Haiti: Tent Camps

I went to post-earthquake Haiti expecting to see many damaged or destroyed buildings, piles of debris still awaiting clearing more than 1 year later, broken streets and infrastructure needing public investment. I saw some of that, but much less than I'd expected. Instead, I saw a city laid out along a beautiful sea coast, with myriads of shops lined along the main streets and side streets, flourishing street markets in every block, crazy traffic and traffic jams with everyone driving with horn, colorfully painted ancient buses jam-packed with people. In short, much the same thing I've seen in other capital cities I've been to in Nepal, India, Mongolia, Zambia, Ethiopia.

And then my eye focused on a distinctive difference: tent camps. Everywhere. On any and every piece of (formerly) open land in the city, even on the outskirts of town, or across from the international airport. I seriously doubt there is any open green space in today's PAP. It's filled with people living in their tents.

My image of tent camps was formed in my (mercifully) brief Boy Scout career--campgrounds, lakes, woods, space. PAP tent camps are the antithesis of this. They are packed, lacking in any sanitation except possibly porta-potties, no organization, no trash pickup, etc. (One notable exception is Grace's tent camp, which does have central bathroom and bathing facilities, organized trash collection, the rudiments of self-government, and self-run security.)

One dimension of the tent camps is their sheer size. I was told that shortly after the quake, there were perhaps 1.2 million people in PAP tent camps. There were approximately 2.3 million people in the PAP metropolitan area, meaning about 50% of the population was in tent camps after the quake. We were told that today, about 660,000 remain in tent camps--25% of the population. I'm trying to imagine if 1/4 of Cary, or Chicago, or New York were crowded together onto our parks and any other vacant land and living there, still, more than a year after the quake. I can't imagine this.

And then there's the density. I did the math for Grace's tent village--40 square feet, total, per person presently. But that's just a number. I walked through the Grace village, fairly quickly, but the overwhelming sense is claustrophobic, especially for someone like me who doesn't like crowds. I'd last about 2 hours in a tent city--I can't even be in a mall much longer!

And the physical realities. Tents are not solid--tops leak during the regular hard rains, water flows under the floor as it surges through the narrow paths of the camps. During my week there, it rained--hard--for a period almost every day. If during the day, you get soaked. If at night, you get soaked and also get no sleep.

And the social aspects. The quake was (mostly) equal opportunity--it didn't ask whether you had lots or little or no money. It just shook and destroyed. People who had houses and had risen above the abject poverty of Haiti had their houses destroyed. Others who had nice shacks (no, that's not an oxymoron--there are gradations of shacks) did so, too. And of course, the thousands who lived in abject poverty before the quake also lost the little they had. Now, those people are thrown together into very tight living conditions. Just when you might have thought you had gotten out of the poverty trap, and removed your family from the humiliating conditions, you find yourselves back with very little, side-by-side with others.

And the psychological dimensions. The capacity for hope keeps us going. In the early days/weeks, the tent camps were a life-saver, in many respects. But you knew they were temporary. As weeks turn into months turn into more than a year, anyone able to escape the camp has surely done so. Even in New Orleans, we were able to evacuate the Superdome and Convention Center within a month or less. Yet maybe 650,000 remain today, more than a year later.

Tent camps are the central reality of post-quake PAP. As I follow developments there in the months ahead, I will do so through the prism of tent camps. Until or unless a government or NGO plan addresses them, it is merely empty words and tinkling cymbals.

Haiti: It's complicated

A piece of roofing material showed up this morning. I didn't ask where it came from. It's a different color, but the same fabric. Happily, Fritzner and I installed it, along with the ridge cap along the peak, and a couple of things that look like Madonna's breasts, and we pronounced it Finished! Most satisfying to have my week-long project actually completed.

A local woman brought around freshly made Haitian donuts this morning. Looked and smelled fantastic, and I was hungry. Someone asked Johnnie "are they safe?" "Kinda safe." "Kinda safe" works for me in some cases--areas to stroll around in, bungee jumping, etc. But not for eating in less developed countries. So I declined. With regrets.

