Addendum to the previous post: This was posted not one or two, but THREE days after I wrote it. In Haiti, Internet is hard to come by except at the nicest hotels (don’t worry, that’s not saying much considering hotels here). And even at those hotels, it might quit just as you’re about to update your blog and send some critical emails. Nothing you can do about it, except wait until you get to the gleaming amenities of Miami International Airport.

Post-Hurricane Haiti

:: In the spirit of the election season, I’ve opted to post a long-winded entry, since we’re all honing a tolerance for long-windedness these days. So here’s to the verbosity in all of us... ::

This was already slated to be my shortest trip to Northwest Haiti, and it was cut even shorter by the two days I spent alternately vomiting or lying on a cot with an IV in my arm, plus another day recovering (thanks, Curtis, for being there to photograph all the gross details). Of the five days I’ve been here, I guess I’ve done a solid two days of shooting – not accounting for all the time I’ve been stuck in the back of a pickup truck or a motorcycle, bouncing along roads that should barely pass as creek beds.

I don’t write this because I am anyone special – all my friends here, American or otherwise, have certainly endured worse. I only write it because this is life in Haiti, and more often than not, it is hard. It is always good for me to come here. Every minute reminds me of all the truths in life that get clouded out in the States, the truths that we sometimes cannot see there even when we try our hardest.

This region was ravaged by tropical storm Hanna and hurricane Ike earlier this month, and much of the rest of Haiti had already suffered torrential rains from Gustav before them. Flooding here, some of the worst in recent memory, paralyzed most of the country – cutting it off from food, gas, and other vital supplies. Thousands lost their homes, hundreds lost their lives, and perhaps even worse – almost all the nation’s agriculture was lost for the year.

Which is why I’m here – documenting hurricane recovery efforts on behalf of Northwest Haiti Christian Mission. And those efforts are only beginning, because the conditions created by the storms are almost certain to cause even higher food prices here, more malnutrition and hunger, diseases, and political tension.

Sometimes my job is no fun: To meet bony children on the street who rub their bellies and plead for help, or to see a mother and her children reduced to living in a slaughterhouse because they have no home and no one to take them in.

This week I photographed men shoveling excrement-laced muck from their city streets (I know because I splashed around in plenty of it). I watched men and women fighting each other like animals at a gas pump to get a gallon or two before the short supplies ran out.

Mostly I shot portraits of some very amazing people who lost everything to storms that did not care they had next-to-nothing in the first place. As I was dehydrated and struggling to walk a few days ago, I sat while a Haitian I barely knew poured cold water over me and guided it across my face with his hand, whispering in my ear.

God humbles me each time I think I am coming to a place to do good through my presence. Instead, it is always these times when I come more closely into His presence. It is only through a continued journey of obedience that I even keep returning here.

Truth be told, I am not much in love with Haiti as a place, not like I ever was with so many Latin American countries to which I’ll probably never return. It is not an easy place to love, no matter what anyone tells you. But I have found a great joy in allowing myself to be used to help those whom the rest of the world refuses to help, to invest in the people whom no one but God considers to be a good investment.

It is a great irony of heaven that I have been so blessed in a place seemingly so devoid of blessings.

All that said, I am always glad to return home to my dog and my beautiful wife, which I’ll do tomorrow. She is the best investment of my life there ever was, and coming home to her is always the brightest part of being away.

We’re both looking forward to being back in Haiti in just a few weeks. Until then, I’ll be content if I can just fall asleep tonight on my cot without getting soaked by the blowing rain or bitten by too many mosquitoes.

…oh, and I’m fighting a cold, to top it all off…

(A special shout out to Curtis Rogers and Janeil Owen, without whose help I would not have been able to make a single image this week.)

Some photos from this (abridged) workweek:


Puddle jumping in the muddy and flattened gardens near the river Trois Rivieres, which overflowed its banks. Andy Olsen photo


Muddy water from the river Trois Rivieres flowing into the Caribbean. Andy Olsen photo


Men unloading bags of flour, a hot and scarce commodity in the area. Andy Olsen photo


A boy living in a slaughterhouse-turned-shelter in Chansolme, a hard-hit area. Andy Olsen photo


Relief food being dished out to children at a church, also near Trois Rivieres. Andy Olsen photo

And finally, a few portraits of folks in their destroyed homes (or where said homes used to be). Andy Olsen photos