Elections -- The neverending story....

If I stand quietly in my room tonight, in the distance I can hear the shouts of what are presumably a number of agitated people, their discontent echoing off of the hills around my neighborhood.

Haitian elections were held on 28 November, and tonight -- after MUCH delay -- the results were announced...sort of. Predictably, there will be a run-off. With 18 candidates in the running, it was always unlikely that a majority would be attained in only one election. What was uncertain, however, was who would be in the run-off.

It seems that the election commission, in consultation with the UN, the government (or what is left of it since Parliament disbanded in May), various international community members, and other 'concerned parties', may be trying to diffuse a difficult situation. But the solution they came up with is not likely to appease the masses.

One of the front runners in this election was the notorious, charming Sweet Micky, a Haitian music star known to wear ladies' clothing at concerts, tell the government to 'fuck their mother' during a past Carnival, and generally act like a musician. While this would not seem like the best candidate to lead a country to most of us from the developed world, here in Haiti, 'Michel Joseph Martelly' was a shoo-in. No further comment or explanation needed, I imagine.

The other popular front runner was Mirlande Manigat, an educated woman in her 70s who helped craft the constitution that was established after the Duvaliers were kicked out in '86. Her husband was President for less than a year in the late 80s before being ousted. She is generally perceived as being a reasonable, informed person who is most likely among the competitors to be an effective leader at this critical moment. Notice I said 'most likely among the competitors.'

The third front runner was only such because he was the hand-selected candidate of the current (deeply unpopular) Presidential administration. This candidate, Jude Celestin, spent an obscene amount of money on campaign ads so farcical they bordered on offensive. (For example, he protested that during the cholera outbreak, candidates were still running their ads, saying it was unfeeling to keep focus on the elections instead of on the current crisis. His ads, naturally, continued running, to which he responded, 'Well, I can't stop the radio stations.' I picture a non-commital shrug accompanying that statement, but I think that's just in my head.) This person, unsurprisingly, did not have much popular support, but he did have a lot of *financial* backing, which in Haiti, can be used to acquire popular support.

The election committe -- infamous for making its unpopular announcements at strange times of the non-business day -- promised to release the results at 6 o'clock this evening. At almost 9pm, we were informed that most of the Senate and Delegate races will require a run-off, as will the Presidential race. The two candidates proceeding forward??....The charismatic crowd-pleaser Sweet Micky? The staid Mme. Manigat? Or the establishment's darling, Jude Celestin?

It seems Mme. Manigat came out on top with just over 31% of the vote. Not too shabby, really, considering the number of people in the running.

Sweet Micky recevied just under 22%.

Jude Celestin reportedly received 22.4%. Which means that he and Mme. Manigat will proceed to the run-off, leaving Sweet Micky out of the running by a margin of less than one percentage point.

Which seems awfully convenient AND leaves a large, vocal, already-agitated populace without their chosen hero.

Hence the yelling in the streets at 1130 at night.

So we'll see what goes on. We're on lockdown tomorrow 'just in case', but in any case, our neighborhood is the safest place in the city to be, as there are important members of every possible contingent living here (alleged gun runners, drug dealers, bigwigs from the Haitian National Police, UN police, State Dept. and USAID higher-ups, etc.), so everyone has a reason not to come around here.

Could be interesting. Of course, it could also end up being nothing. C'est la vie en Haiti.

Not joking....

Was reading through some CVs today, trying to tie up some loose ends before my exciting last day on Friday, and I came across possibly the funniest thing I've yet encountered here. I reach the reference page and at the top in all capital letters I find:

'JESUS CHRIST FILS DE DIEU TOUT PUISSANT'

I stared at this for about 10 seconds trying to figure out if this person had genuinely listed Jesus Christ Himself as their first reference (even gave Him a job title!) and I realized, yes, yes he did.

Do you think that's a personal or professional reference? Sadly, no contact information was provided.

Coming in a close second is another CV wherein the applicant felt it was pertinent to inform us that her previous job responsibilities included 'ordering sugar, every day.' Well, that's just swell.

No cholera!!!

I imagine you have seen or heard news about the cholera situation in Haiti. The cholera is NOT yet where I am living/working, or even close by, and I am being extra careful about hygiene just in case it does make it down this way. Also, there is A LOT of confusion amongst local authorities and health workers about what is really going on, and many news outlets are publishing information before there is real confirmation of anything. So basically, take anything you hear with a grain of salt. I can tell you that cholera *is* here, but it is for the moment localized in this one area and there have NOT been any confirmed cases outside of the area where it is currently concentrated (though I have seen at least one newspaper reporting this).

Because cholera is transmitted quite easily and because there is regular movement between the affected area and Port-au-Prince, it is likely that it will get here in the next week. However, even IF that happens, cholera is very treatable, if caught at an early stage. Recovery rate for treated cases is more than 80% and mortality rate for untreated cases is still under 50% (30-40%), so really, it is VERY unlikely that even if I were to catch cholera, I would die of it. Would rather not get it at all, but ya know, if I do, it's really not anything to get worked up about.

In other news, I resigned from my job and next Friday is my last day. I have had one other offer from a French NGO and am waiting to hear about some other options before I make a decision. I will be in the US (MD) for Thanksgiving, as I have to get my Foreign Service medical exam done on the 22d and 23d of November and my 10 year (ACK!) high school reunion is on the 27th. Will let you know when I have more firm travel dates.

Hope you're all well, keep thinking happy, anti-cholera thoughts!

My advice

Don't give any more of your money to Haiti relief efforts. Period.

Holy crap, it's a new post!

But really it's just a posting of some articles that I've had published in or have submitted to the Charleston Post & Courier, so really, if you've read those, this won't be that interesting. Sorry.

To be honest, I am having a hard time keeping up with the blog. There is the obvious excuse of being completely overwhelmed by my real humdinger of a job, but to be honest, the bigger obstacle is somewhat less tangible, a little more insidious and creeping. Firstly, I really hate my job. For so many reasons. But I am trying to mind my Ps and Qs, so I don't really want to go into details here, which cuts out a lot of what I could talk about. Further, said discontent with the job is making me a generally miserable person, a person who goes home, eats dinner, and falls asleep on the couch at an hour so early that even an 80 year old would object, all so that I can stop thinking about the horrible day that just was and avoid having to think about the horrible day yet to come. In effect, I am a person who can't be motivated to sit down and write, whose brain is tired and sad.

But wait, there's more! Whereas I previously loved Haiti, I increasingly see only the bad things. This probably stems largely from the whole crap job situation, but it is also associated with the fact that this is not the same Haiti I was living in before. This is to be expected after after a major earthquake, but what I am struggling with more than the rubble and masses huddled under tarps and tents is the change in atmosphere, in attitude, in...life. Where Haiti was a deeply troubled nation with a strong positive spirit and reason to hope for good changes in the near future, now there is shock, resignation, and an exaggerated inability to envision positive change.

And that is the short version of what runs through my head daily, the albatross around my neck that becomes increasingly heavy, pulling me down and down.

Thanks for joining the pity party, I hope to be able to overcome this, but I make no promises. Below are articles from the P&C for those who have not yet read them.

MAY
Flying into Port-au-Prince last month, I was somewhat perplexed to hear other passengers – mostly relief workers – comment after looking out of their windows at the city below, that ‘it doesn’t look so bad.’ Later, this perception was repeated by other people I encountered, people now working in Haiti but who had no previous experience here. To me, and many others who were here before the earthquake, the changes are obvious and painful.

While others on the plane were looking out of their windows and remarking on the number of buildings still standing and the traffic in the streets, I was looking at the large patches of blue and gray tarps that have cropped up between the remainders of neighborhoods, places where thousands of people who have no other choice now live. I was remembering the giant cracks, unseen from our altitude, that run through many of those still-standing buildings, rendering them unsafe for inhabitants and passers-by alike, tottering vestiges of the poorly constructed city that once was. I was looking at piles of fallen concrete that were once city blocks easily recognizable to those of us who passed them every day before the earthquake.

Upon landing, I was momentarily transported back to the last time I had been at that airport, consumed by feelings of fear and uncertainty as I stood on the tarmac for ten hours waiting for an evacuation flight. That was three days after the earthquake and the airport was busier than it had ever been with planes of various national armies and aid groups in a near-constant parade of take-off and landing. I spent ten hours there not entirely sure if I wanted to get on a plane and leave, but not sure either if I wanted to go back through the streets filled with rubble, refugees, and the oppressive smell of the dead. For ten hours I had stood in front of a section of the damaged airport, the wall ominously scarred by a 10-foot crack in the shape of an X. When my return flight landed last month, that same crack was still easily visible and I felt my chest tighten and breathing become shallow as my body responded to the thoughts and feelings my brain was frantically recalling upon seeing that spot.

Driving through the city with the chauffeur was almost surreal – the streets are full of action and life, almost as much as before, with women selling produce and clothing on the sidewalks, the ubiquitous tap-taps trawling for passengers, and children tapping at the window asking to wipe down your car for some spare change. But behind many of these women were piles of broken concrete, homes and businesses reduced to rubble. Some streets are blocked by the spontaneous encampments that now house tens of thousands, exacerbating Port-au-Prince’s already infuriating traffic conditions. A few days later, we drove by a lot that had recently been cleared, its pile of debris neatly arranged by the roadside for pickup by a UN or government dump truck; sitting on top was a human skull, completely bare, its jaw missing.

The mountainsides around Port-au-Prince are covered with the collapsed houses of Haiti’s poorest residents, people who constructed their homes out of the cheapest possible materials on steep hillsides prone to mudslides. From a distance or if one does not look too closely, these places give the impression that someone paved the mountain. For those of us who know that thousands of families were buried under that wreckage, it is impossible to pass by without considering the people missing. For those who did not know the city before, it is easy to mistake the haphazard structures that remain for just another slum, not understanding that what they are seeing is a mere fraction of what was there before. For those not familiar with Port-au-Prince before, for those not able to detect the smallest differences between what is here now and what once was, for those who saw media images of ruined streets and expected to find only that level of destruction, perhaps for these people things here truly don’t seem ‘that bad.’ For the rest of us, or for anyone able to look at the buildings that have collapsed and mentally calculate the probable number of people inside at 4:53pm on Tuesday, January 12th, for us things are that bad – and worse. Grappling daily with the number of lives lost and the amount of work that must be done before even a hint of progress can emerge – that struggle is almost unimaginable for all but those who know what was here before.

JUNE
‘Kouman ou ye?’ – ‘How are you?’I asked in Creole of the small child planted in front of me.