Work day finished not long after lunch. Worked some more with Fritzner, on the scaffolding we built. Eventually, dignitaries and families arrived for the dedication ceremony. Lengthy, as these things go. Lots of preaching to the already converted (us) who were standing after a long day/week of hard work. Finally ended with the handing over of the keys. The two families (each with husband and wife, each with two kids) all dressed up and smiling (one later broke down completely, I suspect because of reflecting on what has happened to them during the past year.) And then, release! Back on our bus/paddy wagon, back to Auberge du Quebec.

No more building. Woke up this morning and my body said "no" and my brain said "it's okay, there's no building scheduled." A long drive up some hills to an area outside PAP for great views, then a long drive back and through PAP with a stop at the destroyed national palace, then a drive to a beach resort on the outskirts of PAP for lunch (at 3), and hanging out by the sea, watching the local folks enjoying a great day at the beach. Goat was on the menu, so of course, not having had it since my Mississippi days, I had to have it. Much better than I remembered (which isn't saying much.)

As always happens, the more I hang around, the more I learn. And the clearer it becomes that what I thought I knew I didn't really know. Learned that one of the men who received a house isn't (or may not be any longer) married to the woman and children with him. That he has "another" wife and four children. But there they were, beaming ("stand by your man?"). So who should get the house--him? her and the kids? the other woman and the kids? It's complicated.

Or the question of scale. This first duplex took about a month to build, using volunteers and paid labor and sweat equity from the families. That would mean 12 duplexes a year. Which would house 24 families, perhaps 125 people. There are 18,000 people in the Grace tented village. At that rate, after about 10 years, they would have moved 1,000 people to good, secure permanent housing. Is that a good use of time, money, energy? Or is some other model appropriate? It's complicated.

Or the question of cost. This duplex cost $15,000 to build (again, using volunteer labor in part.) This is their first, so they may find ways to economize in future units. By comparison, they have built "temporary" structures--metal frames, plywood walls, tin roof, concrete floor--that cost far less and can be erected in a day. Should they be doing this rather than building these more costly, yet permanent structures? It's complicated.

So I know I don't know. Yet I do know that because of this complex partnership of people, there are two new housing units, well constructed (especially the roof!), which will provide two families with decent housing. Kids a place to breathe, and play, and just be kids. And adults not to worry about whether their tent is going to blow down, be flooded out, or burned down when the close quarters in tent camps lead to inevitable human dramas. This isn't complicated. It's really quite simple. This I do know.

And so another fantastic adventure ends. Different in some respects, similar in many. A tremendous privilege to be able to do this. There will be more.

Haiti: Johnson's Story

Finished working on the roof (which is different than "finished the roof"). When they measured the roof to purchase the material, they knew it came in 36" widths. And so they calculated (remembering to add a little, and also remembering we order "just in time" since there's no storage of materials nor money to buy ahead.) Material comes....and it's in 32" widths. Next day, they go back to the store to inquire. "The sheets are 36" wide. When we crimp them to make them corrugated roofing, it makes them 32" wide." "So can we buy some more?" "Yes, you may order some more--we have no more in stock." "How long will it take?" "2-3 months."

We came frustratingly close--only the very last strip remains to be put on. But--"it will be several months." Welcome to a world where you can't call or visit your local Home Depot.

So in need of a new assignment. Johnnie (on-site coordinator) and Fritzner confer. Johnnie informs me that Fritzner has said "he has the skill I need for building scaffolding." So that's my new assignment. Some of my greatest moments on these trips are when a local contractor says of me "he has the skill I need." Especially after he has worked with me and chooses to have me work with him again. And at the end of the day today, he told Johnnie to be sure to have me work with him again tomorrow morning--"I really need him." Sigh and smile.

