PORT-AU-PRINCE
Not to Be Forgotten

The haiti Gamble Three Years Later
The island is still on its knees, between Hurricane Sandy and epidemics. And while international attention and funding dwindle, gang violence is on the rise. Sister MARCELLA CATOZZA, who has been in Haiti for seven years, talks about life in the shanty towns, from which many NGOs are departing. But there are some who remain, for a greater purpose: “To bring Christ and the Church”–because if the people are afraid of being abandoned, it’s not because they’ll lose a plate of rice…

by Paola Bergamini

It takes two and a half hours, at 5:30 in the morning, to go five miles by car. In the streets, the continual passage of trucks opens craters that bring traffic to a sudden standstill. As a protest, barricades of flaming tires spring up. And at that point, no one is going anywhere. In the lineup of cars, it takes little or nothing for pistols to start appearing in the hands of angry drivers. This is Port-au-Prince, the capital of Haiti, today, three years after that January 12th during which the magnitude-7 earthquake devastated the Caribbean island. It was a catastrophe for that country, which is among the poorest in the world: 220,000 dead, and more than 300,000 wounded. Most of the buildings collapsed, including the presidential palace and the cathedral. The homeless numbered 1,300,000.
In November, Hurricane Sandy brought Haiti to its knees again. More than 18 inches of rain fell on the island in less than 24 hours, flooding the shanty towns in the cities and destroying 70% of the harvest. There were 54 deaths, but the real emergency was the outbreak of cholera. There were no outlets for water drainage from the shacks, and the stagnating water caused the epidemic to worsen. The situation, therefore, is still a state of total emergency. “It is worse than before the earthquake. We live in a climate of absolute violence and chaos,” explains Sister Marcella Catozza, a Franciscan missionary who has been in Haiti for seven years.
Every day, she, Maria, and Valentina, two Franciscan lay missionaries, leave their home in the “secure” area of the capital and travel those five miles at dawn in order to reach the outskirts of the city, to Waf Jeremie, the largest and most violent of the shanty towns, also known as the “dump of dumps.” In this immense sea of shacks, they run a pediatric clinic with a delivery room, an emergency room that is open to all, a daycare, and a school, where 450 children have lessons in the morning and play sports in the afternoon, with the certainty of eating two meals (not to be taken for granted in Waf Jeremie).

Armed gangs. Before the earthquake, there were 70,000 official inhabitants in the shacks; today, according to the police, the actual number is somewhere around 300,000. What happened? “Given all the aid that came to the island, the government, in order to signal to the West that reconstruction is underway, tried to ‘empty’ the tent cities set up for the earthquake victims.” Each displaced person who handed in his tent was given a sum of money that was sufficient to buy a little food. Near the airport, where one of the largest tent cities was located, there is now a field on which is written, “Welcome to Haiti.” Where did the people go? Since their houses had not been rebuilt, the only possibility was the shanty town. The population on that strip of land grew exponentially.
But the most frightening thing is the violence. Sister Marcella continues, “There have always been armed gangs, as a real political force that supported one dictator or another. After the earthquake, in part because they were affected by it, too, and in part because of the arrival of international aid in the form of money and people, they stood by and watched. In Waf Jeremie, we had an agreement with the head of the gang, who respected us. Today, there are four gangs who try to divide up the territory. An agreement is impossible, because the island’s situation has degenerated.”
In fact, the attention paid to Haiti is diminishing, as are the finances. The emergency NGOs have left, but the crisis and, therefore, the lack of funds, has drastically reduced even the number of development NGOs, which ran medium- and long-term reconstruction projects. Thus, there is also a shortage of daily, cash-paying jobs–like unloading rice trucks or street cleaning–which are the real source of the population’s livelihood. “Unfortunately, many organizations that arrived in 2010 only carried out distribution programs. These were fundamental at the beginning, but then there were no reconstruction projects over time. In fact, the only organizations that remain are those that, like us or AVSI, were already here before the earthquake.” The people found themselves without work, and hungry. In the nutritional center, Sister Marcella keeps an eye on cases of children who are malnourished to a degree that she has not seen in a long time. In the shanty towns, but also in the cities, anger is growing over broken promises, because everything seems to disappear.
One morning, before Christmas, a car arrived at the clinic, sent by an NGO and full of food to distribute to the people who had obtained a ticket the day before. Along the way, the drivers stole more than half of the food, and the people who showed up for the distribution were twice the expected number. The head of one of the gangs arrived, and set the sacks of rice on fire. A brawl immediately broke out, with pistols and knives. The emergency room took in the wounded who were left there on the ground. The police intervened, carrying out the umpteenth roundup. “This is only a recent example of many similar events that happen. And then there is the problem of kidnapping, which is becoming more and more serious. Every day, there are new stories about it in the newspaper,” says the Franciscan nun. The gangs even enter the schools, kidnapping children in order to demand a ransom. But it also happens to those who hold positions of responsibility–doctors, engineers, professors. Sometimes they disappear completely, even after the ransom has been paid. When they are not kidnapping, the bandits often force the NGOs and other organizations to hire people on their orders. They demand payment for everything.
They have asked Sister Marcella for bribes, too, and have tried to impose their men on her as workers. But she has no money to give: whatever arrives from Italian friends or from Providence is used to pay the doctors and professors, buy medicine, and feed many people. Every month is a gamble, and everyone knows it. And yet, more than once, the bandits have arrived, yelling, and have thrown everyone out, closing the clinic and the school with chains and impeding everyone from working. The inhabitants, in silence, stand by and watch.

