their voices, but I know rioting is inevitable in the forthcoming elections.

Dozing in and out of sleep, all of that became a dreamy memory when we pulled into a quieter and well cared-for neighborhood, where the streets were just as rugged, but shaded by the natural jungles, tamed by man. Mansions sprawled along the landscape, gated and guarded, ours amongst them. When we pulled into the cobblestone driveway, and the gate shut behind us, I was immediately greeted by my little sister, the maid, and our guards. I fell into French immediately, albeit I was rusty and Fatima (my little sister) was quick to correct my own pronounciation of certain words. When I got inside, I was greeted by my black cat, Hunter, whom I affectionately call "Fatass".

I showered, and once dressed, beganto snap photos of the countryside as viewed from my windows and the balcony. My room is on the second floor, while my mother and the children sleep on the third floor. Hunter is vying for my affections, and the food is ready, so I'll post something else once I get settled.