After checking into our hotel, unpacking and beginning to plan our next itinerary, a not uncommon late afternoon rainstorm struck, often in heavy deluges, which led us to ask ourselves, "How badly are the myriad tent cties in and around Port-au-Prince being impacted by these heavy downpours?" We had already seen how flimsily strung together, not to mention thin many of the famous "blue tarp tents" were, so our concern and curiosity eventually led us to grab our raingear and drive off to the nearest tent city, Champs de Mars (Field of Mars) an area right next to the White House (the Presidential Palace).
It was already dark and still raining when we parked our car on the sidewalk at a big intersection that fell below the large and imposing statue of Haitian revolutionary leader Henri Christophe. Surrounding the statue and extending back for blocks in haphazard and chaoticmanner was row after row of strung, tied, taped, sown or otherwise joined together tents and shelters.
As soon as Andre began to explain to the suddenly curious citizens of Champs de Mars why we were there, both Georgianne and myself suddenlyfound ourselves each being grabbed by the wrist by competing parents, all of whom wanted us to see the kind of living conditions they and their families were endurng in the rain, or even in the sunlight for that matter. The first few tents I entered rather shocked me, the floors made of dirt now transforming to mud, usually at least several children trying to sleep, if they were lucky, on a hopefully dry mattress, some even on the floor, while their parents moved about trying to deflect water, each small space crowded with cooking utensilsand buckets, some to catch the rainwater, others to hold drinking water, as well as clothing, boxes and various and sundry other personal items.
The only lights permeating this sea of tarps, blankets and plastic were those from high and powerful street floodlights externally, while internally, either dimly glowing bulbs hooked up to car batteries or small candles provided any kind of luminance. And what little light there was revealed, in the larger picture, a country still living close to the edge of the precipice, still walking a tightrope between social collapse and survival some four months after the horrific earthquake of January 12th struck, as you will see in these photos.
The point where we would enter the Champs de Mars tent city during the day:
That same point on the evening of April 10th as it poured down rain:
Some of the tarp "walls" creating this tent city:
An elderly Haitian woman concerned with the leaking tarps all around her:
Inside one tent, a man and a woman try to stay warm and dry:
Buckets are used both to catch the rainwater as best they can and hold what becomes family drinking water. Rain in this instance is leaking right on this family bed.
Closeup of rain drops across the ceiling tarp in a tent:
The floors are made of dirt, so dripping rain will produce this inside a tent, and all you can do is thwow something over it if you can:
This tottler moves around while a bucket catches water an arms length away on his bed.
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