Well, this is it. I leave Haiti tomorrow morning (at 4:30am!) to begin my trek to the Dominican Republic. I can't believe I am leaving. I am not ready. I don't feel I have done enough here yet. Not even close. But I will continue from home - at least this one thing:
I have pledged to help sponsor my close friend and colleague for med school. My friend's life has not been an easy one. He is one of four kids being raised by a single mother. They have been poor, and I mean POOR, for their whole lives. But he is a good solid, smart young man, who just needs a little guidance, but otherwise is a good worker. He is intent on going to the Dominican Republic for school (if he trains here, the Haitians will never go to him as patients - they think foreign-trained doctors will provide better treatment than Haitian-trained ones), and it doesn't look like his admission will be a problem - he aced all his courses in high school and graduated as class president. He has been looking for an opportunity to get money for school but any money he gets from work, he ends up giving half to his mom and spending half to buy food for his poor neighbours (in fact yesterday, on his way home from the airport, he ran into a mob of people that had been waiting since 6am to get food that was being distributed. There was not enough food for these starving people, so he started to give them money, but didn't have enough for everyone. He came home and bawled for half an hour because he couldn't do more for them). Initially, I wasn't sure if I should commit to helping him, someone who is already educated (to a point), or to invest in poor children who wouldn't otherwise have the chance to go to school here. I even asked him what I should do and he told me I should send the kids to school, because otherwise they will never learn in school how to make right decisions and will grow up in an even poorer life. That decided it - I was going to help get this guy to med school. And investing in a Haitian doctor who will come back to make his country a better place is never a bad thing.
Everyone here has some kind of story. I have spent a lot of time talking with people here, and every single person has some kind of major trial or tribulation in their life. But every person here is so resilient. And courageous. I have not met one Haitian who is bitter or angry about this latest catastrophe. I have met a few who said that it was deserved because of the corruption in this country. I have met others who said they would be selfish if they would be angry about the earthquake because there are some countries out there who get quakes every year. I have seem kids laughing and playing soccer and going back to school (this was a sight that brought tears to my eyes - many schools reopened this week and the street was full of little uniformed girls and boys walking to school). Our guesthouse cook, Genesis, lost her daughter in the quake, leaving behind her 1-year-old granddaughter. Except for one day when I heard Genesis crying, you could never tell that she lives in a tent and is poor and has one less child alive. She laughs a lot and looks happy to see every one of us every day and kisses you on the cheek if you are able to answer her questions (we only communicate through broken Creole/French/hand gestures).
I have seen some incredible things here: refugee camps and voodoo dance ceremonies and happy Haitians and starving souls. I have shaken hands with corrupt people and held AIDS-stricken babies and tolerated (barely) some VERY narrow-minded, self righteous, arrogant and rude "volunteers". I have had my illusions shattered but I have found inspiration in the strength and generosity of everyone here. I have made amazing friends and hope that I have also made a difference here.
I am not ready to say goodbye. Haiti, you have seeped into me. I will miss you more than you will miss me.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Friday, March 26, 2010
My time here is winding down
It feels like this is it - my trip here is nearly done. I don't have much left to do, and will spend the day running some errands and training my colleague in his new role guesthouse manager/logistics rep asst).
I went to Pinchinat for the final time yesterday. I spent most of the day there, helping a fellow guesthouse member do some interviews with the camp managers. Each interview eventually dissolved into a long dicussion about the real state of things in the camp and in Haiti. There seem to be some genuine people who really want to make a change. I spent a long time talking to a group of young men about their role in this change. At one point, I became really impassioned about what I was saying and was talking about their history as a country and how they revolted once as slaves and how they could revolt now against corruption and somewhat embarassingly, as I ended, one guy clapped. It made me giggle.
For some reason, Maxido wanted to inclkude us in his census-taking of the little babies in the camp. This was hard. He took us to one little two year old who has hemorrhoids in his genital area. Before I knew it, they pulled down the babies pants in front of us (and 20 other people) and it was horrific. This little guy must be in so much pain. We then went to see another baby who was found abandoned in the camp garbage. She was an adorably fat baby whose mother is an 18-year-old girl who just did not know how to deal with life and the baby and their bad situation anymore. So she literally threw her baby out. The camp managers reunited them and are trying to improve the mother`s situation. This little family lives in one of the makeshift tents of sticks and sheets (how, how, how is it possible that organizations come into this camp to distribute stuff and don`t do anything for the families who still don`t have proper tents two MONTHS after the earthquake???!!!).....we are going to bring them a proper tent. Finally someone brought a little newborn baby to us who is now being raised by a generous neighbour - her mom and her dad were killed in the quake. She was found alive right next to them.
I said my goodbyes to the people I know in the camp and Charlotte cried. She asked me for my emial address to that she could "reach out to me every once ìn awhile". I think she feels she is going to be forgotten. I cried a little too. As difficult as Pinchinat is, I feel comfortable there, like I get it. I won`t forget them.
As difficult as my day was yesterday, it ended on a nice note. There was nothing semi about it....I had a great date!
I went to Pinchinat for the final time yesterday. I spent most of the day there, helping a fellow guesthouse member do some interviews with the camp managers. Each interview eventually dissolved into a long dicussion about the real state of things in the camp and in Haiti. There seem to be some genuine people who really want to make a change. I spent a long time talking to a group of young men about their role in this change. At one point, I became really impassioned about what I was saying and was talking about their history as a country and how they revolted once as slaves and how they could revolt now against corruption and somewhat embarassingly, as I ended, one guy clapped. It made me giggle.
For some reason, Maxido wanted to inclkude us in his census-taking of the little babies in the camp. This was hard. He took us to one little two year old who has hemorrhoids in his genital area. Before I knew it, they pulled down the babies pants in front of us (and 20 other people) and it was horrific. This little guy must be in so much pain. We then went to see another baby who was found abandoned in the camp garbage. She was an adorably fat baby whose mother is an 18-year-old girl who just did not know how to deal with life and the baby and their bad situation anymore. So she literally threw her baby out. The camp managers reunited them and are trying to improve the mother`s situation. This little family lives in one of the makeshift tents of sticks and sheets (how, how, how is it possible that organizations come into this camp to distribute stuff and don`t do anything for the families who still don`t have proper tents two MONTHS after the earthquake???!!!).....we are going to bring them a proper tent. Finally someone brought a little newborn baby to us who is now being raised by a generous neighbour - her mom and her dad were killed in the quake. She was found alive right next to them.
I said my goodbyes to the people I know in the camp and Charlotte cried. She asked me for my emial address to that she could "reach out to me every once ìn awhile". I think she feels she is going to be forgotten. I cried a little too. As difficult as Pinchinat is, I feel comfortable there, like I get it. I won`t forget them.
As difficult as my day was yesterday, it ended on a nice note. There was nothing semi about it....I had a great date!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Some tidbits
A few interesting things from the last few days:
I went back to the orphanage being run by Mother Teresa nuns and spent some quality time there. As happens everywhere in Haiti, the kids stared at me and giggled as I walked around, asking questions. A chubby little toddler (good news that she is chubby) came up to me and slipped her hand into mine. As we walked into the next building, she turned around, and with the born right of every child in the world, she raised her arms so that I would pick her up. Children here, who have so little known the loving arms of a parent, just need a little holding. As she and I walked, another little girl slipped her hand into mine. This little one had AIDS and no parents (most likely dead from AIDS). What a shitty inheritance. But kids here are well taken care of – she is on meds and she seems full of life.
Part of our organization’s duty is to help manage a medical depot here. This warehouse is stocked full of meds and peripherals, a lot of good donations, but unfortunately still in the warehouse for some reason. We have been doing our best to give stuff out to people who have the need (for some reason, the people that are really in charge of the depot don’t seem to be as willing to part with stuff). There was a man in our minivan on the way back from PAP who randomly asked if we knew anyone with tents to spare. He asked the right people – I was able to get him one the next day for his family of 13.
