I just recently returned from a relief and humanitarian aid trip to Haiti. I wrote this story for several reasons. One is to document the dire circumstances caused by the earthquake on January 12, 2010. Another is that people need to know what is seen and felt by the relief workers who volunteer their time, efforts, and skills to come to ravaged areas to help. And, I wrote it as a way to hopefully relieve some of the thoughts, feelings, and images that are too often kept bottled up inside of us. I know all too well what happens to people when they keep these images and thoughts bottled up inside.

WARNING: Some of the photos at the end of the article may contain graphic and disturbing images. I have tried to not include the most graphic and horrific photos that show more of the reality of what has happened there.

I left on a chartered flight from Miami to Port au Prince. We left about an hour and a half late, getting into Haiti after midnight. Flying into the airport seemed so different. I am used to looking over a city at night and seeing all the lights as the plane prepares to land. Not here. Other than an occasional light somewhere, everything was dark.

I arrived with about 60 other volunteers. It is obvious we were all nervous and excited, and not sure of what lay ahead. This is in such contrast to what you usually see with a group of doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals. As we unload from the plane directly onto the tarmac, the air is hot and stale. There are a few soldiers walking about. It is strangely dark on the tarmac. The airport terminal building is also dark. There are cracks and large chunks missing from the side of the building. The control tower leans slightly and there are no windows. The buildings are eerily empty. Other than the smell of airplane fuel, there is that distinctive odor that is so reminiscent of disaster zones. The air is extremely heavy with dust and dirt. As we try to adjust, many of us choke or cough some as we try to breathe this thick, pungent air.

We got our first real feel of this trip being different when we found that we had to unload the jet ourselves. What? No baggage people, no airport or airline employees to even unload the jet? So up into the belly of the jet a few of us go and start passing out the bags and supplies. It is no wonder my luggage always looks so rough at the airport after a flight. Crawling around, I feel like I should be arrested for climbing around inside the belly of a jet. No one gripes or grumbles. We all try to help each other in the dark find our bags, clothes, and supplies we brought.

Two large stake side trucks pull up out of the dark and three Haitian men, without a word, start tossing bags into the back of the trucks. I sure hope they are here to help us. We are then all motioned to load up in the back of the trucks on top of the luggage. Off we go into the dark. Now, we are really hoping they are here to help us. After about a ten minute ride in an unknown dark and dusty land, we pull up to an area of lights and a few large size circus style tents. Thank goodness there is a sign here that says "Hospital." A huge 60 person sigh lets out. We climb out and our bags are placed on the ground. The trucks drive off.

Here the familiar smells of death and destruction are much more prevalent. A couple of people greet us and show us where some cots are in the largest tent. Be quite, people are sleeping, they say. Find an empty cot. See you at 6 AM. Off they go, probably back to sleep. It is now close to 1:15 am. This is going to be a short night. I think most of us are too wound up to sleep. We don’t know anything yet of what is going on. We all stumble around in the dark, bumping our shins, kicking the cots where people are trying to sleep, and falling over stuff. The grumbles and mutterings are coming from both us and the exhausted people trying to sleep. We have made a great first impression.

6 AM comes really way too soon. There is some slightly warm water someone called coffee. It looks more like a very weak spot of tea. But it pretty good at this point. I was fortunate. I managed to get a total of 9 cups of this out of 11 days. There are now about 125 people milling about and we are given our assignments. Off to work we go. Surgery, Pediatrics, Adult Care, and an Emergency Room that is just a canopy, already full of people seeking help.

The horrific sights and sounds begin. Lord, please help us to do your will and help these people.

I went there for what was originally planned to be a 2 - 4 week disaster relief / aid trip after the 7.0 earthquake on January 12, 2010. I have seen a lot in my years, but I found that I too became overwhelmed with the amount of death, pain, and destruction that has affected this wonderful country. Here, you can not drive a few blocks or even several miles and be back in an unaffected area like in many previous disaster areas. This entire part of the country is devastated, including all government operations.

