NEWS 25 WEHT Evansville, Henderson, OwensboroCourtney Fischer's First-Hand Account In Haiti

Courtney Fischer's First-Hand Account In Haiti

1/29/10

Every day is so different here.

Drove into Port-Au-Prince to check out the damage today. Without sounding cliche--the stuff on TV does not do this city justice. I cannot tell you the amount of times I found myself gasping at every new corner we turned. The palace--seeing that city's crown jewel in rubble--truly symbolic for the people of Haiti. Haitians living in the tent city across the street say it's a representation of their government--a government corrupt and in ruin.

The major tent city in the heart of downtown was filthy and chaotic. Flies. Urine. Rotting fruit. Rotting flesh. Speaking with the people was difficult. In these deplorable conditions most of them didn't turn away from the camera--shocking to me. They're asking--begging--for help, for attention from the media.

After interviewing a woman and her husband, I asked the woman to write down her name for me on my notepad. She looked at me, her eyes huge with hope, and asked to write down the names of all her family who needed help. What do you say? She began to write, five names, ten names, twenty names. We had to leave. I asked for the notepad back and I will never forget how she looked at me. She gave me the pad, and we gripped it together for a moment. I felt that she didn't want to let go. She asked me to help her, to go back to the states and to tell the people what was happening here. There were about twenty of them sharing a ten by ten tent (sheet) space. Her eyes said you are my only hope. I had to walk away. Was there any other choice?

Another dead body--this one in the street. Burned to the pavement. I just stared. The car kept moving. People stepped around and over it.

Walking the major streets of Port-Au-Prince, it's difficult to imagine the earthquake was three weeks ago. Streets are still piled with stone, burnt out car frames, wood, dust, debris. Tilted buildings smoke and burn on every street. The fires were something I didn't expect. No one is there to put them out--obviously. No one is there except the Haitians. I imagine this is what the end of the world looks like.

Major Nathan Miller traveling with our group got us into the army base next to the airport. Acre after acre filed with soldiers and aid organizations from around the world. American soldiers I spoke with were all very nice, but not many of them seemed to know what was going on. Reports say supplies aren't getting inland fast enough--I see it. Thousands of pallets of food and water, but I saw only one truck leave the area fully loaded. The soldier at the gate says trucks leave every three minutes, but I didn't see it for myself. I'm sure they're working as fast and hard as they can, but I wonder.

On that same property, we ran into a woman who flew in with us--works for an international adoption organization. She pointed to a medical tent in the back of the property saying earthquake victims who are dealing with serious mental and emotional aftershocks are being locked in "cages" to control them. I didn't have the strength to go look. The journalist in me said go, but the human in me had enough.

The longer I'm here, the more I realize you get things done by making connections and talking to people. In front of the ruined cathedral (nearby the place), I was filming when a group of soldiers pulled up. Admiral Sam Perez got out of the car--he's in charge of the whole port--one of the highest, if not the highest commander here right now. He came to the cathedral to see inland damage. The Major we're traveling with recognized him immediately. I hadn't a clue who he was when I went right up to him to ask him some questions. He could not have been more articulate and wonderful, taking the time to interview with me. A great leader who explained how they're trying to distribute supplies, get medications inland, and help the Haitian people.

Haiti is a beautiful country--even if it's hard to see right now. The people are strong and they have a will to survive. There is so much to be done here...

1/29/10

So much is happening here--another corner, another story to tell. Sometimes it's hard to reflect when so much is going on. I have started cherishing the night--when I have time to think about what I see.

The day started at 5AM today. I woke early to get a sense of how people live on the property--to understand how many spend the night here at the orphanage. The sun was barely over the horizon when people started packing up their tents. I came down the front steps of the orphanage and heard drums tapping, people praising. They were thanking god, for their lives have been spared.

People have asked me--what are images stay with you? This is one of them. A moment in time captured by the camera that not many people will ever understand. During my interviews I ask people that question: tell me what will stick with you. This always brings tears to their eyes--doctors, soldiers, volunteers--all of them get emotional. This morning on the soccer field, women and men danced and threw their hands up toward the sky. The orphanage pastor led everyone in singing: How Great Thou Art in Creole. How are these people thanking God? How do they feel lucky? Losing family, all their possessions--I felt humbled to be in their presence.

