The sounds of Haiti

...the planes as they descend for landing or shortly after take-off...the drones of the UN or NGO helicopters as they circle overhead...the palm trees scraping against the walls of my house...the agonized moans of women as they labor...the constant construction and the pounding of building improvements...the birds as they greet the sun...the steps on the stones as people pass by...the laughter and ascending conversations carrying over from the volunteer tents...the muffled Creole of the kitchen workers from a few walls away...the cries of the children from the open windows of the hospital wards...the blaring radio station broadcasts in Creole as I sit sit and a few sips of STRONG Haitian coffee...the dance music videos favored by the Haitian workers as they search online...the loud motors and gear shifts as the large trucks pass on the street...the broken English words uttered by those I walk by just outside the hospital...the bargaining and bartering of the corner marketplace...the frequent honking of horns for reasons only the drivers know...the bleating of the goats in the pasture as they feed on the few leaves and grass...the shrieks of the children at play as I approach the clinic...the greetings and running footsteps I hear on my arrival...the precious voices speaking to me in words I hope to soon understand...the grind of the fan and the refrigerator as they work exhaustively in the heat...the creak of the container rooms as they settle...the songs sung so beautifully in little voices...the shuffle of little feet as their owners try so very hard to sit still...the scrape of the forks on the plates as each one is eaten clean at mealtime...the rhythm of the broom held in small hands...the blare of the Call to Prayer as it is broadcast so many times a day over the neighboring Jordanian UN camp...the whirr of the water tower...the chirping of the insects as we take our daily walk...the pounding of the afternoon rain on my roof...the hum of the air conditioner for which I am so grateful...the massaging of my hair by tiny hands...the geckos calling out from the walls...the late-night serenades of the Italian volunteers...