HAITI (in hebrew- i was there) - AND STILL AM

With time, things get different shape. Perhaps it can explain why I needed two weeks before I could sit down and write this account. Two weeks is not a long time, but now I see things more clearly than before, thus allowing me to reflect and describe the events, perhaps as they occur. It was six o’clock in the evening, like every day at that time. We were at home after another routine day in the embassy. I was leaning over my computer, trying to read the newspaper and catch up with whatever went on in Israel that day, many miles away. My wife, next to me, was reading a design magazine, slowly sipping her steaming tea. "Do you feel what I feel?" She asked, as if one could ignore the terrible jolt that gripped the entire building. Doors swung back and forth like mad, objects were flying hither and thither. More than five on the scale, I thought, as if I was some kind of an expert. "What do we do?" she asked. Depends, I replied. Usually, I explained, citing from years of practice from the time I lived in Tokyo, one should run to an open area, if there is enough time to do so before the building collapses over one’s head and buries him underneath. The other option would to hide under a table or a door frame while praying it will hold and be over with quickly, this would promise that even if the building collapses - you will have a comfortable nook to lay in for 2-3 days before the rescue team finds you.




It lasted 40 seconds. 40 seconds is a very long time. At that moment, I was not aware of the devastation. I got up, showered, dressed, put on my best tie, and prepared to leave for the opening of an exhibition that was planned for that evening at the French Cultural Center “Alliance Francis”. Upon arrival it was obvious that something has gone wrong. "The event is canceled due to the earthquake" announced the guard at the door, and at that moment my cell phone vibrated as if it felt the need to add a word. "Yes, yes this is the ambassador," I replied. On the other side an Israeli journalist advised me to take shelter in higher grounds as a possible tsunami, he said, was on its way to my whereabouts. I urged my driver to get away to a higher place and then quickly returned home. Only then I realized that the Center of the earthquake was Port Au Prince, the capital of Haiti. I could only imagine, knowing the poor quality of construction, what went on there, if we felt it so strong 350 km’ away. It must have claimed many lives, I thought, but even I couldn’t have imagined how many. All that night I could not sleep. I followed the reports, and spent the hours until dawn tracking local and international broadcasts in order to feed my Foreign Ministry. By the morning I had a clearer picture and was on my way to Haiti.



At noon I found myself sitting on a plane next to a television crew on a chartered flight. “What the hell are you doing on my plane?” asked the CBS reporter sitting next to me. “flying to Haiti" I replied and showed her my ticket before she throws me out of the plane. An hour later we landed at Port-au-Prince airport. No one was there to receive me. The terminal was abandoned. Its torn walls and devastated control tower told the story. The doors were locked and a crowed outside was trying to force its’ way inside, in an attempt to catch the first outbound plane.



The president of Haiti, Rene Prevall, was standing in the center of a crowd of reporters. He seemed fragile and tired. I approached him. He smiled in recognition. I expressed my sympathy and said that the government of Israel sent me to examine what kind of assistance will be the most effective, and asked him if he can spare me a policeman to accompany me on a short tour of the city. Usually when I arrive, there is a car waiting for me with a police escort, as protocol requires. However the new situation called for new rules. The President called his assistant and ordered him to assign an escort. The assistant whispered in my ear: "Sorry sir, but there are no policemen available as many of them perished in the catastrophe. Some are buried under the ruins and others probably went looking for family members. The president is not fully aware of the situation, but we cannot help you". The next day I found out that 50 to 80 percent of the force was destroyed.

The embassy's security officer who accompanied me urged me to turn back to the Dominican Republic, from where we just arrived. For a moment I felt lost. Then I saw my salvation. Next to a small airplane which started to unload food and medicine, I saw a friend of mine from the Dominican Republic who started who started a one man relief mission to Haiti. I explained my situation and he gave me a car and a driver who then took us on tour of the shuttered city.



It was scary. Thousands of people were moving quietly without direction. Moaning, wounded people where lying on the pavement or trailing slowly back and forth between debris and covered bodies. Miles of demolished homes or buildings stood in odd angles as if designed for a Hollywood blockbuster horror film. On Further though, I now see that Hollywood films are quite exact in their portrayal of real life and not vice versa. No rescue vehicles were seen on the street, no firefighters, no medical teams, no one to give a helping hand, be it Haitian or foreigner. We headed towards the home of my honorary consul Gilbert Bigio, a notable member of the business community, well known in government's quarters. He was the key to the success of our mission and we had to find his son Reuben, if we thought of using his company’s trucks and structure for our operation. We arrived at my consul’s residence. It used to be a beautiful compound with three houses, now only one stood intact, unharmed while the other two caved in to mother earth’s tremor. The guard at the gate told us that Gilbert is in Miami and that the family left due to the collapse of the houses, and are now somewhere in the mountains. There was no point to continue the search.



The night was about to engulf us. The city was dark and all electrical systems were out. We asked the driver to drive us to the nearest hotel. We headed to a guest house uphill the “Vila Creole” and as we entered the lobby, a terrible aftershock accompanied with frightening thunder made us flee from the building. A burst of cries came from the hundreds of people who were lying on the pavement. People dared not risk their lives entering those homes that stood the devastation. "Back to the airport" I ordered the driver. "Today we are going to sleep on the runway" I told my security officer, who stated that something must be very wrong with me and I better see a psychiatrist as soon as possible. I instead was more worried of the “swarm of mosquitoes” who were preparing themselves to feast upon me. I forgot to mention that in the absence of planning and time, hours earlier I left my home with a small suitcase, which I packed totally absentmindedly still believing in the old order and in the ability to find all services if I only pay for them. I do not know now why I thought that hotels, experiencing an earthquake of 7.3 on the Richter scale, would be capable to go on standing, as if nothing happened, and continue to provide the same level of service for an appropriate fee.



As I was staring at the mosquitoes hovering around the car, and wondering about the sleepless night that awaits us, I tried to remember what drove me to choose this career, it dawned on to suggest that we ask for political asylum in the U.S. embassy. After a short call to the U.S. Embassy in Santo Domingo, we were ushered to the lobby of our nightly sanctuary where we were given two stools to comfort us for the night. In an attempt to justify the poor hospitality, I can point out two facts: First, they provided us with rations of the army, and under the circumstances, It was one of the best gourmet meals we ate, I ate with such an appetite, even if its’ packing date was a century ago. Second, the embassy has become one big refugee camp, packed with wounded people waiting to be evacuated back to safety. The D.C.M. apologized and explained that this is the best they can do to accommodate us. Considering the alternative, it was the best hotel ever.



At three o’clock in the morning, my foggy mind had an idea. I called the Marine guard and asked him to notify the chief of U.S. search & rescue operations and that I wish to see him in order to coordinate the arrival of the Israeli hospital. I introduced myself to the lady officer and mentioned that I am the “spearhead” of the State of Israel “SAR” team to Haiti and I wish to learn about what was happening in the city, in order to facilitate the decisions we are about to make regarding the deployment of our forces. We were welcomed into the inner sanctuary – the embassy cafeteria, where we stretched ourselves on the floor, not before drinking hot tea and meeting the Ambassador of Spain, who was slightly injured when his house collapsed on him. The officer, promised to be back first thing in the morning to brief us, but we had plunged into a deep sleep and did not hear the end of the sentence. That night I had a revelation: only those who slept on a chair can appreciate the sweet pleasure of sleeping on the floor. I wanted to comfort my security officer and to reassure him by a promise of a better tomorrow, but he has already escaped this reality to the dream world.



To be continued.