FORT-LIBERTE, Haiti—On a scorching June day in this town in Haiti’s northeastern region, Cherlande Génélus, 24, found a rare moment of relief beneath a colorful umbrella. Her only shelter from the relentless sun.
“I am selling bananas and hard-boiled eggs to help me take care of my mother, my little brother, and myself, ” Génélus said, sitting behind her large ‘kivèt,’ a plastic container holding her perishable goods.
Forced to leave her home in Petit-Rivière de L’Artibonite about 124 miles away, Génélus is among 11% of the nearly 580,000 displaced people across Haiti who moved to the northeast department, according to a recent report by the International Organization for Migration (IOM). Their presence, precipitated by widespread gang violence, has led to noticeable challenges — injected new life — into the local housing market, economy and public health.
Along various streets of the northeast cities, especially in Fort-Liberté and Ouanaminthe, vendors, many of them young women, set up makeshift stalls, filling every available inch of pedestrian space. They offer an array of goods, from the freshest produce to clothing shimmering in the sunlight, from cold beverages to cosmetics. Simply put, this wave of internal migration is reshaping the demographics and landscapes of Haiti’s quieter regions, bringing both challenges and opportunities.
“We’re seeing more and more new faces selling goods on the streets,” says Marie Louis, a local shop owner. “They’ve come here with nothing and are trying to make a living.”
A nation picks up again after “losing everything”
The most recent IOM report, published in June, said Haiti has 578,074 displaced people, compared to 362,551 at the beginning of March — a 60% increase over three months. This surge is largely driven by intensifying gang violence at the start of 2024, forcing 68% of the displaced to seek safety in the provinces. In the northeast department alone, displaced people now constitute 11% of the population.
At Gare Routière de Ouanaminthe, the city’s main bus station, narrow side streets and sidewalks alike have transformed into vibrant marketplaces. Street vendors strategically position themselves, hoping to catch the eye of bus travelers and locals alike. Each umbrella or tent tells a story of survival and adaptability to the city dynamic.
Many newcomers who have sought refuge in the northeast echo Génélus’ story. Next to her that day in June was Chenet Bréus, sitting under a tent made of white bedsheets supported by four wooden sticks planted in the soil. His goods were on display from a small wheelbarrow.
“I live here now, I sell lemons to make a living,” said Brèus, originally from the Artibonite region. “I have nothing left after the 400 Mawozo gangs took from me everything I had.”
Judith Pierre, a former Port-au-Prince resident, said she sought the northeast because gangs destroyed her house.
Denise Saint-Hilaire sells cosmetic products because she has no job and must care for herself.
“Armed bandits kicked me out of my house and destroyed my way of life,” Saint-Hilaire said.
“I do this activity to take care of myself and my family, we came here because bandits took our house and took our things,” Edeline Pierre said.
A nation on the move
In the heart of this town, public transport stations are often the focal points of activity. Here, buses of people and produce are loaded and unloaded constantly.
One young man from L’Artibonite, who asked not to be identified by name, said was loading cars at the bus terminal for a fee by the driver.
“I do that because I don’t want to steal people here in Ouanaminthe,” he said of the modest job.
Past the open markets and bus stops, the new arrivals extend to the Ouanaminthe-Dajabon border crossing about 2 miles away. Under the bridge, they build makeshift shelters until they can find basic housing. Marielle Saint-Juste, a widowed mother of three children, is among those living there.
“I have been here for a year after armed bandits killed my husband and destroyed my house,” said Saint-Juste, who sells fritay and vegetables.
Other vendors navigating through the crowded area here include currency exchangers, iced water sellers, tire repairers and taxi drivers. Others carry heavy bags for travelers crossing the frontier or panhandle.
During the day, some gather to joke. Others mix with the newly repatriated from the Dominican Republic looking to return to their hometowns. Still others sell fried meat or imported goods from DR. At night, many among them sleep under the bridge.
“I’ve lived here for four months, selling soft drinks to take care of my husband and myself because bandits took all we had,” said Philomene François.
“I have no choice but to sell the eggs that I bought in the Dominican Republic,” another vendor shares. “I do this trade because I have my family living in Port-au-Prince and I have to take care of them.
“They deported me, [and] I decided to return home to the Portail Léogane area in Port-au-Prince,” the vendor added. “But because of the insecurity, I ended up going back to live on the Ouanaminthe-Dajabon bridge.”
Economic and social dynamics shifting
Among the tougher challenges of the influx of new residents is the higher cost of living, many say. The economic strain is palpable, with local authorities struggling to balance the needs of the newcomers with those of long-time residents. Social tensions are also rising.
“Rents are going up, and it’s becoming harder for locals to find affordable housing,” said Doudy Belizaire, administrator of a chocolate-producing company.
Although the exact number has not yet been released to the public, local police reports document widespread concern over increased crime rates.
“There’s tension in the community because of the sudden increase in people needing jobs and services.” Angella Phaïka Belony, a resident of Ouanaminthe, said.
The educational system in the northeast is also feeling the strain as the influx of nearly 170,000 displaced children, as reported by UNICEF, places unprecedented pressure on the region’s educational infrastructure. Classrooms in Ouanaminthe are becoming increasingly overcrowded as displaced students attempt to integrate into new schools.
At Lycée René Théodore de Ouanaminte, a public high school, students jostle for space in a cramped room just a few meters wide. Some are forced to camp outside the room due to the lack of seating.
“There aren’t enough benches or desks for everyone,” one local teacher said. “Many students lack basic books and study materials, forcing them to share resources, which hampers their learning. When it rains, we often have to evacuate due to the poor condition of the roof.”
“It’s hard to focus with so many new students crammed into our small classroom,” says Judith Pierre, a student who fled Port-au-Prince.
Teachers, like Cercine Villadouin, a supervisor at René Théodore High School, expressed concern about the authority’s capability of bringing organic solutions to the problems.
“Almost all the rooms are filled with young people from different corners of the capital and other provincial towns where insecurity reigns,” Villadouin said.
In the healthcare system, the 42 local clinics and hospitals stretched thin are more overwhelmed. Scenes of overcrowded waiting rooms and shortages of medical supplies are becoming alarmingly common.
“Our resources were already limited, and now with more patients, we can barely keep up,” explains Dr. Jean Pierre, a local physician.
Calls grow for government support
Despite the challenges, there are glimmers of hope. Initiatives aimed at supporting displaced families and stabilizing the affected communities are beginning to take shape. For instance, local organizations and international agencies are working to provide emergency relief and long-term support to those in need.
“It has certainly become more difficult for a citizen in the region to obtain official documents such as passport stamps, license plates, and many others. Newcomers seeking these services have also increased the revenue of this institution,” notes Justin Pierre, a young executive at the General Directorate of Taxation.
As the community of Ouanaminthe continues to struggle with these changes, leaders and residents alike are calling for comprehensive plans to support displaced families and ensure a harmonious integration.
“We need a comprehensive plan to support these families and ensure that our community can thrive despite these challenges,” Roselin Charles, head of La Renaissance, a non-governmental organization in Ouanaminthe, said.
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