The first three boys. At first, Sister Marcella moved freely among the shacks; now, she cannot go 10 yards without attracting a cloud of men and women asking for work. “The relationship with the people is distorted. For the new inhabitants of the shanty town, I’m not Sister Marcella, but only the ‘white lady,’ the possible means for getting work with the NGOs. At first, there was sharing: let’s build together. Now presumption has taken its place.” A few weeks ago, three boys who work for her reported her for occupational issues. “In court, I was ordered to pay an extraordinarily high sum for lack of vacation benefits and some other things. It was ridiculous. They don’t even have a contract. But they were probably forced to do it; underneath all this, there was something else that I didn’t understand.” She returned from the trial discouraged and angry. “I thought: they cheated me. I give up, it’s impossible to work here.” At the clinic, the first three boys with whom she started everything seven years ago came up to her: “Sister Marcella, we know that you live only on money from friends; take our salaries to pay the fine.” She asked, “Why are you doing this?” And one answered, “Last summer, you took me to the Rimini Meeting. I saw people who worked as volunteers for a week because of what they believe. Can’t we do the same? Being here with you is not a job, it’s life.”
The situation remains difficult, so much so that one is forced to ask: How is it possible to go on? Is it even worth it? “We follow the signs that the Lord gives us. When I arrived, the Bishop told me, ‘Bring Christ and the Church to the Haitians,’ not, ‘Feed the children.’ Everything sprang from this. The missionary ‘hangs on’ for just one reason: Christ. Otherwise, you are overwhelmed by the pain and you leave angry or sad, saying, ‘It’s impossible.’ Some inhabitants of the shanty town are afraid that we will leave, not so much because they will lose a plate of rice or a job, but the possibility to live in a different way. This is what those three boys told me.”     

The shelter. Meanwhile, in January, they will open a shelter for 60 children. In the daycare section, children under three will be cared for from morning until evening, while their mothers go to the market to sell what little they have. The structure will host, as residents, children who are practically abandoned because their mothers are absent or sick, which in Haiti often means in the terminal stages of AIDS. And there is also room for 20 malnourished children, who will stay there until they regain their normal weight. At that point, they will be able to return to their families.
So, for now, you will remain in Haiti? “Yes. We decided, with the Nuncio, to stay until June. Then we will see where the Lord wants me to set up my tents.”