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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Home from Haiti!

 Samuel leaning on my shoulder. He was so sick from TB they thought he would die.  

We're back from Haiti!  Our time was filled with adventures - I witnessed everything from a cockfight to a circumcision! 

I fell in love more times than I can count. 

I held a dozen orphans in my arms like a mom, giggling with them as they chased bubbles and sang to us in Creole.

I fell asleep to the sound of tropical rainstorms and woke to crowing roosters (even in the middle of the night!). 

I hiked a mountain in Kafour to a place where the people embrace life despite not having running water or electricity.  

I rode a motorcycle to the market and bartered for our dinner. 

I worked alongside Haitian women who taught me how to carry a water bucket on my head the way they do.

I walked along an azure-colored ocean in a place that looked like paradise. 

I held the babies  I met who were abandoned in the earthquake but are now thriving at two-years-old. 

And I came home knowing I will return to Haiti.  Again...

I will post stories in a few days.

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Haiti!

Haitian children from our 2010 trip (Scott Mortensen photo)

"This is a moment in history in which I've been invited to play a role. How can I say no?"  I wrote those words two years ago in the face of unthinkable tragedy.  Haiti.  A massive earthquake. More than 200,000 lost lives...

I will never forget landing in Port-au-Prince.  Despite the devastation everywhere, the primitive conditions, the threat to our safety, it somehow felt like the place I belonged.

Now I am returning.

I leave in two weeks with a paramedic I met on the 2010 relief team.  We'll be working with a friend who lives in Haiti and runs an organization that's rebuilding schools and churches.

I wish I could give some profound reason for the trip; something redemptive. But honestly? Disappointment from 2010 still lingers.  Instead of seeing lives and limbs healed, we often saw far more loss than anyone could help.  Instead of seeing miracles, we saw far more sorrow than anyone can comprehend...

Instead of being disillusioned in God though, I asked our translator to teach me a Creole phrase: "Map vini an Ayiti anko." It means, "I will return to Haiti." 

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Whitney

Whitney Houston in "The Bodyguard." Photo: Noel Phillips

What happens when you reach the end of hope?  

Not a comforting thought to wake up to on Valentine's Day but there it was...then just names - lost hearts. Whitney Houston. Amy Winehouse. Michael Jackson...

What about faith?  Doesn't that sustain even when hope fails?  

Whitney grew up in the church.  She knew faith. divine love. even sang "Jesus Loves Me"  to party guests the other night. 

Why didn't that carry her through the storm? 

Most journalists will tell you no matter what the coroner eventually says, Whitney's another statistic.  Most of us have seen prescription drugs trafficked from Hollywood to the Hamptons as openly as fake Prada purses.

Not long ago I got a lead into some places filling questionable prescriptions. Went to my publisher with the story idea - an investigative piece exposing suppliers might put some out of business and save lives.  He killed the idea. 

"No one will buy an ad around that kind of story," he said.  Wary advertisers meant lost sales.

News directors had quashed some of my controversial stories before but this time I was furious.  Where was our courage? We had a platform to confront our nation's drug epidemic and instead we walked off the stage because a pharmaceutical giant might yank an ad?

where do broken hearts go. when melodies are gone. can they find their way home...Whitney, I pray you did.  We will always love you.

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Faith Wins.

Standing on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean, I faced the oncoming storm. The skies turned red with rage, then black with vengeance - mirroring the feeling in my soul.  

I was exhausted. Honestly, 2011 has been a hard year, but not for the usual reasons.  While the economy faltered, my wallet grew fat. While the country suffered, I was secure.  

Yet, silencing the artist inside for a corporate paycheck comes at a cost. The future seems bleak...already lost to an invisible foe who's only goal is to destroy dreams.

"Why did you give up music?"  I  recently asked a new friend who'd quit chasing a career in the industry.  Her answer's repeated a million times in Hollywood:  doors closed. no opportunities. no money. 

"You walked away from music but it didn't walk away from you," I told her.  

Have you ever looked at someone and felt you could read their heart in their face?  I could see she had paid a price for the music inside that someone else needs to hear. 

"There's still a song inside of you waiting to be sung," I said, "music still waiting to be written..." 

"I don't think it will look the same but I will try again," she promised before leaving.

Dreams seldom look the same after they've been broken.

Facing the storm, I challenged the song stealer. 

You might kill my dreams but not my faith.  

Like my friend, my dream is broken but I'm confident that He who began a good work is faithful to complete it to the end. Just as the sun always shines after a storm, faith always wins.

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Half-Naked Neighbors and Miracles

Obstacles conspired against me as I tried to get home for Thanksgiving.  We were even forced to evacuate my building as I was packing - the piercing emergency sirens sent one resident fleeing half-naked and barefoot.

Another resident emerged seeminly ready for the apocalypse: wearing a backpack of supplies, layers of clothes and heavy boots.

"Hey, how'd you pack all that so fast?" asked a neighbor who'd managed to save only his shaggy, white puppy.  "Um, I was getting ready for a trip." 

I confess. I'm the  panty-packing, toothbrush-toting survivalist.  But let me explain, lest my neighbors think they live next to Unabomber's disciple.

One of my first big TV news assignments was covering a freight train derailment miles from civilization.  The engineer hadn't realized that a driver had somehow crashed into the side of the train and had dragged the truck for miles.  

Rescuers had found the body of the driver, a young mom, but not her baby who'd been strapped in a car seat when she left home. There was a chance the baby was still alive, maybe ejected in the crash.

I'd been on my way home when I got the breaking news call so wasn't prepared to spend the freezing night outside in the middle of nowhere; there wasn't even a 7-11 nearby to get extra gloves and snacks.  

Still, my photographer and I walked the dark tracks with the rescuers.  Maybe our camera's light might illuminate the tiny body...

Then at dawn, a miracle of sorts.  Word came that the mom had inexplicably left the baby with a sitter just before the crash--the child had been safe all night.

That long, cold night taught me to always keep a bag packed...and that sometimes miracles happen long before we can see them.

(And the half-naked neighbor? Well, we all escaped the stove fire just fine.)

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Twisted Truths: What Parents Need to Know About the Joe Paterno Child Sex Scandal

As journalists, we make a living reporting about the wreckage caused by peoples' actions, like Penn State's Joe Paterno.  

There will always be questions about why he didn't call police when he learned his assistant coach might be molesting boys.  If the allegations are true, Paterno and others did nothing while the rapes went on for years.  One of the most alarming accusations says university employees knew "Victim 8" was being assaulted in the shower but didn't call 911 because they were afraid "they might lose their jobs."

Every parent should read the grand jury report (if they can stomach the graphic content) to see how a predator got away with it for so long.  As crime reporters, we get so used to people lying to us that we always look for twisted truths.  But most parents aren't so distrusting - as seen in the grand jury report.  It reveals how parents swept suspicions aside and never seriously tried to answer disturbing questions - questions that could protect your child: 

Why does this adult give my child gifts for no reason? 

Is my child acting out when seeing this adult?

Is an adult spending odd hours with my child, like taking them out of school? 

Is something "off" about my child's appearance, like disheveled clothes or wet hair, after being with this adult?

If this scandal has a redeeming side, it's that maybe we'll be better equipped to identify predators...and also compelled to protect children - even if they're not ours.

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