We went to the depot the other day and noticed some expired meds sitting outside the depot doors, where anyone could have taken them. This is dangerous in a few ways: 1) someone could steal them and ingest them without knowing what they are for or 2) people could take them and sell them on the black market....and selling expired meds is never a good idea. So we had a little adventure: we loaded up all the meds in the back of the truck and took them by the river and burned them. The river is a messy place, where people are wading in and washing their cars, their clothes, animals are tramping through it....Tiffany, Haiti Village Health’s founder, nearly stepped onto a GIANT (but immobile) pig. There was a house-like structure nearby, complete except for a 4th wall, with a big billy goat lying inside (horns and little beard and all) chewing lazily. Good times.
One night, as we were finishing dinner, Tiffany got a call from a doctor she was helping. This doc had found a baby in Pinchinat, the refugee camp, who had hydrocephalus (a build up of fluid inside the skull, leading to barin swelling). Tiffany was helping this doc fund the baby’s travel to the Dominican to have surgery. We had to go to Pinchinat at 8pm to give them the money. A few of us volunteered to go with her, and as I had been there and knew the players involved, she asked me to come (though I had already volunteered). The original plan was to meet the doctor outside the pinchinat gate, because no one wants to go in there at night. But as we drove up, we noticed big flood lights had been installed at either end of the soccer field, which at least lit the extremities of the camp. We went to the baby’s tent, and yes, she does have hydrocephaly. Her tiny body had a big head attached. She was sleeping in her mom’s arms and they told us that even when awake, all she can do is lie there. The worry now is that she will have developmental problems because it has gone untreated for so long. Her surgery is going to end up costing more than anticipated, so a few of us from the guesthouse pitched in the rest of the money.
Tiffany left the tent to go talk to the doctor, and the baby’s mom asked me to sit with them. They didn’t speak French, but eventually we were surrounded by a few people who did. I chatted with them and somehow (as it happens) it ended up as a sing-along! One of the guys told me he had written a song about Haiti (the chorus: you took my mom and you took my dad, but I am still here, and this is my destiny), so I asked him to sing it. By this time the group had grown, we were in the dark (as the lights didn’t fully reach us) and little babies were holding our hands and rubbing our arms. It was a nice send off for the little girl who was going to have a big surgery. Of course, after he finished singing, he insisted we sing and after a lot of giggling, the two other volunteer girls and I sang “Oh Canada”. There are big fans of Canada in this camp. After all this singing business, the guys told me I now had to speak in Creole with them, to which I said “Mwen?!” (“me” in Creole). That got a big laugh out of them, which felt nice. Life is not easy there. Warning: some sad stories ahead.
As we left the camp that night, we met with Charlotte, one of the camp managers. She reminded us that there is no security control or medical service there at night. The night before we were there, a 16-year-old girl was raped by a 43-year-old man. She then tried to kill herself by slitting her own throat. She is now living in Charlotte’s tent. Tiffany and I went back to Pinchinat the next day to give the two sides of the camp some first aid stuff to see them through the night. Maxido, the other camp manager, was talking to us about the months ahead. The camp ground is dried earth and even with a little rain, the mud gets inches thick. The tents are already falling down a bit. They have no vehicle to take really sick people to the hospital 3-4kms away. He is very worried about the impending rainy season if things are already so bad. The Venezuelan doctors that run the daytime clinic there gave us a list of meds they are running low on. Today, we went back to deliver these meds, and heard that a little 8 month old baby died during the night because of malnutrition. There are piles of baby formula in the depot that belongs to another organization. This should never have happened. Tomorrow morning, at 7am, I am off to the depot to get baby formula, and then off to Pinchinat to give it to these people that badly need it. People know me there now (little kids know my name and follow me around). They know I will help take care of them.
There are some fun moments here too: on our way home from Pinchinat that night, our truck blew a tire. We managed to make it home, where Jo, the only man, promptly took himself off to bed. For the next 20 minutes, four of us women stood around with tools in our hands, looking at the tire and looking at each other and eventually doubling over with laughter because we had no idea what we were doing. It was hilarious. As the 4 of us clutched each other from laughing so hard, one of the other house guests quietly walked between us with her headlamp already on, a mat tucked under her arm, and she got under the truck and changed the tire. She was in the US military for 23 years and she saved our butts (and laughed at us). It was great.
There are other good moments too.....I have a (semi) date tomorrow night!
I went back to the orphanage being run by Mother Teresa nuns and spent some quality time there. As happens everywhere in Haiti, the kids stared at me and giggled as I walked around, asking questions. A chubby little toddler (good news that she is chubby) came up to me and slipped her hand into mine. As we walked into the next building, she turned around, and with the born right of every child in the world, she raised her arms so that I would pick her up. Children here, who have so little known the loving arms of a parent, just need a little holding. As she and I walked, another little girl slipped her hand into mine. This little one had AIDS and no parents (most likely dead from AIDS). What a shitty inheritance. But kids here are well taken care of – she is on meds and she seems full of life.
Part of our organization’s duty is to help manage a medical depot here. This warehouse is stocked full of meds and peripherals, a lot of good donations, but unfortunately still in the warehouse for some reason. We have been doing our best to give stuff out to people who have the need (for some reason, the people that are really in charge of the depot don’t seem to be as willing to part with stuff). There was a man in our minivan on the way back from PAP who randomly asked if we knew anyone with tents to spare. He asked the right people – I was able to get him one the next day for his family of 13.
We went to the depot the other day and noticed some expired meds sitting outside the depot doors, where anyone could have taken them. This is dangerous in a few ways: 1) someone could steal them and ingest them without knowing what they are for or 2) people could take them and sell them on the black market....and selling expired meds is never a good idea. So we had a little adventure: we loaded up all the meds in the back of the truck and took them by the river and burned them. The river is a messy place, where people are wading in and washing their cars, their clothes, animals are tramping through it....Tiffany, Haiti Village Health’s founder, nearly stepped onto a GIANT (but immobile) pig. There was a house-like structure nearby, complete except for a 4th wall, with a big billy goat lying inside (horns and little beard and all) chewing lazily. Good times.
One night, as we were finishing dinner, Tiffany got a call from a doctor she was helping. This doc had found a baby in Pinchinat, the refugee camp, who had hydrocephalus (a build up of fluid inside the skull, leading to barin swelling). Tiffany was helping this doc fund the baby’s travel to the Dominican to have surgery. We had to go to Pinchinat at 8pm to give them the money. A few of us volunteered to go with her, and as I had been there and knew the players involved, she asked me to come (though I had already volunteered). The original plan was to meet the doctor outside the pinchinat gate, because no one wants to go in there at night. But as we drove up, we noticed big flood lights had been installed at either end of the soccer field, which at least lit the extremities of the camp. We went to the baby’s tent, and yes, she does have hydrocephaly. Her tiny body had a big head attached. She was sleeping in her mom’s arms and they told us that even when awake, all she can do is lie there. The worry now is that she will have developmental problems because it has gone untreated for so long. Her surgery is going to end up costing more than anticipated, so a few of us from the guesthouse pitched in the rest of the money.
Tiffany left the tent to go talk to the doctor, and the baby’s mom asked me to sit with them. They didn’t speak French, but eventually we were surrounded by a few people who did. I chatted with them and somehow (as it happens) it ended up as a sing-along! One of the guys told me he had written a song about Haiti (the chorus: you took my mom and you took my dad, but I am still here, and this is my destiny), so I asked him to sing it. By this time the group had grown, we were in the dark (as the lights didn’t fully reach us) and little babies were holding our hands and rubbing our arms. It was a nice send off for the little girl who was going to have a big surgery. Of course, after he finished singing, he insisted we sing and after a lot of giggling, the two other volunteer girls and I sang “Oh Canada”. There are big fans of Canada in this camp. After all this singing business, the guys told me I now had to speak in Creole with them, to which I said “Mwen?!” (“me” in Creole). That got a big laugh out of them, which felt nice. Life is not easy there. Warning: some sad stories ahead.
