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B y k e v i n c h a p p e l l

p h o t o g r a p h s B y D U D l e y M . B r o o k s

haiti one year after the earthquake a S p r O G r E S S C r a W l S , H a i T i a N S a D J U S T T O N E W r E a l i T Y

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On Sundays, families leave their tents in the day’s best. Girls don dresses, their ponytails tied with ribbons. Boys have on dress shirts. Many walk to makeshift churches around the city. Services can be heard from the street: singing, praying and preaching. Heaven for two hours. Hell for the remaining 22.

Then, there are the children; they are forced to comprehend the incomprehensible, forced to live a reality focused more on day-to-day survival than preparation for the future. The earthquake damaged some 5,000 schools. Those that are open have been forced to run two shifts. Some students come to school in the morning, others come in the afternoon. But even so, more than half of the 4 million Haitian

in the days and weeks follow-ing the earthquake, Joseph abula says he had it. aid was flowing in. Foreign govern-ments were helping. The world was watching. ¶ But as the 56-year-old laborer stands in the sea of Haitians at a one-year memorial service in downtown port-au-prince, he

is not so sure how strong his hope is now. it’s been one year since more than 300,000 people lost their lives in one of the worst natural disasters the world has ever seen. and now, abula says, progress, for the most part, has come to a screeching halt. “i still feel tiny hope,” he says. “But i don’t know if the people in charge will take that hope and put it away. So we will see what happens.” ¶ abula and other Haitians say what’s happening now in their homeland is a whole lot of nothing. By most accounts, the country was a mess even before the earthquake. a year later, it seems in many ways, that no one anywhere is on the same page. ¶ Debris is ubiquitous. Bulldozers are nonexistent. The cleanup that has been done has been done by hand. Manually moving 95-pound stones in

says that customers still want to see what they’re get-ting into “before the boom-boom.”

across the country, tent cities are everywhere. Downtown port-au-prince looks more like a camp-ground than the center of town. Thousands of make-shift tents occupy any sliver of land that is flat and not a street. From a bird’s-eye view, the tents look eerily like an american suburb. Dirt roads snake through different sectioned-off neighborhoods. a closer look reveals a haunting scene of transformation, Haiti’s own version of Extreme Makeover. Some tents now have plywood siding, wooden doors with locks, con-crete floors and even gardens. What were supposed to be temporary shelters are now becoming the newest “homes” in Haiti.

The foul odor from the tent cities can be almost unbearable. So many people packed in such tight quarters. No plumbing. No elec-tricity. No hot water. No air conditioning. at night, rats the size of rabbits have a field day roaming in and out of the tents.

Conditions are so deplorable, it’s enough to drive the spiritless insane. But somehow through it all, those like Frankie Venette—standing among the crowd at the one-year memorial service—can see God’s hand at work. “i consider myself a one-year old today,” says Venette, who lost two cousins in the earthquake. “When i see so many people die, i know that i’m not more than them. But i am still alive. God is great. We don’t know why He does things.”

s U r v i v a l M o D eOne year later, many in Haiti are still wondering why. it’s a linger-ing question that has some doubting the presence of a higher being. But it’s an answer so evasive that many have found religion to assist in their search. at port-au-prince’s largest cathedral—recognizable only because the arched pillars that once formed the frame are still standing—men and women still come to pray.

children still do not attend school, according to UNiCEF.Duvynrovert adula, the principal of Elemental School of islam,

says that he still struggles to find the words to explain the situation to his 147 kids. “We continue to talk to them about the earthquake,” he says. “Some of them lost their parents. We talk to them about life after death. We teach them how to live a better life tomorrow. Education is the first step in solving their problems.”

But nowadays, getting gourdes (Haitian currency) is stressed more than getting grades. in many ways, the earthquake has turned Haiti into a country of entrepreneurs. On one intersection, the frenzied activity was dizzying. Massoni Duval pushes a wheelbarrow with

95-degree weather is not for the faint of heart. The problem is not only how to move it, but where to move it. right now, the destination is simply out of the way. Kicking the stone down the road; now it’s another man’s problem.

The country has two languages, three currencies and a handful of former leaders looking to reassume power. Jean-Claude “Baby Doc” Duvalier, who ruled the country from 1971 to 1986, recently returned from exile in France, and former president Jean-Bertrand aristide, who has been in exile in South africa since his ouster in 2004, recently said that he wants to come back. Elections to decide the successor to Haitian president rene preval have been marred by corruption and violence.

The government, which some say was dysfunctional before the earthquake, is virtually nonexistent today. police respond to a crime if, and only if, they determine that the crime is over, and it is safe to come out. ambulances respond to calls hours later, if they can maneuver around unresponsive traffic to get to the scene.

in many ways, Haiti is a country of “ifs.” residents could start rebuilding if the debris were removed. Volunteers from around the world could help if there were organizations in place to manage the manpower. Nongovernmental organizations could erect real houses instead of tents on vacant land if the country’s property laws weren’t so convoluted that it’s almost impossible for anyone to build any-thing. Cholera and other diseases could be controlled if the sanita-tion system wasn’t thousands of port-O-potties and the waste man-agement system wasn’t the local rivers and streams.

and in the coastal town of léogâne—the epicenter of the earth-quake—Joseph Charles could reopen his hotel if he had electricity. it’s not a Hilton, or even a Holiday inn for that matter. The 65-year-old Charles calls it a “boom-boom” motel that locals rent by the hour. Since most activity in the rooms doesn’t require light, Charles

One year after earthquake, thousands still live in tent cities.

