So, what has been for Haiti to have an earthquake?
HelpingHand To Haiti
Some stories never end good, just because they're end isn't what we expected, and what they expected...
I lie here on my straw mat, staring up into the darkness. My baby lies beside me, snuffling in her sleep. And over there on the mud floor my four other living children, all curled up together. Out in the yard, in their graves, the two dead ones. My firstborn died when she was three, and the youngest boy last year. How I cried when I buried them...
But now I need to think carefully, about my problems. First, my husband. A good man. He works hard and is always thinking of way to make our lifes better than how they're are. Two months ago, he went to Mirebalais, in Haiti to visit his ill brother, who moved there last year, for a better work. He got a plane two months ago, when he left us. I've no idea where he could be. He hasn't tried to contact me. But I understand, here is impossible. I don't know how to write, we don't have TV or anything similar, no cell phones or anything. Nothing. He said that when he gets back we'll find a better village, work and buy a goat, then send the eldest boy to primary school. And I really hope this gets better. When he gets back we'll start over new, as good as we can. But now, I'm trying to figure out what has happen to him, maybe he could be ill, or in trouble.
And our poor farm. The rains were poor last season. Out in our tiny field the millet is dry and stunted. Enough to feed us for two months more or less... and with luck. Perhaps more. But what then? What we'll do? I'm getting more and more afraid as I think more about it. In the darkness I can feel my savings, tied in the corner of my cloth. Not enough, just nineteeen cedis. If any of my children fall ill, there won't be ebough for medicine, not really.
I could sell something, but what? You could count our possesions in seconds. Three enamel bowls, two metal plates, the cooking pot, the water bucket, the kerosene lamp made from a bottle, the wooden pestle for pounding the millet, one machete, one hoe, two small knives, a fork, a torch with no bulb, two mats from my parents and a few bundles of worm clothing.
Now there is another big problem. Without clean water, my children and I will fall ill, and that isn't what we want at all. But I don't know what to do. The river is nearly dry. And everybody know that in Africa there isn't justice for clean water. At Sotouboua everybody's poor...
But every day is a new day. And we have trust in god above. Now my children a sleeping. But I can't sleep. It's strange, I'm hearing a voice, from a woman. I'll go and see what is happening, someyone is shouting so hard it's gonna wake my chidren... When I go outside, I see a woman running towards our village with another two men. Now I see my neighbour Damela, talking with the woman, she cries and runs towards me with tears on her eyes. She has known me since we were little. And I know something isn't right. She hold my hand carefully and whispers me sorrounded in tears which carry dust down to the cheek and finally fall from the chin.
I ask her what happens, what is happening Damela? Why do you cry? Damela?
She look at me and whispers: Haiti has suffered an earthquake... I hope your husband is alright. I'm sorry...
Suddenly saddness draw many tears on my face. I knew I had lost him, perhaps forever.
Now i know that poverty will not bring any good. The little trust and faith I had has vanished away. I hope anything like this happens again. Many people will die, plus children injured. And this could happen to anyone.
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A 6.7 magnitude earthquake hits Haiti, with a duration of 47 seconds, nearly one entire minute. The bodies recovered on 25 January exceeded 150,000, calculated that the death toll could reach 200,000.
We hope they don't suffer more.
