But I am in Port au Prince, Haiti, on this particular Saturday morning. From where I am sitting on the sofa, drinking my coffee, looking out the window at the mountain that stretches up toward the summer hazy blue sky, it feels amazingly similar to a summer Saturday morning in Alabama.
But when I stand up, I see the difference. From the window the piles of concrete rubble that were formerly concrete blocks become visible, outlined by blue tarps and rows of tents, stretching for miles and miles all across the city, all across this part of the country. I don't like to imagine what will happen when the heavy rains of hurricane season come. The tent cities and the makeshift lean-to shelters use every bit of available open space. The paths that criss-cross these densely populated temporary suburbs are barren of vegetation. Just packed dirt that with a heavy rain will become a huge mess. And help does not seem to be on the way any time soon. There are an estimated 650,000 people still displaced. Most of them are back in Port au Prince, with no permanent shelter.
More on all that later.
Many Americans talk about how open, loving and inappropriately happy the Haitian people are, even now, after the earthquake, and how different that is from us. They often express that they wish we Americans could be more like the Haitians.
But for me it's different.
For me it's just another way it's sort of like Saturday morning in Alabama.
.
No comments :
Post a Comment