‘Pa pi mal.’ – ‘Not too bad,’ was his response, a funnily adult turn of phrase emanating from the three year old who had taken a wide stance across from me, his arms crossed, his lower lip slightly jutting and twisted, his eyes taking me in with some skepticism.

This child is an orphan, his parents were killed in the earthquake. He was taken in by neighbors, who assured us that they look after his needs as best as they can, and indeed, there seemed to be a close rapport between the adult man in his late 30s speaking to me, and the mini-man standing firmly by his side, still eyeing me somewhat warily.

I was speaking to the pair after having been led to their makeshift camp by a resident of a nearby neighborhood. We were evaluating the area to see if there was a need for an early childhood development center and when we had asked if there were any children between three and five years of age who did not attend school, our guide had nodded vigorously and led us down a path that crossed a cornfield just outside of Jacmel, a small city in southern Haiti.
The path led to a small promontory, where we were greeted first by the sight of three young adolescents, barely clothed, cooking over an open fire in front of a stand of banana trees. They were evidently somewhat surprised to see us – me a white woman and my colleague, an ebullient Haitian woman obviously ‘not from around there’ – and responded shyly when we greeted them. We asked if there was an adult we could talk to and if there were any other children, and as we were asking, several other residents emerged from the banana trees.

Introductions were made and we were given a brief tour of their very small camp. It was not my first camp tour; since returning to Haiti I have seen many camps, in greater and lesser states of disorder and inadequacy. But this camp was easily the most wrenching I have yet encountered. There were no tents, not even the self-made kinds consisting of blankets or tarps stretched over misshapen sticks and broom handles. These people were literally living under banana leaves. The only structures to be found were very small (one-person), triangular lean-tos whose frames were made of twigs, the ‘roofs’ of banana leaves layered on top. Our guide pulled aside the leafy curtain that served as a door for one of these hovels and revealed an elderly woman napping inside, nestled on a bed of leaves, her few belongings (a brush, a small sack of herbs, some scraps of material) ranged neatly around the edges.

Our group had grown steadily as we progressed through the camp, and by the end we numbered around 30 people, mostly children and many of them quite young – our target demographic for the ECD program. I asked how many people lived in the camp, the answer was around 20 families. Twenty families can be as many as one hundred people, as the average Haitian family size is five, but it seemed that there were perhaps less in this case. This number is certainly not enough to attract the attention of most agencies working in post-earthquake Haiti, despite the fact that these families are living in conditions that are appalling even by the currently prevailing standards. Residents reported that they had received no assistance whatsoever since the quake, despite requests for a water pump and latrine, and that we were in fact the first visitors they had received.

We explained our program, that it is not a school, but more like a pre-school for the youngest children, and that it is free; we then asked if residents would be interested in this service. The answer was a resounding, unanimous Yes. A number of parents said that they wanted desperately for their children to go to school, that they thought this was the only way they could have a better future, but that they simply could not afford the fees. Looking at their banana shacks, one could easily believe it.

When I asked if there were any orphans in the camp, the initial answer was no. When I clarified to ask if there were any children who had lost their parents during the earthquake, a number of children were pointed out, including the tiny child that had installed himself across from me and next to his guardian, the three-year-old with the eyes of an eighty-year-old. I asked how the community takes care of these children and the man shrugged, saying, ‘We find ways. We have to. These are our children now.’


JULY
Recently, I met with representatives of a certain multinational donor who had come to Haiti to evaluate how and where their funding has been used. In town for only a few days, the delegation had made a whirlwind tour of several cities and numerous camps, and had met with government and non-governmental officials. After, they met with a few of the agencies who had received funding for various initiatives in the immediate aftermath of the quake to ask questions and share their general impressions after these visits. They were, in a word, overwhelmed.

Their questions and observations were largely reasonable: They asked about how agencies are responding to issues such as trafficking of women and children, and what is being done to look after orphans and separated children. They pointed out the difficulty presented by the slow, corrupt customs process when shipping in aid and supplies. Unemployment and lack of education were listed as two large problems observed during the visit. There were questions about agencies’ contingency plans for hurricane season, as well as questions about how the hundreds of NGOs in Haiti do (or don’t) communicate and coordinate their efforts. Essentially, the delegation felt that the number obstacles or problems they had encountered were far greater than the examples of progress they were able to see.

They are not entirely wrong; the obstacles and problems are numerous and they, by definition, impede the amount of progress it is possible to make. However, there are positive things worth noting. To begin with, in defiance of most people’s expectations, there has not been any sort of epidemic or public health crisis, despite the fact that hundreds of thousands of people continue to live in very close quarters in camps throughout southern Haiti. This has been avoided through the efforts of aid organizations who launched huge campaigns to install clean water points, latrines, and to educate people on the connection between hygiene and health.

Nor has there been a sharp uptick in malnutrition cases, as was portended just after the quake. It goes without saying that malnutrition continues to be a problem in Haiti, but the situation has not been made significantly worse by the earthquake. This is once again thanks to aid agencies, who have worked to ensure at least a minimum level of general nutrition, and who have targeted particularly vulnerable groups, including children and pregnant/nursing women, to ensure that they receive the nutritional support they need.

Additionally, many children are either back in school or are attending school for the first time, through programs established by various agencies. Many strategies have been used, ranging from building new schools to subsidizing tuition fees to incorporating informal education into other child-focused activities. In a country where the literacy rate is only around 50%, even informal education and alphabetization opportunities are vital to development efforts.

But these small victories are often lost amidst the myriad problems whose magnitude and breadth make it hard to recognize anything else. Perhaps one reason it is difficult to see progress here is that aid agencies are not facing only the fall-out of a massive natural disaster. In fact, they are facing problems that existed long before the earthquake, problems that have haunted and hobbled Haiti almost since its inception. Human trafficking, corruption, unemployment, exclusion from education, inadequate disaster preparation – all of these things were around long before the earthquake, preserved and perpetuated through various social systems and mechanisms that shape the lives of most Haitians, generally in an unfavorable way. To grapple with a disaster of this size and come out on top in six months is a challenge. To grapple with well-entrenched systems of poverty and exclusion and come out on top in six months is, frankly, impossible.

July 12th marks six months since the earthquake. The fight to rebuild Haiti will be a long one and while it is fair for donors to come here and ask what has happened to their money (indeed, they should do so), it is also important that they and their constituents understand that what happened to Haiti six months ago was not just a natural disaster, it was the breaking of a dam that held back centuries of social injustice. The consequences of this system – trafficking, corruption, poverty, violence – were well known before the earthquake. The only difference is that now they are fully laid bare for the world to see, and their enormity is impossible to ignore.
But it is a mistake to allow these difficulties to take center stage all the time. It is worth knowing what good is being done, particularly since these good things can often be measured in very human terms. Even the smallest amount of good can make a huge difference in a single person’s life. And since it is not possible to change an entire system in six months, it is important to remember that it is possible to change lives.


AUGUST
Plying the wet streets of Martissant one recent morning, I chuckled to see a young pig snuffling about next to a garbage-strewn canal, closely followed by a very pregnant goat happily munching some rotten fruit skin. This unlikely pair were located not in the countryside, but rather in one of the most densely populated quarters of the Port-au-Prince area.

Around the animals, thousands of Haitians hustled on foot through the streets, over piles of refuse, between the many cars wending their way slowly through morning traffic. This area is known for its violence and poverty, its shabby neighborhoods criss-crossed by canals that are meant to efficiently carry out to the adjacent ocean the rainwater that rushes down the surrounding mountainsides into this sea-level quartier. Instead, the canals are filled with refuse – Styrofoam boxes, plastic bottles, and larger detritus like tires or even cars – and so the streets in this area flood with even a passing storm. The streets here flood so quickly and so completely that people sometimes die, are swept away or are caught up in the torrents and drown. During the earthquake, whole blocks in this neighborhood collapsed, the ruins still sit, almost exactly as they have since 12 January, a constant reminder of yet another threat to this already besieged population.

Cruising in air-conditioned comfort through this scene of filth and deprivation, there were occasional peeks of the Caribbean just beyond, its water the color of heaven and clear as fine crystal, despite the quantities of trash pumped into it each day. Its quiet waters made incongruous background to the ramshackle houses and tent camps immediately before us, the dirty child with the expressionless face knocking on the window of our stereotypical NGO Land Cruiser, begging for change. I indicated that I had none, which was true, but must have seemed like a mean joke to this child looking through the windows of our very expensive car.

My chauffeur had heard me chuckle looking at the pig and goat, these two country creatures in the middle of a capital city, and he had gestured to the broader scene – the streets still semi-inundated from the previous night’s rain, the mounds of rubbish, the dirt and mud that coated everything. He gestured to this and said, ‘It’s been like this since I came here from the provinces in 1998. It’s a little worse now, but it’s been like this for a long time.’ Earlier he had confessed that he would like to see Haiti return to dictatorship, that this was the only way he felt things would ever improve. He isn’t the first person to have said so. ‘Haitians need someone to tell them when to go left and when to go right,’ another chauffeur had told me vehemently earlier in the week. He had continued, saying, ‘Haiti will never rebuild without someone telling people to get it done or they go to jail.’

As my chauffeur and I continued on our journey, the clutter and trash of the city gradually gave way to the greener countryside, stands of banana trees and sugar cane fields abutting the turquoise sea. The southern mountains began to loom, their jagged beauty beckoning us toward our destination. At the same time, we passed encampments and half-dressed children, a man with one leg begging for change in the middle of the road. I began to think that this contrast between beauty and suffering, long a part of living in Haiti, was now more cruel than wondrous. Once I had reveled in this beauty, now it made me tearful and angry.

I pointed this out to the chauffeur, pointed out how Haiti’s beauty exists amidst so much affliction. He paused, considering, seemingly for the first time. He then replied that he had never really thought about the two things at the same moment. Maybe that’s what one has to do – keep the beauty separate from the suffering.

Ha.

My work computer died Monday morning. As in, the IT guy said he has never seen anything like it and the hard-drive was registering as being 100% free space, not even an operating system was there anymore. Yeah.

Happily, I had sent some version of most of my documents through Outlook, so I was able to recover a lot that way. One thing that did not make it was a document needed for one of our programs, a document that naturally took A LOT of time to develop and should have been in place, ya know, ages ago. So I'm sitting here this afternoon trying to recreate this document, probably looking puzzled/distressed/afflicted, with my mouth open and face contorted and the following exchange takes places between me and one of my new colleagues who arrived last week:
Her: Uh, are you okay?

Me: What? Oh, yeah -- that's my thinking face.
Her: Oh. It's a little scary.

HA!

Back to work, then. Will try to write a proper entry soon (and try to more closely monitor my facial expressions while at work -- heh.)

