Haiti, Sadhana Forest

Haiti, Sadhana Forest

“I have standby tickets, I could get out of here today,” I thought, as I sat on the concrete floor of my hut at Grassroots United, a nonprofit in Port au Prince where I’d spent the night, which happens to be 10 minutes away from the airport. It was few days after New Year’s, and I was tired of Haiti. Tired of the chaos, tired of the heat, tired of the treacherous insanity of the roads. Tired of the pushing and shoving, of everything being crowded beyond capacity, tired of the dust that is everywhere. Tired of having to explain, in a language I barely understand, that I know the taptap costs 15 gourdes, not 250. Tired of feeling like an outsider, of not knowing how things are done or how to get what I need. Tired of everything being uncomfortable and difficult.

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Haiti, January 2012

Haiti, January 2012

When I left Léogâne in March, I can’t say I was optimistic about its future. Roads were still lined with rubble, the town square and the meridian of the main road were packed with makeshift shelters, and the task of rebuilding seemed too daunting to contemplate. The Haitian government was holding things like excavators and solar panels up for months in customs, waiting for bribes or wading through their own bureaucracy.

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