I wake up to the persistent beeps of my phone. It is four in the morning; Sunday, January 29, 2017.

Though I drift off for a few seconds, the alarm reminds me of how imperative it is that I report to work. Today marks another important day for Haiti—it is Election Day. Frantic, I get ready and head out in the dark to pick up a colleague, Bathily Seydou, a Malian UNPOL officer, who will be accompanying me for the day. By 5 am, we are already en route to Marfranc, a commune in the westernmost province of Haiti, the station that we’ve been assigned to. We are in for an hour-and-half-long drive—and as we make our way through the dusty road, still shaking the grogginess of the night, a popular Nepali tune, “By-road ko bato ma dhulo udaudai,” is playing on loop in my mind. 

When we show up at the school converted into a Voting Centre for the day, a tall, dark man with an unsaved beard, and clad in a semi-camouflage outfit approaches us with a toothbrush in his mouth. The emblem on his shirt tells me that he is a ‘CIMO’, a special Haitian National Police (HNP) riot squadron, reassigned from the capital, Port Au Prince, for the election. 

“I am Jacob,” he says, the toothbrush still dangling like an appendage, “I am responsible for this place,” before disappearing once more. 

The morning wears on. Despite hailing from Nepal—a country which, to put it mildly, is not steadfast about punctuality—the laid-back Haitian lifestyle did take some time to adjust to. Now, I am immune to it, even if I am reminded of it as Jacob finally reappears, dressed in perfect uniform—with a clean shaven face—an hour behind schedule. He has a sudden swagger in his demeanour, and he relays to us that we are due for a ‘Visibility Patrol’ through the area. 

We take up the obligation. The streets of Marfranc are dotted with sparse settlements spread over rugged terrain, mountains and river-crossings. A pleasant breeze blows through the windows and we drive through roads lined with banana trees, their long, green leaves dancing in the wind. At one crossroad, we chance upon a congregation spilling out of a church. Clad in black and white dresses, and adorning signature feather hats and glittering ornaments, the women look dressed in their best Sunday-church-outfits. As we wiz past them, the women look on curiously, reminding me of my first days in Haiti, when I had been taken aback by the ice-cold stare that greeted us—the unwelcomed intruders—everywhere we went. 

Those days are past me now.

This is not the first time I am travelling to Marfranc. I was deployed here during the devastating Hurricane Matthew of September 2016, as part of large-scale humanitarian activities. At the time, we, UN Peacekeepers, had visited many remote places in the province, including Marfranc, where we partook in several special missions. All the places we travelled to for the distribution of aid, people were waiting for us with happy smiles that belied their desperate circumstances. Sometimes, we would also find same faces seeking aid in every locality we went to, thanks to the swift ‘racing motorbike taxis’ that are so popular in Haiti. During those visits, I had also run into several humanitarian workers, who had been at the frontlines in Sindhupalchowk and Barpak during the April 2015 earthquakes. Their profound love and admiration for Nepal and its resilience, I recall, had made me very emotional at the time. 

As we travel deeper into Marfranc, I reflect on how these travels and visits provide a unique opportunity to gather historical and cultural insights—a topic I have been fascinated by of late. Haiti was first ‘discovered’ by Christopher Columbus in 1497, when his ship ran aground on the island. He named the land Hispaniola and claimed it for the Spanish Crown. In 1640, partly because of the French pirates who mercilessly preyed on Spanish ships off its coasts, the island was split into two colonies—the French-controlled Haiti and the Spanish Santo Domingo, now the Dominican Republic.

Haiti has a proud history. In 1804, following a slave revolt, Haiti became the first independent country in the Caribbean, and the first country to abolish slavery. But this once great nation, a beacon of hope for many African slaves brought to the West by colonisers, has fallen by the wayside. After years of political instability and internal wrangling—Haiti has had as many as 26 coup d’etats in its 200 year history—the country is desperately impoverished and underdeveloped. And all this comes at a stark contrast from the other side of the island—the Dominican Republic—that is now among the developing countries. History shows that even though both nations underwent a similar fate—colonisation, uprising, slavery, emancipation, dictatorial rule, military coups and democratic movements—Dominican Republic gradually integrated, institutionalised and upheld democratic values. Haiti, on the other hand, continues to remain stranded in a quagmire of uncertainty. But there is hope yet, and elections like these surely will become building blocks for future peace, prosperity and development. 

With these ruminations in mind, we return to the Voting Station, where a large crowd of voters has already congregated. People from all walks of life and social backgrounds have gathered at the school, and Jacob is becoming increasingly more wary. “All Stations, this is your commander,” he barks into his radio-set, as we get off our vehicle, “Stay alert and vigilant.”

As a mentor watchdog observing the HNP, there is a deep sense in me that these devoted twelve years of UN presence—assisting HNP through an initial contigent of 4,500 in 2004 to the present size of almost 12,000—has been a collective achievement. Now, the day when HNP will have to act on its own is soon approaching. This country, that doesn’t have a regular army, rests their expectations and trust on the HNP. And I, for one, am confident that the Haitian police are ready to take up the mantle. 

By 4 pm, the fervour of the election is slowly fizzling out. As people slowly exit the Voting Centre, I sense mixed emotions—some are elated, some perplexed, others anxious about the forth-coming results. The sombre atmosphere is further heightened by the approaching darkness. However, the sense of unity, solidarity and nationalism is palpable. This is a day that Haitians have struggled for, stood up against tyrants and masters, sacrificed their blood and tears. As the last voters exit the centre, I am left with the wish that this election bestows Haiti with ‘real’ winners, ones that prove to be game-changers in building lasting democracy and peace.

After exchanging final goodbyes with Jacob and his team, we head back to our base. 

It’s 10 pm already. Tired and exhausted after the day’s exploits, I find myself drifting into thankful sleep. In my heart, I am glad to have been a part of this historic day on the other side of the globe. In many ways, this has been just another day in the life of a UN Peacekeeper; but in many other ways, it has been so much more.    

Tomorrow will be a new day. I hope it is one that initiates real change. 

- Dhungana is a member of the Nepali UNPOL contingent in Haiti