We Fly Into Port-au-Prince

12 May, 2010

The flight into Port-au-Prince told the story of Haiti: The land was almost uniformly brown and dry-looking. Then my seatmate pointed toward the horizon: "Look over there; that's the DR." The Dominican Republic, below the puffy clouds, was lush and deep green. The contrast was stunning. While The DR was verdant, Haiti had been clear cut.

As we soared above the big bay that divides the two clutching arms of Haiti we could see lots of buildings in Port-au-Prince, the capitol. At first it looked like a normal developing world city, with dense low structures, mostly the color of unpainted concrete, dusty roads, and a few green patches. But as we continued our descent there was a sudden shock--in scrubby fields flanking the runway were big splashes of bright blue, glinting in the sun: tarps of the enormous tent cities. The tarps were stitched together in tight squares and triangles, like crazy facets of a giant gemstone. It was hard to imagine that thousands of people were were living beneath them.