After lunch, joined a small group going to Leogone, about a half hour west of here, and the epicenter of the quake. We had to pick up some deconstructed material that we'll use....to build the scaffolding, I think (which I will then probably have to go up--you build it, you climb it.) In between, a more rural, agricultural area. Natural beauty. Mountains in the background, sea in the foreground. Occasional small tent cities in between. At Leogone, more visual evidence of the destructive power of the quake. Reminded me of my visual memories of New Orleans post-Katrina. Nature is a powerful beast. And Nature will not be stopped, no matter how hard we may try. Also run into Big Baby, who has sort of been hiding out at the destroyed compound where we were picking up materials. So now I guess I could be a material witness if the police are still looking for him. (Sounds like a made-up novel? It isn't. I couldn't make this stuff up.)

There are two Johns on our team. The other one is referred to as "old John." (He is. Though not by much.)

I always collect stories on these trips, usually involving some of the local people that I meet and get to know over a period of days. Johnson is one of our security guards at the Grace Center. He was born in PAP, his family emigrated (illegally) to Oakland, California when he was an infant. He grew up a California boy. At age 22, he got into some sort of trouble. Since he was illegal, immediately deported to Haiti--where had never been in his life, didn't know the language, had no contacts or network. And when he arrived, immediately put into PAP jail (that's what they do to deportees when they arrive.) His father had divorced, his mother now lived in PAP, so he called her, she bailed him out. She took him to Grace church, and over time, he met a woman whom he married. They had two children--one about 5, one an infant. Had managed to have a house. The quake came, their house was destroyed, their infant child killed. They tried to rescue their 3 month old, but needed help to do it. And individuals were providing help.....for money. LIke $4,000. So they had to abandon him. They moved into the tent city at Grace, and Johnson provides security. He now provides a face to the stories I read about the U.S. deporting similarly situated children or denying them educational opportunities.

I'm feeling quite disconnected since we've left living at Grace Center. Yes, it's more physically comfortable. But it is so removed from the current reality of tent cities, displaced people living under incredibly challenging conditions. I feel as though I was beginning to get more of a picture of the current reality--and different from the picture I got Sunday night. And over time, I know that people talk to you differently than initially--I do, certainly. But I am cut off from them. The cost of comfort is sometimes higher than I would like.

Haitia: Riotous Living

So I settle into my bed shortly before 10 (yah, I know, but after working all day in the hot sun, and with two rums, 10 would have been too late). The whir of the generator goes silent at 10, leaving me to experience one of my roommate's snoring which is totally indescribable and incredibly loud. Lying there and around 10:30 or so, hear some rising sounds of voices in the tent camp. Sound angry, with rising decibel level and what sounded like anger even though I don't know any Creole. Continues for a while, then several “pops” and I'm thinking “gunshots?” Louder and louder voices, a sense of a gathering crowd in the tent camp. Around midnight, Michael, our on site coordinator who is one of the Bishop's sons, comes down the hall and asks us all to leave our rooms and go to a “safe(r)” room somewhere else on the same floor. So we do.

About this time, the sound of rocks being thrown in the camp. With an occasional ping as they hit the walls of our building. “Just misses” I think—they're not throwing at us, just bad throws. About 12:30, Michael comes into our room and apologizes and says we will need to stay there for the night and sleep on cots they will bring us. And stay quiet, and stay away from windows overlooking the camp. “It's a gang fight between Block 8 and Block 10.”

Growing noise, sense of a crowd getting larger, beginning to chant something. More stones, and rocks, and an occasional “pop.” About 2 our leader talks to the Bishop who reports he has called the American Embassy to report that 19 Americans are in his compound and there is a “disturbance” in the camp. We don't feel consoled by this news.

Meanwhile, one of our team members is taking many photos—of us, of the camp, of the disturbance, each with a flash going off announcing our presence on the 2nd floor. We urge her to stop, and she does.

Police have been called, arrive, and take matters into their control. Which involves arresting Michael (we see him spread-eagled on the courtyard, then handcuffed and marched away, along with all of the security guards who are guarding our compound.) This does not strike us as good news.

