Haitians still struggling as world turns its back
HAITIANS will tell you that last year’s earthquake was just 40 seconds in a tragedy that has been ongoing for decades.
It was simply just another hardship for an already downtrodden people to survive and move past. Hundreds of thousands didn’t.
I first visited Haiti in April of 2010, just three months after a devastating earthquake hit the town of Leogane, some 25 kilometres from the capital Port-au-Prince.
The event which lasted under a minute on January 12 lead to the deaths of approximately 320,000 people and would make over one million people homeless.
Approaching the second anniversary, I am back in Haiti and have just driven through Leogane, the epicentre of last year’s earthquake. Sadly, little has changed. If over a quarter of a million people were killed in a first-world country, the world’s politicians and media would commemorate such a tragedy at every turn. Sadly, when it happens in a country like Haiti, few remember it, let alone commemorate it. Apart from a handful of NGOs like Haven, with whom I am travelling, Haiti looks much the same as it did after that terrifying earthquake.
Nothing quite prepares you for Haiti. Once you step off the plane and drive into the crazy maze that is Port-au-Prince, you realise the mammoth scale of the task that faces the Haitian people. Little has been rebuilt, and signs of any real tangible progress are few and far between.
Every roadside, every roundabout, every available piece of public amenity space is littered with makeshift tents and shacks. The temporary displacement camps have become permanent residences. What we would call a home is a luxury few enjoy on the island. The word ‘temporary’ in relation to camps seems a cruel euphemism to employ for the hundreds of thousands consigned to living in them.
Yet, despite everything that history and mother nature has thrown at them, Haitians are an incredibly proud and resilient people. Given the pitiful conditions they live in, it is perhaps no surprise. They have to be. However, any look at their history and you see it is in their DNA.
In 1804, Haiti became the first independent black republic, when its half a million slaves rose up and defeated the armies of England, France and Spain. This remains the first and only time in history a new nation was born out of slave rebellion.
Since the earthquake, Haiti has retreated from newspaper headlines and television screens and returned to what it always has been, a dirt poor, forgotten nation.
Lilavois was one of the worst regions hit by the earthquake. Here Haven has piloted a project to build homes from the rubble of the earthquake.
Haven’s country director in Haiti John Moore said the project was done in conjunction with the locals and was a cheaper option to build safe homes with the raw material that lies everywhere in Haiti.
“It was hard fought to get these homes built, in terms of reusing the rubble. It took a while to build — learning the best way to do it, at the least cost and quickly. They are using the rubble here to refill holes and things like that when it could be used to make sand, make blocks which can rebuild shelters and houses. Things like that could create livelihoods for people here which is badly needed,” he said.
It has made a difference to the four families who have taken up residence in the homes. However, looking at the scale of the destruction, it is clear that little real change has taken place since the earthquake.
As one local woman in Lilavois said with a smile, when asked what difference the earthquake made to her living conditions: “What difference? The earthquake was just another thing we had to deal with here. Life is hard here. It always has been.”
Those sentiments are echoed everywhere you visit. Haiti was poor before the earthquake. It’s just as poor now.
A staggering 60% to 80% out of a population of nine million people live on less than $2 a day. Over half live on less than $1 with over 80% living in abject poverty.
Illiteracy levels are just as stark. Eight out of 10 people can’t read a word or write their own name. Half of the children of Haiti don’t receive an education of any kind.
The Haitians that do work sell charcoal, dig in filthy rubbish tips for bits of scrap metal. Most don’t work at all. There is little for them to do. Industry is non-existent. The money simply isn’t there to rebuild the country.
For our translator Casimir, a bright, engaging 21-year-old from Gonaives — one of the poorest parts of Haiti — my reaction to some of the poverty I witness is a source of surprise and amusement. In his 21 years, he has seen more death and destruction than most. As we drive through Gonaives, he chuckles at my reaction to the sheer bleak existence of those unfortunate enough to call the city home.
Few places shock in Haiti like Gonaives. To describe it as poor would be something of an understatement. Devoid of any colour, it is a grey outcrop of a city built right on the sea. Hit by Hurricane Hanna in 2008, the entire city was flooded. It left thousands dead and tens of thousands of people in shelters. The damage was described as “catastrophic”.
Apart from houses built by Haven in a series of Build It weeks last year, there has been no construction projects here since the mid-1980s.
Three years on, the water has left but the problems that face Gonaives remain monumental. Quite apart from the grinding poverty, which is apparent everywhere you look, there are more fundamental problems affecting Gonaives. Its location.
