an exclusive on where all those unwanted clothes go in your local drop box

deaf mute boy who ran into a fire and burned himself severely around the eye.  His family put toothpaste and blueing on it, which took me a good half hour to remove!

Not sure what fish showed up at the clinic, but it was beautiful.  Looks like a barracuda to me.  I forget what they called it in kreyol

women´s empowerment meeting at the office of Batey Relief alliance, AAP

nice spray of orchids outside my door

 Patience, my dear, Christ can do it......these kind of trucks bring huge bundles of used clothing in from Pedernales every day

downtown saloon and barber shop a few steps away from where I  work

clothes sorting center in Anse a pitres

a virtual garden of clothes, on the outskirts (sorry) being considered for sale

clothes for reinforcing trenches, among umpteen other uses

La Loteria; you never know!

cute little joint

Before I launch into my expose about the fate of used clothes being sent to the developing world, I want to thank the people who have so generously helped the cause here- the people of St John´s Episcopal Church in Salisbury, my coworkers at Hudson River Health Care and Kathy Brieger´s Catholic Church (sorry I don´t have your name with me here in the cyber place) in Orange County NY.  I have been using the money to buy badly needed meds, vitamins and medical supplies.  The other day I gave $250 to the woman with the horrible eye I photoed in the last entry, she went to Barahona, DR in order to get it removed. More on that when she gets back. We even got the UN soldiers from Peru involved, who were able to drive her 2 hours in a airconditioned jeep instead of her having to taking the harrowing 7 hour nighttime boat ride, plus 30 minute Tap-tap ride to Jacmel.  I´ll keep you posted.  I gave the orphanage that I wrote about earlier $100 for food to feed the family of the lady with the eye problem and the kids in the orphanage. Another $100 went to a young woman whose husband chopped her hand with a machete, it busted an major vessel and was bleeding profusely, tendons and bones mangled, way beyond our ability to repair. The family was able to shuttle her across the border to the ER in Pedernales, and money always helps make the impossible happen.  She came back the same day, repaired.

It is striking when you come to this western edge of the island to see how many old clothes are hanging around.  I´ve been to many other parts of the DR, Africa, Nicaragua, etc and I´ve never seen anything like this.  Not only are they a common addition to the usual styrofoam, plastic, coconut husks, beer bottles tossed aside in plain view, but once you get into Haiti you see them used for all sorts of things:  strung up for fences, dams and bridges for irrigation canals, structures for outhouses, to name a few.  Every day huge bundles of clothing cross the border on bright colored trucks with a pile of Haitians riding on top.  You see mountains of these bundles, tied tight or bursting onto someone´s yard all around town. 

A Canadian expatriate that is living here in Pedernales gave me the inside but told me that if I said anything, I could get killed, so please, all of you keep your mouth shut!  It appears that these clothes, some of which must have been lovingly discarded by each of us in the parking lot of nearest convenience, are shipped to an old Alcoa wharf in this lonely corner to the island.  There they are apparently sent to a sweatshop here in Pedernales where they are sorted for market value by locals paid a lousey wage.  The creme de la creme are sent to places like Malasia, Singapore, and apparently the sweatshop owners make millions.  The discarded clothes are what get shipped across to Haiti which are further sorted and sold by Madan Sara´s or market sales women.  My translator´s mother makes her money this way. 

Thank you to everyone that is reading this and much love to those who have written me responses, and even to those who have not!. I think of you as I try to catch a few shots with the i-phone while riding my bike.  Two wheeled photojournalism, risking my limbs for your enlightenment is my pleasure.