The man shouts, “THEY SAID THAT I COULD HAVE A TENT!!!”
He is a lean, middle aged, handsome and strong featured black man and he’s furious. His eyes bug out and his cheeks puff up as he explodes again into a fit of shouting, “THEY SAID THAT I COULD HAVE A TENT!” He is also impeccably well dressed. His pin striped tie pinches a blue Oxford shirt to his neck and he’s wearing a black Italian dinner jacket. I’m thinking, this guy is obviously some kind of Haitian Minister of Something. Only a Haitian Minister would be out here two days after the earthquake, wearing a full suit in this hot sun while frantically trying to order an evacuation.
What’s happened is that Ben and I were sitting on the tarmac when suddenly the unit of the 82nd Airborne was ordered to move out. We were told to go with them to translate. So, with us jogging along in the midst of some twenty soldiers in body armor, helmets and machine guns, we trotted down the runway, into the airport, through halls crowded with pushing aid workers and rescuers, and out the front door to where passengers are waiting to get inside. That’s where we are now, in front of the airport. The soldiers have formed a human barrier and are facing a small crowd of well-dressed civilian Haitians and their luggage. These are Haitian-Americans who have visas or residency status in the US. They are evacuating, getting the hell out of post-earthquake Haiti. But it’s not clear why they need a unit of heavily armed soldiers to control them. They seem perfectly calm. They are following instructions. In fact, the problem seems to be the Haitian Minister.
I’ve been watching him for some time now. He’s everywhere. He’s inside the airport. He’s outside the airport. He’s talking to people, his arms flailing. Now he’s giving orders, he’s pointing. Now he’s having the passengers form one long line. They do it. Now he’s having them form five short lines. They do that too. Now he’s exasperated, he throws his arms up in the air and stomps off toward the front door of the airport. Behind him the lines melt into a formless mass. Then suddenly he is back. And now he is standing inches from the face of a burly 82nd Airborne Major and he is shouting again, “THEY SAID THAT I COULD HAVE A TENT!”
The Major is undaunted, “Sorry sir, no tents.”
What the Minister means is not a tent. What he means is an awning, to protect the visa Haitians from the sun. But I am thinking, at least this guy is trying. I mean yes, he’s making a mess of things, indeed, creating chaos. But hey, it’s his country, these are his people, and at least he is out here trying to organize things.
The Major ignores the Minister and goes back to talking to his lieutenant. The two are looking at the growing crowd of Haitian visa holders, sizing up the situation. And that bothers me. I am thinking, This is typical. The minister is here trying help his people evacuate and the US military officers treat him like he’s nobody. I can’t watch this. I am just a translator but there has to be something I can do. I head over to talk to the Minister, see if I can help.
“THEY SAID THAT I COULD HAVE A TENT!”, he’s shouting again. It’s only a moment later and once again the Minister’s eyes bugged out, his cheeks puffed up, and he has exploded into a fit of shouting. This time he is shouting at me.
“They don’t have any tents, sir” I say it low and soft, trying to calm him. And it seems to work; at least for the moment.
“They said that they did have tents.” He’s responding normally. His voice is a little shrill but he’s not shouting, “They said that they would get me tents.”
“But they don’t have any sir,” I say
“WHO ARE YOU?” He’s pissed again.
“I am just here trying to help.”
“DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?”
Christ, I am thinking, he really is a Minister, “Maybe there is someone I can call.”
He is glaring at me.
Oh man, the Minister is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I decide that maybe if I speak to him in Creole he’ll see that I’m not with the military, that I’m on his side, that I am really here trying to help. Gade non, mysieu, petet “Sir, maybe…“
“I DON’T SPEAK CREOLE!” he screams.
Now I’ve done it.
“I AM THE CONSULAR GENERAL OF THE UNITED STATES.” And Consular General Donald Moore stormed off.
Pic is of United States Consular General Donald Moore from from https://nypost.com/2013/06/16/)
