8 March 2010: Cash for work programmes often don’t get the sort of profile in disasters that traditional food distribution and building shelters can command. But today my meeting with Jesusla, a 62-year-old Haitian woman, earning US$5 a day as part of a ditch clearing operation, emphasised the value of programmes like this.

Appropriately on International Women’s Day, I come across Jesusla wielding a hoe and clearing away debris as part of a mixed team working on the outskirts of Croix-des-Bouquets. In the distance is an unofficial tented village where she lives with many internally displaced people from as far afield as Port-au-Prince and beyond. The tents are a chaotic fragile tapestry of sheets and pieces of material - just about bearable in good weather but unlikely to withstand the rainy season, which is fast approaching.

Protecting vital paths

And then there is the problem of the path which connects this site to Croix-des-Bouquets and beyond. Plan’s cash for work programme with its emphasis on practical strategies to reduce local flooding can at least mitigate the effects of the next threat after the earthquake: very heavy rain. Without such programmes the path would soon be a morass of mud and dirt, traipsed into the tents and adding to the risk of illness. With it there is a good chance it will be passable.

Plan’s cash for work programmes provide valuable funds for individuals and families. Over a 2 week period a member of the team can earn US$50, a lot of money in Haiti.

Helping thousands take action

The work is being spearheaded by a remarkable man, Marshall Ashley, a 67-year-old former US academic, who has spent over 3 decades working full time in development. His enthusiasm is infectious and he knows how to scale up an operation. Marshall has worked for almost everyone in the sector and tells me proudly that he will soon have over 60 “cash for work” teams in action, clearing rubble and lots of similar tasks.

He has hopes of 100 teams soon which would mean over 2,000 Haitians would have cash in their pockets as well the dignity of doing useful work. I doubt if Marshall ever thinks about retiring from work like this. He has lived in Haiti for many years and cares deeply for the people, even more so after the terrible earthquake.

Dreams of a better Haiti

For Jesusla, this programme means like Marshall, she can dream of a better Haiti. She wants to open a soap making business with her cash.

I once heard the former President of Ireland Mary Robinson describe “work” as being “love made concrete”, that it was the strongest evidence society valued people and wanted them to be able to contribute to their own welfare. If you had met Jesusla and the other members of the ditch clearing team today, you would have no doubt she was right.

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7 March 2010: The crowd has been gathering from first light on the outskirts of the local basketball stadium, clutching the all important blue ticket which will let them enter to pick up the package of basics I have used as the title for this blog.

It is well-organised by Plan and the local municipality: 10 ticket holders at a time rush across the tarmac and collect these prized possessions, repacking them as they go to make them more portable. A frail old lady, old enough to be a granny many times over, is struggling with the weight of the rice bag until her grandchildren come to the rescue and hustle her out of the stadium.

I think what a life…queuing for hours often in the heat (though it is cooler today) for what should be a “given” - the right to simple food and a basic health kit. Outside the queue is mercifully getting smaller though not with out the odd flash of temper as the UN police politely deal with the few interlopers without a ticket.

Influx of displaced people

We are in the town of Belladere a few kilometres over the Dominican Republic (DR) border. This is the town that “Papa Doc” Duvalier built to impress their neighbours about the quality of life and architecture in Haiti. It is with the odd exception down at heel and tired looking now with roads of a much lower quality than in the DR.

This area is now coping with a big influx of displaced people from further inside Haiti. Port-au-Prince is a couple of hours away. This distribution of food, with funds from Plan, is just about the first one in the town. The mayor and local authorities are there to say thank you as the 5 lorries from San Juan in the DR are being unloaded, bag by bag, sack by sack.

It is good to see this support for the families of Belladere. Although on Haitian soil, it has been organised by the Plan DR team who are taking responsibility for work in this area. That gives the Plan Haiti team more time to focus on the devastated programme units much closer to Port-au-Prince.

Unsung heroes

During my short visit to 3 Plan programme units in the DR, I have had the chance to say thank you to the dozen or so staff from Plan DR who went into Haiti right from the start. Stories of people coming in on their holidays and volunteering to set off for Port-au-Prince are common. And it is not just the technical advisers and the specialists in development. Most of the DR team have been involved in some way or another - including the unsung heroes like the drivers who were in Port-au-Prince and Jacmel at the height of the aftershocks.

We have a lunch and a ceremony to present these wonderfully committed people with a certificate to mark their work in Haiti. The drivers get the biggest cheer. I make a speech about Plan and its future but the words appear redundant. Anyone in the room will have seen the future of Plan and know it works.