Around 8AM NBC Nightly News came by--a field producer we met on the plane was interested in the orphanage story. The segment aired Friday night--talking about the red tape of Haitian adoption. While it's a tough process in America, it's even tougher over here. Exporting people (as harsh as that sounds) is the only way for the government to make money here--the more red tape, the more money Haiti can make--says an adoption expert here.

A preacher living in the Dominican Republic arrived around lunch time with a truck load of supplies--food for the people staying on the property. The more I'm here, the more I realize help comes from word of mouth. The group bringing the food found out about the orphanage's needs through another organization. He brought grain, pasta, sugar, the basics. From here, the preacher planned to visit other orphanages with little boys and girls badly injured. Volunteers here gave him medical supplies--everyone giving, everyone helping.

Later that day we went to the hospital up the road--Haitian Community Hospital. The tents outside--the mass amounts who still need help--overwhelmed me. Pins in their legs, amputated arms, bloody patches over their eyes. It's difficult to take. I struggle to capture it all, to capture the feeling. Three hundred patients inside the hospital, another 100 outside doctors tell me. Treating mainly orthopedic injuries, but handling everything from child birth to serious surgery. Doctors tell me it's hard for them to grieve, to take time for themselves. I talked to a young nurse who had to go home for a few days because the experience was overwhelming. They say the hardest part is losing survivors on the operating table, then having to tell their surviving children or parents the patient didn't make it. An amazing man--David Miller from Kansas City--is running the hospital. He took me on a tour, showing me everything from the surgical to recovery rooms, introducing me to doctors, to specialists. I spent a long time talking to them about the frustrations, the unavoidable problems to come. These doctors are some of the most inspiring people. I just keep telling them thank you, thank you.

I passed a recovery room as a little girl screamed out in pain. Mamma! Papa! Her parents stood in the doorway. Three doctors crowd around her, redressing her wound. I see the pink, raw flesh on her arm, everything was burned off. This is a common sight. Doctors say three weeks after, they're concentrating on re-dressing wounds. In the first week, they had so many patients, it was about stopping the bleeding and getting them in and out. Now, the wounds have infections and maggots growing in them. These doctors are heroes--choosing to spend time with the suffering. One says (as she tears up), "You have your good days and you have your bad days." Pretty much sums up life here.

 1/28/10

What I saw today I will never forget. A mass burial witnessed by about fifty of us. For the Haitians in attendance it was just another day after the quake: their faces emotionless while bodies were thrown in a pit in front of us. For others there, they were focused on a job- the men with shovels ready to dig, a pastor playing the trumpet. For me it was...inhumane. The new way of life for Haitians post quake. It was a day that will forever stay with me. It makes me question what's to become of this country? These people?

We arrived at Titanyien late afternoon. The morning was filled with casual stops throughout Port-au-Prince: the orphanage pastor picking people up, dropping them off. He seems to know everyone and always wants to help.

It took two hours to get thirty miles outside the city. I can't begin to get into what we saw on the drive- Internet is cutting out. outside the city we turn down a road of rocks. It's barely drivable. The clear see to the left and desert mountains to my right. It's amazing a country filled with so much natural beauty is enduring so much pain and suffering. The smell of burning flesh and rotten bodies is not far away.

The van stops. Ahead are piles of rock and rubble. Look closer. There's a foot, a hand, an elbow. I see a man's face twisted in agony-- the moment of pain and terror captured on his face. Human bodies: bloated and recently dumped. sand and gravel barely covers the dead people. We get back in the van and drive further down the road.

40,000. The pastor we're with says that's the number of people buried in this valley after the quake. I learn bodies have been dumped here for centuries--a cemetery for the poor the pastor says. Old graves are individually marked with crosses. Then I see the deep pits: at least fifteen deep. Moments later local men descended from the mountains carrying shovels. They show up every Thursday. The job pays about two dollars. More if they bring their own tools. The busses start arriving, carrying bodies by the truck load. Masked doctors start unloading body bags and cardboard coffins. The first coffin lowered into the pit buckles in the middle: the weight of more than one body makes the box collapse and an arm peeks out.

Body after body is lowered into the five graves. A band plays "oh when the saints go marching in." the pastor from this orphanage plays the trumpet.

A Catholic priest helps carry the body bags. He says a short prayer in Creole and English. I ask him if he has time to answer a few questions. The priest says he has no time--he must get back to the hospital to work triage. The whole service lasts barely 30 minutes.