Things become quieter...for a little while. Then, the crowd begins to reassemble, and the rocks resume, this time clearly aimed at our building and the iron gate that separates us from them. Our security officers have left—they were taken away by the police---as have the police. We see some of the camp members climb over the while and bang at the gate, then come into the courtyard below and try to get into the room below us where construction materials are stored. One remaining security member is with us. He drops a concrete block, attempting to hit one of the people trying to break in. Misses. The police are called, they return, and around 4:30, calm is restored. The sun is rising, the camp becomes quiet, I actually fall asleep for an hour for the first time that night. The rums have worn off, the camp order has been restored, and a mini-riot has been put down.

Strangely enough, for reasons I do not know, I never felt afraid. Others did, and any reasonable person might have. But I didn't.

In the morning, after breakfast, Johnny (another of the Bishop's sons) comes to brief us. Turns out the tensions in the camp have been rising significantly. There is a law in Haiti that anyone who allows someone to be on their property for more than a year is then responsible for them—and if they evict them, they can do so only if they make suitable arrangements for them. With the 1 year anniversary of the earthquake, residents of the camp have been informed that some will need to leave, and some have. But to what? They can't go to another tent camp, they have no means of support, they have no way of securing alternative housing even if it existed. So their fear, anxiety and frustration is evident, and directed at Grace—their landlords and the property owner. And we are residents of the Grace compound—collateral damage, I think, would be the term if something happened to us inadvertently.

The question became what our next step would be for us—stay? Leave? Move? An open discussion followed, options examined and considered. A couple of us (me included) felt okay about staying at Grace for the rest of the week. Many more wanted to stay and continue working, but only if we could move to another place to live. And a few simply wanted to leave for home immediately. It quickly became clear the only real option for the group was to locate another place to live—like the Auberge de Quebec, our new best friend. And so it was decided—most of us would go to the work site, 4 of us would leave for home, and Fuller would make arrangements for us to live elsewhere, perhaps the Auberge if it was available.

And it was—at least, sufficient rooms that we could make it work. So we returned from work, settled into our new digs (warm water, ceiling fan, some rooms with A/C, a swimming pool we could now use, and a bar) and reflected on our 18 hours from the last time we sat here.

I remember a decision I made at Millsaps, as we prepared for Y2K. Our security director asked me “do I protect people or property?” I looked puzzled. He said “when everything breaks down, people will surge toward the campus. Do I shoot them and protect the college's property?” I said “don't shoot, Wayne. People come first.”
In the immediate aftermath of the earthquake, the Bishop faced a similar choice. He had open property, and people desperately needed a safe place to camp. He chose people over property. And continued to do so, knowing the 1-year deadline would be approaching. And as it arrived, he is trying to retrieve his property—needed to continue the work he was doing for his people. Now he is forced to choose between people—those encamped, and those who would be served by his initial vision.

He is tending a powder keg. One that can go off at the slightest spark. As it did Tuesday night, when one security guard (Big Baby, who met us at the airport) got into a dispute with another security guard, pulled his pistol and shot him in the arm. And the keg was lit, and an explosion followed. We emerged safe. Others less so—several camp members were wounded, some had their tents intentionally destroyed, and revenge against the shooter is promised.

Meanwhile, I sit by a pool, looking out at a beautiful sea, write this using my netbook and wi-fi to send it to you. And return to my screwing on the roof.

Haiti: Screwing on the Roof

The major push this week is to complete the first duplex (of 63 planned.) Fuller Organization dignitaries are coming Friday, and “it would be good” if they saw a finished house so they could be part of the dedication and key ceremony (complete, no doubt, with photos....of them.)

First essential item of business: putting the roof on. The materials arrived yesterday, as planned. Safely put away. First thing this morning, we muled them down to the site—about 200 yards from the storage unit. Up goes the designated roofing assistant (me), poised with battery-powered drill for screwing in the corrugated roofing sheets. Roofing master (boss Fritzner) is there. We look around.....no screws. (For reasons I don't know, we're screwing the sheets rather than nailing them to the trusses. Can't figure whether this is a Fuller thing, or what, but it is “VERY IMPORTAN T”.)