Great people make great organisations and in the DR team we are lucky to have so many of them.

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1 March 2010: When I first in arrived in Haiti nearly two weeks ago, I was told that one of the biggest safety concerns would be the road to Jacmel from Port-au-Prince. Once the rains came, mudslides could make it impassable and therefore dangerous to anyone caught on the other side. 

Plan Haiti has an office in Jacmel, a port city in the southwest region that before the quake was known for its quaint French colonial architecture and lively arts scene. I’d watched Plan’s video footage of thousands of family tents from Plan Dominican Republic coming to shore, just days after, because the town was so badly damaged and the people were cut off from the support and supplies coming through Port-au-Prince.

A visit to Plan's tents

On Friday, I found out that Marc-Antoine Lefedor, Plan Haiti’s Information Communication Technology Manager was going to Jacmel the next day to check how things were going for his team. I asked if I could tag along. I knew it would be my last chance before leaving next week, and I wanted to see exactly what had happened to those tents. 

Saturday was a clear, blue-sky day, and I gave no thought to the rain. And even though the straight road leading to the mountain was fissured and lifted up in places, I felt safe. The road was long and winding but it was well paved. We passed through the town of Leogane, the quake’s epicenter, and there were so many people shopping for fruits, vegetables, and bric-a-brac on the sides of the street, we had to honk our way through. It was market day.

Bored children: school needed

Plan tents in Jacmel

At some point, I looked back from the mountain and saw the wide green plain below stretching out to the sea. Meanwhile, on the sides of the road, were people getting on with the business of living. Many were just walking alone. There were many fruit stands along the way, with mandarins, limes, mangos, and grapefruit for sale, usually from baskets set on the ground. I passed many children, who without school, looked very bored.

After about three hours, along with all the colorful tap-taps and speeding motorbikes with a least two people riding precariously on board, we arrived. I saw how in Jacmel, unlike Port-au-Prince and Croix-des-Bouquets, there were no sprawling tent camps. The red and beige tents that Plan had delivered were slightly sun-bleached, but they were neatly organized in long rows, on the town’s streets and in the parks and plazas.

Marc-Antoine arranged for me to go to a child-friendly center in Jacmel, which was on a street lined with our tents. A big group of girls and boys of all ages gathered there to meet me, so I could take their photographs, and maybe talk about life after the quake. The first question they had for me was: “What is your name?” And since the name Heidi sounds a lot like Haiti when it’s pronounced in French, we all started off with a good giggle. 

Waiting for rain

We never got to my questions about what it's like to live in a tent with their parents who are constantly worrying about the rains and making ends meet. Instead, after I took some photographs, I turned my camera around. Watching them see themselves on the LCD screen made us all howl with laughter. And for that moment — before the rain fell hard later that night and the road back to Port-au-Prince was almost impassable — we were in a child-friendly space, together, taking a break from the world.

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25 February 2010: All around Haiti, on the many colourful buses in all shapes and sizes called tap-taps that I’ve seen while sputtering along in traffic, hand-painted messages on all sides celebrate Haiti’s deep spiritual faith. One love. Ave Maria. L’eternal est grand. Miracles. Patience. Benediction Divine. At night, I often hear groups of people singing. Or lively dance music. It’s this infusion of love, faith and hope that fools me into thinking everything in Haiti is fine.

Poverty does not steal dignity or joy. Nor does it keep a beautiful bride from her wedding. But it seems to create heart wrenching obstacles to the kind of peace and happiness that comes from feeling safe and secure.

Night fears

Everyone knows that Haiti had its complex societal problems before the earthquake, but now in the sprawling and sporadic tent camps setup near the vacant communities, more than ever, night-time is robbing women and girls of their right to personal safety.

The walk to the empty field or the port-a-potty (depending on the quality of the camp) is said to be the most terrifying. Many women and girls have taken to wearing their blue jeans at all times.

Plan action

The other day I spent the day with Andrinette, Plan Haiti’s health advisor, who told me that she’d been working on initiatives to protect women and girls from violence in Haiti for over 20 years.

I went with her to a meeting sponsored by the Ministry of Women’s Health. The topic of discussion was how all agencies in Haiti - government, police, and non-governmental organisations - could best work together to reduce gender-based violence in the camps.

In the car driving back to the office from the meeting, I asked Andrinette to elaborate on the nature of the violence in the camps, and she expressed her deep frustration that many men simply have the mentality that women and girls are only meant for sex. And these men are emboldened by the sad reality that most victims of sexual violence in Haiti do not speak up or stand up for themselves.

