On January 12, 2010, as I headed to a rendezvous with some MINUSTAH staff members to discuss the possibility of expanding our collaboration, I learned that the meeting had been canceled. We had conducted a successful national awareness campaign on disability, and now we were thinking of organizing a follow-up activity with teachers, to help them gain some basic skills to accompany students with special needs.
Unfortunately, many of those expected in the meeting could not take part that day, so it would have to be rescheduled. I decided to have an impromptu discussion with some close collaborators in the Canapé-Vert area before I headed home.
After about two hours I told Yovens, my driver and assistant, that it was time to head home. On the way home, near Haiti’s international airport, at exactly 4:53 p.m., I suddenly felt the vehicle shaking. I thought it was a flat tire, or potentially some more serious issue. Yovens slowed down, preparing to stop and get out to examine the situation. Suddenly, we saw electrical poles shaking uncontrollably, as if they were kites being violently tossed by the wind. That was when I realized it was an earthquake. I promptly tried to reach out to my wife Rachelle to find out if she and our daughter Galia were safe.
I also tried reaching out to other family members and friends, but the phone networks were clogged. Not only were many people trying to make calls at the same time, but communication infrastructure was probably damaged. Yovens and I continued toward home, but by this time there was a huge traffic jam. We could see that this earthquake was a serious one, as victims were being carried away from walls that had collapsed.
Growing up in Haiti, we rarely thought about earthquakes. The only reference to one that I can recall was the 1842 earthquake that occurred in the northern part of Haiti, with its epicenter near the city of Cap-Haïtien. It caused significant loss of life, damaged buildings and infrastructure, and triggered a tsunami. Although we certainly knew that it could happen again, the possibility of one occurring seemed distant, not something we needed to worry about. Very few steps had been taken to protect us from a high-magnitude earthquake, such as drafting and enforcing a building code.
I do remember, however, that one time when I was in bed falling asleep, my bed trembled gently. Unable to move, I had promptly called my dad and expressed my concern that there might be someone hiding under my bed. He dismissed my fear, attributing it to my imagination. That night I kept a vigil, only half closing my eyes. The next day, to my surprise, it was in the news that there had been a slight tremor.
When I finally got home on January 12, everyone was safe and well, except for my dad. The headquarters of the construction company had collapsed and he was under the rubble, along with several of his associates and co-workers. Due to the magnitude of the earthquake and its aftershocks, no one felt comfortable going inside a house, so we ended up spending a lot of time in the yard and waiting for better news from the construction company. My dad managed to crawl out of the rubble. We felt relieved but, tragically, one of his associates, Guiteau, perished along with his wife, Colette, and other employees. They were longtime neighbors, and the news of their passing added a personal layer of sorrow to an overwhelming day.
I tried to listen to the news and to reach out to friends, to get a sense of what had happened and how serious the impact was. I was able to reach Dr. Péan, the secretary of state with the disability portfolio, and he told me that the main headquarters of his office had collapsed. I also spoke with my friend Joacyn, who told me that his daughter had been injured when a wall fell on her and was in extreme pain. She had apparently broken a leg, but medical services were not readily available.
As the day was ending, I opted to spend the night at my parents’ home. I felt that, in case of serious aftershocks, its light roof structure was unlikely to collapse. It wasn’t an easy decision, as many were traumatized. However, I knew that tomorrow would likely be a long day, and I needed to take some rest. An extensive workload loomed ahead.
This article is excerpted from a book that Gérald Oriol Jr. is writing about recent Haitian history, to be published by Blue Ear Books.
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