My girlfriend says I am obsessed with waves, that I get up in the morning and automatically check conditions for a surf. That I spend hours and days in the water riding waves, all true.
Then a true catastrophy targets a place like Haiti and my life of luxury and hunting swell seems insignificant.
Thousands of African diaspora was planted in the New World by organised human trafficking. Their English different as it's fresh in their culture and history. Now their Voodoo roots lament the bloody streets of their freshly destroyed island. Searching drinking water, western medicine, corpses of their loved ones, and God. God help!
Would a slave trader have a change of heart if he knew the hell of his caged cargo's destination?
Emancipation seems futile at the quakes of wrath.
At the moment my professional calling is to accompany travellers, a Tour Guide. I often look for water, lunch-, safety- for those in my care. At the worst we are uncomfortable for a few hours, missed a flight.. We often observe the challenges and difficulties of locals. The capitalist perch crumbles at the hands of seismic disaster.
Bless the survivors in Haiti! Send them a thought, a prayer, send money. May they find strenght and growth in the reconstruction of their world. May the spirit and heart be stronger than all agony.
I look at waves and tourists differently.