Safe spaces

Since the earthquake, organisations like Plan have worked to create hundreds of child-friendly spaces throughout the affected areas to help children sing, play and facilitate the process of recovery.
 
For Plan, these spaces are set to be multipurpose. At times when the children are not at play, they can become drop-in community centres for women: safe places for them to share with others their truth in Haiti as only they have experienced it.

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22 February 2010: On Friday, while in Haiti, I received an unexpected phone call that I was needed in Port-au-Prince in the late afternoon. Guerdy, Plan Haiti’s human resources manager, was getting married and they wanted me to help take photographs. A colleague visiting from Plan Canada was with me and together we went with another Plan Haiti colleague from the Croix-des-Bouquets office. 
 
After a long drive through traffic, when we arrived at the church, I almost didn’t believe that we could be in the right place. Adjacent to the church was the most massive pile of rubble I’d seen yet, upwards of 30 feet of it, sloping downward to the ground.
 
In the rubble, I saw a tangle of twisted chairs lying on top. They were only big enough for small children. That’s when I understood that the church’s school had collapsed. And in the air, was the smell of death that I’d been told would be impossible to forget.

Beaming with joy

Guerdy arrives at her wedding

Guerdy wasn’t there yet when we arrived. Nor were the many other Plan Haiti colleagues who were coming from the Port-au-Prince office and likely to be stuck in traffic. So while we waited, I took photographs of the bridesmaids dressed in their pretty white gowns looking out the church doors. Through the frame of my lens, it looked as though they could have been standing anywhere, and not staring out to the broken world outside.
 
When Guerdy arrived, I took a photograph of her through the car window. I knew that she’d lost relatives in the tragedy, but now she was beaming with joy. It was her day, and nothing, not even a devastating earthquake, could take that away.
 
The wedding inside the enormous church hall, with its safe tin and steel-beamed ceilings, was lovely. Plan staff finally made it to the church, all wearing their blue Plan T-shirts. They filled 2 long pews.
 
This is what I love most about Plan: knowing that the great majority of our staff in the country offices are actually from the countries where we work. In this case, Plan Haiti staff members have been particularly empathetic to the children in the communities where we work, because they have been experiencing similar emotions and fears.

Cherishing each other

Even though I could not quite understand each word the preacher said in French through the echoing microphone at Guerdy’s wedding, I think I heard him say that when life can change in an instant, it is important for us to cherish the time we have with each other and to appreciate the love we are able to share.
 
Looking over at my Plan Haiti colleagues, I couldn’t quite fathom what they’d been through together since 12 January, but I knew it was something important to see them smiling, with their arms around each other’s shoulders, supporting Guerdy, their friend.

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19 February 2010: I first met Myriam Valme Joseph from the Plan Haiti office 2 summers ago when she was working for short time in the Plan USA office in Rhode Island. I had the chance to interview her to learn more about the perplexing challenges facing Haiti’s children. When we said our goodbyes in the office, as much as I would have wanted to, I never imagined that I’d have the chance to see her again.

After hearing the news of the earthquake, my first thought was for Myriam. As I sat in my living room, watching the news on TV, Twittering and following Facebook updates from my laptop, I wondered what she and her family might be experiencing.

I knew that Myriam was a strong Haitian woman, who’d earned her master’s degree in Europe and returned home to help strengthen the country that she loved. And so I wasn’t surprised when I saw her on a Plan video coordinating food and family kit distributions from the parking lot of Plan’s Port-au-Prince badly damaged office, while she told the story of how she rushed home after the earthquake and witnessed her husband rescuing her family from the rubble, including her young daughter.

Catching up

Myriam Valme Joseph in the Croix-des-Bouquets programme office

On my first full day in Haiti, I ran into Myriam again somewhat by chance at the Croix-des-Bouquets programme office. She was behind a laptop computer working alongside her colleagues, many of whom had lost their homes, friends, and relatives - and sadly, one Plan colleague. I didn’t even know if she would remember me, but I rushed to give her a hug anyway - and passed along the regards from my colleagues back in Warwick, Rhode Island. The Plan Haiti community centre behind her was barely standing with rubble pouring out of its front door.

Yesterday, I returned to see Myriam again in that same courtyard. She had helped me organise a conversation with 5 youths who had agreed to share their feelings about life before and after the quake. With one of my Plan colleagues from Ecuador, Santiago Davila, an expert in child participation and protection, we sat under the shade of a large tree in a circle on folding chairs with 3 teenage girls and 2 teenage boys.

