The other day an overseas ‘visitor’ to the Haven projects in Haiti made a remark about how he thought that tarpaulins were ‘useless’ and a ‘waste of time’. Tell that to the families who are currently living under bed sheets and bits of cardboards in camps right the way around the city right now, was the not so kind retort from us Haveners.
As of now, almost 70% of the 1.3 million people estimated to have been left homeless as a result of the earthquake have received tarpaulins or tents from organisations involved in the shelter response, like Haven. That’s not bad going – but there are still thousands of families living in absolutely dire conditions and desperately in need of shelter.
The deadline is April 1st for rolling out tarpaulins to every family in Port au Prince and surrounding earthquake affected areas. And the clock is ticking for one main reason – the rainy season.
Rainy season is talked about here in sort of hushed whispers. And we’ve already had a taste of it. A couple of weeks ago, it rained every night for four days straight. Even though it may seem trite to say so, it was very difficult to sleep during those nights knowing that in the same city, hundreds of thousands of Haitians would be getting no sleep at all.
Last Thursday, it rained for 12 hours non-stop. This was not your misty Connemara type rain, or even the downpours that you get in early Spring (or summer, or autumn or winter for that matter) in Ireland – this was torrential, tropical rainstorms, complete with thunder and lighting. In other words – abject misery for those living in the camps. As always I was in the camps the next day – in fact showing potential donors from private industry around three of the places where we are building latrines and where we have given tarpaulins or the much-coveted tents.
Within minutes, all of us were covered in mud. The type of mud that sticks to the bottom or your boots and instantly makes you about four kilos heavier. Sucking, sticking, slimy mud. Our visitors, who were from the Dominican Republic, (and I hasten to add, not the people who made the snide tarp remark) were very gracious in their approach to the less than perfect conditions that greeted them in the camps. And the fact that their nice leather shoes were quickly ruined. But, then again, when you are looking at thousands of people who are forced to live in such conditions – not just visit - it quickly puts things into perspective.
What amazed them – and amazes me every day that I am in the camps – is the unbelievable fortitude and resilience of the Haitian people in the face of such adversity. And the sense of community. In one of the camps we visited, many people were going around barefoot – as there was little point in wearing shoes in the rivers of mud that ran between the houses. In another, within a couple of minutes or our arrival, two committee members, including a ravishing woman who has the most perfect nails on hands and feet I have ever seen, had found themselves wellington boots in order to navigate their way around the camp site.
The mud makes life miserable – but tarps make life bearable in the camps. It’s as simple as that. We have seen the difference that a couple of tarps can make to the comfort and ability of our beneficiaries to survive the rains in the camps. I have visited camps where families construct their shelters out of literally anything they can find. Bits of trees, cardboard boxes, bed-sheets sown together with hope and prayers that they will provide some form of shelter – but against the rain they are useless. The lucky families find bits of corrugated iron or wood and build shelters more reminiscent of Africa than Haiti – the sort of thing you would see in a slum in Nairobi or township in South Africa.
But, the difference a tarp can make is the difference between being wet or dry, getting sick or staying healthy. On a recent tarp distribution Haven brought 350 tarpaulins to a camp with the rather elegant name of Centre d’Ebergement Jean Mary Vincent. When we got there with our large boxes, it could not have been clearer that they were in desperate need. Not one family – some two months after the earthquake - had a tent or a tarpaulin to call home. They were all living under little more than bed sheets, held up by sticks. There was great celebration in the camp at our arrival – and not a hint of shoving or pushing or trying to get ahead of the queue for the tarpaulins.
We leave it up to the committees which run these camps to distribute the individual tarpaulins to each family. It gives them a sense of ownership and pride at the ability to help themselves – and they know each other. Which means that the committees will ensure that all those in most need get the tarpaulins.
Another camp, Lil Avois in the inaptly named Bon Repos, was another such camp without a tarp between the 280 families who lived there until Haven came. We visited again just a couple of days after the distribution and every family was now living under these strong plastic sheets. And, as the president (his name is Louis Stephenson, believe it or not) told me, “We’re not afraid of the rains anymore. They can come and we know that we will remain dry and safe under our tarpaulins.”
I wish our sceptical visitor to Haiti had met Louis and his camp, before passing judgement on our ‘useless tarps’. Or spent a night under a bed sheet in the rain. I don’t think he’d be calling them a waste of time then.
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