Two Years After the Earthquake - Part 1

The presidential palace remains in ruins two years later. 

I'll be posting a few stories about my return to Haiti two years after covering the earthquake. Thanks for being part of the journey.

Mountains you can't forget

I open my eyes to see haze-covered mountains as we prepare to land at Port-au-Prince airport.  Groggy from a red-eye flight, I take in the differences since the last time we flew over these mountains.

Makeshift tents blanketing the landscape. military jets clogging the runways. the huge tent hospital for the most severely-injured earthquake victims - all gone.

Even the air feels lighter as we step onto the runway. The humidity's mild, temps in the mid-80s.

We're ushered to a crammed bus with no seats or air-conditioning.  We take a short ride to the terminal where a band singing in Creole greets us so we'll drop some cash in the tip bowl. The scene feels jarringly festive compared to our arrival after the earthquake when U.S. military had taken over the airport.

A man in a red shirt approaches and  I assume he's the driver sent to find us. "You give me $40 to get through customs," he says.  Dane (a paramedic from the 2010 trip) and I are suspicious.  

Turns out François is an "attendant" seeking gullible passengers.  We tip him $5 to get our bags and go wait in the customs line. We expect agents to hassle us about medical supplies we're carrying but they let us through without questions.

Outside the terminal our real driver recognizes us from photos.  We walk several blocks and climb inside a pickup; before we'd had to cram 15-20 members of our relief team on the back of a tap-tap (truck taxi). Windows rolled down, we head to the exit.

You're not afraid?
The traffic!  I'd forgotten about the jammed and dangerous roads.  There are few stop lights, pedestrians cross the street anywhere and drivers use whichever side of the road is open, seldom signaling for turns or lane changes.

The US State Department has issued a travel warning due to recent kidnappings.  "You're not afraid?" our Haitian driver asks me in English. "Not really," I reply, "since I blend in."

People here often greet me in Creole, mistaking me for Haitian.  Dane is the one who draws attention with his white skin and nearly 6'5", 215-pound frame; he towers over the much smaller Haitians.  I smile recalling how boys had followed our relief team asking what kind of meat the American men ate to grow so big.

We drive through unpaved streets packed with cars, people and vendors selling everything from meat to mangos.  Life seems to have returned to normal.  Even the rubble has been replaced by heaps of garbage.  A half hour later, we arrive at a modern yellow house with barbed wire fencing.

our host's home in Haiti

Ruben!
Our host greets us with bear hugs and laughter.  "The Haitians say I look Muslim," jokes Ruben about the thick, black beard he's grown since we last saw him.  I met Ruben two years ago in Brazil on a trip to build a kids' camp. He lives in Haiti now and runs a Brazilian organization that's rebuilding schools and churches.

Ruben can tell we need sleep even though the mid-afternoon sun is high.  We didn't rest much on the flight since Dane had helped with a medical emergency.

Ruben leads us upstairs in the large home rented from an American missionary; the family was too afraid to live in it after the earthquake.  Ruben has given up his room for me since I'm the only female; he and five male guests will bunk in the other rooms.

The room has a shower - cold water only.  I feel slightly guilty about the indulgence; last time we didn't have running water. I let the water cool my skin before crawling on top of the sheets, drifting off to thoughts of the orphans, the mountains, the roosters that crow all night...

To read part 2 about my return to Haiti, click here.

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