Instead of me filming them, I handed them my Flip video camera so that they could be the journalists in their own lives. They had never used one before, so after a quick training session, they took turns asking and answering the questions in Creole that they had for each other, and a community volunteer translated their words into French and English.

Broken dreams

At one point, one of the boys shared that before the earthquake he wanted to be a pilot, but now, after the events, his dreams were broken, and that he would have to rethink the future because his dreams might not come true.

“What do you need to dream again?” I asked him and the others later on, after a long discussion about what they thought Haiti needed to be whole again. The consensus was clear: they all wanted a place to go to school. That will give us hope, they said, that the future is still there.

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17 February 2010: The bus ride over to Haiti from the Dominican Republic turned out to be a long, yet fascinating 8-hour drive. The air-conditioned bus with one toilet in the back was mostly packed with Haitians travelling home to see family they hadn’t been able to visit since the earthquake.
 
I felt a mixture of fear and excitement for all of the unknowns I was about to experience in Haiti on behalf of Plan's global communications team. I passed the time by chatting to a Haitian-American family from Brooklyn, New York, who told me about the sister who was on top of her roof with her child when the earthquake hit, and how they both rode down with the 3-storey building and walked away without a scratch.

Winter wonderland

The lush green and valley landscapes of the Dominican Republic changed dramatically once we crossed into Haiti. Just after the border, limestone from the nearby mines, kicked up by all the passing vehicles, had powdered the trees beside the road pure white, so it looked like a winter wonderland. There was a large lake to our right that sparkled in the afternoon sun.

Soon the roadsides became more crowded: throngs of people, small goods for sale, kids loitering on motorbikes and giant bags of rice sold from the back of trucks. But then there was that knowing serene smile I exchanged with a woman who had stopped to watch us pass. And the baby goat following its mother. And the yellow butterfly flitting past. Signs of life's continuity and constant renewal.  

Tent city visit

Today, on my first full day in Haiti, I went with a Plan child protection specialist to a tent city in Croix-des-Bouquets where Plan is building another child-friendly centre with the help and partnership of the community members that live there.

At the entrance to the camp, I was greeted warmly. We spoke in French and some Creole that I am figuring out as I go. I asked if they would be willing to show me around, and they were happy to show me everything. The tents had been placed close together, but there was a wide main road and meandering side streets. Not a city or a camp really. More like a town.

Protective homes

A boy shows off his kite made from sticks and string

Before I took any photos, I asked for permission. Many said no. But soon I couldn’t keep up with the special requests from those who did want their photo taken - especially from the women. Many wanted me to take their photo right in front of their own unique tent. Some tents had little flourishes, like a small section of a sheet that said ‘Happy Holidays’. A woman can make a home anywhere, I thought. And yet every woman deserves a home that protects her and her family from harm. This is Haiti's great need.
 
Just before it was time for me to go, a little boy passed me. In his hand was a well-made geometric kite that he'd made from some sticks and string. In a sprawling tent community that from a distance looks like a heap of rubbish he had made something beautiful that could fly.
 
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15 February 2010: A Swedish journalist asked me what it would take to get tourists to come to Haiti. It was a fine question, and one that betrayed the fact he arrived in this country filled with prejudices created by years of disturbing headlines and photos. He was surprised at what he found here and immediately saw the potential.

The truth is, Haiti and its people deserve a better image. This isn’t paradise and the impoverished country has huge challenges ahead, but it does work its way into your heart.

Inspiring, resilient people

By putting real faces on Haiti – there is no shortage of inspiring and resilient people – the media covering the earthquake can help undo years of damage that goes beyond simply bad PR.

I’ll call it cowboy journalism. Before the quake, reporters who landed an assignment in Haiti typically had one thing in mind: head to Cité Soleil, the notorious gang-ruled section of Port-au-Prince, to earn their war zone stripes.

Just ask the MINUSTAH – the United Nation’s peacekeeping force assigned to stabilise Haiti – how many times they have had to provide heavily armed escorts for wide-eyed reporters and camera crews determined to venture into the lion’s den.

Yes, Haiti can be a very dangerous place, thanks to years of dictatorship and a history of abuse at the hands of the world’s power brokers. It may seem bizarre to think about Haiti’s potential for tourism, but it actually used to attract vacationers in large numbers. It even had a Club Med, which pulled out 25 years ago.

