Patrick's Musings

Today I went down the mountain to Port-au-Prince in order to try to find people we haven’t heard from and to visit several places in the city.
*People lining up dwindling supplies of fresh water

We didn’t go very far before traffic came to a standstill. After several minutes we realized that the traffic jam was caused by the countless cars, tap-taps, buses, and individuals with a variety of containers trying to get gas at a station a little ways down from where we are staying. The scene today at every gas station, whether in the mountains, or in Port-au-Prince, was one of complete chaos. Vehicles were coming into the stations from all directions and individuals with plastic pop bottles, water jugs, and gas cans were filling in just about every open space between the vehicles in their quest for fuel.
*Tent city

After a long delay we managed to get around the waiting vehicles and descend into Petionville. The first thing we came upon in the town was the large city square, which is currently where thousands of people are living in a makeshift tent city. Tarps, bed sheets, and other random pieces of plastic spread out from tree to tree protecting the masses of people from the hot Haitian sun. I would guess that the park is about the size of two football fields and nearly every square inch of grass was occupied by people displaced from the earthquake. The scene was not unique to this park alone. Throughout Port-au-Prince large groups of people have come together to set up camp in open spaces outside of schools, churches, and in vacant lots. Wherever there was open space it is now filled with Haitians seeking safety outdoors.
*Masking the smell

Most people seen today were wearing bandanas or masks to protect themselves from the smell. Others were simply smearing toothpaste underneath their noses to help mask the smell of death. People were everywhere. Some appeared to have a destination in mind, others seemingly with no place to go. Several parts of Delmas Road where hit particularly hard. Businesses, houses, schools, churches, and even a hospital were flattened into enormous piles of concrete and rebar. Outside of Caribbean Market, one of the previously nicer and bigger supermarkets in Port-au-Prince, a large crowed had gathered to watch the clean up efforts. According to the local news, a person was found alive last night amidst the rubble of the supermarket…one small miracle amidst countless stories of tragedy.
*One Stop Market

Eventually we made our way to Delmas 29 the neighborhood that Kim and I have called home for the past year. It was hit extremely hard. A car dealership was turned inward and smashed to pieces. Our favorite neighborhood One Stop market and all of the small businesses around it were completely destroyed. A small university collapsed and countless students and professors died inside. While passing by where the school once stood a body was visible in the rubble. Later in the afternoon I would pass by the school again to see a large tractor that had several bodies in its loader. The smell was overwhelming and onlookers covered their mouths and noses as they watched in horror.
*the Caribbean market and rescue attempts for people below

After we finally made it to our apartment, Veniel and I were told by my landlord that we could not reenter the building. My hope was that I could get up to our third story apartment to get leftover food and clothing and then covertly pass them out to the many people that are in need of them right now. However, our landlord said that our house has slowly been shifting and falling. Every once in a while he could hear and see the house descend. It was not safe to try to go back for one last trip, so we left and headed over to the Guest House where I dropped Veniel off so he could continue with his efforts to remove the bodies of 5 guests that were buried under one of the buildings of the Guest House.

After dropping off Veniel I headed over to CONASPEH.
*leaflets in the rubble

It’s hard to know what to say about CONASPEH right now. Everything seems inadequate. The large building, which was home to a K-12 school, nursing school, seminary, medical clinic, and several offices is no longer. The place where we taught, provided medical care, and became part of a community committed to empowering Haitians to be subjects of their own lives was gone. In its place was an enormous pile of concrete blocks, rebar, and debris. When I arrived at the building there was virtually no one there. Search and rescue efforts had ended. There were two dead bodies that were visible amidst the rubble, but they were trapped underneath large pieces of concrete and were unable to be removed. While walking around the rubble I came upon pamphlets providing information on the vision and work of the organization. There were scattered pieces of papers from the notebooks of nursing students and pages of theology books from the library. Crushed chairs, computers, and desks were occasionally discernable amongst the ruins. But worse than all of those sights was the smell of death that was so strong, so sickly sweet that I can’t help but believe that it will be weeks, if not months before anyone knows exactly how many people were inside when the building collapsed.
*What is left of CONASPEH's central building and school

When I departed CONASPEH I went in the direction of the Villier’s house in hopes of reconnecting with them. Neither Kim nor I had spoken to them since Wednesday morning and we were uncertain how they were coping or what we should be doing, if anything, as missionaries for CONASPEH. I found Patrick Villier in the yard of a house close to his home. He was with a handful of people sitting under a tree talking. We talked about our families, living arrangements, and traded information on the well-being of people that we had been in contact with. The conversation eventually went in the direction of what Kim and I could or should be doing on behalf of CONASPEH. Patrick responded that there was very little that could be done in this moment. Without machines to help remove the rubble, food and water to give people, or medicine or help the sick what could really be done? Instead he suggested that we must be patient and wait for aid to arrive and to wait for things to calm down. It was not the answer that I was hoping for as both Kim and I have craved something tangible that we can do. We feel helpless and worthless. Like we are failing the people we came to serve in their time of need.