As we left the camp that night, we met with Charlotte, one of the camp managers. She reminded us that there is no security control or medical service there at night. The night before we were there, a 16-year-old girl was raped by a 43-year-old man. She then tried to kill herself by slitting her own throat. She is now living in Charlotte’s tent. Tiffany and I went back to Pinchinat the next day to give the two sides of the camp some first aid stuff to see them through the night. Maxido, the other camp manager, was talking to us about the months ahead. The camp ground is dried earth and even with a little rain, the mud gets inches thick. The tents are already falling down a bit. They have no vehicle to take really sick people to the hospital 3-4kms away. He is very worried about the impending rainy season if things are already so bad. The Venezuelan doctors that run the daytime clinic there gave us a list of meds they are running low on. Today, we went back to deliver these meds, and heard that a little 8 month old baby died during the night because of malnutrition. There are piles of baby formula in the depot that belongs to another organization. This should never have happened. Tomorrow morning, at 7am, I am off to the depot to get baby formula, and then off to Pinchinat to give it to these people that badly need it. People know me there now (little kids know my name and follow me around). They know I will help take care of them.
There are some fun moments here too: on our way home from Pinchinat that night, our truck blew a tire. We managed to make it home, where Jo, the only man, promptly took himself off to bed. For the next 20 minutes, four of us women stood around with tools in our hands, looking at the tire and looking at each other and eventually doubling over with laughter because we had no idea what we were doing. It was hilarious. As the 4 of us clutched each other from laughing so hard, one of the other house guests quietly walked between us with her headlamp already on, a mat tucked under her arm, and she got under the truck and changed the tire. She was in the US military for 23 years and she saved our butts (and laughed at us). It was great.
There are other good moments too.....I have a (semi) date tomorrow night!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
An article about my "boss"...even I got a mention!
I met Dr. Tiffany Keenan, founder and director of Haiti Village Health, for the first time last night. I had emailed her about that 5000 person camp I heard about and in the 24 hours that she was in PAP before coming down to Jacmel, she made things happen, including having a meeting with the journalist who first told me about the camp. Check out the journalist's article following their meeting:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/georgianne-nienaber/haiti-time-for-an-ngo-pol_b_506913.html
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/georgianne-nienaber/haiti-time-for-an-ngo-pol_b_506913.html
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Port-au-Prince
I just spent the last two days in PAP. I thought after all the media pictures and visuals that it wouldn't be shocking. I was wrong.
Five minutes after arriving in PAP, I wanted to go back to Jacmel. Like any other large city, PAP is loud (maddeningly so), dirty, colourful, and, as a Haitian city, poor. PAP was not exactly a picturesque city before the quake, one can quickly tell. But now, it is just awful. Walking anywhere you have to dodge dirty water running in the street, piles of garbage left to rot, and now, mounds of rubble and debris. Not to mention long lineups of people, waiting for food or water. Another long lineup outside the Canadian Embassy, no doubt people who have been going there day after day, hoping to get visas to leave.
The night that we arrived, I met a journalist at our hotel who had recently been to a camp just an hour outside of PAP. Apparently, the 5000 people at this camp had been sent there because of the "no space" in PAP. But no one has seen them since. They live in a field with no trees (ie. no shade from the brutal Haitian sun) in tattered tents with no access to food, water or medication. Mothers are feeding their kids paint chips mixed with dirt; mothers cannot produce milk for breastfeeding because they are so dehydrated. Unsurprisingly, the kids are suffering from diarrhea. I sent a couple of emails to people I knew and the journalist managed to get an organization (I won't say whose....apparently it's top secret, so I won't blow the whistle, but it's someone famous!) to send a mobile clinic there. This same organization is providing the medical clinic for a camp of 70 000 people. Seventy THOUSAND. I spoke with the people who supply the meds for this large camp, and hopefully they will be able to do the same for the smaller one.
It's been 2 months since the earthquake. And still no one has seen them at this smaller camp. As inconceivable as this may seem, I can believe it. You cannot drive more than 2 minutes without happening upon another camp. Some are organized on large fields with big tents and these seem like paradise next to most I saw. Camps have sprung up in every nook and cranny in PAP. In parks. Near garbage dumps. On the median on the highway leading out of PAP. This last was possibly the most startling. Little kids washing on the street as cars and trucks zoom by in and out of PAP. Deaths waiting to happen.
The worst thing about these camps is the tents. Most people here seem to have missed out on the tent distribution, so that instead of strong, wind-resistant tents tethered to the ground, people are living under sheets stretched across poles of wood, with more sheets making up their walls. The sheets come loose easily in the wind, and most already have big gaping holes in them. With the rainy season coming soon, you can be sure that many of these people will not make it through.
I spent yesterday going around PAP, first accompanying some new friends on a quick meds drop-off to a local hospital (the story here is a good one....the surgeon here has nothing to do, which means most acute people in the area have been seen), and then going to check out their warehouse of meds (also a nice sight to see it almost empty, which means their large container of donations has been mostly distributed). Their driver, a UN driver who drives the Clinton Foundation delegates (and Clinton himself) around, took me through PAP for the rest of the afternoon. What can I say about this drive? I cried.
We drove through Cite Soleil, an area once known for it's violent crimes and general anarchy (we still took precaution to lock the doors here), and here I saw the real slums of PAP. Piles and piles of houses made out of corrugated tin, with crowds everywhere, obviously the poorest of the poor, with fallen buildings all around. this area mostly evokes a feeling of wanting to get out of there. Our next destination made me want to go back. We left Cite SOleil to drive through the main street of downtown PAP, the area most badly hit. Left and right, everywhere you look, buildings flattened to the ground, rubble spilling out onto the street, sometimes blocking most of the way through. Some building have been cleaned up, which is heartening to see (some recovery/rebuilding in place), but most are not. The ones that are not....you know there are bodies still trapped there. Electrical wires are dangling everywhere. Vendors are back on the street, selling their wares, ignoring (or maybe inured to) the devastation around them. Apparently they came back onto the streets within days of the quake - they needed to make their living. Most of these vendors are not educated. Apparently, when the quake struck, many didn't understand what was happening and they ran INTO buildings. Multi-story buildings. They died, unnecessarily. The driver told me that he walked this street in the days after. Bodies everywhere, a leg here, a hand there.
We drove by some hills or ravines where houses were built, steeply, one just above the other. People were warned not to live here because of the loose soil, but they were poor and had nowhere else to build before the quake. PAP is a congested city but that is where the work is. They couldn't afford to build outside of the city because they don't own cars. When the quake struck, houses slid down the ravine, one on top of the other. An avalanche of houses.
We drove by the presidential palace, also badly damaged and no longer in use. The president, Rene Preval, is not well-regarded here, not least of why because of his reaction after the earthquake; instead of stepping up and reassuring his people, he lamented his loss and told the people that his situation is just as bad as theirs. When Haitian citizens planned a demonstration to protest the scarcity and price of food, instead of doing something about their plight, he told them he was hungry too and would join in their march. He lives in a large mansion near where I stayed.
My driver described where he was when the quake struck. He had just left the main UN compound and was driving to another. He left the first compound at 4:50pm. The quake struck at 4:53pm. That main UN compound was destroyed, killing most within. He had just entered the second compound when he felt the steering wheel veer increasingly strongly. He realized it was an earthquake, and opened his car door, keeping one hand and leg inside the car, in case he needed to make a quick getaway by car, and one leg on the ground in case he needed to run. When the quake was over, he started calling his family to make sure everyone was ok, and then the ground started shaking again. And again. Every few minutes. He said every time it started again, people would scream. It sounded like the entire country was wailing in unison.