Phone call made to someplace. Then to another. Then to another. Looking for screws. Finally, apparently find a place. Off goes the truck. Some time later, another call....no screws there. More phone calls (thank goodness for working cell phone service!), finally locate the screws. “About 1 ½ hours and they'll be back.” Turns out that's Haitian time---truck finally returns....about 1:30. But with a big box of screws!

Up goes the master and his assistant, and in our remaining time, we were able to roof ¼ of the duplex. Mule the materials back to the storage unit. Still, looks promising for finishing roofing tomorrow...if we are able to recharge the batteries of the drill, of course.

Each unit of each duplex is one room, 10X20, with a front and back door, and a small porch in front and back. I'm told Haitians only are inside to sleep. Still, one room, the size of a 1-car garage, seems a bit limited. Still, with a solid roof (I think), solid walls, a poured floor, and windows and doors, it's a huge step up from living for the past year (at least) in a tent.

Much discussion pre-trip about mosquito netting—did we want it, did we need it, etc. My fear of being smothered by falling mosquito netting while sleeping far outweighs my responsiveness to mosquito bites, so I am a definite “no” on that subject. Two of my roommates, however, put up very nice mosquito nets. So nice, I think all mosquitoes simply looked at it and figured “nothing here.” Have only seen one mosquito in my room so far—floating, dead, in my water glass.

Room is quite spacious—easily enough for the five beds and a couple of dressers. One plain light bulb, one outlet. Screened window looking out on Grace Village and beyond, the sea. Temperature in the room ranges from 82 at sunrise to 87 when we get back from the job site. At night, there's a constant layer of moisture while lying in bed.

Have caught a few glimpses of PAP as we go to/from the job site. It's a city of perhaps 2 million (or was), laid out pretty much along the sea coast. From a distance, the sea and sea coast look very pleasant—your typical Caribbean look. I'm told that up close, you'd see the sea was pretty well filled with garbage for perhaps 100 yards out.

Busy streets, filled with little stalls, people selling all manner of things, double-decker buses going past absolutely filled to the brim with people. Driving by horn is the norm as well. Hard to think of this place as a functioning city in any sense of that term. Don't know that it was before the earthquake, either.

After dinner, our first(!) excursion out of our compound, other than to the job site daily. Headed for the Auberge du Quebec, an up(per) scale hotel where many representatives of NGO's stay. Target destination: the bar. Down main streets, lined with street vendors, all vending by candlelight or lanterns. Many people strolling. Nice feel—an urban scene on a pleasant night. Turn off the main streets, on streets that are barely paved. Perhaps because of the earthquake, perhaps they never were. Evidence of rubble around indicating unfixed damage. Up a mountainside, arrive at the hotel. Looking for the bar (nicely situated around the swimming pool). After some discussion, allowed to sit in the poolside bar (which had already closed for the day) “if you don't put your feet in the pool.” We agreed (though I offered the idea that I'd put everything but my feet in the pool).

I've always looked with mild disdain at the rum & Coke option. Sort of for sorority girls, not for real guys. But was told that here, it was lots of rum, little Coke. So ordered. Sure enough, rum on ice in one glass, a bottle of Coke separate. Mix to your own preferences. A second order of rum (without the Coke—had plenty left) with a slight additional bit of Coke. Even nicer.

Slight buzz of two rums, a bit of Coke, headed back to the hotel, contemplating a pleasant night's sleep. Arrive to find the village unusually quiet—the quietest of the three nights we've been here. Peaceful sleep awaits.

Haiti: Sites, Sights & Sounds

About 40 square feet per person. Each. Total. That's the amount of space the residents of the “city” outside the Grace Center have. For everything. About 18,000 people (down from 25,000 soon after the quake), on 16 acres of what formerly was open grassy area as part of the Grace Center, in front of the hospital. 1,000+ people per acre, 40,000 square feet in an acre, so....40 square feet per person. Including “streets”, a public bathroom area, and perhaps some other public spaces I don't know about.

