PORT AU PRINCE, Haiti — Piles of bodies baking in the sun, a man’s skull with his flesh still sticking to his jawbone, children pressed against a wrought iron fence with their arms straining through out the bars food — these are the images of Haiti etched forever in our minds.
Quebecor sent a multi-media team, including photo/video ace Andre Forget and myself, to tell this unimaginable story. We spent the past nine long days and nights in and around the devastated capital of Port-au-Prince. The Jan. 12 earthquake has killed more than 120,000 and changed the lives of millions.
News stories and photos from the field are able to capture only part of the destruction. They show flattened buildings and charred corpses, but the overwhelming stench of death is impossible to express properly.
Together, we forced ourselves into terrible situations of despair; our lenses inches from the face of a child screaming in agony after his leg was amputated. We spoke to a crying woman as she dug her sister’s body from her pummeled apartment building.
The Haitian people were overwhelmingly understanding as we imposed ourselves on their personal horrors, many eager to tell their stories in hope that any attention would help their cause.
Despite the scale of the catastrophe, we adjusted quickly to tell the stories of the unspeakable carnage. Nearly everyone we spoke with had lost a parent, sibling or child in the earthquake — some had lost their entire family.
After several days we had become sadly conditioned to the sight the of men lying in the street in a pool of blood or dogs eating corpses.
But the earthquake’s many jarring aftershocks have been a very real reminder of the extraordinary situation. Many still fear the ground could swallow them up whole.
Sitting outside the courtyard of his hotel, Quebecker Levis Berube told us Haiti was a place you either loved or hated — it was impossible to feel ambivalent. He is right.
My teammate Andre’s first trip to Haiti in 2004, during the civil unrest prior to Aristide’s quick departure, was marked by violence.
Andre has never felt comfortable in Haiti. He has only seen the country plagued by misery.
He fears being stabbed or shot at, and because he has lived through it before, new brushes with danger as he encountered last week during looting riots, make him jittery.
This, my first visit in Haiti, could crush anyone’s spirits. But I’m left instead with a feeling of admiration above all else. These are strong and tenacious people. It is easy to see the despair, but there is also hope in people’s eyes.
Incredibly, no one complained in the cramped hospitals, although maggots were eating at their open wounds.
Tens of thousands of people are living in camps, still vulnerable to the elements as they sit under tents made of bed sheets, but they still smile.
Amid the chaos, there were a lot of heartwarming stories: A young American soldier taking a last sip from his Gatorade bottle before handing it over to an older Haitian man; the survival of a 69-year-old woman after being trapped for seven days, neighbours helping each other out.
The earthquake created a strange equilibrium in Haiti.
Rich and poor alike are now in the street.
People carrying cellphones and BlackBerries live in tent cities. A homeless boy asked me if I was on Facebook.
In Cite Soleil, life seems to go on as it did before the quake. People sell jewelry under the slum’s tin shacks — the gentle structures unaffected by the tremor.
But up in the hills, where the rich lived, crumbled homes and flat concrete walls lie on top of blue pools.
Our driver, Jeff Pickering, often asked us what we thought would happen to his city.
Thirty years old, Jeff was a flourishing businessman who owned a gym and an Internet cafe. Now, both his house and business lie in ruins.
Would the international community take over?
Would foreigners build stronger homes for every Haitian?
Would Canadians build schools and hospitals and staff them?
Could a better Haiti rise from the ashes?
Like many Haitians, Jeff believes any aid managed by his government will never make it to the people.
Everywhere Haitians are trying to flee. Some, like Jeff, who hopes to head to the U.S., plan to come back.
Outside the Canadian embassy, crowds continue to gather. Children cry and women scream hoping the gates will open.
A young woman, one of the first Canadian evacuees, told us she felt guilty leaving her country behind.
We felt guilty too as we drove across the mountains separating Haiti and the Dominican Republic in van marked "international press."
No one even asked to see our passports.
althia.raj@sunmedia.ca