On our way out of PAP we drove through Leogane, the epicentre of the quake. This city is destroyed. If PAP was essentially leveled, then Leogane has essentially disappeared.
Perhaps the way the driver put it explains it best: "After the 36 seconds of the earthquake, I stepped out of my car, and my entire country had changed. After 36 seconds". He shook his head and we drove on.
Five minutes after arriving in PAP, I wanted to go back to Jacmel. Like any other large city, PAP is loud (maddeningly so), dirty, colourful, and, as a Haitian city, poor. PAP was not exactly a picturesque city before the quake, one can quickly tell. But now, it is just awful. Walking anywhere you have to dodge dirty water running in the street, piles of garbage left to rot, and now, mounds of rubble and debris. Not to mention long lineups of people, waiting for food or water. Another long lineup outside the Canadian Embassy, no doubt people who have been going there day after day, hoping to get visas to leave.
The night that we arrived, I met a journalist at our hotel who had recently been to a camp just an hour outside of PAP. Apparently, the 5000 people at this camp had been sent there because of the "no space" in PAP. But no one has seen them since. They live in a field with no trees (ie. no shade from the brutal Haitian sun) in tattered tents with no access to food, water or medication. Mothers are feeding their kids paint chips mixed with dirt; mothers cannot produce milk for breastfeeding because they are so dehydrated. Unsurprisingly, the kids are suffering from diarrhea. I sent a couple of emails to people I knew and the journalist managed to get an organization (I won't say whose....apparently it's top secret, so I won't blow the whistle, but it's someone famous!) to send a mobile clinic there. This same organization is providing the medical clinic for a camp of 70 000 people. Seventy THOUSAND. I spoke with the people who supply the meds for this large camp, and hopefully they will be able to do the same for the smaller one.
It's been 2 months since the earthquake. And still no one has seen them at this smaller camp. As inconceivable as this may seem, I can believe it. You cannot drive more than 2 minutes without happening upon another camp. Some are organized on large fields with big tents and these seem like paradise next to most I saw. Camps have sprung up in every nook and cranny in PAP. In parks. Near garbage dumps. On the median on the highway leading out of PAP. This last was possibly the most startling. Little kids washing on the street as cars and trucks zoom by in and out of PAP. Deaths waiting to happen.
The worst thing about these camps is the tents. Most people here seem to have missed out on the tent distribution, so that instead of strong, wind-resistant tents tethered to the ground, people are living under sheets stretched across poles of wood, with more sheets making up their walls. The sheets come loose easily in the wind, and most already have big gaping holes in them. With the rainy season coming soon, you can be sure that many of these people will not make it through.
I spent yesterday going around PAP, first accompanying some new friends on a quick meds drop-off to a local hospital (the story here is a good one....the surgeon here has nothing to do, which means most acute people in the area have been seen), and then going to check out their warehouse of meds (also a nice sight to see it almost empty, which means their large container of donations has been mostly distributed). Their driver, a UN driver who drives the Clinton Foundation delegates (and Clinton himself) around, took me through PAP for the rest of the afternoon. What can I say about this drive? I cried.
We drove through Cite Soleil, an area once known for it's violent crimes and general anarchy (we still took precaution to lock the doors here), and here I saw the real slums of PAP. Piles and piles of houses made out of corrugated tin, with crowds everywhere, obviously the poorest of the poor, with fallen buildings all around. this area mostly evokes a feeling of wanting to get out of there. Our next destination made me want to go back. We left Cite SOleil to drive through the main street of downtown PAP, the area most badly hit. Left and right, everywhere you look, buildings flattened to the ground, rubble spilling out onto the street, sometimes blocking most of the way through. Some building have been cleaned up, which is heartening to see (some recovery/rebuilding in place), but most are not. The ones that are not....you know there are bodies still trapped there. Electrical wires are dangling everywhere. Vendors are back on the street, selling their wares, ignoring (or maybe inured to) the devastation around them. Apparently they came back onto the streets within days of the quake - they needed to make their living. Most of these vendors are not educated. Apparently, when the quake struck, many didn't understand what was happening and they ran INTO buildings. Multi-story buildings. They died, unnecessarily. The driver told me that he walked this street in the days after. Bodies everywhere, a leg here, a hand there.
We drove by some hills or ravines where houses were built, steeply, one just above the other. People were warned not to live here because of the loose soil, but they were poor and had nowhere else to build before the quake. PAP is a congested city but that is where the work is. They couldn't afford to build outside of the city because they don't own cars. When the quake struck, houses slid down the ravine, one on top of the other. An avalanche of houses.
We drove by the presidential palace, also badly damaged and no longer in use. The president, Rene Preval, is not well-regarded here, not least of why because of his reaction after the earthquake; instead of stepping up and reassuring his people, he lamented his loss and told the people that his situation is just as bad as theirs. When Haitian citizens planned a demonstration to protest the scarcity and price of food, instead of doing something about their plight, he told them he was hungry too and would join in their march. He lives in a large mansion near where I stayed.
My driver described where he was when the quake struck. He had just left the main UN compound and was driving to another. He left the first compound at 4:50pm. The quake struck at 4:53pm. That main UN compound was destroyed, killing most within. He had just entered the second compound when he felt the steering wheel veer increasingly strongly. He realized it was an earthquake, and opened his car door, keeping one hand and leg inside the car, in case he needed to make a quick getaway by car, and one leg on the ground in case he needed to run. When the quake was over, he started calling his family to make sure everyone was ok, and then the ground started shaking again. And again. Every few minutes. He said every time it started again, people would scream. It sounded like the entire country was wailing in unison.
On our way out of PAP we drove through Leogane, the epicentre of the quake. This city is destroyed. If PAP was essentially leveled, then Leogane has essentially disappeared.
Perhaps the way the driver put it explains it best: "After the 36 seconds of the earthquake, I stepped out of my car, and my entire country had changed. After 36 seconds". He shook his head and we drove on.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Camp Pinchinat
(Beware. This is a long one.)
Soon after I got to Jacmel, I heard that the Canadian military had a donation of 1000flashlights for us to distribute. As logistics rep, I was to be a principal member in the distribution. Now this was something I could be excited about!
Camp Pinchinat is the biggest Displaced Persons Camp in Jacmel, housing over 1000 families. They all live in tents crowded together in a soccer stadium and with no electricity, there were daily fire alarms as people used candles to see at night. With no lights and no nightly security patrol, there was also a security issue at night (especially for women). So it was imperative we get them these flashlights as soon as possible. Jo and I went over to Pinchinat to speak to the camp manager to make sure a) she was aware that we were coming and that b) there was really a need there. She told us that there were actual fires there, every night, sometimes 2 or 3 a night. Well it was decided, to Pinchinat we were to go. Only two problems stood in our way: 1) I got weirdly sick the day before we were supposed to do the distribution and 2) it turns out Pinchinat is a pretty dangerous place to do any kind of distribution - the camp is a hot bed of political strife.
We had projected our distribution date to be two days after our talk with Charlotte, but it kept getting delayed for one reason or another. Thank goodness it did. Michaelle Jean was to arrive in Jacmel, her birthplace, on Tuesday, March 9th (I think). The day before, I was attending a logistics cluster meeting with the UN where we were getting briefed on several things, including any security issues in Jacmel. It turns out that that morning, Charlotte tried to hoist both the American and Canadian flags in the camp. Apparently, the Venezuelans (ie. the Venezuelan army) posted at the camp were not happy with this. The story gets a little murky at this point, but we heard that Charlotte by mistake hoisted the US flag upside down, it was taken down and instead of being put right side up, they (don't know who) folded it up and put it away. Charlotte was not happy, the Venezuelans were not happy, and now the residents were in an uproar. Charlotte was hauled off to the police station in tears.
