9 years ago, I was a 19 year old, insecure, curious college student, drying my hair in the bathroom when my roommate yelled for me to look at the alert broadcast interrupting our usual routine of watching Good Morning America as we got ready for class. We watched as an airplane, smoke, and a small fire protruded from an upper floor of one of the twin towers. We speculated as to what could have gone wrong- air traffic control problem, we assumed. We finished getting ready, and walked out the door to our Union Square neighborhood, where we were met by what I recall to be dozens of people, not moving at the brisk new york morning pace we were used to, but standing still, silent, eyes fixed on the near horizon. From our front door we had a near perfect, unblocked view of the twin towers. In learning my way around new york city, I used landmarks as my compass. The twin towers my unwavering view of the south, the empire state building as my north star (in those early days, my new york world rarely extended above 34th st, so these landmarks sufficed).
It's funny because I don't remember if I saw the second plane hit on TV or live, if at all. There are moments of that day and the days that followed that are so real and raw it might have happened yesterday. But that is a detail I can't recall. For some reason, I had grabbed my camera. I have photos of faces familiar to me from living in the same dorm, walking the same path to class, staring at the sky.
And then I walked to class. I didn't know what to do. I had a 915am anatomy & physiology class in a classroom next door to the Village Voice office building. The streets were packed now. I heard someone say that people were jumping out of the windows of the towers. I took the long way to class, waiting to turn east until I came upon Washington Square Park. I dont remember if I saw this live- but I have an image of it in my head. From TV? It's interesting how the brain can make it's own memories, tricking us. The class was on the first floor, with large street-front windows. I sat in the back (some things never change), right by the windows. I remember suddenly what seemed like hundreds of people were running past the windows, covered in dust and white dirt. The professor, who had actually been trying to lecture, gave up and dismissed us. I went outside and joined the masses. The air was dusty, and frantic. I looked for my southern landmark to see if another plane had hit, or if the fire I had seen before was raging with more intensity. I couldn't find them. I ran with the crowd, crossing over to Astor place. Still couldn't see the towers. I don't remember how I learned that they had fallen. Did someone tell me? I crossed towards Washington Square Park. There were lines at the phone booths as most cell phone service was already disrupted (mine lasted another few hours- thank you Verizon, I will never leave you). A girl sat on the sidewalk, she was about my age, crying. Her dad worked in the towers.
I ran back to my building in Union Square. My Resident Advisor who I had met only a week before, and who I thought was cute, was directing traffic, giving information in the lobby. I met up with my roommate who told me a temporary hospital was being set up in the NYU gym downtown. We stuffed our backpacks with supplies (crunchy granola bars, water, and band-aids. Im not kidding. thats what I took) and ran back downtown. We got to the gym, and no one was there. No injured. We dropped off the supplies and learned that St. Vincent's hospital was having a blood drive. Blood would be needed for the survivors. We ran north. By this time the roads were closed to all traffic except emergency vehicles. I remember waiting for the hundreds of ambulances that surely would be taking the hundreds of injured people to the city's open hospitals. The lines to give blood were enormous. Money was being collected. The port-authority was handing out water to those in line. It was hot that day- now probably close to 11am, maybe noon. A combination of tattoos, foreign travel and low blood pressure kept me from the blood-giving lines, divided now by type, and I joined the people handing out supplies to the volunteers. I was overwhelmed by the people, just regular new yorkers, willing to do whatever they could to help. The people. Taking in the now homeless, lost, scared. People willing to do anything to help. Vigils were set up in union square. Hymns were sung, debates on appropriate retaliation raged. By now we knew it was a terrorist attack. Photos of the missing littered any immovable structure- subway walls, telephone poles, storefront windows, trees. Have you seen me?
