A personal account of Port-au-Prince: "A City of Two Faces"

This eye-witness recount by an international development worker regarding Port-au-Prince was published in the latest ¡Reclama!

May 2010

The juxtaposition is jarring. I’ve seen poverty before but never in such close proximity and sharp contrast to wealth. Up in the hills, a tent city, housing hundreds of people, has popped up right across the street from a gated house, complete with a serious-looking armed guard. From the same hill, where I notice that most of the biggest houses are still standing, I look across the city to the ocean. Down below, in the slums, it looks like someone has taken a giant wrecking ball to the houses. In some places, the damage seems arbitrary – I see one house standing while all of its neighbors have been destroyed. In other places, wide swaths of hillside have been reduced to piles of cement blocks and rebar.

What is most surprising, though, is that life seems almost normal. As I walk through one of the tent cities, I greet the residents and a chorus of people responds: “Bonjou!” Mothers watch me, slightly amused, as laughing children run after me and try to hold my hand. Women and men sit on the outskirts of the tent city, hawking their goods – a bowl of freshly-cooked rice, some mangoes, bottles of cooking oil.

In plain view, less than 200 yards away, the Presidential Palace sits collapsed on itself, a somber reminder to most Haitians about the state of their government. I broach the subject of government to my guide, asking whether he likes the current president, Rene Preval. He scowls and points to some graffiti spray painted on a nearby wall: “Down with Preval.” Then I ask him about Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the first democratically-elected President in Haiti’s history, who is currently living in exile in South Africa. He becomes much more animated and emphatically tells me about how popular the deposed leader is. Then he becomes more subdued and motions for me not to mention it again – there are people around, although I’m not sure which ones, who will take exception to any mention of Aristide.

Later that day, the driver of the car I’m riding in revs his engine in order to pass a United Nations tank, filled with blue-helmeted Brazilian troops holding automatic weapons. It doesn’t appear that they are going anywhere in particular or moving with any sort of urgency. They are MINUSTAH (Mission des Nations Unies pour la stabilisation en Haïti), and they’ve been in Haiti since Aristide was deposed in 2004. I heard once that the Brazilian troops are particularly effective at maintaining order in Port-au-Prince because they have so much prior experience working in the slums of Rio de Janeiro – a depressing anecdote.

It’s not just the UN who has a presence in the city; I’ve never seen so many NGO vehicles. With names like Food for Life Global and Concern plastered on their doors and hoods, they crawl up and down the streets like ants with body armor. There are more than 10,000 NGOs currently working in Haiti – it is the center of the world’s development industry. When I got into Port-au-Prince, I started chatting up a taxi driver and told him that it was my first day there.

“So, which NGO are you here to work with?” he asks.

Only in Haiti,” I think. I’ve been to a lot of different countries in the world, and in every other one the locals have perceived me, either correctly or incorrectly, as a tourist. The minute I set foot in Port-au-Prince I am immediately classified as a development worker. It dawns on me that I’ve arrived with all the good intentions in the world, just as tens of thousands have before me. I feel helpless.

Over the next few days, I explore the city and try to get a taste for how life is after one of the biggest natural disasters in recent memory. I try to relax, act normal, and be as objective as possible. But there is always something in the back of mind – a whispering voice – telling me to be wary. I realize that I’ve fallen victim to the constant negative media attention that has been showered on post-earthquake Haiti. I am almost waiting for something to happen.

Angry with myself for having these feelings, I stop and take a good look around. I realize that my fears are not justified, even though I haven’t seen one of the supposed hundreds of American soldiers that are patrolling the city. In fact, it is the Haitian police force that is most present.They are in control, at one point stopping our car (filled with foreigners) at a checkpoint and asking to see the American driver’s license. Really, though, I find most comfort in the strength and warmness of the people, even as I’m strolling through Bel Air, one of the roughest areas of Port-au-Prince. They have gone through more in the last few months than I could ever imagine, yet they will survive. I reach out and hold the hand of one of the laughing children.

--Sam Easterly