After 11 days, I realized that I must break away for a short time. What I have seen and been a part of in the last 11 days has embedded memories and images that will be with me forever. While I have somewhere to go and family to come home to, these people have nothing. Rich, poor, young, and old are all affected the same. The earthquake did not discriminate between social-economic groups. Roughly 30 seconds and millions of people have lost so much, if not everything. Over 220,000 have died.

The bodies in the streets, the body parts in the rubble. It is there on each and every block. If you do not immediately see it, it is there. The odors reach you well before you see the bodies. The horrific sights and smell of decaying bodies rises from the fallen ruins. The flies are rampant around the ruins where the bodies are. Again, from the very young infants to the older adults, they are there. Death has placed its grasp on them all. You try to cover your face to the smells, but it is too strong. You choke, you gag. You cannot cover this much smell of death. It is futile, but you try.

I walk among the ruins of what was once a seven story hospital where dozens, upon dozens of people died and most are still buried or partially buried in the debris. It is now only flat broken concrete slabs, one on top of the other. It is hard to imagine this was once somewhere that held hospital beds, equipment, and yes, all of the doctors, nurses, medical personnel that worked here and those people that had came here seeking help and care. There in the rubble lies a small child’s dust covered green and white striped plastic purse. A black and torn little girl’s shoe lies nearby. It is too much for me. I must leave as my eyes begin to water. No, actually I begin to cry knowing that this child is probably still in the rubble. I try to stop myself from wondering if that part of a small body I just saw in the rubble was her. How many others are still in this rubble?

I made a vow that I would come here to help the people, but also that I would document for all time what happened and is still going on. We must use what we see, to help and to learn to deal with future disasters better.

Later, I find myself walking again among more rubble to document what has happened here. This time I am at one of the Universities. There is so much death that is still visible here that I cannot even speak of it yet. The least of what I see here are a crushed school desk, open books, and parts of blood stained, torn clothing. This story can be told at countless locations throughout this part of Haiti. I leave this area too. I need to clear my mind somehow. How do I comprehend what I have just seen? Death is literally reaching out from the rubble everywhere.

The Haitian people still gather around a body or parts as it is removed from the rubble, as if to try and pay some last respect to the dead. The dignity of death and burial as we know it does not exist in such a disaster as this. Possibly a sheet, a piece of cardboard, a piece of tin, or some other covering may be placed over the body or part until it is removed by some means. From there, it will make its last trip to some mass grave or possibly burned right in the street, placed on top of burning tires if there is no way to take the remains away soon. It is not that these people don't care; there are simply no other options left here for the proper burial of the dead. They want to bury and honor their dead, but they can not. The devastation and shear numbers of dead makes it impossible. This will bother these people for the rest of their lives. It is estimated that at least 220,000 people have died here so far. That number will rise as time goes on.

There are no records of the dead, no photos for families to confirm their love ones have died. No one will ever know exactly how many or whom has died. I cannot imagine not ever knowing if your child, your sister, bother, Mother, Father, or spouse was ever removed from the rubble or were they lost in the ruins forever. This is not the way death should be.

The several million people who lived through the earthquake now live on any open spot of ground they can find. There are countless “tent” cities everywhere. “Tent City” is a gross exaggeration. Most are not actually tents at all, but consist of pieces of cardboard, a bed sheet, or if they are fortunate, they have a tarp or piece of plastic of some sort. There are hundreds of thousands of people across the area that are living side by side separated by only a sheet tied to a stick. What will these people do when the rains and storms start? They can not or are afraid to go back into the ruins to sleep. It is not safe. They may collapse at anytime.

There is no such thing as privacy. Restrooms consist of a crushed car left by the side of the road, a pile of rubble to stand or squat behind, and often, other people just block the view of passer-bys. Men and women, young and old, remove their clothes, and stand wherever they can, to try and wipe or wash away some of the constant drifting dirt and smells. Privacy and vanity is lost and non-existent anymore here.

Four weeks later and there are still people starving and dying in the streets. Some food lines are 8 - 9 hours long. People stand in lines, in the sun, and 90 + degree heat. After getting their food, some must start all over again for the next meal. Why after 3 and 4 weeks, is this still happening? Why can’t something more be done to provide food in a timelier manner?