What a difference, uh, three months makes...

Sorry about that. Things got extra busy there for a while. In fact, they still are extremely busy, as I started a new job two weeks ago (it's now been one month since I started, I didn't have time to finish this post when I started it -- *sigh*). At this moment, I write you from the darkened parking lot of my new office in Port-au-Prince. Why the darkened parking lot, you ask? Because there are no light fixtures out here! And why am I sitting in the parking lot? Because my agency has a bit of a transportation issue and I am waiting for Stephane to come pick me up, but sadly we are also having a bit of a transportation issue (namely that we have only one car b/c Stephane refuses to let me drive here and right now that one car is with someone else), so I am here at the office, chillin' with the night guards, waiting for my ride.

So anyhow. I'm back. In Haiti. It's interesting.

In fact, one week to the day after my return, we were all in the office -- a large, heavy-looking, multi-level concrete structure -- going about our business when there was suddenly a too-familiar shaking sensation. It was easy to tell who had been here during the quake and who had not, b/c those of us who knew what this was came fleeing out of the building like ants pouring out of a flooded hill, while the others sort of watched us scurry and decided to follow. At any case, it was a pretty large aftershock -- 4.4, the biggest recently -- and although I had known intellectually before I came back that this would happen, physiologically, it was like 454pm on January 12th for me -- checking body parts and people, searching out the safest possible place at the moment, shaking like an addict in withdrawal. I shook for about 20 minutes after this and spent the rest of the day freezing like a deer who's heard a twig snap every time a big truck rolled by the office, rumbling like an earthquake as it went along.

Welcome back, eh?

I do have more to share, but for the moment must wrap up, as I am still at work.

Thanks for the thoughts/emails, keep an eye out for my upcoming articles in the journal 'Policy Review' (in case you actually read *that* -- haha!) and/or the Charleston Post and Courier, for whom I am writing a semi-monthly column. Will try my darnedest to write again sooner!

And then, more of the usual.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100226/ap_on_re_la_am_ca/cb_haiti_earthquake_18

This link is to an article that reduced me to tears of despair and frustration. Pretty much the opposite of the last one. It seems that the new plan, spearheaded by the International Organization for Migration, which was well-funded but almost invisible prior to the earthquake and now seems to ineptly taking the lead in many post-earthquake initiatives, the new plan is to encourage people to return to their old neighborhoods, rather than moving them to UN/government/NGO-supervised camps outside of town while they remove rubble from the city. Have they seriously not considered that most of the people living in PAP right now were living in some of the worst neighborhoods before the earthquake, such as the bidonvilles that covered the hillsides and were never safe even before this event?? Do they seriously believe that it is a better idea to encourage millions of people to once again take up residence in what is now recognized as an intrinsically unstable area, due to location on the fault and soil composition?? Do they not remember that PAP was FAR overpopulated prior to the earthquake, a fact which contributed directly to the human loss of this event?? Do they not understand that people will still need secure, organized places to live while the government and other agencies clear rubble, even from so-called 'approved' neighborhoods?? If the point of this is to reduce congestion in the city camps and provide people with a longer-term home, why not proceed with the original plan to set up long-term, but temporary, camps outside of town and/or assist people in migrating out of the city to other parts of the country (with the proper caveats there, of course -- seed money, existing family/social support in relocation area, etc.)?? Why on earth would these people think it is most effective to shove people back into their dilapidated neighborhoods, or to spend time promoting this plan when ultimately, if they really do the things they are saying the will do (namely, relocate people whose neighborhoods are too badly damaged for repatriation), they will *still* end up having to establish large camps outside of the city?? How can they do this to the people of Port-au-Prince?? How can these agencies condemn them to insecurity and further suffering, due to nothing more than the absolute, shameful incompetence of said agencies??

I am reminded of my impulse to yell at those teenagers in Bea's classes, but there is no one here to yell at. My anger, frustration, anxiety, and fear are at this moment overwhelming. I cannot stop shaking and I am fighting the urge to go to my bed and never leave.

Finally, something to smile about

Haiti visitor makes impact at Severna Park Middle School • Community - Severna Park (www.HometownAnnapolis.com - The Capital)

This is the link to a short article written about a middle school near my house in Maryland and their efforts to help Haiti. A few weeks ago, I spoke to the seventh grade class about what had happened and tried to help them understand how their service learning project can make a difference for Haitians; all I can say is that I am amazed and I think you will be, too, when you read what these 300 or so kids have done. When I picked up their donations on Monday, I fought tears while looking at the boxes and boxes of items they had collected, in addition to their efforts to raise money. It really is incredible to know that members of that community are thinking of Haiti and taking every opportunity to help out. (Incidentally, all together, the seventh grade class donated more than 1,000 items to the donation drive Bea and I are working on, and they did this all during one week. Due to the recent snowstorms, the kids did not have school for more than a week, so in the end they had only about six days to gather their goods and bring them in. In the end, they had so much stuff that Bea's Nissan Cube was packed literally from floor to ceiling and front to back -- even the front passenger seat had things in it -- and I still have to pick up three more bags of things that people brought in after that!)

Additionally, I spent Monday and Tuesday at one of my former high schools, Glen Burnie High, talking to Bea's classes about Haiti and the earthquake. I wasn't sure how much of an impact this would really have, as GB is a rather depressed area itself and many of the kids in that school now can't be bothered (or don't have the means) to properly take care of themselves, let alone try thinking about someone else. I was also a bit nervous b/c some of Bea's classes are a little rough...But it turned out to be a great experience, for me and (I think) for them. Even the rowdiest classes were quiet for more than an hour while I spoke and answered their questions, and already students have brought in hundreds of items for donation.

There were a couple of moments where people were sleeping or chatting/giggling while I was talking about human suffering on an unimaginable scale. During those moments, I wanted to yell at these kids and inform them that their inability to pay attention to someone sharing such a painful, personal experience made me wish that they would one day be victims of a similar horror. But I reined in that impulse, reminded myself that I was fortunate to have the other 95% of the class paying attention/demonstrating interest and understanding, and moved forward. And the donations that we have thus far received reassure me that at least some people were reached.

When I first got back to the US, I didn't want to talk about the things that had happened, mostly b/c it was too hard, but also partly b/c I didn't like feeling like a specimen. Now, when I am talking to groups like this about my experiences, I know it is for a purpose -- to promote awareness and attract donations for those who need them so badly -- and I am much more comfortable. It is never easy (the two days spent in Bea's classroom left me with a slightly sick feeling at the end of each day, remembering everything that had happened), but the knowledge that it is making a positive difference more than makes up for the discomfort.

It's not too late to send any donations you may have (we will be collecting at least through the end of March), I can send you the list of items we are collecting if you are interested, and thanks to everyone who has already helped out -- it means more than you know.

And another thing --

Stephane just made a little picture site w/photos taken in their camp during distributions. There are a lot of them, so it might seem tedious, but definitely take a look at least at the thumbnails and see their camp, distributions, and the 'milk tent' they've established for children. The story is that before Stephane and his group took over, people in surrounding camps/areas called this camp 'Cite Soleil', an unfavorable comparison w/the notorious slum, but that now people are referring to this camp as 'Belleville', which is a weirdly Irvine, California-like gated community on the outskirts of PAP -- so job well done, Stephane and crew.

Notice some of the children in the tent wearing clothes that do not properly cover them, especially girls in dresses that do not zip. Stephane has also reported that there are children in the camp entirely naked. I am working with some local schools, churches, and families to gather supplies to send down there, including children's clothes but also many other items; if you are interested in assisting with this, contact me via email or comment and I will send a list of things we are collecting.

The link for the photos is:
http://picasaweb.google.com/113074725325497978294/MilkClinicAndNFIDistrib12Feb09#

Worth a look

My friend Anne works for Habitat for Humanity and her colleague, Ezra, made a multimedia presentation about his experience in Haiti while he was there w/the Habitat team. It is surprisingly moving and really captures the situation there:
http://www.ezramillstein.com/content/popup/Haiti/index.html

Battles won, lost, and ongoing

Me vs. Snow
As some of you know, I have been in Oregon since last Wednesday, visiting my DASF (Dear and Special Friend) Brianna, my best friend since 7th grade, as the juvenile acronym might indicate. It has been a lovely trip, and I suppose it is a good thing that Brianna and I like each other so much, as it begins to look like I may never leave. That is clearly some shameless exaggeration, but there have been moments where I was not sure. Due to the rapid succession of snowstorms back east, my original flight, scheduled for today, was cancelled. I managed to re-book a flight for tomorrow, the 11th, only to wake up this morning and find that it, too, is cancelled. Unable to re-book myself online, I called the ever-helpful (ahem) Delta Airlines, whose main line was incessantly busy, but whom I was finally able to reach via their frequent flyer line. After waiting only a few minutes for an operator and then being told that I could be re-booked for the 12th, I chalked this up as a small victory. That, it turned out, was premature. I spent 45 minutes -- and this is no exaggeration -- on hold, waiting for a 're-booking agent' who never answered. Luckily, I started checking the online options again and magically a flight for the 11th, new and different from my previous one, popped up and I am currently scheduled once again to leave tomorrow. But lesson learned, I have spent most of my day obsessively checking the flight status site to make sure my flight to BWI is still on green.
And the winner is: Undecided, pending further snow and/or airline nonsense. Either way, I'm coming out pretty shabby, if/when I finally do make it back to the DC area.

Brianna vs. Spirit Airlines
While on the topic of airline-related nonsense, let me share w/you the story of how I came to be in Oregon for the last week. The original plan was that Brianna was going to come visit me in Haiti at this time to celebrate my birthday but given recent events, we knew that plan was off. So instead she used a bunch of airmiles to fly me out to OR, which was very nice. In the meantime, Brianna had two plane tickets and a hotel reservation that were no longer needed. Delta, whom Brianna had planned to fly from Oregon to Florida using airmiles, offered her a flight credit. After a few phone calls, the hotel in Ft. Lauderdale where she had planned to spend the night before catching her flight to PAP, agreed to a refund. But when Brianna called Spirit, with whom she was to fly to PAP and back, they informed her that they could not do anything for her b/c her flight was still listed as 'On Time' in their schedule. Yes, that's correct -- in the midst of a disaster whose magnitude we are only beginning to comprehend, Spirit airlines refused to give Brianna her $200 back b/c their computer had not yet been updated to reflect the fact that no one commercial is flying in or out of PAP for the foreseeable future. In fact, when she spoke to someone a week after the earthquake, they told her that it was impossible for them to consider refunding her ticket b/c they were slated to resume flights on 26 January. And they were totally serious. I imagine by now they have corrected this ridiculous misconception, yet they continue to refuse to provide a refund. Brianna has now filed a claim with her travel insurance company, the result of which will undoubtedly take several months to arrive.
And the winner is: Unless the travel insurance finds a way to bully Spirit into submission, I believe the airline has come out on top -- Brianna has thrown in the towel, refusing to engage any further w/the customer service staff from Hell.

