Hurricane Thomas

(written Friday, November 5th, 2010)

I'm writing this to make sure everyone who may read this knows that we are okay, the Mattenley's are okay, nobody was hurt and nothing was damaged, except the tent cities, who most likely were waterlogged to a certain extent.

Yesterday, Thursday, the hurricane was thought to hit the island and devastate an already tired country. Switching constantly from tropical storm to class-1 hurricane, this post-season storm was acting strangely, and everyone was hunkering down, expecting the worst. I had gone to Delmas, higher up in the hills of Port-au-Prince, to visit a group from Springfield who had arrived earlier that day to see the progress from various Mercy League projects. I knew Lonnie, Emily, Lloyd, Tyler, and the family staying in Haiti, the Mattenley's, so I stayed at the house and relaxed for a few days, also waiting out the storm.

Thomas didn't hit the island yesterday, but this morning at 8am was the projection. Most of us woke up at 7, expecting to batten down the hatches for the hurricane-force winds and heavy downpour that usually comes with a hurricane. 8am came with clouds and a drizzle and as the hour wore on, the winds and rains got heavier, but nothing close to what everyone was expecting.

I decided to chance it and call a motorcycle to take me back home, since the storm seemed to have passed and without signs of it getting worse. A trip that usually takes at least 1 and possibly two hours to make (from Delmas 75 to Santo 19) only took 45 minutes. Nobody was in the road except a few wary tap-taps and some UN troops in their tanks and heavy-duty trucks. When crossing the bridge on the way to Santo 19, we saw the river. I have lived here for nearly a year, and in both rainy and dry seasons, and I have never seen this river so high. It looked to me like it was directly out of a movie, raging water carrying more of Haiti's topsoil down to the ocean.

The driver stopped so I could take some photos, and we joined the throng of bystanders in their ponchos and plastic bags covering their hair. Down on a bit of flat ground near the rough waters was a white journalist with a video camera (this being much more exciting to the Haitians than the high waters). We all agreed that he was fou, creole for “crazy” or “stupid”, and I got back on the motorcycle with the driver and we returned back to the house. Nothing else exciting happened on the trip, and I am glad to be back in the house, although it's bittersweet, as I am packing up my things to leave on Tuesday morning.

Tonight will be my going-away party, and I'm already tearing up. I don't know if or when I will return and I have many friends I will leave here, Haitians and Chileans and Colombians and Americans. I will return to my home to see my friends and family and apply for jobs in Oregon, and keep searching for international nursing jobs, as this has become my passion, my exciting life. I hope to return to Haiti someday, and soon, and hopefully not during hurricane season.