How can these people ever begin to help themselves when they stand in line for hours and hours on end, day in and day out just to get a bite to eat? Thankfully, water is now more readily available than the food.

This is not living. There are over a million people here that are only existing and just trying to survive. But, of all people, the Haitians will persevere.

I worked mostly at one of the larger field hospitals in Port au Prince. The surgeries and much of the work borders on primitive and what is known as live saving field surgeries and treatments. Slowly, it is getting better as more equipment, medicines, and supplies, come in. Throughout this area, there are countless people that are injured in some manner. From crushed, broken bones, amputations literally by the thousands, cuts, lacerations, to every other kind of injury you can imagine. Babies are being born literally in the street. People are dying from lack of treatment, medications, and delays in treatment of thier injuries.

There are hundreds of caring doctors, nurses, and various healthcare workers volunteering throughout the area. Most are on about a 5 - 6 day rotation from the United States because of what they are subjected to day in and day out. Also, most must go back to their regular jobs. They volunteer and take their regular days off and vacation time to come here to help. These are people who truly care for their fellow man. The sights and sounds are disturbing to everyone. Yet, they continue to come so they can help. I worry how many will deal with what they have seen and been a part of. The images and sounds of here are forever burned in your mind. Death is often a hard thing to deal with, but how do you deal with it when you see it to this degree every day? Even on a normal 5 day trip here, most will see more hurt, pain, suffering, and death than they may ever see in their entire careers.

A baby is born premature, only to die for a lack of available, proper medical facilities. MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) are heated to try and provide some necessary warmth for the baby. A child is brought to the hospital as a new orphan. Everyone bonds to these children and naturally the children bond with us. Then we have to leave them behind as we go back to our homes. Adults and children have horrific injuries and amputations, their lives changed forever. Many die from emergency medical care not being more available. Your heart constantly aches for the people.

People come to the field hospital seemingly oblivious to what is happening around them or to them. Has this disaster sent them out of their normal senses? You wonder what has pushed them to this point. Is it the earthquake? It is maybe the loss of a loved one or their child crushed to death next to them in the fallen ruins of their house? What pushes a mind to this point? Maybe we really don’t want to know after all. Is this possibly the one more memory that may take us to this point also?

We all try to hide our feelings and show how strong we are. But, it is no wonder you will sometimes find the nurses, doctors, and other healthcare workers alone, head in their hands. Sometimes they are weeping, sometimes they are crying, some are physically sick, some are just walking around alone. Others are seen with blank stares, looking off into the unknown where we don’t want our minds to go, but we can’t stop it. The images are there while we are working and they are especially there when we close our eyes and try to find a few minutes of peaceful and elusive sleep. Sometimes, late at night while others sleep, you will hear the quiet crying of a nurse or a doctor somewhere in the large tent we all share. The cries of pain and agony will often drift down our way from patients in the hospital tents directly next to us. I am glad I have brought some earplugs. I only wish they would stay in and shut out more of the sounds. It is no wonder we are all so quickly worn down both physically and mentally. Yet, we will all get up the next morning and gladly go back to work doing what we are here for. The people here need our help and we need to help them. That is why we have come here.

There are also some good stories that come out of such a disaster. Many new acquaintances and friends are made when you work this close with people. I met some great and caring nurses, doctors, and other medical personnel. There are local Haitians who have come to volunteer at the field hospital to help their fellow Haitians in their time of need.

On my second day, I noticed a young man, maybe 20, who for some reason took up with me. He seemed to always be around everywhere I went. His name is Denlon. What a wonderful young man. In his broken English and with tears in his eyes, he told me of how he lost his Father in the earthquake and his Mother lived on the far end of the country. He had no way to go check on her or contact her. He does not know what or if anything happened to her. He had nothing left here in Port au Prince and no one but a few other young guys he met who also did some work around the hospital. We instantly bonded. By day three, he took me aside and advised me that he adopted me. I did not need to adopt him, he adopted me. He hugged me tightly, then clasped his hands together and said with a huge smile; “My Father.” My heart melted. Everyday we were side by side on most everything. Anything that needed to be done, he tried to do it himself. He did not want me to do it. I think he was trying to protect me and keep me from harm. He introduced me to all his new friends. Somehow in a matter of days I managed to become a new "Father" to one, with another six great young men added in that were always with me. I have some wonderful pictures and memories I will always cherish. I have been Blessed beyond measure.