Then the sound of crashing dirt. The men with shovels dig and rocks hit the plastic body bags. They disappear almost as fast as they were laid to rest.

It feels disgusting and dirty witnessing this. But there is a sense of routine about it all. The priest looks tired--not sad, no angry, just weary. Nothing shocks these people anymore. The workers and the band will be back soon. So will the priest. No families--no one knows who the people in the body bags are. They will disappear a statistic. The rebuilding of this city must begin soon. These people need hope.

Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

1/27/10 – 9:38 PM CST

We landed around 9pm Wednesday in Port-au-Prince. The thing I remember most was the smell. It will forever stick with me. The smell of something burning wafted inside the plane and hit me before we could get out. A volunteer who was on her way back to Haiti a week later told me it's from the burning bodies. Flying in at night was strangely dark...very few lights on inside the city. Could barely see the runway.

When we landed, we were greeted with what seemed like hundreds of marines, huge planes, palettes of food and supplies--it was organized chaos. Unreal to see the tarmac this busy at night...the airport is set up like a little American run city. When we landed, one of the volunteers turned to me and said simply: "Be prepared for this." I don't know how you can be.

By the end of the two hour plane ride, so many people had made connections. Can you help me with this? Can you check on my church? Can you get supplies to my orphanage? People exchanging phone numbers and e-mail addresses across the aisles--everyone wants help and everyone wants to help. We met a nun who is a surgeon, coming here to help the wounded. She was charged an extra hundred dollars at the airport because the medical supplies she was carrying were too heavy. Her story got around, and the volunteers I was decided to cover her surcharge---this is what I'm talking about. People just want to help any way they can. It's inspirational to see.

Arrived at the airport, got through customs quickly. The drive to Petionville was dark, but you could make out the rubble where UN trucks had set up spot lights. The streets were eerily empty in some areas--areas these volunteers tell me are usually crowded with people. I watched a family drag their patio furniture out from a dark alley. Groups of people huddle together, sometimes crowding around a fire, a light, a prayer candle. Strangely beautiful to see how peaceful and calm many of them are.

Internet is working, still don't know how strong the signal is to feed back video. Will write tomorrow and will try to send stories. You can also follow me on Twitter: courtneyfischer

1/27/10 – 2:04 PM CST  

What a long 24 hours we've just been through. After the 20 hour car ride to Miami, we arrived at Miami International Airport at five this morning. We were greeted by a group of about 30 volunteers from all over the world: nuns, priests, doctors, EMTs, dentists. I'm so humbled to be a part of this group. The eight of us are traveling with nearly thirty pieces of luggage--filled with mostly medical supplies, tarps for sleeping outside, food, you name it. Huge duffle bags that weigh easily fifty pounds each. It took about three hours to get everyone ticketed and checked in. Watching the volunteers filter in this morning I realized how this disaster has touched people from around the world. I met a doctor from Spain who flew in on his own--just wants to help.

We were supposed to fly out at 11:30 this morning. After nearly three hours of sitting on the plane we're told the baggage and supplies weigh too much to leave. We must deboard--another kink in the journey. I don't think people have any idea how difficult it is to get to Haiti right now. Last week AP said 1400 international flights are trying to get in--Port-au-Prince's one runway can only support 120-140 flights a day. We are so lucky to have gotten this charter--like the other fifty volunteers along for the ride. I'm impressed and surprised at how patient everyone is. I spoke with one man from New Jersey who's been sitting at the airport for three days with nothing but a carry-on bag. He's trying to get to Haiti to take home his little girl--he and his wife are in the process of adoption. Finally today, news that a seat on this charter plane was available. Now he's faced with yet another delay and I still haven't seen him complain. Amazing. Everyone is calm--they just want to get to Haiti to help. It's inspiring to see.

Apparently while the airline was trying to shift baggage and work out the weight, we missed our window of arrival. So we continue to wait. Two hours until we can board at five tonight; we should be in the air by six. That's when the real journey begins. Some of the volunteers I'm traveling with have been to Haiti as many as eight times. I've asked them if they're prepared for what they'll see. They tell me they don't know what to expect, that they're just ready to get in and help.

When we land in Port-au-Prince it will be black. A few stores with generators will have power, but for the most part the town will be dark and desolate. A worker from the orphanage will be picking us up in two vans and we'll make our way from the airport to the hillside district of Petionville--where the orphanage is located. I had hoped to see the destruction in daylight, but the tour will have to wait another day.