The hotel was known as the compound. We were locked in and out. It provided us all with a sense of security. The compound was filled with relief workers and journalists. Many were picked up by a driver and taken directly their destinations and never stepped outside on their own. After only a few hours in the compound the faces become familiar. Without speaking you give a polite nod and muster up a smile that says ‘we get it’. The scene always reminded me of something out of an Indiana Jones’ movie or Casablanca. Picture it- an old cantina, a room full of ex-pats, and everyone sort of knows everyone else without saying a word. Maybe it wasn’t quite that exotic, but you get the idea.
Well, why others were being transported door to door to their destination we decided to step out on our own. I would like to say this was because of our sheer bravery, but it was because of our first day naïveté. When we stepped out the front door we were not sure where we were going except towards the closest tarp city (just across the street).
We had just stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of our hotel when a man approached us and said that he was supposed to help us. Well, we weren’t quite that naïve. We started to walk away but he continued to follow us and said that our driver told him to look out for us. We were still more than a bit leery, but he spoke English and we really had no idea where we were going- so we took the chance. At that moment, Michael became our official guide and translator for the week. Although, I’m not sure his fragile frame could have held up against a strong wind but he took responsibility for protecting us. Whenever crowds would get too close or start grabbing us he would step in, he cleared a path for us to walk through the busy streets, and he guided us around Port-Au-Prince. He truly made a difference in our experience and whether it was luck or we were lucky- it all worked out. And every morning we could count on Michael to be waiting for us.
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