The city is built at sea level, meaning flooding is a routine problem. Combine that with hurricanes and you have a humanitarian disaster of epic proportions every couple of years.
Stepping onto a busy street in Gonaives is an experience like no other. The first thing that hits you is the smell and the heat. The streets are a mass of rubble, rubbish and people.
In many areas of the city only one half of the roads have been paved, the half that is is littered with gaping holes where manhole covers should be. The money isn’t there to do any more.
One-metre wide canals run at the sides of every street containing a putrid mix of sea water, surface water and foul water. These are also used as makeshift rubbish bins and sometimes for washing.
Given these conditions, it is no surprise that the word ‘cholera’ is one of the few English words residents here understand.
In the Jubilee region, it took the lives of some 300 people, out of a local population of around 5,000 people. The margins between life and death in Gonaives are small.
Travelling with us is Ronnie Jacobs, an Irish engineer who assisted in the construction of 15 wells in Gonaives and the refurbishment of nine more.
One such well we visit near the school in Jubilee was drilled by hand to a depth of over 65ft and is routinely chlorine tested to ensure the water quality is up to scratch. Water is as important as food and shelter here.
“As you can see all around you, the conditions here are rife for cholera. There is foul water in the street canals which people had been using. Anything from 400 to 500 people use this well daily. They might seem a little thing but here they go a long way to tackling basic needs for drinking water and sanitation.”
From there, Ronnie leads down a very narrow alleyway towards the backyard of perhaps the most friendly woman in Gonaives. Along with her daughter and granddaughter, Benita is cooking and cleaning in a tiny space, now full with journalists and photographers.
An eccentric elderly lady, Benita is the proud owner of another well, refurbished by Haven, which she has agreed to share with anyone who needs water. After kissing everyone in the group, she explains just what access to a clean water supply means for a family in Haiti.
“Before, the water was not drinkable. The well has made a huge difference. The water is clean. We can cook, wash and drink safely. I just hope Haven’s good work can continue here because we need help.”
Despite her overwhelmingly bubbly persona, Benita’s life was and continues to be a daily struggle. Four people in her family, including herself, were hit by the cholera epidemic. She also lost her husband to the outbreak. She simply smiles when asked about how tough her life is. As Casimir points out, a social life or enjoying life isn’t really an option here.
“It’s probably hard for you to understand. A social life doesn’t exist here. It’s not a case of life being hard, this is just life. Every day food is the primary thing people have to look for. Food and water are not simple commodities here like in Ireland. When you see and live life like that, a few beers and a social life become very unimportant things,” he says.
Up in the hills above Gonaives, Haven has completed 144 houses in two Build It weeks which began in April of 2010.
Driving into the community, it’s immediately apparent that life up here takes a somewhat different shape than below in downtown Gonaives.
For a start, there is colour. Each of the houses is brightly painted and stand in sharp contrast to the desolate surroundings. With a playground and a school, it’s obvious that huge strides have been made in this region.
Despite this, life remains difficult. Families continue to struggle daily to get food as the surrounding land supports very little vegetation.
This struggle is compounded by the lack of an adequate road network to Gonaives from the community.
Water has also become an issue. With the current well on site only having a 35% chance of securing drinkable water, Haven are looking into acquiring a site some 500 metres away on government land which has an 80% chance of accessing water.
Given how slowly the wheels of bureaucracy move in Haiti, this could take some time.
Just how difficult the water problems here are is put into sharp focus when it begins to rain. Dozens of families appear with buckets, and begin to harvest the water poring off their roofs.
Notwithstanding the problems faced by those living in the Haven-built community, visiting the slums of La Cannery you quickly realise their lot is a dramatic improvement on those living in what many consider the poorest part of Haiti.
Even Haitians are shocked by the deprivation endured by many forced to live on what is little more than a rubbish dump by the sea. Yet thousands live here and pay rent for the privilege.
The stench in the area is overpowering. Dozens of children chase us as we look at some basic shower huts built by Haven here, so people can wash with some degree of dignity. They seem oblivious to their conditions, instead excited about having their picture taken.
In La Cannery, there is no running water, no electricity and no sewerage system. In fact, there isn’t much of anything, other than people. Emaciated dogs and goats nose for food in the rubbish which is everywhere. Large channels of putrid water crisscross at the front and back of shacks.
As heavy rain begins to fall, you quickly get a sense of just how susceptible areas such as La Cannery and Gonaives are to the elements.
Streets which just minutes earlier were bone dry, quickly became fast flowing rivers of rubble and debris. Even our Haitian driver looked nervous as we sped through the torrent in an effort to get to higher ground.