Me vs. Life, PTSD, and other behemoths
On the plus side, I am one again able to eat normal meals without getting sick, I no longer cry in inappropriate places, and I am sleeping more than four hours at a time, so those are all good signs. I'm sure I will eventually be fine, if never the same. But until eventually comes to pass, life is pretty freaking weird. Often, I am totally fine for long stretches: I can talk about Haiti in an unemotional (or at least not overly emotional) way, I don't constantly think about what has happened, and I have been able to go out and do things almost every day since coming to Oregon, just like this was any other visit. In fact, things had been going so well that by Saturday, I sort of felt like maybe I was better, or at least over the hump.
Then I spent two hours crying before I finally collapsed into sleep and each day since has involved forcing myself to participate in whatever the activity of the day is, all the while thinking how I would much rather go to bed and sleep for about a year, while also feeling guilty for not enjoying my time here more.
I am doing everything I can on my end to both help Haiti and to help Stephane and me, but there is a constant sense of ludicrousness, an almost comic futility to my efforts.
I have at least one dream a night that is either earthquake-related or some other version of apocalypse; most telling is the fact that the earthquake dreams are almost never in Haiti, they are in my homes in Maryland or South Carolina, places that should feel safe to me.
Listening to Stephane oscillate between feeling good about his work and feeling as if he is blocked at every turn -- and knowing that there is so little I can do when I am so far away -- compounds the feelings of uncertainty and frustration.
I can't stop hoping for positive change, but I am beginning to suspect that I don't believe it is possible.
My professional training and experience tell me that all of these things are, to an extent, normal, especially at this point when the traumatic event is still fairly recent. What is weird is that the only comfort I can find is in those statistics, these trauma studies I know so well from years of research and implementation. These numbers comfort me more than my prayers.
And the winner is: I'm pretty stubborn. So we'll see.

Luke vs. Rat
Brianna's house is a cute, older home situated on a little more than an acre of land, part of which her boyfriend Luke has cultivated and uses to grow produce and chickens. The house is really not bad, but has some old house-type problems, rats among them, though the pesty guests have been confining themselves to the basement. Before going to bed the other night, Brianna was convinced that she heard a rate in the kitchen, but after some diligent searching didn't show anything, we decided she was just paranoid. That night, however, I was awoken multiple times by what sounded like a rodent foraging around the dining room table, the crinkle of paper and plastic wrappers and tap-tap-tap of tiny feet rousing me from already fragile sleep. At one point, it sounded like the culprit was moving toward the living room, where I sleep, and I lay motionless on the couch hoping against hope that a rat was not preparing to jump on my face. Upon waking the next morning, I fully expected to find evidence of late-night rodent adventures, but instead found my bag of Goldfish crackers and some other packages completely unmolested, and the area was totally free from the feces that usually accompany rat visits. Brianna then informed me that her small, deceptively feeble-looking dog, Nugget, had gotten out of their room sometime in the night and that he sometimes likes to jump on the table when no one is around and there is a conveniently placed chair and we are quite sure that the culprit was indeed Nugget, who does somewhat resemble a rat, nosing about that night.
But the rat drama was just beginning. The next night, Brianna and Luke were woken from their slumber at 4am by the sound of a rat in their closet. They were again unable to locate an actual animal, but Brianna insisted that it was there. Turns out she was right. Late last night, Luke emerged from the bedroom to say that he had found the intruder hiding *in* a dresser drawer. Brianna immediately set about strategizing how she could wash all of their clothing in a 24 hour period while Luke busied himself with finding all available containers in which to trap the rat. For some reason, we then all proceeded to enter Luke and Brianna's very small bedroom, Brianna and I standing on the bed while Luke crawled around on the floor trying to determine where exactly the rat had gotten to. A broom was brought in, a headlamp employed, and I spent a good ten minutes clutching a clothes hanger, I suppose with the intention of hitting the rat if it attempted to jump on my face (I really have a thing about that). The rat was trapped in various corners, never with any success but with lots of squeals (from us), and I finally decided that my presence was no longer needed after the rat did indeed jump toward Brianna's face as she tried to trap it in a box and then nearly climbed onto my foot while he was scaling the bed. Rats don't scare me, but their spastic jumping does.
For another 10 minutes, I listened with some amusement to the bumps, cries, and curses emanating from the bedroom, after which time Brianna joined me, explaining that Luke had asked for some time alone w/the rat. Apparently she was not a good hunter, either. heh. A further 15 minutes and much noise later, Luke emerged, sweaty and disheveled, carrying a cardboard box whose lid was being held closed by a large book. It seems he had indeed vanquished the rat, who, by Luke's description, had appeared quite tired when it finally resigned itself to running into the waiting box. The mighty foe was then transported to a public park a mile or so away, where we can assume he is plotting his revenge and raising an army.
And the winner is: Luke -- but he might want to watch his back.

*Sigh*

Watching the Grammy awards w/Bea, the Black Eyed Peas just started 'I Got a Feeling', everyone wearing costumes that make me think of 'Back to the Future II' when Marty goes to the year 2010 (or something like that) and everyone is driving flying cars and wearing very technological-looking clothes; ya know, the cliche of 'the future'. In fact, BEP just finished the song, screaming out, 'WELCOME TO THE FUTURE!!!' All very peppy and well done.

Watching this performance took me back in a very visceral way to New Year's Eve: Stephane and I at Moulin sur Mer, the most stressful thing on our mind was finding a white outfit for me to wear to the theme party that night. The Black Eyed Peas' 'I Got a Feeling' was playing every 30 minutes, an optimistic audio backdrop to a day of snorkeling, drinking, and admiring Moulin sur Mer's comprehensive plans for development and expansion. That night Stephane and I enjoyed a beautiful time under the stars at the beach, and he told me that New Year's Eve should always be celebrated in top form b/c the popular belief is that however you start your year is a harbinger of the 365 days that follow. For some reason I felt like I could believe this and was euphoric as the fireworks started at midnight, contemplating the happy year ahead of us.

Until 12 January, I think the new year was on track to live up to popular lore -- warm, happy, and vibrant, just like our New Year's Eve.

Now it seems more like my New Year's Day, most of which I spent immobilized by a hangover, trying not to breathe too hard lest I throw up.

I have a hard time remembering life before this and believing that it can be that way again. I know that is irrational, but watching the Black Eyed Peas tonight was more like watching a re-enactment of my past, not a glimpse of a better future.

Back from DR and potential for fundraising

After a remarkably bad day of travel, I returned from the Dominican Republic last night, greeted by snow covered streets and sub-freezing temperatures -- quite a switch!! The DR was interesting, in good and bad ways. It was of course fantastic to see Stephane and spend some time together. It was not a particularly romantic time together, as it was spent mostly in a taxi driving all over Santo Domingo retrieving supplies and meeting with partners, but it was quite productive and it was good to feel like I was supporting Stephane and his work back in Haiti.

To update you on what exactly his work is right now, his agency has set up a tent clinic at an encampment of 12,000 people in Carrefour. They are providing primary health care, seeing 150-200 patients a day. They are also working on setting up a milk clinic for children. There have been efforts at coordinating the myriad health providers now present in Port-au-Prince, which is vital to ensuring an effective health response, but so far there seems to be a disconnect between what people say in meetings and what happens in practice. This is typical, but extremely discouraging -- and dangerous -- in this situation. However, it is still early in the effort (although it seems like an eternity since the quake, we are not even at the three week mark), things are still quite confused and fluid, so let's just hope that coordination improves from here.

Driving around Santo Domingo allowed me to see all parts of the city, including parts that I would never otherwise have seen. While it is still evident that Santo Domingo is the capital of a still developing country, I couldn't help but feel sort of upbeat about it -- the city is clearly heading in a positive direction. Looking at the large buildings in the city provided a fascinating contrast: Those built in the 1960s or 70s when the DR first started really working to become a modern nation appeared not only dated, but shabby and I was a bit suspicious of their structural integrity; they looked like poorly executed copies of styles that were trendy in the US and Europe at that time. The newer buildings, however, show a clear evolution of style and construction. Although reminiscent of buildings one might see in Miami or LA, these structures are not copies, they retain a certain Dominican aspect that makes them more interesting that they would otherwise be. Most importantly, judging by the works in progress that we passed, they are clearly investing in better building materials -- I saw steel frames and lots of rebar.

We stayed in the Zona Colonial, the oldest (and most touristy) part of town, which was quaint and filled with historical sites that almost rival those in Europe. The oldest working cathedral in the New World, dating back to the early 1500s, was just up the street, ruins of the first hospital in the New World were visible from the terrace where we breakfasted each morning, the foundations of the original fort are situated by the river, a few blocks behind the hotel, and every few feet you encountered either buildings or well-maintained ruins dating back four centuries or more. I was particularly pleased to notice that numerous reconstruction/rehabilitation efforts were underway or already successfully completed; the Dominicans are wisely investing in preserving these historical marvels.

On his last night in Santo Domingo, Stephane informed me that this visit had made him consider that maybe Dominicans aren't all evil, which is a pretty big step for a Haitian. heh. I think he was surprised to find that Dominicans and Haitians have quite a lot in common, though they are of course different. We were also fortunate to encounter a number of very nice, helpful Dominicans, all of whom seemed more than willing to do anything in their power to assist Stephane and his agency in getting things done in order to return to Haiti ready to help. Our taxi driver put in 12 hour days and did double or triple duty, serving also as an interpreter at times and a laborer at others. He was paid, of course, but his enthusiasm went beyond what money can buy. When I visited the cathedral on my own while waiting for Stephane to arrive, one of the historical association employees approached me and asked where I was coming from and why I had come to the DR. When I told him that I was meeting my boyfriend, who was Haitian and working in PAP, and that we had both survived the earthquake, he was not only in awe of the fact that I was walking around the cathedral, seemingly intact, he actually started to tear up and said that he was so sad to see the pictures of his 'neighbors'. Celo, the largest mobile phone provider in DR, had signage all over town telling people that they could text a number to donate money to Haiti, many with the slogan 'Helping Haiti: We Have To'. The Dominican Republic is by no means perfect, and the history of antagonism between Haiti and the DR is not easy to overcome, but it seems that at least some Dominicans are making an effort.

