Be Still

Above: Men place a casket in a stranger's crypt in Port-au-Prince after breaking it open and removing the old contents. Andy Olsen photo

Saint-Louis du Nord, Haiti

If you were looking for someone who is angry at God, surely you would find them here.

In this country where a magnitude 6.1 aftershock woke thousands from their sleep this morning and sent terrified crowds into the streets, just a week after the initial earthquake razed their capital city.

In this country where so many still have not heard about loved ones they fear are dead. In Port-au-Prince, where I watched men open a crypt and remove old bones with their bare hands, refilling the hole with a cheap casket and wedging it closed with broken rocks.

But if you are looking for fists raised to God, you'll have to look hard. In the streets of Haiti, there are more often hands lifted in prayer, in praise, and in thanks.

Even in the midst of great sadness -- and there is plenty to go around here -- Haitians have a remarkable ability to remember God's goodness.

To be sure, I do not intend to idealize Haitians, because every culture is enveloped in its fair share of evil. But it is nonetheless remarkable to watch so many people singing and praying as they are surrounded by death.

Less than 18 months ago, some of the worst flooding in recent history nearly destroyed Gonaives, Haiti's third-largest city. Like many foreigners here, I have wrestled with God over the past week about how He could allow such tragedy in a country that was already besieged by it.

In Haiti, there are abundant attempts to answers to that question. Some blame foreign governments, some blame Haiti's practice of voodoo, some blame sin, and some do blame God himself. I reject all of these as too simplistic.

I believe we all have the right to ask tough questions of God, but we are not always entitled to answers. I choose to accept that I am incapable of comprehending the mind of God.

Yesterday, I was struck by the words of Psalm 46:10 - "Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth."

Most of us have been anything but still over this past week. We've rushed to help in the ways we could, and tensions have run high at times. We've been glued to news reports, the same as many of our families in the United States.

But there have been moments of stillness when God unexpectedly broke through, like the rainbow I saw arcing over a mountain peak as I drove to Port-au-Prince the day after the quake, a reminder of God's promise to Noah that he is still watching over the earth.

In those moments, I have heard eternity calling, a quiet assurance that all I've witnessed does not invalidate who I know God to be.

Those same moments help me see that God still smiles on me, even in seasons when I despair that I am not doing enough to make a difference.

I was shooting one day in Port-au-Prince when a stranger called out to me, "What is your name?" It's a common question foreigners in Haiti might hear a dozen times a day.

"Andy," I told him, and walked away.

A few minutes later I passed by him again, emotionally and physically exhausted.

"Hey," he said and smiled. "You know, your name means 'warrior.'"

He's was right, I've checked. I walked away, wondering if I'd seen an angel.

The View from Here

ABOVE: Patients and doctors. Andy Olsen photos

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

The vast majority of us usually view human catastrophes of this magnitude through a television screen, myself included. Even as a photographer, this is the first time I've seen anything like this from the inside looking out.

Our hotel is swarming with media, busy people scurrying about with expensive equipment, private security guards (in some cases), cigarettes on their lips, and thick European accents. I don't mean to perpetuate stereotypes, but that is what I see. Journalists and TV crews are sleeping anywhere they can find a clear spot: Conference rooms, truck beds, and pool chairs (I spent a night on one myself earlier this week). Laptops and video equipment glow all evening, and Anderson Cooper's ever-present voice on CNN is both comforting and good for a laugh.

I've watched them do some great journalism, and I've also watched them do some pretty lame journalism. I've observed the power to transform: How one gunshot in an otherwise calm city (for Haiti) appears on the front page of every news outlet in the world and, suddenly, Port-au-Prince is transformed into a dangerous and gun-ridden ghetto in the public eye (I have seen no one here with guns so far except for police, soldiers, and private security guards, though I'm sure they're out there).

I've also watched UN helicopters drop food into masses of people which, as one would expect, caused something resembling riots. Those who have done relief work in Haiti for years and who are truly thoughtful and successful in their approaches know there are better ways to organize food distribution. I am beginning to understand how a poor plan can turn people upon each other and, when captured on camera, the ensuing chaos can shape the entire world's opinion of a nationality.