I was wondering how this would impact our distribution so I asked the UN members how to go about it and they advised me to go to the camp and make a list of the all the families there, and then the following day to go in with "basic armed escorts" and do the distribution. "Oh and beware. There will be a riot. There is always a riot when we do a distribution there". Hmmmmm.
The next day, Michaelle Jean did indeed make her appearance. She landed at the Jacmel airport (though I just missed her since I was stuck at the gate getting frisked VERY intimately, and also discussing an accusation someone had made against our driver). Jo and I wanted to go to Pinchinat that morning to start checking out how we were going to do this, but M. Jean was there so we weren't allowed to go. By the time we got to Pinchinat in the afternoon, there was a definite riotous feel going on, spilling out onto the streets, enough to make us want to beat it out of there. The rest of the day we kept hearing rumours about how bad it was getting (guns in the street, etc), so I finally ended up talking to one of the Canadian soldiers about what was going on. It turns out he was very well acquainted with the situation and was finally able to explain it to me.
Apparently, after the earthquake struck, Charlotte took charge of Pinchinat and got everyone set up in tents there. In the days thereafter, the mayor, as he was right to do, sent in a committee to oversee the camp. The committe, however, sidelined Charlotte and she, a well-known activist, was none too pleased. The camp then became divided, literally in half. As you walk in the gates, there is one long "road" stretching ahead. On the right of this road are the Venezuelans, installed there by the committee. On the left is Charlotte. 539 families on the right. 642 on the left. Accusations flying back and forth in the middle.
Eventually, we ended up helicoptering in a Canadian military negotiator from PAP to Jacmel to sit with the the leader of the right side (Maxido), Charlotte and myself, so that we could hammer out a security plan for our distribution. Without this plan, my friend in the military was very reluctant for me and Jo to go in. With a lot of negotiating and head nodding and table banging, we finally came up with the following plan: Jo and I were to drive in with our truck packed with the 20 boxes at 9am on Friday. We would bring with us two men to help us carry boxes and our driver who would guard the truck. We would park the car in the main road, where a security perimeter made up of 10 policemen and 4 security guards from each side of the camp would secure the truck. We would distribute a box to Charlotte's side of the camp and then a box to Maxido's. Back and forth, back and forth so that each side would be assured of it's equal share. Jo and I would be accompanied by 1-2 policemen. It sounded like a good plan, excepting the fact that all this was necessary was a touch unsettling. But never mind, I was ready to do this!
Everyone had two days to prepare. The night after all these negotiations, we were set to go out for a colleague's birthday. Just as we were leaving, I noticed a giant swelling on my lip. Wanting to look normal on my first night out, I took some antihistamines and then went to party at the Zap Zap Disco (that's right!). I am not going to lie. I had rum there. Strong rum. I came home to find my body not very pleased with what I had ingested. I got sick and went to bed. And woke up sick. I stayed sick all day while everyone went to work. The guesthouse cook even had to rush to my side at one point (I will tell you her story soon). I had a rash on my arms and legs, my hands were completely swollen and I had a fever. I was terrified I was going to miss the distribution, and if I wasn't well enough, they probably would have postponed it. I spent all day in bed willing myself to get better.
Friday morning I bounced out of bed, well enough to go. We rushed to the airport, and loaded up the truck with the boxes and sped off to find our security detail in place. It wasn't. The police didn't even seem aware of our plans. A Venezuelan soldier tried to convince us to not distribute to Charlotte's side. Charlotte and Maxido were nowhere to be seen. As soon as people saw we had a truckload of stuff, we were surrounded. This was not a good beginning.
We listened quietly to the Venezuelan's argument then politely thanked him and told him we would go ahead with our plans. We asked the police to get in place around our truck. We found a rep for Maxido and eventually Charlotte, in cowboy hat and long flowing dress, joined us. We ripped open our first box and started. And kept going. never ending. For four and a half hours, we marched back and forth through tents and to each side, handing out one flashlight to one family representative that had to be in their tent to get it. It was hard, gruelling work. It was a hot humid day with no shelter or shade. The soccer stadium ground was just dried mud layered over with rocks, and for some reason, kind of hilly at one end. There was constantly a mob of about 20 people surrounding us and following us (and occasionally grabbing at us). Trying to weave our way through all this was really not easy, especially as we were dodging people's laundry on lines, weaving through dirt, garbage, people cooking, people just sitting and watching. We sometimes had to look into the tents to determine if they really needed a flashlight (because we didn't quite have enough for every family) and the sights inside the tents were bleak. These are strong but small tents that were housing 2-3 families. Inside each was a sheet on the ground and 2 mattresses, if they were lucky. That's it. The tents were completely dark inside so there is nothing to do there. So people come sit outside where it is hot and sticky and still nothing to do. It's not as though they have jobs to go to. These people literally have nothing. It was sobering. More than sobering. It was devastating.
Eventually I started to feel like I was going to pass out - not sure if it was because of my sickness the day before, or the heat, or the sights and the smells, but I started to get really claustrophobic from the people clawing at me (they became more and more desperate as time went on and boxes were dwindling). I kept asking them to step back and told them I would get to them, but they didn't believe me, and for good reason. These people are fighting for any little thing they can get to make their lives easier, since this is their situation for the next long while. Because it was taking so long, Jo and I ended up splitting up and taking a side each. My side was a little more disorganized from the beginning and things were deteriorating fast. I could only give a flashlight when Maxido indicated it was ok, causing people to beg me and then him for pity. They started to get more frenzied and they kept separating me from my guy who was holding the boxes (and then eventually just staying near me to make sure I wouldn't get hurt). I ended up being completely engulfed by a crowd of people and over their heads, Maxido told me I should just leave now because there was going to be some trouble. My guy grabbed my hand to pull me out and we hurried back to the safety of the truck. As soon as Jo got back, we sped off, leaving a mini riot behind us.
I felt terrible. We had 18 flashlights left that we had to stop giving out because of the mob that was forming (we will give those out to another smaller camp soon). We caused a little riot. We couldn't help everybody. I was taking deep gulps of air, trying get rid of my dizzy feeling. My skin around my neck and my arms were completely burnt. I had scratches everywhere on my body. I felt a little nauseated at some of the things I saw and some of the hands that touched me....but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Soon after I got to Jacmel, I heard that the Canadian military had a donation of 1000flashlights for us to distribute. As logistics rep, I was to be a principal member in the distribution. Now this was something I could be excited about!
Camp Pinchinat is the biggest Displaced Persons Camp in Jacmel, housing over 1000 families. They all live in tents crowded together in a soccer stadium and with no electricity, there were daily fire alarms as people used candles to see at night. With no lights and no nightly security patrol, there was also a security issue at night (especially for women). So it was imperative we get them these flashlights as soon as possible. Jo and I went over to Pinchinat to speak to the camp manager to make sure a) she was aware that we were coming and that b) there was really a need there. She told us that there were actual fires there, every night, sometimes 2 or 3 a night. Well it was decided, to Pinchinat we were to go. Only two problems stood in our way: 1) I got weirdly sick the day before we were supposed to do the distribution and 2) it turns out Pinchinat is a pretty dangerous place to do any kind of distribution - the camp is a hot bed of political strife.
We had projected our distribution date to be two days after our talk with Charlotte, but it kept getting delayed for one reason or another. Thank goodness it did. Michaelle Jean was to arrive in Jacmel, her birthplace, on Tuesday, March 9th (I think). The day before, I was attending a logistics cluster meeting with the UN where we were getting briefed on several things, including any security issues in Jacmel. It turns out that that morning, Charlotte tried to hoist both the American and Canadian flags in the camp. Apparently, the Venezuelans (ie. the Venezuelan army) posted at the camp were not happy with this. The story gets a little murky at this point, but we heard that Charlotte by mistake hoisted the US flag upside down, it was taken down and instead of being put right side up, they (don't know who) folded it up and put it away. Charlotte was not happy, the Venezuelans were not happy, and now the residents were in an uproar. Charlotte was hauled off to the police station in tears.
