It took a moment for Veniel Jean to realize what had just transpired. It was Friday evening. Veniel had strolled down the road visiting the city's pitted exhaust-chocked main thoroughfare Delmas 33, shopping for items for the house at the One Stop Market when the ground started to move.
What was that? No way. This was a big one. Didn't know something this strong could happen this far south.
Veniel instinctively ran outside without thinking whether he was running to safety or danger. Was relieved to see one of the guests who had just arrived from Canada and a couple of her friends running for dear life. He looked up at the sky and back at the building and it seemed like the world around him was starting to come to a head spin.
There were people crying, then the screams laced with blood, immersed in pain. 10, 20, 30 seconds, the shaking got stronger, more consistent; earth felt like jello now, buildings began to pancake over until they just crumbled like sand castles on Wahoo Bay.
At this point every structure around had leveled to dirt so Veniel would now be able to see for miles from coastline to mountain front if it wasn't for the fact the sky was thick with dust swallowed by a pillar of smoke. Why this, why us? The silent voices struck back.
These voices had seen the test of time and were hoarse now with bitterness. Since the beginning of time, Haiti as a nation had experienced unfathomable tragedy upon abuse, most recently Hurricane Hanna that ravaged the city of Gonaives, its damage worsened by the rampant deforestation spurred by demand of charcoal from the west. After the damage had been assessed, it was determined that the destruction had further decimated the indigenous farming industry that had once been its crown jewel.
The list of mishaps had no end, and it began way back when the Haitians stood up to Napoleon and the entire nation of France and demanded the end of colonial rule and withstood a battle that spanned 13 years during the turn of the 18th century.
it became painfully clear, that Haiti had just experienced a natural catastrophe unique in its long history of social economic tragedy. Many called for medical help that was virtually non-existent. There was no evidence of police or EMT anywhere.
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Betsy Wall |
So Veniel did what any caring person would do. He ran around the ruins, honing in to screams and started picking up rubble to get as many people out as he could. The other guests stuck around giving Veniel a hand.
But Veniel and company had other pressing concerns...
Down the road at Delmas 19, Betsy Wall and her daughter Alexis had just arrived from Canada two hours earlier with a bunch of aid workers, all excited about working in Haiti and all determined to make a difference during their two-week stay. Betsy, 57, the Executive Director for the Foundation for International Development Assistance, was just in Haiti three weeks ago and had been coming back and forth to Haiti for nearly 40 years. The humanitarian work started with Betsy's parents, Jack and Anne Wall from Ontario, Canada who sold most of their possessions and moved to Port-au-Prince in 1984 to help the poor It was indeed a bold sacrifice for the Walls who were both in their sixties at that time. Today, Betsy continues the family service dedicating her life by introducing technology and resources so that communities all over Haiti can overcome adversity and create self-sufficiency.
And today, the country would need Betsy's services in a more urgent way.
It was 4:30 PM. Being awake for over 12 hours, Betsy and Alexis were simply beat. Air Canada 950 had been delayed on the tarmac about 15 minutes due to an electrical light glitch. Upon retrieving their bags from Toussaint Louverture International, Betsy and her large entourage of aid workers worked their way through the cacophony of cars and bikes on Delmas to the inviting sanctuary and secure gates at Walls. The hotel was only 10 minutes from the airport and $35 a night also provided two meals, unlimited Culligan water, WiFi, a hot shower and close camaraderie amongst missionaries and aid workers from the US, Canada and Europe. This was a great deal in comparison to the higher prices of the Montana Hotel up the mountain towards Petionville.
After making her usual round of greetings with the hotel staff, Betsy decided to steal a quick nap before dinner. The team had a lot on the plates the next day. Little did they know they would not sleep again for 48 hours.
Meanwhile, other members of the team decided to take a dip in the pool and cool down with some cold refreshments. The succulent aroma lime chicken with rice and beans drifted up with the seaward breeze. A couple of Canadians enjoyed the pungent tang of the sea while relaxing on the rooftop balcony overlooking the pool.
In the kitchen, both Simerite and Marie Franse were cutting fresh papaya to serve to the guests.
Martine Garneau, a volunteer with Mission Corail Haiti who also flew in on the Air Canada flight that afternoon was in the pool relaxing with her fellow volunteers.
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Camil Perron |
A fly was flying around and wouldn't leave Martine alone. Mysteriously, he just fell and landed on her beer. Camil Perron being the gentleman that has always been his trademark offered to go into the kitchen to fetch another cold one. It was at that precise moment that the earthquake rocked the city bringing down the entire guesthouse.
Betsy was sound asleep when the walls came tumbling down. She was fortunate to get up the moment she heard the walls shake. Her instant thought was that a large truck had slammed into the pool wall. But then when walls and ceilings began crashing down, she dashed out with Alexis by her side.
