Haiti Day 1

My first night in Port-au-Prince, and I can’t help it – I’m comparing it to Chad. The thing is, they’re really alike. A brief glance out the car window would satisfy anyone that they were in Africa. So many of the sights are the same. The main difference is one of scale; where N’djamena is small and relatively quiet, PaP is sprawling, teeming, heaving. Thousands of people in the streets, walking to and from their business. Women with wash basins on their heads. School girls with pleated skirts and braided hair. People selling everything: roasted chicken, old car seats, plastic flip-flops, cell phone cards. The streets are choked with cars, rather than the buzzing motorbikes of NDJ. The most ubiquitous are the “taxis” – I suppose you’d call them that – the privately-owned and completely unregulated vehicles people use to get from A to B. In much of Africa, this vehicle tends to be some kind of large white van, packed to the gills with people. Here, it is a pick-up truck with an aluminum cap, the bed of which is lined with benches. The back is open air for easy access. And easy tumbling to your death, as far as I can tell.

These trucks are pretty incredible looking, actually – I’m definitely going to try to get a picture. They are all painted with elaborate air-brushing, so much so that they almost look like some kind of parade float. Sometimes the truck has a name, like “Mon Camion” (literally, “My Truck”. Clever.) Others quote Bob Marley, or announce the imminent arrival of Christ. They’re pretty wild.

The other big difference is the landscape surrounding the city. Instead of sand and scrub, PaP huddles between the green knuckles of low mountains. These mountains were covered in trees once, but now only a fringe remains along the spine of each peak. Instead, broad green fields run down into the valleys, where they meet the edges of the shanties. It’s easy to see why the city is so vulnerable to flooding throughout the cyclone season; there’s nothing to catch the rain.

Even the hotel reminds me of Chad. The lobby is not bad, and the pool looks pretty nice. The room, however, is… well let’s just say I’m glad I brought my own linens. I’d like to leave the room right now, actually, to get a bite, but I can’t. There are currently “techniciens” in my room, doing a little electric work. Specifically, they’re installing wall lights. It’s hard to say exactly why they’re doing this now, only moments after I’ve checked in. It’s also hard to say how long it will take. I asked, and the reply was, “Three, four minutes.” That was an hour ago. But judging by the fact that this task apparently takes three men and a lot of discussion, perhaps it’s not as straightforward as all that.

*update* I'm now in the bar area, drinking a watery local beer in a stubby bottle. It's called "Prestige". One of these bottles is SO making the trip home.

Anyway. Tomorrow I’m out to the field, to Cite Soleil and environs, to see the flooded areas and the humanitarian response being mounted to cope with it. I’m excited. Until last year, Cite Soleil was a “no-go” area, a red zone. As it is, I’ll probably have to wear a vest and helmet, which I was rather hoping to avoid. Kevlar and heat… so not fun. But few people get to see places like this, even people in my line of work, so I’m checking my nervousness at the car door.