After my visit with Patrick I headed back to CONASPEH to deliver little bags of water to the people that have been working so hard to try to get the trapped victims out of the collapsed building. When I returned with just water the disappointment was not hidden. I gave them our little, relatively worthless first-aid kit so that they could put band aids on their cuts, but that was all I could offer besides a word of encouragement.

When I left CONASPEH I decided to start my search for friends that I haven’t heard much from. First I stopped by the last location that Solomon’s birth mother and her family were living. When I arrived I found people camping outside the building, but no sign of Sofoni or her family. Nobody knew who or where she was, only that a baby had died in the same building that she lived in. This broke my heart because I knew her grandchild (Solomon’s nephew) was around one years-old. My mind went to the worst possible scenario. I walked to her building, but one whole side of the building had collapsed. I left word that her son Solomon and his family were alright in case she returned and then I went by Solomon’s orphanage.
*outside meal at the orphanage

All 130 children, staff, and several children of the staff that had been displaced were outside of the orphanage under a handful of tarps and tents. The 25-30 babies that lived in “Solomon’s room” were staying in the back of a delivery truck laying down on mattresses while staff did the best they could to feed and care for them. The other children were playing in the dirt and happily putting tooth paste under their noses, completely oblivious to their surroundings. However, Pierre, the manager of the orphanage gave me word that one of my favorite children in the orphanage had lost her biological mother and two siblings. She was saddened and broke down crying when I gave her a big hug. One of the bright spots of the day was that as I was making my way around the mass of children and staff, I saw Sofoni and her family, including her little grandson. They were all alive and staying at the orphanage. One of her daughters was pretty scraped up, but otherwise they were fine.
*baby trailor

Pierre and I talked about plans for the children. He said their building was basically untouched but they were afraid to put the children back in as aftershocks continue to periodically hit the city. He was also concerned about food, water, and safety…the same things everyone else is struggling with at this moment. After our talk I drove around the city searching for large bags of water I could bring the kids. After an hour of driving I returned with 80 tiny bags of water. It was all I could find, but it was completely insufficient for the 175 or so children and workers.

My next stop was to Sylvia’s house. I found her family living in a tent city in her neighborhood. I was greeted by big hugs and warm smiles as they informed me that her son that was missing as of Wednesday morning was finally found alive. He had hurt one his legs pretty severely, but it was wrapped up and he looked alright. Sylvia helped me find diapers for Solomon and then we departed after we were both assured that our families were doing fine. I promised to stop by to check up on them when we could.

My final stop was to check up on Miguelson, our dear friend, interpreter, and CONASPEH student and his family. However, I found that the road to his house was blocked due to wreckage in the streets. I was disheartened to turn around without word of how he and his family were.

I concluded my day by heading back to the Guest House to pick up Veniel. He informed me they were able to remove a third body today and that only two more were left inside. The smell of decomposition at the Guest House was strong and the workers seemed exhausted and despondent. There are no tractors or trucks to help them remove the concrete. This is the story everywhere. I can only tell you that while I don’t pretend to know what is going on with the aid efforts, I saw virtually nothing on the ground in the neighborhoods I passed today. Where is the food? Clean water? Where are the doctors, the machines and rescuers necessary to help try to save lives? We here of them arriving, being bottle necked at the airport. Their stations may be closer to down town, but it is disheartening to see how much need there lies untouched. Any chance of saving people still trapped has been lost. I feel saddened and am unable to tell people anything when they ask where the help is. "Why are people not helping Haiti?" some asked me today, of the only blans they saw in the streets. I don’t know I tell them. “Kenbe fo” (hold on strong). That’s all the people of Haiti can do at this time. They've done it through the history of struggle, violence and oppression that weaves the story of this country. They are resilient, strong. They persevere under circumstances would bring the rest of us to our knees. But they are mourning, they are tired.