Time is flavored by cultures and landscape. Time in the USA, aptly, tastes like fast food – all texture, sugar and salt. Time in the West is tightly oriented. Time moves forward. It speeds up, or slows down. Haitian time is conditioned by walking and waiting. Like it’s roads, it is unpredictable, and rolls around.
I’ve looked down from this particular vantage point many times over several years. Below me, a courtyard and walled garden, that receives and shelters outpatients and their families. They walk and drive considerable distances, and wait for days sometimes, to be seen and treated by Zanmi Lasante’s medical staff in the Outpatient Clinic. During the mornings, there is frenetic activity, queues, doors opening and closing, loud conversations, a sense of stress and urgency. In the late afternoons and especially at night, the atmosphere shifts and softens. Especially at night. From my balcony, sometimes I hear hymns, folk songs, gorgeous and swelling, sucking up pain and hardness, melding everything into a big mush. At other times, I felt myself being pulled downstairs to be closer to the sounds of anguish, but feelings that were controlled and absorbed into chant and prayer. Time rolls me around, and frequently, it is hard to relate time to up or down.
Canon 5D MKII, EF 35mm 1.4L USM lens, post processed in Lightroom