A New Brunswick writer travels to Haiti to help Haitians document their memories and experiences for future generations, and returns with a clearer understanding of the power of words to strengthen, and to heal.
My companions and I sat loose-limbed, our heads bobbing from side to side like dashboard ornaments, as our rental truck inched over rock-face that was more goat path than road. We were six hours into our journey to Mombin Crochu, a village in Haiti’s remote northern mountains, when the truck came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of a gully.
We climbed out and stood mute, regarding the front end. The tires looked cross-eyed.
“We’re done,” announced Rick, after crawling underneath. “This is the end of the road.”