I was wondering how this would impact our distribution so I asked the UN members how to go about it and they advised me to go to the camp and make a list of the all the families there, and then the following day to go in with "basic armed escorts" and do the distribution. "Oh and beware. There will be a riot. There is always a riot when we do a distribution there". Hmmmmm.
The next day, Michaelle Jean did indeed make her appearance. She landed at the Jacmel airport (though I just missed her since I was stuck at the gate getting frisked VERY intimately, and also discussing an accusation someone had made against our driver). Jo and I wanted to go to Pinchinat that morning to start checking out how we were going to do this, but M. Jean was there so we weren't allowed to go. By the time we got to Pinchinat in the afternoon, there was a definite riotous feel going on, spilling out onto the streets, enough to make us want to beat it out of there. The rest of the day we kept hearing rumours about how bad it was getting (guns in the street, etc), so I finally ended up talking to one of the Canadian soldiers about what was going on. It turns out he was very well acquainted with the situation and was finally able to explain it to me.
Apparently, after the earthquake struck, Charlotte took charge of Pinchinat and got everyone set up in tents there. In the days thereafter, the mayor, as he was right to do, sent in a committee to oversee the camp. The committe, however, sidelined Charlotte and she, a well-known activist, was none too pleased. The camp then became divided, literally in half. As you walk in the gates, there is one long "road" stretching ahead. On the right of this road are the Venezuelans, installed there by the committee. On the left is Charlotte. 539 families on the right. 642 on the left. Accusations flying back and forth in the middle.
Eventually, we ended up helicoptering in a Canadian military negotiator from PAP to Jacmel to sit with the the leader of the right side (Maxido), Charlotte and myself, so that we could hammer out a security plan for our distribution. Without this plan, my friend in the military was very reluctant for me and Jo to go in. With a lot of negotiating and head nodding and table banging, we finally came up with the following plan: Jo and I were to drive in with our truck packed with the 20 boxes at 9am on Friday. We would bring with us two men to help us carry boxes and our driver who would guard the truck. We would park the car in the main road, where a security perimeter made up of 10 policemen and 4 security guards from each side of the camp would secure the truck. We would distribute a box to Charlotte's side of the camp and then a box to Maxido's. Back and forth, back and forth so that each side would be assured of it's equal share. Jo and I would be accompanied by 1-2 policemen. It sounded like a good plan, excepting the fact that all this was necessary was a touch unsettling. But never mind, I was ready to do this!
Everyone had two days to prepare. The night after all these negotiations, we were set to go out for a colleague's birthday. Just as we were leaving, I noticed a giant swelling on my lip. Wanting to look normal on my first night out, I took some antihistamines and then went to party at the Zap Zap Disco (that's right!). I am not going to lie. I had rum there. Strong rum. I came home to find my body not very pleased with what I had ingested. I got sick and went to bed. And woke up sick. I stayed sick all day while everyone went to work. The guesthouse cook even had to rush to my side at one point (I will tell you her story soon). I had a rash on my arms and legs, my hands were completely swollen and I had a fever. I was terrified I was going to miss the distribution, and if I wasn't well enough, they probably would have postponed it. I spent all day in bed willing myself to get better.
Friday morning I bounced out of bed, well enough to go. We rushed to the airport, and loaded up the truck with the boxes and sped off to find our security detail in place. It wasn't. The police didn't even seem aware of our plans. A Venezuelan soldier tried to convince us to not distribute to Charlotte's side. Charlotte and Maxido were nowhere to be seen. As soon as people saw we had a truckload of stuff, we were surrounded. This was not a good beginning.
We listened quietly to the Venezuelan's argument then politely thanked him and told him we would go ahead with our plans. We asked the police to get in place around our truck. We found a rep for Maxido and eventually Charlotte, in cowboy hat and long flowing dress, joined us. We ripped open our first box and started. And kept going. never ending. For four and a half hours, we marched back and forth through tents and to each side, handing out one flashlight to one family representative that had to be in their tent to get it. It was hard, gruelling work. It was a hot humid day with no shelter or shade. The soccer stadium ground was just dried mud layered over with rocks, and for some reason, kind of hilly at one end. There was constantly a mob of about 20 people surrounding us and following us (and occasionally grabbing at us). Trying to weave our way through all this was really not easy, especially as we were dodging people's laundry on lines, weaving through dirt, garbage, people cooking, people just sitting and watching. We sometimes had to look into the tents to determine if they really needed a flashlight (because we didn't quite have enough for every family) and the sights inside the tents were bleak. These are strong but small tents that were housing 2-3 families. Inside each was a sheet on the ground and 2 mattresses, if they were lucky. That's it. The tents were completely dark inside so there is nothing to do there. So people come sit outside where it is hot and sticky and still nothing to do. It's not as though they have jobs to go to. These people literally have nothing. It was sobering. More than sobering. It was devastating.
Eventually I started to feel like I was going to pass out - not sure if it was because of my sickness the day before, or the heat, or the sights and the smells, but I started to get really claustrophobic from the people clawing at me (they became more and more desperate as time went on and boxes were dwindling). I kept asking them to step back and told them I would get to them, but they didn't believe me, and for good reason. These people are fighting for any little thing they can get to make their lives easier, since this is their situation for the next long while. Because it was taking so long, Jo and I ended up splitting up and taking a side each. My side was a little more disorganized from the beginning and things were deteriorating fast. I could only give a flashlight when Maxido indicated it was ok, causing people to beg me and then him for pity. They started to get more frenzied and they kept separating me from my guy who was holding the boxes (and then eventually just staying near me to make sure I wouldn't get hurt). I ended up being completely engulfed by a crowd of people and over their heads, Maxido told me I should just leave now because there was going to be some trouble. My guy grabbed my hand to pull me out and we hurried back to the safety of the truck. As soon as Jo got back, we sped off, leaving a mini riot behind us.
I felt terrible. We had 18 flashlights left that we had to stop giving out because of the mob that was forming (we will give those out to another smaller camp soon). We caused a little riot. We couldn't help everybody. I was taking deep gulps of air, trying get rid of my dizzy feeling. My skin around my neck and my arms were completely burnt. I had scratches everywhere on my body. I felt a little nauseated at some of the things I saw and some of the hands that touched me....but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
Monday, March 15, 2010
The real Haiti.....finally
After two days of learning the ropes, trying to keep track of who was who and how everything works, a terrible thing happened. I got bored. Bored. In Haiti. I was finding large pockets of time with nothing to do except talk to people, which is nice, but not when you have come to be busy all day and to really do something to help. I kept trying to remind myself that helping the airport run smoothly was helping people somewhere down the line, but it was a hard feeling to hang on to. Especially as I was getting wind of all the politics here. It is tough here. Everyone is out for themselves, which is understandable, but it lends a shadiness to every interaction. You don't ever know who to trust fully here, since everyone seems to have their own secret agenda. And I mean everyone. And I was hearing about it from everyone, non-stop. I had spent a morning translating a meeting, during which one person publicly accused another of soliciting money. Consequently, I spent the rest of the morning translating a private meeting between the accuser and accusee when I hit my limit. Once everyone finally left, I sat in the office for some privacy and cried a little out of frustration.
