Even though I'm only 26 years old, I've seen my share of natural
disasters. They appear in the front page of the morning papers, they get aired on the nightly news and leave us all wondering, what can we do to help'
On the morning of Jan. 13, I woke up to peruse the news headlines as usual and was shocked to read about the horrendous earthquake that rocked the Haitian capital Port-au-Prince. As I continued
to read through the headlines and stories and saw the images, it became clear to me that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I watched this from the outside, from the comfort of my modest
apartment in Toronto. I decided I was going to go to Haiti. I asked my brother, Cory, if he wanted to drop everything right then and there and go to help out. It took him less than five seconds
to say, ?I'm in.?
We had absolutely no plan at all. We were just going to fly to Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic in hopes of finding a relief agency to go with. We left Toronto late on Jan. 13. Once we
landed, we met an American named Stevens Ewald, who was going to Haiti to find his missing father. We decided we would go with him to help find his father and family. We got on the only bus that
left from Santo Domingo to Port-au-Prince, and that was how the whole adventure began.
The first line of my Haiti journal reads: ?Am I mad' Have I completely lost my mind'? As the bus started the seven-hour trip to Haiti, I began to get very anxious. We had virtually no clothes
with us, little water, only $20 left in cash, and we were accompanying a stranger we had just met in the airport to the site of one of the most devastating earthquakes in modern history. I have
been through some crazy adventures in my life, but this time, I thought, maybe I'd gone too far.
We arrived at around 6 p.m., less than an hour before sunset and we couldn't get in touch with Stevens' family. We walked to the nearest gas station and passed several dead bodies at the side of
the road wrapped in sheets. I had to cover my face with my shirt to avoid breathing in the potent smell of the cadavers. A woman with barely any clothes on sat screaming and crying in hysteria as
onlookers tried to control her. This was Port-au-Prince.
It was now after 7 p.m. and we were still at a gas station, it was dark and I began having anxiety attacks as Stevens was unable to find us a place to sleep for the night. It was hard to believe
I was in this situation voluntarily, and had put my life in such danger. Finally, we got the news that two motorcycles would drive the three of us to the apartment complex where Stevens' family
was staying. I had no choice at this point, so I got on the bike.
It was nice to get some fresh air for a few minutes, escaping the stench of death that surrounded us near the gas station. As we cruised through the streets at night, we got a first-hand account
of the damage. Cars had been flattened by quake, and the roads were covered in debris, so our driver had to weave through broken buildings.
We finally arrived at the Ewald family's house. In the courtyard outside the housing complex, 50 or 60 people lay on the concrete huddled together. We spent the night with his family and friends.
They talked to us about what happened and shared with us both the tragedies and miracles of the horrific situation. ?In Haiti, we have a kinda saying,? his uncle told us. ?We thank God for our
blessings, and we thank God for our miseries.?
At about 10 p.m., we took a drive through Stevens' neighbourhood. He told us that although the stories in the media portrayed rioting and looting, the reality for the most part in Port-au-Prince
was that people had come together to help each other. From a crowd of people sleeping on the streets, we could hear the sound of uplifting gospel chants and hymns, melodies of hope being sung by
a group of people who had lost everything and, for many of them, lost everyone.
We got back to the building complex, where I found a bench to sleep on. The building was deemed unstable, and no one was allowed to sleep inside. Throughout that night, I was awoken three times ?
twice from aftershocks and once from a round of gunfire.
The next morning we went for another ride through the city with Stevens' uncle to try to find his father, first stopping to get some fuel. The gas stations were in a state of chaos, as people
fought tooth and nail for gasoline. It was at this point that Cory and I agreed to get ourselves out if this situation; it just wasn't safe for us to be wandering around. Our plan was to go to
the Canadian Embassy, however, with no gas or taxis, this posed a huge challenge.
I started walking around the streets trying to find foreigners, media or relief agencies, anyone who could help us get to the embassy. I bumped into two journalists from Fox News and told them of
my situation. Although they did not offer a ride, one journalist gave me $60 (US) and the name of his hotel in case we couldn't find a place to stay. I felt a little bit better with some money in
my pocket, and was humbled by his generosity. Finally, I found a Canadian Haitian Co-operation Agency worker who agreed to take my brother and I to the embassy only after I got out my passport
and started screaming, ?I am Canadian you need to take me to the embassy!?
The Canadian Embassy invited us in with open arms and took great care of us. They didn't even ask what we were doing in Haiti and gave us a place to rest; some clean water and told us that the
military would be evacuating us in the next day or two. I felt guilty about being with Canadians who had witnessed such an ordeal, knowing that I was there by choice, by my own free will and
stupidity.
As we walked outside of the embassy to film some of the destroyed buildings, a Haitian man came up to us and asked if we were journalists. He said he wanted us to interview him. He told us, ?My
name is Moshe Tuson. I'm walking around with a foot that's hurting, but I gotta see which families alive and see who's here and who's there before I can start breathing.?
Sixteen hours later, we took a military plane to Montreal and made our way back home to Toronto. We got back on Saturday night, Jan. 16. Looking back on the whole experience, I have a lot of
mixed feelings of success and failure. I was happy we were able to have helped Stevens reconnect with his family and he eventually found his father.
It was so moving to hear their stories, and I intend on relaying them to others in the hopes of raising more money for relief aid and reconstruction. I hope I can look back and say that in the
face of tragedy, I did all that I could to help.
Three nights after getting back home safely, I was still having flashbacks of the horror that I saw there. Now, the situation looks like its getting worse; the people of Haiti need all the help
they can get.
It says in the Book of Isaiah that the Jewish people must be ?a light unto the nations,? but right now the world must be a light unto the Haitians.
Ben Feferman is a Toronto filmmaker.