Worshippers (previous spread) sing hymns while walking to church. Below (l. to r.) students study, a makeshift hospital tends to pa-

tients, and a boy looks on, during a memorial service in Port-au-Prince.

hope.

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sugarcane stalks right down the middle of the street. On a good day, he works from 6 a.m. to 10 p.m. and makes the equivalent of $10. “it’s not what i like, but it’s easy to do, and i do it,” says Duval, 35, who passes a man with a knife carving furniture on one street corner and another man running a cell phone battery-charging electricity station on another. in between, one woman sells bananas and Coke, while another sells luggage used for local treks around the country.

if you’re Haitian, you’re not journeying past the water’s edge. Not unless you have a rough-and-ready boat and guts to match. Haitians can’t get passports. They can’t leave the coun-try. Shortly after the earthquake, orphans had a shot of escaping the misery that is Haiti. But the convoys shuttling them out of the country have all but ceased.

Now, orphanages such as the Children’s Foundation of Haiti (CFH), are a parentless child’s only hope. CFH, which operates out of a dozen or so tents, cares for about 80 children between the ages of 4 and 10, many of whom either lost their parents during the earthquake or were abandoned by or separated from them in the aftermath. School is held in one tent, and the children sleep in groups in the other tents. They bathe outside, fully visible to cars passing along a major thoroughfare that runs next to the camp.

The foundation’s director, Joseph Marcel, says that he is doing the best that he can. But it seems like the world has forgotten about the earthquake’s tiniest victims. “aid has dried up,” admits Marcel, who says that the orphanage needs about $1,500 each month to make ends meet. “We used to get money from a church in the United States. Now i have to call my rela-tives in the States and ask them for money.”

Marcel says that the orphanage keeps him busy. But at times, he still thinks about the earthquake. “it was a black day for me and the country of Haiti,” he says. “Even a year later, those images are still in my head. i don’t guess they will ever leave. Especially seeing all of the children crying who lost their parents.”

Many of the dead are buried in a mass gravesite in Titanyen on the outskirts of port-au-prince. There, hundreds of black wooden crosses were erected a day before the one-year anniversary in memory of those who died. at the exact time of the earthquake, only a handful of people visited the gravesite. Spend enough time in Haiti, and it becomes obvious that residents are not big on memorials or harping on the past. Those who are gone, are gone. reminiscing wastes too much time, requires too much effort. Survival mode is a constant and is unforgiving to those who stop living in it.

For survivors, the focus is on living. across town, project Medishare, a nonprofit organiza-tion that receives most of its funding from the american red Cross, helps those still suffering from injuries sustained during the earth-quake. it runs the only critical-care facility in Haiti, operating out of an old building that housed another hospital before the disaster. approximately 40 percent of patients at the 54-bed hospital have earthquake-related injuries; the majority are patients who require continuous care. The hospital has seen about 300 cases of cholera,

but that frequency is declining, thanks to prevention and hygiene education. Unfortunately, the hospital has seen a spike in the num-ber of gunshot victims as a result of the controversial Haitian elec-tions.

project Medishare also has a spinal cord-injury program with prosthetics lab. it has been estimated that some 500,000 Haitians have some type of handicap as a result of the earthquake. So many were injured that an amputee soccer league has started. Tending to amputees and those needing rehabilitation has become a priority.

in addition to providing medical aid, project Medishare, along with six other nonacute-care facilities operating in Haiti and hundreds of volunteer groups, has devoted resources to train medical professions, including dozens of physi-cal therapists, nurses and physicians.

But the hospital’s chief administrator, Ga-briele Denis, says that the lack of coordination between services is frustrating. “The organiza-tions are doing a lot of training to help improve the health care system in Haiti, but the lack of collaboration and so many roadblocks have made it difficult to provide the appropriate level of care for the people of Haiti,” she says. “if people just sit there and do their own thing and they don’t communicate, there could be 10 organizations in the same part of the country doing the same thing.”

immediately following the earthquake, the world gave billions in aid to Haiti. Sure, there were mistakes made: lack of coordination, con-tradictory interests, planning that was done above the heads of the people receiving the aid. By most accounts, the result has been disas-trous. Gaffes aside, one thing is clear: That type of assistance will not happen again. although individuals and groups continue small-scale help, Haitian’s now realize that their future lies in their hands. They will have to find solutions to the monumental problems the country faces.

Yanick lahens, a Haitian author and part of the country’s educated class, walks through a tent city operated by actor Sean penn. as she sees the condition of thousands of her compa-triots, her question now is the same as it was one year ago. “Why us? Why again us? i keep asking myself,” she says. “are we in the world just to measure suffering?”

lahens says that poverty—not the earth-quake—killed Haitians. The earthquake just exposed everything. To move forward in any measurable way, she believes that social rela-tions between those who have and those who don’t must change. “Haitians like me don’t come here,” she says of her visit to the camp. “The middle class live up in the mountains. They don’t trust anybody. The real leadership will be the ones who can build trust. Haitian

people know how to get things done, if they trust.” in the meantime, life goes on. On the side of a dirt road in léogâne,

Hebert amarnt sits at a small wooden table with a calculator, pen and writing pad. He’s the lottery man, selling hope in a country that at times seems hopeless. amarnt says lottery sales are still brisk, even though money is tight. people figure that at some point, some-one, somewhere in Haiti has got to catch a break.

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“ W H Y U S ? W H Y aG a i N U S ? i K E E p a S K i N G M Y S E l F.

a r E W E i N T H E WO r l D

J U S T T O M E a S U r E S U F F E r i N G ? ”

Day-to-day life in Haiti is a struggle. Orphanages are common. People, in need of the basics, have sought comfort through prayer.