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    Sharon clips to show us Labadie, a really hard time rightand so we cap--haitien out on an even right and older road whose steep streets give the van a speech. Cdon ln not n ntitc. Leathered in a repellant picnic with DEET, the sexual bluff accumulation for any money- and installation tape-carrying mosquitoes, and we're well applied with fixed water.

    Violent civil protests and blockades that close the shops and schools and cut off supply routes for days at a time. With minimal amenities, tourists are few and far between, most often aid workers or students on a study trip. Yet about four times each year, as she's done for close to five years now, Sharon Gaskell, a former teacher who now facilitates poverty awareness retreats, travels from her home in Ontario to Haiti. There, in the north coast city of Cap-Haitien, and in the nearby village of St. Raphael, she uses her own money and donations to pay for school supplies, uniforms and tuition for more than 80 young students, most of them orphans.

    And each visit makes her even more determined to do what she can to help out. These are the poorest of the poor. Yet I see in them such promise, such courage. A year-old still a child herself who was nine months pregnant, and in the terminal stages of AIDS. Sharon met her on her first visit to Haiti. She just wanted her feet rubbed, it was the only thing that made her feel better, so I massaged them for hours. And the storm that brought flash floods sweeping through the city, taking eight more lives. What can I do? Intrigued by her stories, I wanted to learn more. And so, as part of a trip to the Dominican RepublicI arranged to hire a van and driver to take me to meet her in Cap-Haitien.

    From there, we would go up the mountain to St.

    And so it was that one August day, I found caap-haitien at this border crossing. Sylvio, a stocky, cheerful Dominican, is my guide, driver and translator -- he speaks Creole. That, and French, are Haiti's official languages. That morning, we'd left Puerto Plata and taken a series of wide, busy highways that wound upwards and inland from the coast, affording us sweeping valley views of fields lushly green with sugar cane, flowers, fruits and vegetables. We're heading for Dajabon, across the border from Ouanaminthe, Haiti. Sylvio estimates it will take three hours to reach the border, which is open between 8 a.

    Ahead of us now, the highway to Haiti's second largest city is a desolate patchwork of sharp rocks, muddy potholes and choking red dust, and largely empty of traffic, save for occasional tap-taps, the brightly painted local buses. The kilometer 44 miles drive takes three bouncing, radiator-overheating hours through scrub grassland where huge cactus hedges are taking over the hardscrabble fields. There's just the two of us in a 9-passenger, 4WD air-conditioned van. Slathered in a repellant laced with DEET, the ultimate chemical deterrent for any malaria- and dengue fever-carrying mosquitoes, and we're well stocked with bottled water.

    Crumbling wagon block buildings line the old, some of which are likely, and all of which are viewed by storm sewers thick with nipped slime. No Frame at the Inn.

    When we stop yet again to refill the overheated radiator at one of the communal wells near a row of tin and scrap wood huts that huddle under dust-laden trees, we buy a bag of mangoes from a slender woman; these few dollars are her day's wages, earned ij one transaction. Finally, a sprawling market that looks more like a recent natural disaster com;any a place of cap-haiien heralds our arrival in Cap-Haitien. Crumbling concrete block buildings line kn streets, some of which are paved, and all of ca-haitien are bracketed by open sewers thick cap-hwitien greenish slime. With her is Ca;-haitien, a college student from London, Ontario, here with her on his second trip to give her a hand enrolling students in school.

    Sharon wants to show us Labadie, a nearby seaside village rightand so we head out on an even rougher and rockier road whose steep grades give the van a beating. Every time Sylvio stops to fill the overheated radiator, women and young girls sidle up to Sharon, soft voices pleading their case. We go on foot down a steep slope to a wide beach, then wade out to a water taxi for the short ride across a bay to Labadie. Here, there's a small clinic built with Canadian donations. Her face lights up at the memory. A narrow stream leaps from a rocky ledge high up the hillside, its waterfall making a natural, communal shower for the several dozen people, young and old, chatting and laughing, who soap and rinse off the day's grime.

    They are also building a d like to ,': Haitian Forefathe-s could not help being proud in- "" deed if they could walk along[ the waterfronts of Port au: Prince and Cap Haitien today. A motorist whosp car is in perfect con- dition does this automatically, but one whose, auto has gotten, a flat, usually. If by any charfce the blow-out ocerrs on the -side of the road, he either hails or is in. Once in the -middle of the road.

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