The next morning we tried looking for gear. After all, I had shown up with medical supplies but nothing for me. Although we hunted for awhile for a sleeping bag or small tent, we had no lucky. Finally, we just decided to cross our fingers and went to a bus station. There we bought two tickets to Port Au Prince for around $50, spent $20 on taxes and border fees, and we were off. Seven plus hours is a long time to spend on a bus even if it did have a bathroom (of sorts), but it gave Jose and I time to talk. It also allowed us to slowly enter the country. The slow immersion into the devastation was kind of like getting into an icy cold pool bit by bit—it really helped. I think flying straight from America to Port Au Prince would have been too much, too fast, and I would have hid in the airport during my entire stay. Don’t get me wrong--- I am not saying that those that have gone and helped at the airport did less. I’m just glad that this is how it worked for me.
We were both scared. The only thing either of us knew about Haiti was what we had seen on the TV. We had seen scene after scene of looters and guys crazy with hunger running around with machetes. Thanks to flight regulations and airport metal detectors I take anything that I might be able to use to defend myself, yet here I was going into a city in chaos. There would be no calling 911 if things went bad.
A short time after we crossed the border we began seeing walls that had fallen over. There were a couple of collapsed buildings, but that far out it was only around one in every ten. The first few collapses we saw, everyone on the bus point, exclaim, and even take a picture.
Soon, we had seen so many collapsed buildings that what we did at first seemed silly. It was getting dark, and both Jose and I knew that it would be quite dark by the time we got to the bus stop. When we arrived it was very , very dark. The city had no working power, so the only lights were from vehicles or fires. Because almost all the shops are gone the people were out on the streets, trying to sell or buy food and other items.
The streets and the driving in Haiti has to be the absolute worst in the world, but I’ll get back to that later. For now, the deeper we got into Port Au Prince, the more nervous we became. A Haitian woman riding on the bus came up and spoke to us. It turns out that she was more than bilinguial – she spoke five different languages. When Jose asked her why she spoke so many, she said that it was so she could tell more people about Jesus. If she had answered any differently, like to say it was because she was smart, we would have never gone with her. It was a great lesson for me on the danger of pride and the importance of being bold about you faith. She asked if we wanted to stay with her family. As we had no better option, we said sure. Getting off the bus, I was extra paranoid. I could picture someone grabbing the bags of medical supplies and booking it, and then we would have nothing. People were pressed tight around the bus, and we were being pushed and touched on all sides. I kept waiting for the feeling of a hand in my pocket, or worse. Jose was on one side of the bus and I was on the other. The luggage was under the bus and we felt certain someone would make a try for it, so we wanted to have as great a chance as possible at apprehending them. Thankfully, we retrieved our gear without any incident and grouped around the girl we had meet. (It felt reallyodd to feel safe because of a skinny girl.) She was traveling with her sister, as well as two others she had talked to on the bus and invited as well. One of the others was a thin British guy who had unkept hair, beard, and clothes. What made him stand out, though, was his relaxed manner. The other was a fiftyish American woman. We grouped together, waiting for our ride to arrive.
After about thirty minutes the car showed up. Like all vehicles in Haiti, it was well loved... in the same way the Velveteen Rabbit was well loved. Twenty minutes of travel later, we arrived at her parents home. Ten of her relatives were staying there, all living there on the ground because everyone in Haiti is afraid to go into a building. Seeing them hugging each other and crying with joy at finding their family members alive allowed me to see them in a different light. They were people just like myself, and not just Haitians that might do me harm because they had been driven crazy with hunger. I walked up to say hello to the family.
I have to admit that I approached them not just out of niceness, but also as a sort of alpha male move in an attempt to let them know that I didn’t feel scared of them. Within five minutes Iwas holding one of a pair of twins that was around a year old. I noticed that the boy had a very bad ear infection so I called Jose over and we got started.
After the child was cared for I asked if I could look around at their home. They didn't want me entering the home, and they did their best to talk me out of it, fearing that it might go down. I got out my flashlight and looked carefully around the outside, but I didn't see any damage. I climbed up on the roof and still saw no damage. I then went into the home, ignoring them as they told me not and checked the inside. Still, no damage. I realized that there were probably a fair number of structures that were quite safe, but the people were all too afraid to sleep under anything.
I came back outside and told the family that it was okay to start living in the home again, but they didn't really buy it. I told them that not only did I believe that their home was safe to sleep in, but that I would bet my life on it. I told them I was going to sleep in the home that very night. Their eyes got wide, and they told me they wouldn't let me. Turning around, I walked inside. They were too afraid to follow, so I slept in one of the rooms.
The inside of the house may have been safe, but it was a mess. Every item in the house was turned over or scattered about because no one had been inside to clean up yet after the quake. Spending the night in the house may have seemed like it was a brave move, but it really wasn’t. It's not that I was brave for going in, it was just that they have never had an earth quake before. They were had no previous experience with a situation like this, and were amazingly ignorant about things we take for granted in the United states (including proper construction). They simply had no way of knowing what was good and what was dangerous.
I awoke around 5:30 to the sound of obnoxiously loud chickens and the women singing Amazing Grace in Creole. Lying there, listening to the chickens and the sweet voices of the women (mixed in with the ever-present horns and all the other sounds that make up the Haiti white noise), I had my first thought that I just might live through this.
Because of what I had seen the night before, I talked with Jose and we came up with a plan. We decided that even though I had several years experience as an EMT my contractor experience would be of better use. He would start seeing people and I would start inspecting structures. The idea was to get as many people off the street as we could in an attempt to cut down on the chance of spreading infections. Before we left and began our journey, the family we were staying with shared some food with us. I couldn’t get myself to eat very much. One main reason was that as I ate, all I could think about was that every bite I take is one I am food I am taking away from someone else. The other reason is that I was worried that I might eat something that would make me sick. I had decided early on that if I started feeling sick I would leave right away so I wasn't a drain on resources by taking up a spot in the airport hospital or slowing Jose down by making him worried about me and keeping him from focusing on the Haitians.
The first day I don't even remember how many places I looked through. I am sure it's the same for Jose with people. He stayed close by the home we were staying at while I had a local with a bit of English who took me from one home to another. If there was lunch, I don't remember it. I can't even remember for sure if it was the first morning or the second, but early on in my stay I realized that something had to be done about my hair. Not only was it very hot, but my I had nothing with which to style it, so I went with the Haitian “fix”.
They took me to a local barber, a friendly man with a pair of clippers powered by a car battery and an inverter. I tried to convey the idea that I just wanted a trim, but I think he really only knew one style.
When he was done, I looked fresh out of boot camp. He also pulled out a razor blade and started shaving me. I have never had someone else shave me in my life, let alone a Haitian with no English. When he had finished, I pointed out that he had missed my mustache. He responded by pointing to all the other men standing around, all of who had mustaches, indicating that I needed one. The interpreter let me know that a man needs a mustache, so I should have one. I shrugged and let it go. From that point forward, anytime I walked by the shop I would wave at the barber, point to my head, and give a thumbs up. I have to admit, it made it a lot easier to stay cool and wash. I am writing this from the plane, so I am looking forward to Sakura's reaction when she sees me. I can't till if I look like I’m in the military of if it looks like I just escaped from a concentration camp.
(Post note: She almost drove by me.)
