The Earthquake and Repatriation

It wasn’t too long after we arrived that the question of “adjustment” and “returning” began to emerge in conversations. To me this can be summed up in one situation. Typically when someone takes a trip somewhere, we ask “How was xyz place?” and the traveler responds with a “Great, we had a good time and the weather was nice” or a “Good. It was fun.” Given the typical question and response, what do you say when someone asks you: “How was Haiti?” For me forming the appropriate response to this question was the task at hand. I talked at length about it with Jack and Andre, recalling the difficulty I had the previous June when I returned from a week in Hinche. Having already been exposed to so much, the difficulty this time was only compounded by the tragic events of January 12.

We’d been having a lazy day as the damp air and rain kept us from going anywhere. Jack and I weren’t feeling too good were just hanging around, lying on our beds. Andrew was around too, working on his journal and listening to music. Afternoon turned to evening. Hearing some strange yelling, Andre and I went out to the balcony to investigate some woman calling for Sasha. She looked American and was with a group of several young Haitian boys. She seemed distant and while Andrew and I commented on her strange demeanor (we thought she’d been huffing paint thinner like the street kids often do), it suddenly felt as if someone was moving the entire balcony. I remember seeing the puddles in the street rippling before I realized what was going on. An earthquake? We woke Jack up but he didn’t seem to alarmed—California boy. The three of us ran out of the still shaking house. We passed Ti Paul in the doorway. “What’s going on he said?” “Earthquake” we said. “We’re screwed” he responded. We were confused and continued outside. People were standing outside up and down the street. The shaking had stopped. A few of Ti Paul’s colleagues from Oxfam were there and were laughing, asking us if we’d ever experienced an earthquake before. We shrugged no and I asked them if they’d ever experienced one. They said “Yes” and were laughing, asking if we were scared. We were, I thought it was pretty clear. I forced a smile but I could feel something wasn’t right. After a while things calmed down. We went upstairs to the kitchen and Marcorel was listening to the radio with Rosie. Sasha was calm, joking about her attire—a large blue dress that she’d received as a birthday present. An aftershock hit—you could see the water shaking in the 5 gallon bottle on the table. I’m not sure when exactly we found out just how bad it was in Port-au-Prince. Everyone was nervous and trying to get in touch with their families. We ran all over town, trying to find out about Moise as there was word that the senate building had collapsed. It’s really a blur. Tony was so upset and couldn’t stop crying. He was worried about Moise. I tried to comfort him with a hug and refrains “Nou pa konnen.” I meant that we didn’t know if Moise was injured or not. We found out later he was okay. Marcorel and I went to buy a case of beer, what else could we do? We thought. Rose, Marc and I toasted with a Prestige, “Nou la.” I’m not sure when things calmed down but for the purposes of this post, the question of “How was Haiti?” suddenly got a hell of a lot more difficult.

We returned to the US not sure what to expect. I hated leaving if for no other reason that as “blans” we could just pack up and leave. We left not knowing whose families were alive, what exactly was going on in P-au-P and how we could help, if at all, from the States. It wasn’t about us or our experience, and yet it seemed we were the focus. I hated it. We got emails from counseling services about dealing with the “trauma.” I got calls from my school newspaper and even from Newark’s Star Ledger. Didn’t they understand how far away from everything we were? At the advice of my friend Vance I worked to develop a balance—“It’s an opportunity to tell the story of Haiti” he reminded me. I put together some kind of essay that explained SOILs work and how important it was in the context of Haiti—both pre and post earthquake—and sent it to my family and friends. I figured it was the best way I could help—though it’s an idea that I’m still struggling with.