I also watched some great relief work done today by missionaries in Port-au-Prince, people I do not know but for whom I developed a great respect after spending a few hours with them. Their relief efforts -- medical care and food distribution -- were small-scale, to be sure. But they were well done and done with much love. While I appreciate the bravado and eagerness I've seen among the "big guys" like international rescue teams and military personnel, I find something almost more comforting in the quieter efforts of the Christian groups and grass-roots organizations here. Long after all the big planes fly away, I know the little guys will still be here, working quietly as they always have.

I really enjoyed shooting today (as much as anyone can enjoy Port-au-Prince right now), though I am exhausted. This city has moved past the destruction-and-dead-bodies chapter and is getting on with the real work of relief and healing. There is a real sense that we are no longer just gawking at a train wreck, but we are beginning to pick up the pieces.

But oh, how far there is still to go.

It is only beginning to dawn on people here what a historic moment this is. It will shift the balance of power in unknown ways here. It will ensure Haiti remains at the very bottom rung of the global economic ladder for decades to come. It will reshape the Haitian identity in profound ways. And it will surely alter the course of the future for an entire generation, shattering dreams before they were even dreamed.

But not too many folks are thinking about that at the moment. Right now, there is only one dream here: Stay alive and find a doctor, food, and something to drink. Then find somewhere to sleep and do it all again tomorrow.

I plan to return to Northwest Haiti tomorrow with a team of people, for there is more to be done there.

When the Earth Flexes Its Muscles

ABOVE: The dead, the wounded, the orphaned and the rescuers. Andy Olsen photos

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

It took nearly 500 years to build this city. It took less than 60 seconds to level it.

I've been wandering the streets of Haiti's capital city for the last two days since a magnitude 7.0 earthquake split the streets and crumpled buildings here on Wednesday afternoon. Words and photos fail to describe the devastation that hundreds of thousands of people here are living through.

I am well and safe, staying with a good team of folks at the Visa Lodge, one of the city's few remaining hotels. We've felt many of the more than 28 aftershocks that followed the quake. They've become so common at the hotel, at least, that most of us don't flinch. But mattresses still line the parking lot outside where many of the hotel guests sleep at night, safely separated from the concrete building. Erika is helping an equally great team of people back at Northwest Haiti Christian Mission's main campus in Saint-Louis du Nord, manning the mission's phone lines and e-mail and sifting through the hundreds of communications that are coming through.

Time and fatigue won't allow me to write everything I should, but I trust there will be moments for that later. Nothing here is easy now -- diesel and gas are scarce, cell phones have been useless until just today, and nearly every remaining building in the city is shuttered. It took two days to find a local person who was finally able to provide us with a cellular device to access the internet. As I type, the drone of C-130 cargo planes rumbles through my room, goliaths with bellies full of gifts for a badly hurting country. They are now taking off and landing at the Port-au-Prince airport 24 hours a day amid swarms of helicopters.

We stopped by the airport this evening and found a disappointing lack of food, water and supplies. Instead, there was an army of journalists and expensive broadcasting equipment, waiting to meet the heroes of Haiti as soon as they arrived. At the moment, they outnumber the heroes.

I have no idea why God chose to place Erika and me in this country just a few days before the darkest day in its history, but I have no choice to but see a reason behind it. It has been a trying few days in many ways, and I have had to turn down offers from photo editors at national media outlets in order to be faithful to my commitment to working for NWHCM. I trust they are decisions God will honor.

To my family and friends, thank you for all your prayers. I'm sure it has been hard to be out of contact due to the extreme limitations on communication. Erika and I cherish each of you so much. The plan at the moment is to head back to Northwest Haiti on a truck that's coming Sunday, not a lot of other options. As much as it pains me to leave Port-au-Prince while half of the other photographers in the world are here, I have a lot of other things to tend to before we head home.

I'll try to post more as I'm able. As for tonight, I'm going to take a shower to try and wash off the smells I've accumulated across the city. Port-au-Prince smells like death.

Rainy Haiti

Back in Haiti for a couple of weeks. This is perhaps my favorite time of year to be here -- cool and cloudy, the best you could ask for with day-long shooting, giving you maximum control of the light. The downside is the risk for multi-day stretches of rain, not so conducive to shooting.

So hoping for good weather. This time we'll be mostly video for a handful of new projects rolling out this spring. Always fun to try new things...looking forward to it.

More later...