Haiti Diary

Detour: Chaos to Chaos

I was in a cab on my way to the airport. It was 4 am. I’m not a morning person, so when my mobile phone rang, it irritated me. “Hello,” I said trying not to sound grumpy. A frantic voice at the other end said, “Where are you?” “I’ve just arrived at the airport,” I said. Without asking, I knew two things: there was breaking news, and my plans were about to change. “Don’t check in,” the voice yelped. It was the CNN international desk in Atlanta, what could be described as air traffic control for television news. It’s their job to keep up with all the CNN crews around the world. “There has been an earthquake.” “I know,” I said, “I’m heading to Haiti to take over from Karl Penhaul, the CNN correspondent who had been in Haiti since the earth shook Port au Prince apart.” “No!” said the voice. “An 8.0 magnitude has hit Chile.”

“Oh my God, another quake? That’s a big one,” I said. I went. I wasn’t prepared for the scale of devastation I was about to see. After a week of talking to heartbroken families and seeing the worst of the damage, caused mostly by the tsunami that followed the Chile quake, I headed to my original assignment, Haiti.

When I arrived at the airport nearly two months after the initial disaster, in the capital, Port au Prince, things were a little more organised than the first days after the quake. But the deep cracks in some of the walls gave me a sliver of a hint at what I would witness in the coming weeks. We all know Haiti is one of the poorest countries on earth. That was immediately apparent when I walked off the plane with photographer Jose Armijo and a mountain of television equipment. The moment we exited the chaotic baggage claim area, we were swarmed with men who began to fight over who got to help us. They knew a tip would follow and every single gourde (Haitian currency) helps.

Everything is Broken

As soon as our vehicle made it into the neighbourhoods, the totality of the destruction hit us. There is no way this city will ever recover. It’s impossible! Building after building, house after house, school after school, church after church—all of it shaken down to jagged pieces of concrete and wood. Just removing the debris seems like it could take years. In some of the crushed buildings, there were still bodies inside. I suddenly felt guilty for all the stupid little things I complain that I don’t have.

Then I saw the ocean of people camped out on any open space they could find. They had all suffered terribly. Some were mourning entire families, others had lost all their possessions, and some had lost limbs. All of them were forced to live a new, harsh reality. And it is harsh by any standard.

Copyright Pride

Two things seem to coexist in disasters: suffering and kindness beyond recognition. That’s exactly what I experienced as I walked through and talked to the swarm of human beings camped out in Petionville Golf Club. The club in the hills above the city had been turned into a sprawling tent city. People either had tents issued to them by the United Nations or they made their homes with bed-sheets and sticks. Haiti has the same kind of sticky heat as Mumbai and rainy season was fast approaching, so some of the shelters were sure to fail. Imagine losing all your possessions twice. I saw it happen to people.

But there was something other than suffering going on there. There was an incredibly strong sense of pride in the people. “You should ask before taking my picture, Miss,” an elderly gentleman said to me. “This is our home now.” He was right. I apologised and asked. Nine times out of ten the answer was ‘Yes’. People wanted to tell their story. They wanted someone to understand. They wanted to be counted as human beings, not just be looked on as victims of earthquake and poverty.

Ringing in Friendship

One little boy made me see that. As we entered the camp, he was among a throng of children who ran up to us with a look of curiosity and joy. Children flock to cameras. A photographer is often like a Pied Piper in situations like these. As we walked through the camp, intent on doing our job, all but one of the kids walked away. Pierre stuck to us like glue. He was six and there was nothing to do, he told me in very broken English. He wouldn’t leave my side, so I did my job with him tagging along. When it was time to leave, he grabbed my hand, pointed at my favourite Kundan ring from Jaipur, and asked, “I love you?”, hinting that it was perhaps a wedding ring, and I said, “No. I love me!” I had bought it for myself. We both laughed. I had made a friend.

(Sara Sidner is CNN’s international correspondent. She is based in New Delhi.)