Jo found me there and decided to take me out for the day and show me Jacmel. We went to Cayes Jacmel, a makeshift hospital that is right next to the beach (Jacmel is along the southern coast of Haiti). Cay Jac used to be a clinic, so has 2 proper buildings, but it converted to a hospital to accomodate the earthquake victims. It was a startling site. Patients were housed within two large tents (kind of like wedding tents, but a lot less nice......and definitely smaller). They were crammed side by side on mattresses that were on the floor, babies and adults alike, with a narrow corrider down the centre for the medical teams to walk. It was swelteringly hot beneath those tents. Medical tems would work on the patients from early morning till 10pm, when they would force themselves to leave for the night, otherwise they would never get sleep. But there is no night shift there. Patients would go the whole night without anyone looking after them, so that by morning, their IV drips would be completely dried out. Jo and I spent a long time talking to one patient, Charlotte. She is a 70-year-old woman who adopted an orphan boy 5 years ago. They were eating dinner when the earthquake struck and as she saw her house start to crumble, she threw hereself around her little boy to protect him. Part of her roof cracked and fell down on her, shattering her leg. She now has a massive metal rod and screws holding her leg all together on the outside. Her son slept on the ground under her stretcher for her first few days at Cay Jac before someone took him in. She now has no home to go back to. (As usual, there were political problems at this hospital - eventually everyone was fired, the meds were kept locked up [with rumours that they were being sold for profit] and the patients were left to find another treating hospital.One 15-year-old girl died because no one could get to the painkillers and meds for her. I cried when I got the email with that info).
We went to another hospital here in town, closer to the airport. St. Michel's actual hospital building was damaged in the quake and is completely unusable, forcing surgery patients to also be in tents. So is the maternity ward. We visited one patient there, an unbelievably skinny 25-year-old girl who has 4 children, aged 12, 11, 9 and a baby. She isn't educated. When asked how she supported her kids, she said she used to beg on the streets. Her right leg is now amputated.
Across the street from St. Michel is a convent for Mother Teresa nuns. They run an orphanage for approx. 90 kids, including babies. Inside the baby room, cribs were lined up one against the other with the littlest little boys and girls in them. Only one was crying, everyone else was sitting quietly, cross-legged in their cribs, just staring. Not smiling or calling for attention or asking for anyone. Just staring. They are all less than 3 years old. Everyday 500 people (all victims of the earthquake) line up outside the gates of the convent looking for food from the nuns, and everyday the nuns cook for everyone. The people line up for hours, in the blistering heat, with a bowl, and wait.
This was it. The real Haiti. I was ready to get right in and help.....and I finally got a chance! Next up: Camp Pinchinat!
Jo found me there and decided to take me out for the day and show me Jacmel. We went to Cayes Jacmel, a makeshift hospital that is right next to the beach (Jacmel is along the southern coast of Haiti). Cay Jac used to be a clinic, so has 2 proper buildings, but it converted to a hospital to accomodate the earthquake victims. It was a startling site. Patients were housed within two large tents (kind of like wedding tents, but a lot less nice......and definitely smaller). They were crammed side by side on mattresses that were on the floor, babies and adults alike, with a narrow corrider down the centre for the medical teams to walk. It was swelteringly hot beneath those tents. Medical tems would work on the patients from early morning till 10pm, when they would force themselves to leave for the night, otherwise they would never get sleep. But there is no night shift there. Patients would go the whole night without anyone looking after them, so that by morning, their IV drips would be completely dried out. Jo and I spent a long time talking to one patient, Charlotte. She is a 70-year-old woman who adopted an orphan boy 5 years ago. They were eating dinner when the earthquake struck and as she saw her house start to crumble, she threw hereself around her little boy to protect him. Part of her roof cracked and fell down on her, shattering her leg. She now has a massive metal rod and screws holding her leg all together on the outside. Her son slept on the ground under her stretcher for her first few days at Cay Jac before someone took him in. She now has no home to go back to. (As usual, there were political problems at this hospital - eventually everyone was fired, the meds were kept locked up [with rumours that they were being sold for profit] and the patients were left to find another treating hospital.One 15-year-old girl died because no one could get to the painkillers and meds for her. I cried when I got the email with that info).
We went to another hospital here in town, closer to the airport. St. Michel's actual hospital building was damaged in the quake and is completely unusable, forcing surgery patients to also be in tents. So is the maternity ward. We visited one patient there, an unbelievably skinny 25-year-old girl who has 4 children, aged 12, 11, 9 and a baby. She isn't educated. When asked how she supported her kids, she said she used to beg on the streets. Her right leg is now amputated.
Across the street from St. Michel is a convent for Mother Teresa nuns. They run an orphanage for approx. 90 kids, including babies. Inside the baby room, cribs were lined up one against the other with the littlest little boys and girls in them. Only one was crying, everyone else was sitting quietly, cross-legged in their cribs, just staring. Not smiling or calling for attention or asking for anyone. Just staring. They are all less than 3 years old. Everyday 500 people (all victims of the earthquake) line up outside the gates of the convent looking for food from the nuns, and everyday the nuns cook for everyone. The people line up for hours, in the blistering heat, with a bowl, and wait.
This was it. The real Haiti. I was ready to get right in and help.....and I finally got a chance! Next up: Camp Pinchinat!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
I am spending my time in Jacmel, Haiti. Jacmel is about 35 kms south of Port-au-Prince (PAP) and was affected by the earthquake, though not as badly as in the capital. As far as I know, there weren't any direct deaths here because of the quake, but as you drive around the city, you definitely see collapsed houses, houses with cracks, rubble everywhere, sometimes blocking roads. There were a lot of injuries, and Jacmel clinics and hospitals continue to be overrun with patients, both local and from other cities that couldn't be accommodated elsewhere.
The tiny airport here was basically not in use before the earthquake. In the days following, someone from a local NGO jumped the airport fence and started directing planes carrying humanitarian aid and donations to land here. The airport was now unofficially open. There is no control tower at this airport, meaning that pilots have to dial into a common radio frequency to find out if other planes were landing or if they were in the clear to land (yikes!). The Canadian military arrived in the area, and recognizing the need at the Jacmel airport, set up base there. They set up a basic control tower, and installed order. The Jacmel airport was now international, accepting planes from Florida, Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico.
Everyday, tons of supplies were arriving for specific NGOs and there was a big need for coordination among these NGOs. Haiti Village Health (HVH), the organization I am working for, has stepped up in this role (no small task). With a tiny desk, electricity eventually rigged by "the Canadians" (as everyone referred to the military) but no internet, HVH greeted planes, processed incoming passengers (like immigration) and got the supplies out to where they were needed. My task when I volunteered to come was to help other HVH staff with the overall coordination. While in flight here, I was promoted to official Logistics coordinator (the previous person was no longer going to be working for HVH). As log coordinator, I work alongside HVH's Health coordinator and together we are trying to manage the needs of all the NGOs established here, place incoming volunteers, establish potential suppliers, etc. When I first arrived, I was a bit overwhelmed by my new role and trying to learn how everything works here. I was given a phone (a shitty little thing, who's number '9' doesn't work unless you press it just right) and basically told to jump right in. In the meantime, Cdn military were walking here and there with their giant, and I mean GIANT, guns. All a bit daunting for my first afternoon there.
Within a day and a half, however, I felt pretty settled. I had already attended a meeting with all the other NGOs and translated the meeting between English and French. I met with the airport director to discuss the future of the airport with him. I was meeting the pilots who were volunteering to bring things in. And I was making fast friends with everyone in the force. A man with the nicest face I have ever seen approached me and asked if I was Namita. He introduced himself as Major Skirrow, head of the airport operation. Yes, the Major knew who I was before I even got to Jacmel. By this point, the Cdn military already seemed to all know me, so I know longer had to hand over ID to enter the airport "since they all know the little Ontario girl" (though I do make sure to tell everyone I am originally from Montreal!). I also had access to wherever I wanted to go within the airport (a wasted privilege, since the airport has exactly two rooms and one little control room with two computers - ie. the control tower). I was, however, now only one of two people allowed on the tarmac at any time when planes came in. If there were any problems, I was the one to report to.