They had made it just in the nick of time. Another fraction of a second and the entire main guest house had completely collapsed. Meanwhile the earthquake struck with such force that it completely emptied all the water from the pool. And when the main guest house came down, it collapsed on top of the kitchen.
It was the instant Camil had gone in to fetch a cold glass of beer and Simerite and Marie Franse were preparing the meal for the evening.
Betsy gathered the team to ascertain who was alive and who was trapped. Shortly after, Veniel and the group who had gone into town arrived.
Betsy was thankful that Veniel was safe and wanted to know where she could evacuate her guests to.
"The whole city has been destroyed," Veniel added. "We could take them to the Montana, but I'm not sure she's still standing."
Meanwhile Veniel and staff continued to work endlessly, chipping away at the rubble to rescue and recover the five that were missing.
I have never seen anything this painful. Not where I grew up onboard a 40-foot yacht sailing to remote parts of the Philippines, Malaysia, Indonesia. Not two years ago, on the hot, dusty streets of Kabul. Not last summer on my marathon train ride from Turkey, Romania, Hungary and Poland.
Shortly after I arrived at Walls, I met two missionaries: Marvin and Mickey. Marvin was older, subdued, balanced. Mickey was more outspoken, stocky, 6' 3" a former Marine who still looked it, if it wasn't for his long locks that rolled down to his shoulders.
They were brought in by Pastor Luc who had met Marvin and Mickey at the airport. For someone who had just experienced such a catastrophic loss, Pastor Luc carried a magnetic aura of serenity that surprised even his greater doubters.
"Nice to meet you Pastor Luc. It's a tremendous honor." Pastor Luc St Felix is a gentle, kind-hearted minister whose complete destruction of his three-story church not only affected his intermediate family but his entire church family.
As we stand next to the mountain rubble that used to be the 3-story Port-au-Prince Pentecostal church, we are forever touched by the tremendous attitude and amazing fortitude of his congregation.
One feisty jackhammer cranks away, smashing full-sized walls into a clump of bricks and large, jagged balls of concrete and rebar. But the main tool of the undertaking is not machine or automation but one rusted out wheelbarrow and a dozen shovels loading pile after pile of dirt and debris only to be dumped just 20 feet away.
Here at the church, everyone helps out. There is one lady wearing a night gown, a wide-brimmed hat and flip flops that had seen its last days, sometime last year. Initially, there appeared that there was little for her to do. Yet, she methodically bent over and grabbed whatever pieces of rubble she could carry. Here in Haiti, people of all ages claw away with their own hands the debris -- anything they could do to make a small difference. In the back, several ladies helped out, concocting a nice pot of bean soup and stew. They were cooking on a large stainless pot over charcoal and wood. Although, the cooks labored hard, I wouldn't define it as tasty -- I personally don't think I would eat it. But if my stomach was growling like theirs, anything that nourished my body was fine cuisine for me.
I even heard about the infamous Haiti mud cakes that have become the staple diet for many in the villages: mud mixed with salt, vegetable oil and maybe butter -- to stave off hunger. This practice was rampant a couple of years ago when food prices soared (due to higher oil prices). Tragically, Sadly, many Haitians thrive on only $2 per day. Eating dirt cannot be good for you. Soil is contaminated with viruses and bacteria, not to mention toxins. At worst, you could get poisoned. At best, it could lead to gastrointestinal problems or diarrhea.
Already the church is on the second round of debris removal -- which was positive news, considering that the debris had already piled over rooftops, jagged pieces of rebar, so flexible that you could easily bend it 90 degrees with a quick flip of the wrist.
"Pastor Luc, what do you need the most? Would you like a team from the US to come down and assist with debris removal?"
"Yes, that would be great. I have a team of 20 plus coming from Alabama tomorrow. Some will be doing medical work."
"But I also need money to rebuild and my people need tent and flip flops. Pastor Luc had lost several of his congregation to the earthquake -- a few were still buried in buildings.
But he would not lose hope. He would keep his faith that his church will be able to clean up and rebuild.
"After all, "The church was too small anyways. We don't need to just rebuild. We need to grow!"
Tomorrow, Pastor Luc will be heading up the mountains with Pastor Marvin and Mickey to visit three different villages. Some very remote, they are a stone's throw from the Dominican Republic. In the villages, Pastor Luc conducts a feeding program that feeds 43 village churches, 13 village schools and three village feeding programs where 500 children are fed twice a week. Pastor Luc provides three different feeding programs, church and school --something that is never taken for granted in this desolate country.
I wanted to tag along, but I would miss my flight home. My particular calling during my disproportionately short trip to Haiti had yet to be determined, but I slept all right cuz I knew God had a calling for me.
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