Far to the southwest of Gonaives, the tiny island of Île à Vache offers a glimpse of the hidden potential Haiti has so far been unable to exploit.
An island just eight miles long, two miles wide, and with an area of 20 square miles, its population of 15,000 have experienced the usual share of poverty and hardship that is routine for almost all Haitians.
Joining us on the 45-minute speed boat journey to the island is Damien Meaney, country director for Soul of Haiti, a charity founded by a number of Irish entrepreneurs looking to help in Haiti.
The group’s very focused approach on smaller, but achievable projects is immediately evident when we enter its newly-refurbished school, following a gruelling climb to the top of the island. As we stand watching the children line up after their break, we are approached by a tiny old white woman immaculately dressed in white. Originally from Canada, Sister Flora arrived on the island in 1981. She has been there ever since running an orphanage for 70 children, 26 of whom are severely disabled.
“She is one tough lady. It took her a long time for her to trust us when we came. She has seen so many groups and people come here over the years promising the sun, moon and stars and not delivering. We’re the best of friends now as she has seen we are here to stay. We focus on specific projects and do what we say we will do,” Damien explains.
Soul of Haiti built a large bedroom with 20 beds in just a week, something which has endeared the Irish to Sr Flora.
For many years Sr Flora slept on the floor of the tiny orphanage in the middle of her children just in case any needed help during the night. The most obvious question to ask Sr Flora, is just how do the children get here from the mainland.
“Well, everyone knows us and has heard of the work we do. Sometimes I go to Port-au-Prince and come back with more children. Most of these children have parents but they have just been abandoned.”
Despite the severe disabilities facing these children, it’s clear they are extremely happy. All are smiling and simply adore the attention they receive. They want to be lifted up, hugged and kissed continually. Others just simply want to hold your hand.
Soul of Haiti has helped pay for the medical needs of some of the most disabled children at the orphanage, something which would simply not have been possible otherwise.
A small boy with hydrocephalous (a buildup of fluid inside the skull) is scheduled to have an operation in the coming weeks. A little girl, for whom they have no age and who is permanently attached to Damien, has also had a successful operation and is due for one more.
“This little one we managed to arrange an operation for. She has a problem with her large intestine. The amazing thing was that when she was in the hospital, they discovered that she was actually blind. So next month, we have arranged for her to have an operation on her cataracts and, thank God, she will get 85% to 90% of her vision back,” he explains.
A short boat ride to the other side of Île à Vache and you enter Abaka Bay. It offers a glimpse into the one area that could help kick-start Haiti’s domestic economy — its beauty.
Abaka Bay is nothing short of a Caribbean paradise. Complete with long white beaches and crystal clear blue water, it is to a large extent an untouched and unvisited island paradise. Tourism is a word you rarely hear in Haiti, but people forget that the island is right in the middle of the Caribbean and contains some of the most beautiful bays and coves in the world.
It’s a fact not lost on Jean-Cyril Pressoir, who runs one of Haiti’s only tourism companies — Tour Haiti. An extremely well-educated man, having studied in La Sorbonne in Paris and the University of Montreal, he could very well have left to earn his money abroad. Instead, he chose to return to the country of his birth to try and be part of its future
“Look around you. It’s beautiful here, yet no one really sees this beauty. Haiti is the only country in the Caribbean that has not become a major tourist destination. We have an untouched resource which can be exploited to help the country grow. You can have sustainable, green, eco tourist resorts unlike anywhere else. It’s a blank canvas,” he explains.
Time will tell if it is a blank canvas that will be used to paint a better future for Haiti.
Gladys Dorcilien at her school in Tabarre. ‘The only way we are going to progress this country is with educated Haitians who should sacrifice something for their country.’
ARRIVING at lunchtime into Gladys Dorcilien’s school in Tabarre is a refreshing change from the monotonous poverty that envelops Port-au-Prince.
Given she spends all day with 160 happy children, ranging in age from 3 to 14, it’s perhaps no surprise that Gladys has a uniquely optimistic take on Haiti’s future.
Along with her husband, Bishop Pierre, the school caters for as many children in the surrounding area as it can cope with. It costs $13 every three months, but as Gladys explains, barely 70% of the families with children in the school can afford to pay even this meagre sum.
Assisted by Digicel, the school was rebuilt after the earthquake and has been operating for eight years. Three pupils were killed in the tragedy while at home but, miraculously, none of the children attending the school that day were killed.
