Thirteen days in Haiti: Quadruplets and collections, shacks and mansions | Part 2

Editor’s note: This is the second of three installments about this travel series. See the first part here.

CAP-HAITIEN — As someone who handles the nitty-gritty of news coming from Haiti daily, the first thing that struck me as I stepped onto the soil for the first time in eight years wasn’t fear or chaos, but familiarity. It’s the quiet absurdity of goats trotting across the road outside Cap-Haïtien’s airport, the broken fences swaying in the breeze, and the hum of life carrying on as if nothing had changed.

Except many things had. From the coastal plains swallowed by Hurricane Melissa’s floods, to the steep hills of Bombardopolis, where children pump water for minutes before a single drop comes out, to rural communities where collapsing shacks stand just steps away from luxury ‘mansions,’ the country reveals itself in stark contrasts. That duality, the ordinary and the unbearable layered on top of each other, defined the opening stretch of my 13-day journey across four departments. 

These notes are travel observations that closely follow this tension —a window into a homeland bent under crisis, but never broken. This installment relays Days 1 through 7, tracing my steps from Cap-Haïtien to Bombardopolis, through battered roads between Gonaïves and Baie-de-Henne in the Artibonite.

Land in Cap-Haïtien, make Gonaïves by nightfall

Day 1 — Monday, October 27 

Cap-Haïtien felt unchanged upon arrival, with the airport’s broken fences and goats crossing the street. Not so Gonaïves. The City of Independence feels transformed, even in the pitch-black of night. It vibrates with noise and movement, as moto-taxis and pedestrians weave through unlit streets without hesitation. 

The haphazard constructions on the heights of Morne Biennac and Morne Blanc speak volumes.

Residents aid mother of quadruplets in crisis

Day 2 — Tuesday, October 28

After a near-sleepless night—disrupted by loud music, birds and roosters singing, donkeys braying and preachers and singers blaring their messages into the streets—I woke up in Gonaïves. That day, I met Sandra Saint-Louis, a 32-year-old single mother of four 10-month-old children, during a prayer service at Rapha Ministry, a local church.

Baby formula alone costs 3,500 gourdes, about $27, every two days. So she relies on donations from neighbors, nearby communities, friends abroad and churches. This was Saint-Louis’ second visit to the church and she shared how tough things have been for her with the rising cost of living. 

Saint-Louis is a native of Plaisance, a commune in the North Department, about 33 miles from Gonaïves. She had married Nicodème Pierre, a young pastor from Cité-Soleil, Port-au-Prince, whom she met through a WhatsApp prayer group in 2022. The couple later moved to a community in southern Haiti to serve a local church, she told The Haitian Times. 

Soon after, Saint-Louis had quadruplets at a Doctors Without Borders (MSF) hospital in Port-à-Piment, with two delivered by cesarean birth. No local or national authorities provided help to the young family. Meanwhile, the couple fought over the stress, shared responsibilities and abuse. Pierre then left.

“It’s been over eight months now,” she said. “I haven’t heard from him since then.”

The church took up a special offering for her upon learning of her hardship.

Brutal journey to Bombardopolis

Day 3 — Wednesday, October 29 

From Gonaïves to the lower northwest region, what should have been a three-hour trip to Bombardopolis, roughly 58 miles west, stretched to nearly nine hours. Hurricane Melissa pushed seawater far inland, swallowing the road in Grande Savanne, a coastal community near Anse-Rouge in the sprawling Artibonite. Residents waded into waist-deep waters to push vehicles to solid ground.

Our truck broke down just as we arrived in the Bombardopolis town center, lug nuts broken and all falling off the rear tire.

After crossing the underwater section of the road, less than a mile into the flooded area, three men were begging for help to jump-start their SUV, needing manpower to push the manual transmission vehicle and get the engine running.

A tale of two homes

Day 4 — Thursday, October 30

I met Kenny Anassy, a father of five living in a collapsing one-room shack, paying just under $40 a year in rent—an unaffordable amount, still. Next door, construction was underway on a gleaming 6-bedroom home bankrolled by a diaspora.

Haiti’s inequalities are obvious in concrete blocks, sheet metal and roofs, and in satellite dishes, solar-powered electricity, TV cable networks, Internet and telecom services—not in statistics.

Children pumping water

Day 5 — Friday, October 31

Two young girls worked a manual pump for nearly two minutes before a single drop flowed. Clean drinking water remains a daily battle.

Changes in Desforges and Plaine d’Orange— a region reshaped after two decades

Day 6— Saturday, November 1

My return to Desforges and Plaine d’Orange—the 2nd and 3rd Bombardopolis communal sections—after nearly 20 years revealed changes far beyond what I expected in this remote part of the region. Areas that once required hours of walking—or travel on a donkey or mule—are now accessible by SUVs and trucks. Several rough pathways that previously served only foot traffic have been widened or reinforced enough for vehicles to pass, even though some stretches appear narrower than I remembered from the early 2000s.

The most notable shift, however, is in education. When I last visited in 2008, only a couple of high schools served the two communal sections, and reaching them was difficult for most families. I could count on one hand the number of homes built with concrete blocks from foundation to roof. Today, there are more than a dozen secondary schools across the region, both public and private. Crève, a community that has grown significantly thanks to diaspora investments, especially in real estate and construction, is now an accredited official exam site. This enables students to take national exams locally rather than travel long distances to neighboring communes.

Environmental changes are also evident. The level of reforestation across the plateau is impressive, with large areas that were once bare now showing significant tree cover. Residents credit the improvement to a combination of community-led planting initiatives, small-scale environmental programs, moto-taxis as an alternative to charcoal production by cash-strapped individuals and some diaspora-funded projects. Regardless of the source, the result is a clear shift in the landscape and a rare example of progress in a region where government investment remains minimal.

Taken together, the infrastructural access, expanded educational facilities and reforested terrain paint a picture of a rural area undergoing gradual but meaningful improvement—even as many other parts of Haiti face mounting instability.

The forgotten coast: Baie-de-Henne and Petit Anse

Day 7 — Sunday, November 2

Flooding, destroyed roads, unfinished government projects and struggling fishing communities line the coastline.

 “In Petit Anse, the only water source is a rainwater cistern built by NGOs with funding from the Inter-American Bank,” local teacher and community project manager, Sobnès Jean, said. 

Meanwhile, inside Baie-de-Henne town center, the police station is nearly abandoned.

But the landscape, turquoise coastline against barren hills, is stunning.

Stay tuned for part three, the final installment of the limited travel series.

The post Thirteen days in Haiti: Quadruplets and collections, shacks and mansions | Part 2 appeared first on The Haitian Times.