Linda Bertsche is the Connecting Peoples Co-Coordinator for MCC Haiti. This blog was originally published in http://undertentshaiti.com/
Hurricane Sandy moved in and stayed. Waiting it out at home, I became numb to the constant drumming of water hitting the leaves, the roof, the cement below our window, lulling me to sleep, still there on awakening. First one day of work, then the second was cancelled after tap taps (buses) failed to run their routes. People didn’t venture out, and stores kept their iron gates padlocked shut.
I’ve been told that most post-earthquake cement walls have lost their integrity, making it easier for water to seep through them and under the windows in which they are set. Ms. Sandy provided ample opportunity for our walls to get waterlogged, laundry to resist drying, salt shakers to clog up, bedding to feel damp, and match boxes to become limp.
Visiting Camps of Displaced People
On the fourth day of Sandy’s visit, I joined a colleague who had arranged for us to accompany a representative from a Haitian housing coalition as he checked on the status of camps. Jackson and his coalition (the Force for Reflection and Action on Housing, or FRAKKA) are attempting to inform the people that the Haitian constitution says they have a right to housing. Many Haitians do not believe that their government will help them, but on this day, most of the camp residents listened to what Jackson had to say.
We visited three camps, meeting a camp coordinator at the entrance of each. One camp, serving 6,000 families is divided into 13 blocks. Here we met Jean Joseph, coordinator for the whole camp and leader of one block. Records for the 800 families for which he is responsible were easily transported onto his front “porch” in a wire basket.
We have three problems here, he said. “We are hungry, we have no houses and we have no money”. We joined him in the entrance of a wooden lean- to (commonly called a temporary shelter). Flies everywhere, wet garbage beside the front stoop, clothing hung across the doorway, we were nonetheless welcomed in. Jean was dressed in interesting attire: a suit coat, pants and slip on shoes. Emerging from the bottom of the coat was, oddly, lacy material. As we were chatting, we asked for his photograph, which prompted him to laugh and throw open his suit coat to show us that he was wearing one of his wife’s dresses! The outfit created quite a stir, but in no way detracted from his message.
Mud River Paths
At another site, our car tires spun on the steep incline leading into the camp as we drove through an opening in a low wall. We parked near an abandoned school bus that reeked of urine as we walked past. Circling around a broad low lying field of grass and mud, we approached the camp from the side. Mud was immediately over the tops of my shoes. As I attempted to stay on the path, mud sucked at my shoes and standing water soaked my stockings. Trying to find rocks to step on risked my balance. I soon conceded totally immersed feet for the new goal of simply staying upright on the path.
When people understood the mission of our visit, they begged us to come and look in their tents. Ducking under tent flaps we were shown tent floors sticky with mud or partially submerged in water. We saw basins of soaked clothing sitting in door ways, many wet mattresses, clothes strewn up inside and outside in a pathetic attempt to dry. Some people wanted us to see that they had babies inside their tents. A mother sat just inside another tent beside her charcoal burner. A baby sat in her lap, a young child hid behind her while she spooned food out to yet another person seated in the shadows. Occasionally I would ask residents how long they had lived in this situation. Their responses were the same, “since the 12th of January” (the date of the earthquake).
Government Response: “Everything is OK”
The coordinator of this camp was animated. At the camp entrance he decried the misery: tents flooded and ruined, wet people with no escape. Three people in his camp died from cholera last week (all living in the same tent). He said he had been making calls for help since the previous night but FRAKKA “is the only one that came”. He kept reporting that he had called the state (government), so I finally asked him what the state’s response had been.
He replied, “they said OK.”….OK?
As I continued walking, men and women I had just met offered their arms or hands to assist me. I crossed gullies and endless mud bogs. Once I lost my balance, catching myself with one hand. The woman walking with me found some clean water with which to wash. I asked one young man how he had managed to avoid looking like the mess that I was. His response? “I’m used to it”. I felt stressed and disgusting trying to simply navigate the camp’s paths for the purposes of this visit. I tried to entertain the thought of LIVING here, but found myself incapable of doing so.
Exiting the camp, our guide began talking to a group of young people standing about. He began educating them about their right to assistance with housing, per the Haitian constitution. He firmly told them, “we are the help we are waiting for”. He encouraged them to petition the government and force them to act on behalf of themselves and the thousands of others needing lodging. He countered the disclaimer “what can just one person do?” with an encouragement to organize.
Back to my Apartment
I got back to my damp apartment. I had no thought but to clean up. I was tracking mud everywhere. I heated chlorox treated water, worrying about cholera….I washed my feet at least three times and then bathed. I got out a mostly dry towel, and dry clothes. I ate. Later I washed my hair. And now I sit with my computer, on relatively dry furniture. My floor is relatively clean (no mud). The state power has just kicked on, so my inverter is charging which means that for now, at least, the food in our fridge will not spoil. MCC pays for me to buy minutes on my phone so I can call my colleagues if there is a problem. I even have a car to use for the weekend. Our food budget for October is nearly finished, but then so is October. I will by no means be hungry. Most essentially, if it keeps raining, my roof will keep the majority of the rain out of the space in which I live.
A Broken Pail
At the last camp, I was sitting in the back end of the Land Cruiser, when I noticed three school aged children climbing up a steep hill, each carrying a pail of water on their heads. That is, the last two were carrying buckets on their heads. Someone asked the girl in front if she had fallen. She said yes, and showed them the broken 5 gallon bucket she was holding. She was going home without water. I wondered if she was hurt and if she would be chastised for spilling her water. Would the fact that she was young, walking up a steep hill in the rain with a 5 gallon load on her head be enough mediating factors to keep her from punishment?
I imagine the damp accommodations in my home would have been welcome relief to her, for, after all, water comes out of pipes where I live. I sit with the images of my day stamped clearly in my memory. Where is the relief for these communities? What does “help” mean? The expressions of those sitting in doorways of sagging tents remain with me. I recall the Haitian state’s response of yesterday…….”OK.”
Really?
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You can support activists like Jackson and the displaced people that are calling for housing in Haiti. Join more than 2,000 people around the world and sign the petition below asking the Haitian government and its international donors to prioritize affordable housing.
Photos by Adrienne Wiebe and from:
http://combonimexico.blogspot.mx/2012/10/experiencia-misionera-que-da-vida.html