Stephane left Friday to drive back to PAP and arrived safely that night. Luckily, his two vehicles were able to link up w/a convoy of other aid organizations, so that provided a bit more security. The sheer number of aid groups moving in and out of Haiti through the DR is impressive. I saw many people from agencies large and small who were staying in our hotel. I was speaking to the hotel night manager my first evening in Santo Domingo, who told me that normally they hotel is around 70% full, but that since the earthquake it has been at full capacity or even overbooked, almost exclusively by people staging trips to Haiti. One day we walked back into the hotel to find half of the lobby filled with tall stacks of large bins filled with supplies for Haiti. Although there is definitely some price gouging going on in town as a result of the influx of aid agencies, our hotel's rates were and apparently will remain at their normal seasonal level; they are not trying to exploit the numerous people who need a place to stay for a night or two before crossing the border.

We were also able to see the family who are still staying in the DR, which was so nice. I was so happy to see Babeth, especially, and to see that Alex and Sarah and Junior are all safe. David (DX) and his family, along with Klaus and his girlfriend, arrived while we were there, but we did not get to see them. Everyone is working on getting to the US, so hopefully everyone will be Stateside soon. We're starting to consider what everyone is going to do after that, which is rather daunting, but it seems best to take it one step at a time.

On a non-DR note, my stepdad (who has been awesome at getting the word out about Haiti issues and did a great job letting people know Stephane and I were okay right after the earthquake -- thanks, Chester!) sent me the following, which he received from a friend involved in this project. It sounds like a great opportunity to help a great charity and to beautify your home (or someone else's):
Soulcatcher Studios has launched the "pictureHOPE" exhibition and sale of fine art photographs benefiting the people of Haiti through Doctors Without Borders. I have donated some of my work to this worthy cause. Soulcatcher is offering signed, limited edition photographs for just $50.00 each, and 100%of the proceeds will be donated to Doctors Without Borders.

Tell your friends and family to buy some art to support the cause!

Direct link to exhibition: http://www.soulcatcherstudio.com/exhibitions/haiti/index.htm

Going to Dominican Republic

Stephane called on Saturday to say that he is going to DR to buy trucks and organize supplies to convoy over to PAP. (He will also be renewing his passport, which expires in one week....I had asked him to do this several months ago, but he did not -- you see why women nag?!? heehee...) I will be flying down tomorrow morning to join him; right now the plan is for me to come back to the US on Friday. However, we should have Internet at the hotel, so we should be reachable by email/blog if our phones don't work.

Recommendations for charitable giving

A few people have recently asked me to whom I thought they should donate to help with the crisis/recovery in Haiti. I do have some preferred charities, based on my own experience with NGOs and who/what I have seen in Haiti before the earthquake, and I also have some charities I deeply dislike. But in the interest of not getting sued for slander, I will list only the ones that I think are doing a really good job in their response to the situation now, as well as generally how they allocate their funds (i.e., how much of it actually goes to programming and not into people's pockets):
CURE International A medical NGO who were one of the first groups on the ground in the aftermath, opening operating rooms and wound care services when almost no one else was able to do so. (see the update I have pasted below)
Habitat for Humanity Their disaster response team has put together an interesting long-term recovery plan with quite a bit of potential (see the press release below); they are also better than most about how they spend their money.
Medecins sans Frontieres/Doctors without Borders MSF had been scaling down their activities in Haiti, as they operate mostly in actual emergencies and Haiti was emerging from 'emergency' status. Obviously and tragically, this has changed, and MSF has quickly moved to reinforce their staff both in numbers and supplies. They are skilled, serious, and comparatively efficient.
Catholic Relief Services (CRS) CRS has a long-standing presence in Haiti and has built some good relationships with the Haitian people. They run a number of orphanages throughout the country, mostly in PAP, who will be in desperate need of food, supplies, and shelter.
Save the Children A big NGO that has somehow managed to keep focus on its real priorities, helping kids and families. They are also well-established in Haiti, particularly in the areas of nutrition and preventive health.
Mission of Hope I have to give these guys some attention b/c they let us take over a whole section of their compound, but also b/c they appear to be doing really good work -- providing free healthcare to the local community, free education for children (a BIG deal in Haiti), and housing a number of children. These people live simply, raising their own food stock and living in austere conditions in their guest house, and many of them have learned Creole so that they can communicate better with the community around them.
Hearts with Haiti This NGO provides a lot of funding to an orphanage that was extensively damaged by the quake. Their orphanage, St. Joseph's, has been around for quite some time and is well-known for rescuing children who have been living as restaveks (child slaves, essentially) and helping them recover from that experience, while also providing education, job training, and healthcare.
USAID This would be more of an advocacy avenue rather than charitable giving, but if you are interested in trying to help shape the USAID long-term response to the situation in Haiti, contact your Representatives and Senators telling them that you support long-term investment in Haiti, and make suggestions about programs that you think they should put in place and/or encourage them to continue the development initiatives already approved for the northern part of the country, which was not affected by the quake. Congress ultimately decides how much USAID gets for what programs, so let those politicians know that your vote is at least partially linked to their response to Haiti.

All of these agencies can be found by simply putting their name in Google and hitting search. Also, just b/c I didn't list a charity does not automatically mean that it is on my no-fly list; if you are really concerned about that, you can email me privately for details.

This was CURE's first update from Haiti and I am including it b/c it gives a lot of interesting details, but they have since issued a new update wherein they confirm that they are now able to deliver supplies overland from the DR, and also that they have several more medical teams on the ground. Please also notice that they are estimating their total disaster response costs at around $500,000, which really is not that much money in the grand scheme of things. This is possible b/c most of the medical people working for them are volunteers, people freely giving their time and skills to help people desperately in need.

Creating organization from chaos
The CURE team on the ground in Port au Prince is not only bringing life-saving care to hundreds of injured Haitians, but they are also helping to organize and facilitate the work of other medical groups and volunteers. With no centralized coordination in place, the team has been key to getting OR’s up and running.

We were able to get the 18-person team from Dallas, Texas, mobilized to a different hospital. They immediately got to work and divided an open room into three OR’s, created an OR in an open hallway and turned a radiology room in an OR. In just 48 hours, this team performed over 300 operations, including 40 amputations and applied more than 100 casts.

More teams on the way
People continue to step up to respond to the crisis. In the next few days, CURE will be sending more than 25 medical professionals and a substantial amount of donated orthopedic equipment and supplies. These teams will relieve our very weary team members who have been on the ground since last Thursday.

CURE will meet ongoing medical needs
While CURE was one of the first to arrive in Haiti, we will not be the first to leave. The medical needs are staggering - hundreds of thousands are injured and are in need of care. Throughout the upcoming weeks and months, CURE will provide care from a local community hospital in Haiti and hopefully, will also be able to care for patients at our hospital in Santo Domingo, Dominican Republic.

The effects of the earthquake on Haiti are massive and our response must be equally substantial. We estimate that our relief efforts in Haiti will cost $500,000. Please consider joining us to reach this goal and bring healing and restoration to the Haitian people.

In the days to come, we will be bringing you stories and first impressions from our team and the patients they are treating. Check our blog (blog.helpcurenow.org) and watch for email updates. Please consider passing this on to your friends and encouraging them to support the work of CURE International in Haiti and the Dominican Republic.

With prayers for hope and healing,
Your friends at CURE International

Give online at http://www.helpcurenow.org/haitirelief
or text CURE to 85944 to give a $10 gift

Follow updates at http://blog.helpcurenow.org

And to help support CURE, add the following message to your Facebook/Twitter account: Help CURE in Haiti: http://helpcurenow.org/haitirelief or txt CURE to 85944 to give a $10 gift. Follow: http://blog.helpcurenow.org

This is Habitat's press release following their initial needs assessment in Haiti. They do know a lot about housing/neighborhood planning, and there seems to be some real potential here.

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Katie Evans
Habitat for Humanity
404-420-6728
kevans@habitat.org
www.habitat.org/newsroom

Habitat for Humanity International CEO Jonathan Reckford visits Haiti’s earthquake-devastated neighborhoods

ATLANTA (Jan. 22, 2010) – Habitat for Humanity International CEO Jonathan Reckford traveled to Port-au-Prince Jan. 19 - 20 to meet with Habitat for Humanity Haiti staff and to tour some of the earthquake-ravaged neighborhoods in the capital city.

“This is the worst humanitarian disaster I’ve seen,” said Reckford. “Video and images cannot convey the devastation and suffering of the people of Haiti.”

Reckford met with Habitat for Humanity Haiti staff at their temporary office. While all 50 Habitat Haiti staff members survived last week’s earthquake; Habitat Haiti’s offices collapsed.

Habitat for Humanity is offering a three-fold response to the earthquake that includes clearing debris from home sites, providing Habitat for Humanity Recovery Starter kits and repairing and rebuilding homes through a transitional housing method.

“We want to help families with shelter right away, while also thinking of longer term housing solutions,” said Reckford. “Our goal is to put families into safe, durable transitional shelters that can be used for long periods and improved upon over time.”

The transitional housing model involves small shelters that can be built quickly and provide permanent base structures that can be expanded over time. The shelters will meet humanitarian standards of adequate living space and provision of water and sanitation. The structures also will be designed with hurricane and earthquake-resistant features.

Donations are urgently needed for recovery and can be made at www.habitat.org and by calling 1-800-422-4828. Additionally, texting “Habitat” to 25383 makes a $10 donation to Habitat’s efforts in Haiti.

About Habitat for Humanity International
Habitat for Humanity International is an ecumenical Christian ministry that welcomes to its work all people dedicated to the cause of eliminating poverty housing. Since its founding in 1976, Habitat has built, rehabilitated, repaired or improved more than 350,000 houses worldwide, providing simple, decent and affordable shelter for more than 1.75 million people. For more information, or to donate or volunteer, visit www.habitat.org.

Day Four

Sleeping in the car turned out to not be the best idea, as Stephane's mom and grandmother placed the air mattress in the bed of the truck and every time they rolled over or moved, the entire truck shook, making it difficult to tell what was an aftershock and what was just them getting situated. (I'm sure the same was true for them every time I twisted around in the seat trying to find a less uncomfortable position.) Very early in the morning, maybe 330am, there was an actual aftershock, a rather large one that woke most of us. Once I realized that it was just an aftershock and that everything still seemed to be standing, I tried to go back to sleep. Other people chose to simply get up. By 615, I couldn't tune out their noise any longer, so I gave up and climbed out of the truck, rather irritated. While I understood everyone's fear and nervousness, I also knew the importance of sleeping, or at least resting, during times like this. Under such extreme stress, a person's body uses far more energy than normal and without at least some rest, it leads not only to exhaustion and physical illness, but it also impacts a person's decision-making abilities. People do dumb stuff when they are worn out.

