Safe arrival

Today at about 12pm, I arrived in Port-au-Prince. The heat and humidity hit me with certain familiarity (maybe from being in Australia in the fall?). There were musicians playing their instruments and colourfully singing on and on while we waited to get on the bus that would take us through the Haitian customs. Out on the airstrip there were soldiers from a country I couldn't pin down, and U.S. Army planes taking off and helicopters landing with supplies to unload... The airport didn't have any signs of the destruction that I was soon to witness.

I picked up my bags which were miraculously totally intact despite having been searched (thank you to U.S. customs for leaving me the little 'note'). My 'team' picked me up, and I got so incredibly excited seeing my little name on a little sign with 'Bumi Sehat' written underneath! We piled into the hot car and started our journey into Port-au-Prince. All I could think to myself was 'this is worse than Zambia'. And if you would have asked me when I got home from Africa if I felt that things could get worse somewhere, I probably would have given you a definitive no. The similarities were there - women and men selling their items on the street - cd's, dvd's, fruits, clothing, water bottles. Every time the car stopped someone would walk up and try to sell us something. The difference though is that here in Haiti, the streets were in shambles. The air was thick with dust, the piles of rubble were EVERYWHERE. The palace lies toppled over to one side, an amazing site. Everywhere there are NGO's putting up tents, clearing rubble, working in the hospitals and tent clinics. I kept remembering that 250 000 people had been killed when the disaster struck, including one team member's good friend - an artist who made it out of the museum but went back in to get her laptop and was killed. He himself had a block of cement land on his leg, but he managed to heal and described his experience of bonding together with so many of the other people who were left homeless and in despair after the earthquake.

The road to Jacmel was 2.5 hours in the heat and sun along a windy mountain road. We could see the beautiful ocean and some areas of lush brush, which didn't seem to fit in with the little tent villages we ran into along the way and the constant piles of rubble that lines the roads, where houses and businesses once stood. I kept falling asleep and getting jolted awake by giant potholes. The volunteer housing is beautiful - a big pink building on the main road. I haven't been to the birth centre dome yet, but tomorrow is the first day. Tomorrow will be a prenatal class about the third trimester and signs of labour. Then a children's clinic where I will attempt to diagnose health concerns in kids over 6 weeks of age (Oh my gosh, so out of my comfort zone!!). I guess I'll do my best.

I have met my lovely co-workers - 4 other midwives from Canada and the U.S. We have awesome house helpers as well, one 15-year old named Rousseau who is planning to teach me labour words in French. I happened to fall upon this group just as they went through a huge tragedy today - losing a baby to GBS infection. The mother was 18 and lost her partner in the earthquake. He died of DIC, a bleeding disorder where the blood can't clot and results from infection. A very heavy day to arrive, but as they all informed me, this is what it means to work in this birthing centre in Haiti.

I will send another update soon.