Seeing the potential

There are not many decent hotels left – owners of the destroyed landmark Hotel Montana in Port-au-Prince vow to rebuild. Perhaps entrepreneurs will see the potential, even luring back Haitians living abroad. This country needs a strong civil society to help build the government’s ability to take care of its people. They can only do so much living in Miami or Montreal.

As for my answer to the Swedish journalist, the ingredients are here, including a rich history and culture, but visitors need to be assured that the rule of law runs through the government and police. This isn’t about attracting tourists to Haiti. It is about making the country a place that people want to visit, and that will be good for all Haitians.

It’s a tall order but the country now has a new group of advocates: legions of journalists that have seen the true Haiti. Most, if not all, journalists I know share the common goal of wanting to make the world a better place. It sounds sappy but it’s true.

Keeping the media spotlight on the rebuilding efforts to keep all the players honest and focused could do just that.

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12 February 2010: If you drive down the right street at the right time in Port-au-Prince, it’s tempting to forget last month’s earthquake even happened. Flowers are blooming, houses look fine and people are going about their everyday lives.

It is an illusion - one that a recent heavy rainfall has helped wash away. Yes, the masses of beautiful blossoms spilling over high – and often crumbling – concrete walls are real, yet in a way also surreal.

The houses left standing are empty, often with small tents pitched in the yard or parking spot. The structures may be safe but few dare to go inside until an expert does an analysis and gives the go-ahead.

First big downpour

The first big post-quake downpour happened the other night, reminding everyone that the start of the rainy season is less than 1 or 2 months away.

People sleeping in makeshift tents built with bed sheets and blankets got soaked if they didn’t manage to lash together pieces of tarp or plastic sheets to act as a water barrier. It didn’t take long to dry out after the sun came up, but this reality check reminded us all that hundreds of thousands of Haitians still need tents or other temporary shelters sooner rather than later.

Back to school

In the meantime, the term ‘temporary shelter’ is being replaced by ’transitional shelter’ in all the tent talk. The latter can endure for at least a year.

One of our engineers, brought in from the US, and our head logistician, from France, are working hard to get the 500 large tents we need to build 50 transitional schools. We are aiming to get kids into these schools within a month.

The tents are coming from various sources and being shipped by an equally complex network, which includes a US research ship that agreed to bring along one of our packed shipping containers.

An old adage says logistics wins wars. The common enemy here is time. The clock seems to be accelerating for those scrambling to rebuild. The exact opposite is true for hundreds of thousands of traumatised - and bored - children desperate to return to school and back to some sense of normality. For them, time has never moved more slowly.

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10 February 2010: I got a sick feeling in my gut the other day after seeing a few dozen home-made cinder blocks drying in the sun. This sight ought to be a good thing – rebuilding has started. But it is not.

These concrete bricks – or, rather, the poorly made Haitian version – killed so many people during the big earthquake. I always thought that concrete was a simple thing: combine cement and gravel or sand and add water. But then I had a chat with one of the engineers Plan brought in as part of our emergency response. When made properly, concrete is strong. But it turns out that concrete is most definitely not a simple thing.

Quality issue

First, the quality of the cement is vital. Open up a bag here and the chances are it has been “stepped on” by adding silt or fine sand. Even if the cement is top notch, the temptation is to use too little cement with too much sand or gravel.

Even the gravel in Haiti is a problem. Instead of crushed rock, which features large and porous surface areas for bonding with cement, Haitians typically use smooth river pebbles. And then there is the curing. Ideally, concrete needs to be wetted constantly as it dries. Even putting a plastic tarp over the bricks will help it dry more slowly, making it stronger.

Construction danger

There are plenty of engineers in Haiti right now helping to design the rebuild. The lessons learned from using inferior concrete will hopefully be reflected in much stricter building codes, at least for commercial construction. But for the average person or small business owner, history threatens to repeat itself.

Lumber seems to be the best option. It is especially suitable for quake zones since it can bend and sway without crumbling. But as anyone who has flown over Haiti can attest, the country suffers from massive deforestation.

Green solution

Imported lumber for building is yet another item Haiti cannot afford. Cement takes a lot of energy to produce, with imported diesel fuel ultimately powering the massive kilns needed to make the magic powder. Lumber from sustainable forests must surely be a greener solution, perhaps even more economical. A pipe dream? Likely, but what rule says the unimaginable in Haiti must always be about bad things?

A more realistic solution would be to convince Haitians to abandon the multi-storey concrete boxes. Many of these now-flattened structures still hold corpses. The government of Haiti could rebuild the presidential palace in ranch-style – just a single floor with galvanised metals roofs. That would be leading by example.

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