When I woke up, Stephane told me that Steve had to go back to the city for work (he runs logistics for a UN unit, so they were clearly in need of him right now). Steve had offered to take me to the Embassy on his way to work. Although Stephane and I had agreed that I would evacuate as possible, when the time actually came for me to leave, I didn't want to keep my end of the deal. I tried to put on a stoic face, but I'm not sure it was very convincing as I said my goodbyes. Mommy Lu said that I would come back to Haiti and when I would be coming back to my home. This meant a lot to me; I have come to think of Haiti as my home, and I was happy that she thought of me as belonging there.

Stephane's mom was initially less gracious. She pulled me aside and informed me very strongly that she did not agree with my leaving, believing that Stephane was forcing me to do so and that I should stand up to him and stay with him, b/c that's what you do when you're with someone. I eventually managed to express to her that although she was correct in perceiving that I did not really want to leave, my departure was not the result of Stephane forcing his will on me, but rather it was a difficult decision made by both of us together for the greater good. I pointed out to her that the 16 other people standing there with us were all looking to Stephane to figure out how to take care of them, that he also needed to start working on how his agency was going to conduct relief efforts, and that if I stayed, Stephane would continue to spend too much time worrying about me and not enough time worrying about these other important issues. Babeth was satisfied with this line of reasoning, and gave me a big hug.

I was standing with Stephane, each of us trying not to cry as we said goodbye, when Didie’s younger brother approached us and asked Stephane for a cigarette. Stephane said that he didn’t have any and suggested that the brother go ask Junior for one. Didie’s brother responded, in complete seriousness, ‘Ugh! I don’t want to ask Junior, he doesn’t smoke the kind that I like!’ Stephane had predicted the night before that people would ‘start to get annoying’ now that we had made it to safety; this incident seemed to confirm that.

Steve, the cats, and I left without having breakfast, and as soon as we started to drive away, I felt like my whole body was telling me this was the wrong decision; my stomach got tight, my heart beat faster, and of course I started to cry, albeit quietly b/c Steve had already told me that if I cried, he would cry and then he couldn’t drive. Not far from the mission, we passed a car that had been heading out of town but hit a huge pothole and blew out a tire. This is not an unusual scene in Haiti – they have potholes that could swallow an elephant, I swear – nor was it unusual that the many, many cars passing this one did not stop to offer help. What was unusual, but typical of him, was that Steve stopped. He stopped his car even though he was going in the opposite direction and he got out and helped these people.

While he was busy with that, the cats and I waited in the (very hot) car. It occurred to me that I could get out and walk back to the mission, but I knew that Steve would stop me if I tried, and at any rate, he had locked the car and apparently you can’t unlock the doors from the inside if they’ve been locked from the outside. Which became a pretty serious problem as we continued to sit in the car, parked in full sun, unable even to roll down the window further than the tiny crack that I had made while we were on the road. The cats both started to pant, which is a bit strange for cats, but it was the first of many times they would do so on that day, while I sweat profusely. I finally managed to yell loudly enough for Steve to hear me and he released me from the oven for a couple of minutes while he finished up the tire. Enjoying the relative comfort of standing outside of the car, I watched as the vehicular exodus continued: tap-taps were more heavily laden than normal, even their roofs were covered with passengers, the same for buses, all driving at breakneck speed out of town. Every once in a while a bus or car would drive by in the opposite direction, heading toward town with a couple of passengers either going to look for loved ones or providing transportation to those who wanted to leave and could afford the fare. At one point, a truck that looked like ours started heading toward us and I hoped that it was Stephane coming to get to me, but of course it was not and I continued to wait for Steve, taking advantage of the time alone to cry a bit.

We were back on the road about 20 minutes after stopping and arrived to the edge of town not long after that. Where the day before Clercine had been jam-packed, it was now almost empty, probably b/c the gas station had run out of fuel. Steve put a handkerchief over his face for a few miles to block the smell of decomposition that greeted us at a certain spot. Not far from the Embassy we turned down a shady side street and Steve explained that he wanted to stop at his parents’ house to check on his family. They, too, had all made it through the quake and were now living in a large courtyard shared with neighbors. When we arrived, Steve’s mom seemed very happy to meet me and sweetly offered me the use of a plastic chair while she and Steve chatted in rapid Creole. It seemed that they were preparing to get out of town, but they weren’t sure where they would go. Their house was still standing, but was seriously damaged, the staircase to their second floor had fallen and there were large cracks running through all of the walls. I played with Steve’s niece, an adorable little girl of maybe two years of age sporting a shiny new pair of plastic jelly shoes that I would have been nuts about at her age. She was giggling and happy, a brief picture of joy in an otherwise horrific time. During the quake, Steve’s mom said that the little girl kept repeating, ‘M’ap mouri’ – ‘I’m dying.’

Not realizing that we were again stopping for about 15 minutes, I had left the cats in the car. Luckily, the shade had kept the car from getting *too* hot, but it was still pretty hot. Both cats were once again panting and I began to be worried that they had survived the earthquake only to die of heatstroke and dehydration. I began to want to reach the Embassy just so that I could give the cats some water. We made two more stops, one for Steve to buy ice, which he put in a big cooler his mother had just given him, and one for him to buy water, two big plastic bags filled with smaller plastic bags. This was going to be all of the drinking water that would be available to the group back at the mission for at least a couple of days and the price, Steve said, was steep (I took the opportunity to teach him the English phrase ‘price-gouging’). I was in a pretty constant state of dehydration, having had little water since Tuesday, so I opened one of the small water sachets and shared it with Steve. When it was nearly gone, I pried open each cats’ mouth in turn and forced some water in, hoping that would at least keep them alive if not totally solve their problem. You can imagine how much they loved that.

When we had passed the Embassy the day before on our way out of town, there were a few cars outside and security had been obviously enhanced (armed guards were lining the sidewalk outside, which is unusual), but there weren’t many people standing outside waiting to get in. Today, it was a mob scene. Cars were parked on both sides of the street for some distance and there was a group of maybe 300 people standing outside the gate, evidently waiting to be admitted. Steve and I managed to grab one of the Embassy staff members who was outside informing people of their various options and the following conversation occurred:
Guy: First of all do you want to go, get out of here, or do you want to stay at the Embassy?
Me, hesitating: Well, I would like to stay….
Steve, jumping in: NO!! She is leaving, she has to leave!
Me: Okay, so I’m leaving.
Guy: Then you have three choices – you can get on a bus to the Dominican Republic…
Me: Oh, you’re arranging flights from DR?
Guy: No, you just get on the bus and go there.
Me, not keen on the idea of being dumped in the DR with no continuing travel arranged: Uh-huh. What else?
Guy: You can join this big group of people here who are waiting to be very slowly registered into our system and then allowed into the Embassy to wait for transportation to the airport, which will be a while because we don’t have enough vehicles. [I am looking at this huge group standing in the sun and thinking that if the cats didn’t die standing there, I very well might.] Or, you can go straight to the airport, where they are doing the same system, but you’re already at the runway and don’t have to wait here to get a ride.

Steve was not sure if we could even get to the airport (we had heard one of the roads leading there had been damaged heavily), but we decided to try anyway. As it turned out, the road we used was perfectly fine, aside from the fact that traffic was backed up for about three miles because UN and NGO vehicles needing to get in and out of the airport and the UN compounds along this road kept interrupting traffic. We were once again sitting in the baking heat of the car, one of the cats was even drooling by this point (seriously, cats don’t drool unless things are pretty dire), and I told Steve I was thinking of walking the rest of the way. (All I had was the cats and a shoulderbag w/my computer, some meds, and a couple of other things, so it’s not like I had to worry about toting luggage for three miles.) Steve insisted that I could not walk alone and was going to park the car in the now-empty lot of a gas station we were passing. Like most other gas stations in the area, this one had run out of fuel and was now abandoned except for the occasional group of people seeking some shelter from the sun under the fuel pump roof.

Unsure of whether or not we should walk, I offered to get out of the car and walk ahead to see if the problem was something that might clear up soon, or if we needed to resort to pedal locomotion. I had ascertained that the problem was a convoy of UN trucks trying to get into a compound and blocking traffic in the meantime and was on my way back to the car when suddenly traffic started moving pretty quickly, the trucks having gained admittance, and I hopped in Steve’s car as he drove up to me. We then quickly reached the airport, which was pretty much as chaotic as it always is, just chaotic in a different way that day. Steve handed me a huge bottle of water he had in his car (a big gesture, really, considering how precious water was at that point) and then walked with me until a Marine told us that only people with US passports could go further, at which point I hugged Steve and prepared to start the rest of my journey alone for the first time in days. It was not a very comforting prospect.

The Marine had directed me to join a large group of people at one end of the airport, but as I was walking that way, another Marine stopped me and an older gentleman who was behind me and told us to go to a door that was back in the direction we had come from. The Marine called to another Marine closer to the door, telling him to let us in; we were apparently being given a short-cut, though I have still have no idea why. As we were walking in that door, a Marine who had been pushing an elderly Haitian woman on a luggage cart asked the gentleman with me if he could take the lady inside. Before the guy could answer, the Marine left the woman and the luggage and walked away to address some other emerging problem. The guy seemed pretty bewildered and initially not very interested in getting stuck with a strange old woman, but when we got inside and saw that we were joining a line of people going out to the tarmac, the gentleman used his newfound burden to his advantage, pushing to the front of the line with his incapacitated charge.

Seeing this, as well as a couple of people with small children or on crutches passing to the front, some of the people in line around me who were not injured or accompanied by children began to get out of line and start moving toward the front of the line. Those of you who have ever boarded a plane going to or from Haiti should recognize this phenomenon, the Haitian inability to stand patiently in a line or follow directions about who goes first. (You know I love Haiti and its people, but seriously, I have even been stepped on by people rushing to get on a plane, and the whole notion of ‘Boarding Zones’ is non-existent for these people.) Annoyed, I said loudly to no one in particular, ‘There is a *line* here for a reason,’ at which point most of the people returned to their spots and this one older guy who had been behind me even said, ‘Oh, this is a line?’ Ha.

The group – which I later learned was the last group of evacuees they allowed on the tarmac that day – moved forward quickly, delivering us to waiting Haitian immigration officers who stamped our passports, took our visitor cards, and then waved us toward a door leading out to the tarmac. When I emerged, a guy from an Army Airborne unit that was manning the airfield asked me if I was with a big group of Americans and I said, ‘No, but where do I check in with the State Department?’ The soldier said all he knew was that if I wasn’t with the big group of Americans, I was supposed to go stand with the general rabble. (It turned out that the group he was talking about consisted of 19 people who had paid that extra $30 for travel insurance, which apparently includes evacuation from a disaster area; a private plane landed a few hours later and whisked them all back to the US. I’m prolly still too cheap to pay for it, but think about *that* next time you’re booking a ticket!)