9 years later, I am a slightly less insecure, slightly more curious, 28 year old graduate student. Starting a new semester, the first day of class. I am married to that resident advisor. I don't remember how we learned about the earthquake in Haiti. NPR? Did someone call? I was calm at first. Used to the over-sensationalization of the cable news. Im sure it's not that bad, we said. I posted to facebook- 7.3 quake hits port-au-prince. We waited. By the time we went to sleep, we knew. Something had happened, this was real. By the morning, the scene was worse. The photos of the missing covering the internet, cnn, facebook. Have you seen me? The cell lines were down, electricity was out. Reggie's grandmothers and great-grandmother still missing. His father's mother, an aunt and an uncle live outside of port-au-prince, we learned soon that they were safe. We watched in horror as the disaster relief didn't come. Where was the government? The bottled water? The blood drives? We watched as the true kindness of strangers became evident. People using their hands, basic household tools, blow-torches, shovels, hammers, dug through precarious rubble, listening for the sounds of the living buried below. All multi-story structures have fallen, we heard. We feared the worst. By Wed evening, the UN had mobilized and soldiers joined the Haitian people. Still no word from his family. What could we do? We texted to the red-cross, donating $10 at a time. Feeling that it wasn't enough. Calls to Reggie's mother and aunts only made us feel more panicked. What could we do? It killed us to sit on our hands, with only Anderson Cooper to show us what was left of the community that had been Reggie's childhood home, and the home of his parents, siblings, cousins.
We spent the winter holidays this year with Reggie's family, both in New York and Miami. We had been planning for a year to visit his grandmothers in Haiti over my Spring break- March 7-14. After being around my lovely Haitian family, I was more than excited to finally go. Making Reg have "creole-only" conversations with me, labeling household items, thinking of travel costumes to pack! I had finally convinced Reggie to take me after 5 years of pushing. What if they were dead? I never said it out loud. I kept thinking it, over and over. What would we do? What would his mother, his aunts? His grandmother is in her 70s, great-grandmother near 90. What if we never heard? How long do you wait? When could we go? We can go today! tomorrow! We will search! Other people's family members handed Anderson Cooper photos to show on TV- this person is deceased, this one is alive. we are ok! Photos were posted on facebook. Not unlike those crowded subway walls 9 years ago in new york. We waited. Then Thursday, early afternoon, we heard- They are alive!!! His grandmother and great-grandmother were alive! And uninjured! Their house was destroyed, but they were alive- and, from what I have been told, in typical Fils-Aime/Brutus women fashion- were in no rush to leave the country. His grandmother was cooking whatever food she had outside of what was left of her home, to help the volunteers. They were sleeping in the courtyard. These women AMAZE me! It would take an entirely new blog post to describe the resiliency of the Haitian people, most specifically the matriarchs in Reggie's family.
Of course, a consolidated, rapid government response to a crisis is absolutely necessary. We need police, fire, rescue, food, water, shelter. But it is the response of the ordinary person that really makes the difference. People didn't run, didn't flee to safer grounds. They stayed to help their neighbors. No food, no water, constant after-shocks. And people stayed. Reggie's grandmothers stayed! It was discussed in a family conference call yesterday that they will have to be CONVINCED to leave! All around the story is the same- people risking their own lives for the lives and security of others. millions raised through text-message donations. goods collected, waiting for the aid flights to be cleared. But more than what we do here, watching through the generator-powered lens of the cable news channels I so often eschew, the people of Haiti working tirelessly for each other, as history has time and time again forced them to do.
I will keep updating this blog with reports of Reggie's family. Our friends and family have also amazed us with their concern and generosity. Through hundreds of emails, phone calls, facebook posts, we have heard nothing but love and support from those around us. Thank you all so much. As of this morning, the plan is to get his fragile great-grandmother, Maurianne, (of course the term fragile takes on new meaning here!) to the airport. Her documents have to be located, but she is a US citizen, and we hope we will be able to get her to Miami within the week. His grandmother, Therese, will need to be convinced to leave, but we hope she is here safely soon.
Reggie and I still plan to go to Haiti in March. Sadly, it will not be the trip we had hoped for- full of catching up, sitting in the sun, visiting with cousins and relatives we see far too infrequently. A house is just a physical structure, of course.
I know in the coming months I will continue to be amazed by the awesome power of the kindness of strangers. I don't know if I believe in God, heaven, or hell, but it is nearly impossible to not be in complete awe of, and have faith in, the human spirit.
to follow information on the family, please check out the family facbeook group.
Jean-Yves & Reggie, in Haiti, ~ 1984.
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