The island world of Haiti reeks of its culture, drips with sharing and community, at least to the casual observer riding in a van on the narrow, hilly streets. On every corner, beside every wall, there are red, green, yellow umbrellas that shade the men and women who sell clothes, cooking utensils, hardware, shoes, art, drugs and whatever a group, a family, might need. Large numbers of dress shirts, golf shirts, women's blouses hang from the fences, along side flip flops and athletic shoes attached to boards. They barter among themselves, cook together, sit together, carry water together. From my window in the air conditioned van, community seems palpable. And yet. That group may not associate with the group right beside it, I'm told. There's an unwritten code of how business is done on the streets, in plain view. There is no electricity, no running water, so they carry ice to the group, chip it on the street and use it quickly in the heat...