After confirming that there was no way I could glom on to the travel insurance group, I resigned myself to the mass of people also waiting for a ride. Seeing someone sitting at a computer, I made my way toward him, thinking this might be the check-in area. It was not. In fact, I still don’t know what exactly that person was doing, but he worked for the Haitian airport authority and was sitting in front of a computer with what looked like a complicated spreadsheet open on the screen; I think he may have been the air traffic guy. I flagged down someone else who worked for the airport and asked him if there was a place to register with the State Department. We were having this conversation in French and it was very loud, so when he told me that there was no place to register and no one giving out tickets, I thought that I just had not understood correctly; it seemed inconceivable that there would be no organization to something as complicated and serious as evacuating hundreds of people.

Spotting what looked like a missionary group, I approached and asked them if they knew of a registration area. They laughed and said they had been there for a couple of hours and still not seen anyone from the State Department. They also mentioned that they had been assigned a day to evacuate when they somehow managed to contact the Embassy by phone. This group had been staying at an orphanage in Ti Goave when the earthquake struck, helping out with the kids, repairing/building things around the compound, etc. Although reports from that town were quite grim, this group said the orphanage had very little damage and all 41 children were safe, although they were concerned about security in the coming days, as the compound wall had fallen and hungry townspeople were letting themselves in. There was another singleton like me in this group, a guy around 23 who had been evangelizing in the streets of Croix Bouquets. It turned out that he was from the Baltimore area, the same place I was planning to go if we managed to get out of the country.

I attached myself to this group, thinking it was better to at least look like part of a group than to try to elbow my solitary way onto a plane. They were mercifully camped out in a shady part of the waiting area, the shadow created by the visibly damaged airport behind us. The wall directly behind us had a huge crack in the shape of a capital X; every time a plane or helicopter made a lot of noise/vibration, I would look uncertainly back at this wall, half-expecting to see the whole building to come tumbling down on us. The Haitian authorities must have had similar concerns, as they instructed us more than once to move away from the building. Of course, this directive directly contradicted the instructions given to us by the State Department officials on the occasions they came out; lacking sufficient water to distribute amongst us, they were understandably worried that if we spent too much time in the sun everyone would get dehydrated, so they repeatedly told us to move back into the shade, closer to the unstable building. I chose to brave the shade.

In total, we stood outside of the airport for about nine hours. We never registered anywhere, but the evacuations did get underway, starting with families with children, injured people, and the elderly (I guess that guy was happy he took over old lady duty then!). Two groups evacuated before us, one on a Coast Guard plane and the other on an Air Force transport. Previously, I had never seen more than four airplanes at one time at this airport. On this day, there were five planes parked at any given moment, with a steady stream of take-offs and landings and planes arriving bearing the flags of Venezuela, Colombia, France, and many more. (I later heard there was some uproar about the American forces hogging the airport; I can tell you first-hand that I did not see that. If planes weren’t getting in, it was because the tiny airport was overwhelmed, not because of discrimination against other nationalities.) Planes have been using the airport night and day, a huge change from normal operations, when no one flies after dark b/c most airlines have security policies forbidding their staff from being in Port-au-Prince then.

And that’s what we did: Stood, traded horror stories, shared water, marveled at the gigantic luggage so many people had with them (seriously, I was shocked at how many people had two or more big suitcases, but maybe they were taking everything they owned and starting over in the US). The cats had given up on worrying and spent most of this time unconscious or at least motionless. Some officials from the military brought out MREs around 3pm, telling us that four of us had to share one MRE b/c they didn’t have enough (we were just grateful for food). I asked a couple of the State Department people if they knew a friend of mine who worked at the Embassy and said she would be working at the airport that day. One of them informed me that she was working a later shift, while the other one, a small Hispanic-looking dude in aviator sunglasses who had been flitting around the tarmac like it was America’s Next Top Model: Disaster Edition, rolled his eyes when I asked and said in an exasperated tone, ‘I am NOT even FROM here – I work in Santo Domingo!!’ Well, okay then.

When the commercial plane that eventually took us to Miami arrived, it wasn’t clear that anyone was going to get on it. They offloaded a full planeload (around 200 people) of assorted relief workers and then…..the plane sat there. And sat there. We stopped speculating about whether or not we would get on that plane b/c it seemed as if the plane wasn’t going to move. Then, suddenly, there was a glut of State Department people, most of whom appeared to be my age (27) or younger, urging us to form groups of 25, then lines of 25, then to move the lines, move them back, make them straighter, straighter still, on and on for about an hour and a half until finally they determined the exact number of people present. There were *exactly* enough seats on the plane to accommodate everyone, not one more or one less. We were then given a five-page form to complete before boarding, which included a promissory note wherein we agreed to reimburse the State Department for the cost of the evacuation, but the cost was not specified, making some people understandably nervous (it’s not as if the government is known for being cost-effective).

I had been somewhat concerned that the cats would be spotted and turned away, in which case I was going to be living at the Embassy (sorry – they had made it this far, I wasn’t going to leave them at the airport now!), but the only comment I got was from a flight attendant who informed that the cats would have to stay in the bag (no problem there).

It was dark by the time the plane took off at 630pm, the city below was quite dark, illuminated by the few lights still powered by generators and inverters or by flickering cooking fires. As we took off and the destruction below receded, I felt the same sick feeling that I had experienced when I left the mission compound almost 12 hours before; it felt profoundly wrong to be sitting on a plane heading away from Haiti in her time of need.

The captain addressed us several times throughout the flight, each time acknowledging in a very touching way his sympathy for our experiences and his gratitude that he was able to help us at this time. At 830pm, we landed in Miami, whose bright lights saturated the landscape and delineated its grid of well-aligned streets, a marked contrast with the slapdash ‘design’ of Port-au-Prince’s now-darkened sprawl. As we moved toward the Immigration hall, there were several Immigration Officers waiting to welcome us back, seeming somewhat in awe of our ragged, careworn appearance.

Before we landed I was pretty sure I would have to put the cats in quarantine, although I had managed to take all of their veterinary paperwork, and I was expecting that I would have to spend the night in Miami. Instead, the cats and I arrived at the Customs counter, handed over our paperwork, and were directed to follow the green dots to the exit. Upon entering the main airport, I checked a departures board and found that there were two flights going to the DC/Baltimore area, both with the same airline. Mustering the last reserves of my energy, I trucked it over to the ticket counter, which was no small distance from my original position. I got to the counter just in time to buy the last seat on a 10pm flight to Baltimore, after first repeatedly explaining to the agent that I didn’t have a ticket and I hadn’t paid for the cats beforehand b/c *I*just*came*from*Haiti*. The guy I had met at the airport who was also going to BWI got to the ticket counter a few minutes after me and initially was told he couldn’t get a seat, but got lucky when someone cancelled at the last minute and a seat came available. This was also fortunate for me, as I didn’t have a phone and borrowed his to call Bea and tell her I would be in MD in three hours.

When I got to the gate, I washed my face for the first time in four days and tried to make myself a bit less stinky for the benefit of the person destined to sit next to me on the rather small plane. It didn’t really work, but it felt pretty good. As it turned out, I sat next to a fascinating person who was both comforting and appropriately interested, helping make this overwhelmingly sad voyage somewhat less excruciating.

We touched down at BWI and Bea was waiting at the arrivals area with flowers and a warm wrap, knowing that I wouldn’t have anything like a coat w/me. She had also run out to the store in the time before my plane landed and bought cat litter and cat food, as well as Coke for me AND she had washed my sheets. It was the sweetest homecoming I’ve ever received.

I had taken a short nap on the plane, so when we arrived home I was wide awake (I think my body was getting used to the short bursts of sleep), so I enjoyed a bagel and some wine and Bea and I started watching a funny movie. I made it til about 230am, but then finally crashed, falling asleep sitting in my chair downstairs. The cats and I managed to slog upstairs and crawl into bed, where I burrowed deep in to the covers, unused to the chilly temperatures.


It seems that phone communications are more or less restored now, Stephane and I have been able to talk in the morning and evening every day since Tuesday. He sounds exhausted, but appears to be making progress, securing medical supplies and preparing to open a tent-based clinic. Also, it is possible to purchase phone credit for him (and any other Digicel users) online; if you are interested in doing so, let me know. I bought him credit this morning and apparently Digicel matched the amount that I spent (I purchased 500HTG, Stephane received 1000HTG). I don’t know if that was an accident or if Digicel is being generous (they are known for their charitable activities in Haiti, so it’s possible), but it would be pretty nice if that continued for a little while.

My essay will be run in the Charleston Post and Courier on Saturday and my blog is, I am told, making the rounds on Facebook; thank you all for your help with this, it makes a huge difference. To prove it, Google 'Haiti relocates 400,000 people' and read the news articles that come up -- they are moving people out of the city and into camps for exactly the reasons presented in the essay. This is only a first step -- demolition and construction need to start quickly once the people are moved out, and keeping these camps secure and relatively clean will require vigilance and commitment, as well as funding. But it is a step in the right direction, and I like to think that we all helped make that possible.

Day Three

14 Jan 2010

Just before dawn (maybe 5am), there was a loud rapping at the gate to our refugee courtyard. For some reason, in my half-asleep-but-not-rested mind, I thought this was the police, but it may just have been someone looking for a relative among our motley group. I never really found out b/c I went back to pseudo-sleep soon after this, awaking two hours later when Stephane shook me and said it was time to go.

I didn't really know what this meant (where were we going and how?), but I bolted upright and said I was going to get the cats. With eyes still swollen by interrupted sleep, I stumbled across the street to our house, where I quickly extracted the cats, shoved them in their carrier bag (it fits under the seat in coach class to give you an idea of how cozy that was for them!), and stumbled back out. Only then did I think to ask where we were going or how that was happening. Part of the question was answered when I saw our truck (an extended cab Toyota pickup) and Stephane's friend Didie, as well as his nine year-old daughter. Somehow Stephane and Didie had gotten in touch w/each other and hatched a plan to get us out of town and into the large compound of a charitable group called Mission of Hope.