I have 1300 square feet for me alone on the inside of my house. And Anne has another 1300. And I'm not even counting the dog or cat. It's different.

Grace Center is near the bay/seafront. I am sitting, looking out on the “city”, seeing the bay in the distance. Beach, no doubt, but not sure I'd want to go there. Palm trees here and there, but mostly, just tents. Some with “USAID” on them. Others with blue tarps over them, like I saw in New Orleans after Katrina. And people.

Warm breeze blowing, fairly hot in the sun (in the high 80's). And being Easter, maybe people are taking the day off (though with 80% unemployment, not many people have work to take off from.)

I am in an enclave. With 24/7 security. In fact, I can't leave the enclave unless security lets me. No taking a walk (that may come sometime this week, with a security guy leading us around, but today, the “city” is too hot—not in temperature, but apparently, in some other respect that makes it not a good day for us to walk around.)

Not much sense of PAP (Port Au Prince). Driven from the airport to the Grace Center, going through the “downtown” area. Very, very quiet, it being Easter Sunday. Very brown, very dry, very low to the ground—no high buildings of any type, nothing over 2-3 stories.

After arriving, great lunch prepared by local women, hired each time a team comes. They are most grateful for the opportunity to work, I am most grateful for their fantastic cooking.

Our day will begin with breakfast at 6:30, off to the work site by 7:30 (to get in more work before the hottest part of the day), end work at 3:00, back to the Center, dinner at 6:00. One bare light bulb in our room (5 cots), but a flush toilet, shower, and sink. Amenities I've not always had!

“We need a roofing team.” “I'm on it.” Always have loved roofing (for reasons I don't know) but almost never have been able to do it other than in Raleigh and New Orleans. Spent the morning up on the trusses, putting in the final pieces of wood. Galvanized corrugated roofing arrived in the afternoon, unloaded it into the storage container (everything has to be put away for the night). Will unload it tomorrow morning, trek it down to the house site, take it up top, and roof. I am happy.

Toured Grace Village this morning before going to the job site. Grace Center was started in the early 70's by Bishop Joel Jeune and his wife. Bishop is the son of the “king of voodoo” in Haiti who became converted to Christianity, then converted his sons to it as well. Joel is the Bishop of the charismatic church, another son is the bishop of the Methodist church, another of the Baptist....etc. Together, they cover the non-Catholic churches of Haiti.

The Grace Center focuses on the holistic development of people—education, economic opportunity, health, and housing. Operates 67 schools (there is no public school system in Haiti), 3 orphanages, several hospitals, and many churches. And after the earthquake, they took on the mission of rescuing and helping victims recover. By partnering with other organizations (including the Fuller Center), they multiply their efforts many fold.

Grace Village comes alive after sunset. The sun is down, the temperature begins to moderate (slightly), the sea breeze seems cool rather than hot. Kids come out to play, adults gather and talk and argue, and a nightclub gets underway about 11 with incredibly loud music. Even a heavy rainstorm didn't dissuade them. Lasted for a couple of hours. Then quiet, broken beginning about 1:30 by the crowing of roosters, which continues randomly until dawn (which is around 5 here—they aren't on daylight time). And another day begins.

Resilient. That's the term Michael (son of the Bishop) used to describe Haitians. Within a week after the earthquake, 7,000 people had arrived at the Grace Center property. Quickly, they organized themselves into blocks, selected leaders of the blocks, and began their new (temporary) lives. New businesses started. A barber. A woman cooking meals for others. A little grocery store. A place to charge up your cell phone overnight (there's no electricity in the village, so you can't do it in your own tent.) etc. I'm thinking that when you aren't used to having anything, or anyone doing anything for you, resilience is the only answer. Can't imagine how long it would take for me and my neighbors to organize a new life after a natural disaster ruined our neighborhood. But don't think it would be weeks. I'd probably still be waiting.

And the adventure continues.