I am glad circumstances cause me to land in Port-au-Prince instead of Cap Haitian. Our flight made up of Brazilian UN forces going to help, Haitians returning home, 10 Christians from the South with lemon-yellow shirts that read, "Hope for Haiti--Rock Missions," and wealthy individuals starting their summer cruise in the citadel near Cap Haitian was quiet when we started our decent.
We saw it--the earth has shaken.
There is a tear in the ground near the landing strip (piste)--it looks like giant hands dug their fingers into the dirt and pulled the ground apart the way you pull apart a dinner roll.
There are massive cement buildings collapsed into rubble.
There are 18-wheeler trucks folded in on themselves and wedged into the ground. There are rows and rows of tents, make-shift cardboard houses, and outdoor fireplaces.
There is burning trash.
The French man laughing to a fellow passenger about the idea of "decentralization" let his face glass to flat contemplation.
The Haitian woman sitting next to me, bit her lower lip and squinted to squeeze tears back. She crossed herself and prayed.
The Latino couple across the asile stopped laughing at each other's tickles and replaced there intense eye bridge with laser focus on what was outside the airplane window.
I am glad we walked out into the crowds waiting for us outside the gates to the Port-au-Prince airport. Hands reached for my luggage, saying, "Madame! Let me help you!"
"You cannot carry this yourself?"
"Need a taxi?"
"How would you like some nice food? You are hungry?"
Eyes stung my soul.
We forged our way through arms reaching away from emmaciated bodies toward promise. We fit all 8 of our bodies and our 18 bags into our "bus" (a 5-seat mini-SUV). As we drove away, hands grabbed into our windows and eyes beged.
Just then, Chritian started to joke with the other passengers in Creole. He said his stomach was screeming for sugar cane and mango juice.
Everyone laughed loudly.
We laughed at the absurdity of feeling hungary after Port-au-Prince begged us and offered to work for our money. We laughed because we needed to release the elastic stretch of our insides to bounce. We laughed becuase it was healthy. I laughed because I was squished into sitting on top of a man who, instead of smoothly coasting into his cruise starting point, landed into devastation to have his clothes tugged by pleas and offers. I laughed instead of feeling guilty for not having given something. I laughed because I was exstatic to be in the stench of burning garbage, in dust, in my sweat drops, in sticky clothes, in a crowded car hopping sidewalk to get around arbitrary traffic, in the intensity of the 11pm sun's kiss, in eight year old eyes watching wealth from the street corner, in the mountains sprouting emrald green leaves--in Haiti.