All in all, by the time my head hit the pillow at 9:30pm on my first night here, I was feeling pretty good and satisfied.....this was not to last very long. Stay tuned for more!
The tiny airport here was basically not in use before the earthquake. In the days following, someone from a local NGO jumped the airport fence and started directing planes carrying humanitarian aid and donations to land here. The airport was now unofficially open. There is no control tower at this airport, meaning that pilots have to dial into a common radio frequency to find out if other planes were landing or if they were in the clear to land (yikes!). The Canadian military arrived in the area, and recognizing the need at the Jacmel airport, set up base there. They set up a basic control tower, and installed order. The Jacmel airport was now international, accepting planes from Florida, Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico.
Everyday, tons of supplies were arriving for specific NGOs and there was a big need for coordination among these NGOs. Haiti Village Health (HVH), the organization I am working for, has stepped up in this role (no small task). With a tiny desk, electricity eventually rigged by "the Canadians" (as everyone referred to the military) but no internet, HVH greeted planes, processed incoming passengers (like immigration) and got the supplies out to where they were needed. My task when I volunteered to come was to help other HVH staff with the overall coordination. While in flight here, I was promoted to official Logistics coordinator (the previous person was no longer going to be working for HVH). As log coordinator, I work alongside HVH's Health coordinator and together we are trying to manage the needs of all the NGOs established here, place incoming volunteers, establish potential suppliers, etc. When I first arrived, I was a bit overwhelmed by my new role and trying to learn how everything works here. I was given a phone (a shitty little thing, who's number '9' doesn't work unless you press it just right) and basically told to jump right in. In the meantime, Cdn military were walking here and there with their giant, and I mean GIANT, guns. All a bit daunting for my first afternoon there.
Within a day and a half, however, I felt pretty settled. I had already attended a meeting with all the other NGOs and translated the meeting between English and French. I met with the airport director to discuss the future of the airport with him. I was meeting the pilots who were volunteering to bring things in. And I was making fast friends with everyone in the force. A man with the nicest face I have ever seen approached me and asked if I was Namita. He introduced himself as Major Skirrow, head of the airport operation. Yes, the Major knew who I was before I even got to Jacmel. By this point, the Cdn military already seemed to all know me, so I know longer had to hand over ID to enter the airport "since they all know the little Ontario girl" (though I do make sure to tell everyone I am originally from Montreal!). I also had access to wherever I wanted to go within the airport (a wasted privilege, since the airport has exactly two rooms and one little control room with two computers - ie. the control tower). I was, however, now only one of two people allowed on the tarmac at any time when planes came in. If there were any problems, I was the one to report to.
All in all, by the time my head hit the pillow at 9:30pm on my first night here, I was feeling pretty good and satisfied.....this was not to last very long. Stay tuned for more!
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Just your regular Saturday night in Haiti
I am sitting on my bunkbed, at the end of a long-ish day, with a giant fan cranked on high blasting my face. It is 9:15pm on a Saturday night and it's already time for bed. But I decided it might be an interesting idea to blog about my experiences here in Jacmel, Haiti. I have already been here for a week and a half, but will try to go back in time and capture everything that has already passed.
For a long time, and for many reasons, I have been wanting to volunteer somewhere, anywhere. Finally, in January, life happened (you know what I mean?) and made the circumstances and the timing right for me to gather up all my vacation time at work and leave. Leave my life to do some good. Tragically (or coincidentally), life and fate came together on the same day that the devastating earthquake hit Haiti. Despite my doubts and fears, I knew I would end up in Haiti.
It is actually not as easy as one would think to volunteer for disaster relief. But, as it so often happens, I knew someone who knew someone who knew someone that needed someone. On March 2nd, I packed my bags and hopped on a plane and headed for the Dominican Republic (as commercial flights directly into Haiti were still few and far between), without quite knowing how I was actually going to get to Haiti. As I arrived in DR, I got a text message that I should be ready to catch a small plane to Jacmel at 7am the next morning. That's how things are done here. Pretty last minute. It's exhilarating (especially for someone like me....I like to have things planned out).
After many delays (also how things are done here), I finally arrived in Jacmel, on March 3rd, stepping into a blaze of heat, if not glory. The airport, which was to be my home for the next month, was a tiny building with a tiny runway that was accepting international planes (but tiny ones) packed full with humanitarian aid. The Canadian military was stationed at this airport to help get it up to full working capacity (this is an uncontrolled airfield, ie. no control tower, and with 70 planes landing a day, it was getting dicey). I walked in "the terminal" to find a little desk set up for our NGO, with Cdn military swarming all over the place. Behind the desk was a blackboard with a big "Welcome Namita" listed under March 3rd - what a great way to start my month here. I left with a fellow NGO worker, Jo, to take my suitcase to our guesthouse. We stepped out of the airport (ie. down a gravel path and through a little gate) and onto a busy street, full of motorcycles, diesel-spewing trucks, loud honks, roosters walking everywhere, and Haitians talking at top voice (there really seems to be no other volume here). As he hailed a random motorcycle to take us to the guesthouse (motorcycles are the Haitian form of taxis.....everyone here is a potential cabbie, just flag them down and pay them $3), we heard of a big motorcycle accident up the street. For some reason, Jo and I were required there. Before I knew it, I hopped in a military truck, my suitcase getting thrown back to soldiers inside the airport, and I was off to the scene of the accident.
I had been in Haiti for 15 minutes by this point. I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
More soon....bedtime!
For a long time, and for many reasons, I have been wanting to volunteer somewhere, anywhere. Finally, in January, life happened (you know what I mean?) and made the circumstances and the timing right for me to gather up all my vacation time at work and leave. Leave my life to do some good. Tragically (or coincidentally), life and fate came together on the same day that the devastating earthquake hit Haiti. Despite my doubts and fears, I knew I would end up in Haiti.
It is actually not as easy as one would think to volunteer for disaster relief. But, as it so often happens, I knew someone who knew someone who knew someone that needed someone. On March 2nd, I packed my bags and hopped on a plane and headed for the Dominican Republic (as commercial flights directly into Haiti were still few and far between), without quite knowing how I was actually going to get to Haiti. As I arrived in DR, I got a text message that I should be ready to catch a small plane to Jacmel at 7am the next morning. That's how things are done here. Pretty last minute. It's exhilarating (especially for someone like me....I like to have things planned out).
After many delays (also how things are done here), I finally arrived in Jacmel, on March 3rd, stepping into a blaze of heat, if not glory. The airport, which was to be my home for the next month, was a tiny building with a tiny runway that was accepting international planes (but tiny ones) packed full with humanitarian aid. The Canadian military was stationed at this airport to help get it up to full working capacity (this is an uncontrolled airfield, ie. no control tower, and with 70 planes landing a day, it was getting dicey). I walked in "the terminal" to find a little desk set up for our NGO, with Cdn military swarming all over the place. Behind the desk was a blackboard with a big "Welcome Namita" listed under March 3rd - what a great way to start my month here. I left with a fellow NGO worker, Jo, to take my suitcase to our guesthouse. We stepped out of the airport (ie. down a gravel path and through a little gate) and onto a busy street, full of motorcycles, diesel-spewing trucks, loud honks, roosters walking everywhere, and Haitians talking at top voice (there really seems to be no other volume here). As he hailed a random motorcycle to take us to the guesthouse (motorcycles are the Haitian form of taxis.....everyone here is a potential cabbie, just flag them down and pay them $3), we heard of a big motorcycle accident up the street. For some reason, Jo and I were required there. Before I knew it, I hopped in a military truck, my suitcase getting thrown back to soldiers inside the airport, and I was off to the scene of the accident.
I had been in Haiti for 15 minutes by this point. I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be.
More soon....bedtime!
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