In a place like Haiti and a time like this you see sights that have the ability to move you to tears, sights that make you laugh and others that leave you nonplussed. Today has been a day that has travelled the spectrum.The day began with a tour of Place de la Paix IDP camp. (This is the IDP camp that The Salvation Army is managing that provides shelter and security for approximately 20,000 people in Port au Prince.) It takes about half an hour to walk the circumference of the camp (if you don't get stopped too often) and on the way you might see:
- An amazingly well stocked tarpaulin and tin shop that sells all kinds of things: medical pills of all colours and sizes; tins of Jack Mackerel and condensed milk, televisions, pregnancy pottery, rice, salt, grains, beans, fried dried fish and so much more
- Two UNICEF child safe tents, one with rows of little smiling children copying the words of a teacher who is instructing by use of a mega phone, the second tent with teenagers dancing to Celine Dion and Amazing Grace
- Children playing in the dirty, smelly water - the older one pushing a small suitcase on wheels with a younger brother sitting in the half unzipped case
- Women sitting on the ground with large metal basins full of soapy water washing clothes until they are spotless
- Young girls doing each others hair
- Food cooking on small charcoal fires: deep fried fish and other unidentifiable delicacies
- Little children chasing us, holding our hands and feeling your arm to see if the white comes off, and what all the hair is doing on your arms. Then trying to lift up your pants legs to see if you are the same colour down there (only to find socks that hide the skin)
- Children racing to see us and shouting the ubiquitous greeting: "Hey you!"
- Older people greeting you and saying: "Welcome Home"
All of this within the context of about 3,500 shelters of varying construction: plastic sheeting, tin, wood, cardboard; on an area the size of a soccer field (which it was: the goal posts have become the stabilisers for a lucky few). A wide, mostly stagnant, canal runs parallel and carries away some of the sewerage.
And in amongst all of this, even as your mind is trying to make sense of the myriad informants - the smells, the sights, the sounds - and convinces itself that in any normal world this whole experience is offensive, a young man walks confidently into the frame, obviously dolled up with hair slick, clothes smart, small bag hanging off one arm and a beautiful, brightly coloured, sweetly smelling bouquet of flowers carefully protected in the other. What could his story be: is he courting one of the young girls up the next corridor getting her hair done, or is he visiting a relative who has lost family?
Even now, just over six months after the earthquake, an average of 12 bodies are recovered each day. As I drove past a wall in town this morning, I saw some amazingly beautiful graffiti on a broken wall. It was a relief map of Haiti; but look closely and buried in the colours that form a mountain range are two eyes from which two tears are falling. Alongside the map, the words: "We Still Need YOUR Help".