The doctors, nurses, and medical people try to find a way to laugh every chance we can, so maybe we will have a few moments of normalcy. We are all thankful for the United Nations compound near the field hospital. If we have the energy after working for 12 – 14 hours, we drag each other there to try and find a quasi-normal setting. A greasy burger, french fries, something resembling bbq chicken is a welcome change to a MRE (Meals Ready to Eat), crackers, or a power bar. Here, we can sometimes find some laughter, share a good story, or find something back home to talk about. Our minds for this short time are given a release from the reality of what we are seeing and doing everyday. It is amazing what an hour or two of trying to relax will do for us. We leave here with a renewed sense of power and ability to face another day. We are here to help the people and we will.

The Haitians are wonderful, extremely caring, and a strong, resilient people. Contrary to what many think or have heard, this is not a land full of voodoo and evil spirits. This is a country of God loving, worshipping, and praying people. Churches are around so many areas of the cities. Although collapsed and the smell of death rises from the ruins, the people gather near the church ruins.

They are like me; there is a great sense of comfort just being near a church. Lord knows, I need it now as much as ever.

Everywhere you go, people are seen and heard praying and calling out to God for help. They do not keep their belief in God silent or contained while in public. They cry out to God wherever they may be, seeking help and thanking Him for their lives, the lives of others who survived, and for the souls of those who died. It is obvious that their Faith remains strong through all the tragedy.

The Haitians are also a grateful and somehow, with all they have been through, a happy people. A simple smile to them and their eyes brighten and they return a huge smile. Yes, a smile is universal, even to these people who have lost everything they owned. I never came across any of them who acted or spoke like they deserved anything. They did not complain of not being taken care of. When they were given anything, no matter how small, whether it was food, water, candy, or even just a band aid, their eyes gleamed and they thanked us tremendously.

The only actions I saw that even slightly resembled, at first, that they were not acting in a normal manner was when they were literally starving. They wanted and needed food to survive for themselves and their families. They wanted a candle to see with at night. There were no flashlights and no power. They only tried to take what was necessary to live. They were not taking anything else. How can anyone blame them for this? Would we each not do the same thing if our family was starving?

I was never leery, worried, or scared anywhere I went and I went to some very remote and rough looking areas. Appearance wise, it was obvious I was very out of place in their country. It did not bother them and it did not bother me. Everywhere I went, either driving or walking by myself, I was greeted with a nod, a smile, or someone reaching out to say thank you and shake my hand. Was I possibly a little too carefree in my travels? Maybe, but I felt protected and I felt safe.

I knew when it came time for me to leave this country, that I would return to try and somehow help them some more. I told my new “son” Denlon that I was leaving. We both looked at each other with tears in our eyes. We hugged and we each turned and walked away. There were no words spoken. We did not need words. Each other’s looks and actions said all that needed to be said.

The men, women, children, young, and old came up to me as I told them I was leaving for the airport. They came with smiles, some with tears running down their faces, some holding on to me. They all had the same plea and outpouring of thanks. “Thank you for coming here.”, “Please come back.”, “We need your help.”, “Please help the people of Haiti.”
As I start driving away, they are all waving.

Now, with the tears pouring from my eyes, I promise them. “I am coming back.”


Dennis Sherrod
February 2010

                                           Delon and Jean David                                                                      One of hundreds of "Tent Cities"

                                              Children of a "Tent City"                                                                  Woman washing clothes at her "house"

                   People gather solemnly around a body removed from the rubble.                                Orphan living on the streets alone.

                                    Digging through the rubble                                                                              Another Victim

                                          Remains trapped in the rubble                                                               A child's purse in the rubble

Through it all, Christ still stands steadfast and strong.