Jan. 15, 2010 – 7 a.m. local time
We’re crossing the border at Jimeni, between the Dominican Republic and Haiti. Things are moving fairly quickly at least on the Dominican Republic side. We’re seeing supplies crossing the border including search and explore teams with dogs, many large tanker trucks with water, backhoes and other construction equipment, mobile kitchens from the Dominican Republic, and many journalists.

We still have cell phone access on the Dominican Republic side, but once inside Haiti I’m told we may be able to send only text messages. We will try to get the sat phone going. I’ve received endless messages from friends and family expressing deep concern for the Haitian people and wanting to help in any way, but with the communications being so bad, I guess those messages will stop soon.

We stayed overnight in Barahona, a resort town on the coast in Dominican Republic. It was quite surreal staying in a resort hotel with a swimming pool and signs that say ‘Remember to ask for your beach towel ticket’.

We’re not seeing anyone coming out of Haiti, but the Dominican Republic guards are operating a gate, and the border is clearly secured. The road was fairly clear up until we hit the border crossing itself. There are about 20-25 trucks waiting. It took about 10 hours to get here to the border, which is a lot longer than we expected. We’re told it’s only 60 km from here to Port-au-Prince. Our driver is just telling us now that it’s not a long distance, but it may take a long time because of the damage heading into the city.

Last night we spoke to a group of firefighters from the Dominican Republic who were going in with excavation equipment. They were young, dedicated, eager to help – an example of the kind of experts from around the world coming into Haiti to help.

We’re also hearing stories about what to expect when we cross over into Haiti. When I was last in Port-au-Prince five years ago, I stayed at the Hotel Villa Creole near the CARE office. From what I hear now it’s overrun with desperate people, aid workers and countless journalists packed six to a room, with more people sleeping on the lawn. But the hotel is staying open, doing whatever they can to help the people affected by the disaster.

January 14, 2010

“Like Going from Heaven to Hell”

A group of CARE staff and journalists -- 12 of us in all, landed in the city of Puerto Plata in the northern coast of the Dominican Republic early this afternoon. We were welcomed as tourists by a steel drum band, scantily clad dancers and free cocktails. It was a surreal experience.

Shortly, we all boarded a bus, which is taking us on the first leg of our eight hour journey over land to reach the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince. By all accounts, the scene will change dramatically once we cross the border. The lush green hills and gentle rain we see through our windows will give way to the harsh, deforested landscape of Haiti.

Even before the earthquake, Haitians lived in desperately poor circumstances; 80 percent of Haitians survive on less than $2 a day. I can scarcely imagine what it will be like now.

One of the ironies in this disaster is that CARE’s offices in Gonaïves are serving as an information hub because the conditions are so much better there than in the capital. Gonaïves was a wasteland in the aftermath of the Tropical Storm Jeanne. That was 2004, which also was the last time I visited Haiti and, now, it is a comparative oasis of calm and order -- proof that cities can be reborn and that places of disaster can become home to people once again. One of my companions on the bus said, “When we cross the border, it will be like going from heaven to hell.”

Communication is so difficult that the only contact with our colleagues in Port-au-Prince has been through text messages. The needs of survivors are overwhelming. Most immediately clean water, food and medical care.

Our Haitian colleagues are working around the clock because of the enormous task of meeting these needs. I can only hope that whatever small help I can offer will at least bring some hope.