To get everyone out of town was going to involve two trips, as there was not enough space in the truck. Stephane, Didie, Anne-Lys, Sarah, and I got in the cab of the truck while Alex, Junior, Mita, and Marc Eli sat in the bed on top of the luggage, leaving Babeth, Mommy Lu, Steve, and Leitzia to await the second shift. We then made a mad dash through the city to pick up Didie's mother, sister, and brother, who lived in Delmas, which had been pretty hard hit. (Miraculously, not only had they all survived, their house remained standing, unlike most of their neighbors.) We stopped along the way at Didie's ex-wife's house, where he frantically tried to find his daughter's passport; her mother had been in the DR when the quake struck and he was hoping to send Anne-Lys there for safety. While he ransacked the house, we waited outside in the truck on a middle-class street normally pretty busy with foot traffic, lined with reasonably nice houses. That morning, 60% of the houses were laying in heaps of rubble and things were strangely quiet, the silence finally broken by the wails of a woman up the street whose child had just been found dead.

Unable to find the passport, Didie returned and we set off once again for Delmas, passing whole blocks that were downed. Bidonvilles once full of uneven rows of one- and two-room cinderblock shacks had fallen down, forming a concrete shell covering the hillsides. After we picked up Didie's family, we headed down Route Freres, towards National Road 1 (one of Haiti's two 'highways'). We drove by Caribbean Market, an upscale supermarket that once stood five stories high; it, too, had collapsed and even the wreckage was not tall enough to be seen over the surrounding walls. As we went further down Route Freres, the destruction seemed to decrease somewhat, but the numerous funeral processions we passed indicated that many here had not been spared. When we got to the US Embassy, it looked much the same as before, but then again, it was built to withstand everything from hurricanes to terror attacks.

We encountered some severe traffic blockages and had to re-route more than once after finding that the roads we normally used were impassable due to debris or damage. It took nearly an hour to get through the tiny borough of Clercine, as traffic came literally to a dead halt, partly because their gas station seemed to be one of the few in the city to still have fuel and cars were lined up for more than a mile waiting to refuel, blocking the already narrow two-lane road. At one point we were stopped directly next to a black SUV whose back hatch door was left open to accommodate two pairs of feet that belonged to two corpses laid out in the back of the car. The drivers wore masks in an attempt to mitigate the growing smell of decay emanating from their passengers. There were several other vehicles carrying coffins or shrouded corpses. Buses, tap-taps, and private cars were jam-packed with passengers and luggage; everyone who had the means was clearly trying to get out of town.

About two hours after leaving our house, we were finally on Route 1, just slightly out of Port-au-Prince, coming into vistas of teal waters and pebble beaches. Thirty minutes later we arrived at the gate of Mission of Hope, a religious charity that has been operating in Haiti for almost 30 years, though they have had their current compound for only about 10. They operate a school, a clinic, and (I think) an orphanage; they definitely had kids living there full-time. Their compound has many acres backing up into the mountains, most of it open space, as this part of Haiti is almost desert-like in climate, yielding mostly short, scrubby bushes, and spindly, water-efficient trees. The staff was rather surprised to see us, as we had not been able to contact them ahead of time, but they welcomed us nonetheless and offered the use of three of their schoolrooms, which they were not using due to the earthquake. The structure in which the rooms were located did not appear to be damaged (in fact, they had only one building on their whole compound that had sustained serious damage), but they had cancelled classes for the rest of the week to allow the children time to process and cope a bit with the trauma of the earthquake. The children were setting up tents in the large courtyard when we arrived, where they were planning to sleep for the foreseeable future, fearing aftershocks or another quake.

After we had unloaded our numerous bags and people, Didie and Alex got in the car to return to PAP to retrieve the rest of our family and members of his ex-wife's family. I stuck the cats in a corner of one room, letting them out of their bag, but tying them to a school desk, so they were limited to a two-foot radius. I fashioned a litter box out of a cardboard box and dirt dug up from the yard (which the cats actually used, somewhat to my surprise). Then I helped Marc Eli w/sweeping out the very dirty rooms to make them a somewhat nicer place to sleep than the places we had been the nights before.

Stephane, exhausted, blew up the super-deluxe air mattress I had brought from the US this past summer. It was originally purchased to be used by guests at our old house, which had only one bedroom, but was now quite handy and amazingly comfortable. Stephane lay down to take a nap, and I was just going to sit nearby and enjoy this moment of quiet inactivity -- the first since the earthquake, really -- but instead Stephane and I ended up talking about everything and nothing, also for the first time since the quake. It was nice to be able to chat as we usually do, to reconnect a bit, to help each other decompress a little. This was also the first time we had an opportunity to have a serious talk about what we were going to do in the near and long-term future. It had begun to be clear the night before that Stephane's family was pretty much looking to him to figure everything out for them, no small task. The addition of Didie's family increased the number of mouths to be fed and watered using our limited stock. We had no liveable home and no clear idea yet of where we would be able to go, but Stephane would definitely need to spend some time in PAP locating his staff and, if possible, retrieving his agency's medical supplies and food kits to start providing some relief services in the city. And Stephane was spending a disproportionate amount of time worrying about me when he had so many other things to manage.

As we were talking, we both came to the difficult realization that my being there was, for the next few weeks anyhow, rather more of a burden than a benefit, although Stephane did say that I was his biggest comfort at this time. We agreed that I should try to evacuate with the State Department as soon as possible. However, we also agreed that a) we did not want to be apart indefinitely, and b) I could be of use in the longer-term relief efforts, helping people with grief and trauma issues. So we decided that I will be in the US for six weeks, at which point we will re-evaluate the situation (e.g., whether or not Stephane's family was safely situated somewhere, whether or not we had a house, whether or not his agency had a long-term plan worked out, etc.). If things are still not ready at that point, I will wait another four weeks, but that's it. I will be going back to Haiti, probably in March.

Stephane also agreed not to do anything that *I* would consider foolish while I was away, so hopefully that will make those family members reading this feel a bit more reassured. (haha)

We were happy to be interrupted around this time by Didie's brother bringing us each a plate of pasta, prepared by Didie's mom. This was the first real meal we had had since lunch on Tuesday; that one plate contained more food than we had eaten in the last two days combined. Probably the best freaking pasta I have ever eaten. As we were eating, a young girl walked over to us and identified herself as the daughter of two Canadians who were currently manning the mission. She explained that her parents had brought her and her two younger siblings to live at the mission for a year, even hiring a teacher to come with them and teach the two younger kids (this young lady was 16 and was doing her work via correspondence courses). She shared that she had spent the night in the clinic holding the hands of patients who had been injured during the quake and saying prayers with them. At her request, we gave her a list of the people who were with us, but told her that were not yet complete.

A bit later, Stephane and I went to the main office in search of Internet and we were met by some of the Canadian staff working there, one of whom is a medical professional working in the clinic. They said that they had had several staff members who lived in PAP who had been injured or killed, and Stephane mentioned that I was a mental health specialist and that I work with trauma victims. The doctor immediately perked up, saying that one of their staff members was exhibiting some signs of mental distress. The young man had been attending evening class in the city and his whole school collapsed, killing almost everyone inside. This person escaped with his life because someone else fell on top of him just before the building collapsed; the person who fell on top of him died, but his body prevented the young man from being crushed by the falling concrete. After several hours, the young man was able to wriggle free and escape, and somehow managed to get all the way back to Mission of Hope, where initially he seemed more or less okay, but earlier in the day started exhibiting some severe psycho-somatic symptoms. The doctor indicated that I could 'be busy all day tomorrow with him.'

This was the moment where I started to realize that I am not okay. Most of my professional experience has involved working with people who have had terrible things happen to them -- children who have been sexually assaulted, Darfurian refugees, kids living in extreme deprivation and violence -- and I have never before had a problem with this. While it makes me sad to hear these people's stories, I am always able to go home at the end of the day and separate my work from the rest of my life. This time, hearing this kid's story made my whole body start shaking and I thought I was going to throw up the pasta I had eaten earlier. I had to fight the urge to put my hands over my ears while the doctor was speaking; I just couldn't handle hearing yet another story of death and implosion. This time, I had no idea how I could sit in front of this person who had experienced this unimaginably terrible thing and *not* break down myself. Basically, I was incapable of helping this person. I really, *really* wanted to help him -- this is my job, and I usually like my job -- but I just could not. I couldn't.

I didn't say anything at that moment besides a vague murmur of acknowledgement, but later when Stephane and I were in the office using the computer, he noticed that I was not quite myself and when I tried to explain what had just happened, I started to cry. I was overcome by grief, exhaustion, and guilt, and I just couldn't stop myself from crying a few tears. I made myself stop pretty quickly b/c I didn't want Stephane to worry, but I knew at that moment that something had happened to me that may never totally heal.

After we left the office, it was quite dark, and had been for some time. We had been a bit worried that Didie and Co. weren't back when we walked over to the office, and we were *very* worried when we got back to our area and saw that they still had not arrived. The next hour was spent watching the gate and trying not to think too extensively about the many things that could have happened along the road that would result in death or dismemberment. At length, however, the gate opened and Didie drove in with his in-laws in the truck (three elderly, rather unfriendly ladies), followed by Steve, Leitzia, Babeth, and Mommy Lu in Steve's car. The truck was nearly out of gas, but Steve had been able to refill at one of the UN offices (he is in charge of logistics for one of the large UN units).

Everyone was now in relative safety, out of the city and its threat of collapse, disease, and violence, and into the countryside where the aftershocks could still be felt, but at least there was a lot of open space in which one could avoid being crushed by falling debris. The overall mood was almost upbeat, everyone being high on relief, but the removal to safety also removed the focus on physical survival that had kept everyone emotionally contained over the last few days. With that urgency removed, people began to break down. Mita cried for about 30 minutes, knees tucked to her chest, arms wrapped tight around the knees. Leitzia, after getting cleaned up following the long drive from Port-au-Prince, joined the group with a quivering lip and shining eyes. I got up and went to her, wrapped my arms around her, and felt her large body go weak, clinging to me and sobbing. We sat down and I held her hand, Stephane on the other side hugging her. Those who did not cry appeared to be making a visible effort not to do so. We were all realizing that we were not okay.

Most people were having a few beers that Junior had found at the outdoor market a few miles away, or having some of the whisky that Didie had brought from his house, but I just couldn't do it. My stomach felt as leaden as my head, and I opted to retire early, curling up in the front passenger seat of our truck, drifting into an uncomfortable, miserable sleep amidst the sounds of everyone trying to cheer up or, failing that, forget for a few moments what we had been through.


On Thursday, the Miami Herald is running as an op-ed my essay about evacuating PAP, but I don't know if it will be in their print or online edition. I am also working on a policy brief to submit to my former school in the Netherlands; they have offered to distribute it among their network, which would be amazing. I am trying to focus on all of these things, doing everything I can do to help while I am here instead of feeling as if I failed to help the people I love.