For Gladys, a well educated woman who spent time in the US, the earthquake should have served as “a wake up call” for Haiti.
She says: “Earthquakes are obviously a bad thing. However, I think the country was in such bad shape that the earthquake was in many ways a wake-up call, telling us that we need to build things better here, with more structure.
“Before we ask foreigners to help us, we need to learn to do it for ourselves. So many educated Haitians are away in other countries and are afraid to come back. The only way we are going to progress this country is with educated Haitians who should sacrifice something for their country.”
Sacrificing such a life is just what Gladys has done. She explains that she wants to educate children so a new generation can help drag Haiti out of the mess it finds itself in.
Although the school only caters for children up to the sixth grade, at the very least it will have taught them how to read and write, an educational luxury few enjoy in Haiti.
“The aim is that even after sixth grade, even if they never go to school again, these children will at least be able to read and write. Of course, we hope they will be able to go on to further education but, if not, at least they have that.”
“Most parents come up with their children and sign their name with an ‘X’ or with a finger print. Only around 10% can read or write but many of the children are now teaching their parents when they go home. The parents then come back to the school to show what they have learned. It’s a beautiful programme,” Gladys explains.
Along with her husband, Gladys has purchased more land in nearby Mirabelle in the hope that they can build a secondary school, a private university and a trade school — something she acknowledges will be “a huge project”.
In terms of politics, Gladys has her doubts about whether newly appointed president Michel Martelly’s government can implement the necessary changes in widespread areas.
In fact, she is one of the few Haitians you speak to that is willing to discuss the subject of politics at any length.
“Democracy and poverty can’t always walk hand in hand. People need to be educated to understand that they have a choice and to understand what that choice is politically. Otherwise, it’s not real democracy,” Gladys adds.
A boy at an outreach programme run by Mayo’s Gena Heraty, right.
“THERE are millions of reasons to stay and never a single reason to go.”
Given that she has been in Haiti for the best part of 20 years, you know when Gena Heraty says this, she means it.
Originally from Carrarevaugh, Liscarney in Mayo, Gena first arrived in Haiti in 1993, long before last year’s earthquake brought global attention to the plight of the Caribbean island.
For the past 18 years, she has been a volunteer worker with international aid agency Nos Petits Freres et Soeurs (NPH) (Little Brothers and Sisters in Christ).
She lives in an orphanage in Kenscoff along with 32 children with special needs. Today, we met Gena in her outreach programme in Tabarre, near Pettionville, a suburb of Port-au-Prince.
Slipping effortlessly between English and Creole, you can see that Haiti is just as much home to Gena as is the west of Ireland.
Here in Tabarre, she and the rest of the staff at the centre, provide medical assistance and rehab for families with children who have severe mental and physical disabilities.
When we arrive, we see a large group of mothers and their children sitting patiently in a row, waiting to be seen by Gena and her team.
Families with disabled children are often forced to abandon their children in Haiti, mainly due to the deeply ingrained stigma around disability in the country.
These children are the forgotten people in a country largely forgotten by the world. The work that Gena and her staff do is a thankless task, in a country where being able bodied is almost a pre-requisite in surviving.
“In Haiti, there is nothing for these children. Here women are humiliated when they have a disabled child. People tell them to abandon their children, that they are useless as they can never work.
“There is a huge stigma attached to disabled children here. There is a belief among some that they are not actually people. Everyone in Haiti is poor but being disabled is an even worse lot in life for these kids,” Gena explains.
Without question, the Mayo native is an inspirational woman, yet she deflects any praise by pointing to the women queuing with their children.
“These women are the inspirational people. They inspire me every day. Most leave home by 3.30am to get here, travelling two or three Tap Taps [pick up trucks that serve as taxis]. They get abused, humiliated by people and they have to carry their children who are so, so heavy.”
“They really are amazing, inspirational women who make huge sacrifices every day against all odds. The tragedy is that, no matter what you do, it’s never enough because the problems here are just so huge.”
The rehab unit has been built specifically for rehabilitation, and takes a holistic approach in order to educate fathers and mothers that their children can be helped to live fruitful life.
“Most of the women just wanted to abandon the children here as it was just too difficult for them. However, we have spent a lot of time educating the mothers that there are things they can do to rehabilitate their children, and it’s working.”
For Gena, the real challenge is to change a mindset of a nation, something she acknowledges make take generations.
“The society in Haiti needs to realise these children are beautiful. They deserve love, respect and dignity just like everyone else does. As long as I can be here, as long as I have a breath in my body, I will be here. I feel this is where I belong. This is my place in the world.”
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