Haiti Day Twenty One: A Presidential Goodbye It was a fitting end to three weeks in Haiti. I sat on a row of airport terminal chairs that had been lugged onto the tarmac (I suppose the building is considered unsafe), waiting for my flight out. I’d already been there four hours, and there was still no sign of my Tortug’Air flight making any attempt to leave. But then came an interesting distraction. The President of Haiti, René Préval, wandered into our waiting area. No one really knew why he was there, but everyone stood up to shake his hand. For some reason, he decided my hand didn’t need shaking, and moved right past me to take a seat in the back. I didn’t appreciate the slight, and then I bristled at the steady stream of giddy American aid workers taking photos with Préval like he was a movie star. Why do my countrymen always have to act like buffoons? I thought maybe he was on my flight at first. No way. Surely the Haitian government isn’t that poor. After waiting a while, he got up and milled around a bit. Then, he strolled right up to the seat next to me. “Can I sit here?” “Uh, yes sir, of course.” I brushed a crumpled tissue from his chair and quickly sat upright. I braced myself for awkwardness. Yet somehow, there was none. It was just me and the Prez, chillin’ on the tarmac, waitin’ for a plane. “So, uh…how do you feel? You must be tired.” “Tired? No,” he said as if he’s answered the question a million times. “Just stressed. The situation is not easy.” As it turns out, he was awaiting the arrival of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, the President of Brazil. Ahh…so that’s why all these Brazilian military aircraft are crowding the runway and delaying my flight, I realized. Sitting there next to René, I had a sudden thought. Camera! This moment must be captured. Me with my arm around the president, my new best friend. But just as I unzipped my camera bag, I looked up and Préval was gone. Someone had come to whisk him away, towards that big Brazilian plane and military band, to greet Lula and take off in a helicopter. By the time I got my camera ready, I was left with this (above). A shot of the president’s back. I kicked myself for having judged the other Americans with their point-and-shoots. Now all I wanted was to steal their photos and insert my face. It’s a feeling I’ve had many times on this journey. Even with thousands of images and hours of recordings, it won’t be enough. To capture all the joy and hurt, the death and life, the beauty and disaster, the hopelessness and faith of Haiti in 2010. It will never be enough. For all that I missed, good and bad, memory will have to suffice. Farewell, Mr. President.

Haiti Day Twenty One: A Presidential Goodbye

It was a fitting end to three weeks in Haiti. I sat on a row of airport terminal chairs that had been lugged onto the tarmac (I suppose the building is considered unsafe), waiting for my flight out. I’d already been there four hours, and there was still no sign of my Tortug’Air flight making any attempt to leave.

But then came an interesting distraction. The President of Haiti, René Préval, wandered into our waiting area. No one really knew why he was there, but everyone stood up to shake his hand. For some reason, he decided my hand didn’t need shaking, and moved right past me to take a seat in the back. I didn’t appreciate the slight, and then I bristled at the steady stream of giddy American aid workers taking photos with Préval like he was a movie star. Why do my countrymen always have to act like buffoons?

I thought maybe he was on my flight at first. No way. Surely the Haitian government isn’t that poor. After waiting a while, he got up and milled around a bit. Then, he strolled right up to the seat next to me.

“Can I sit here?”

“Uh, yes sir, of course.” I brushed a crumpled tissue from his chair and quickly sat upright. I braced myself for awkwardness. Yet somehow, there was none. It was just me and the Prez, chillin’ on the tarmac, waitin’ for a plane.

“So, uh…how do you feel? You must be tired.”

“Tired? No,” he said as if he’s answered the question a million times. “Just stressed. The situation is not easy.”

As it turns out, he was awaiting the arrival of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, the President of Brazil. Ahh…so that’s why all these Brazilian military aircraft are crowding the runway and delaying my flight, I realized.

Sitting there next to René, I had a sudden thought. Camera! This moment must be captured. Me with my arm around the president, my new best friend. But just as I unzipped my camera bag, I looked up and Préval was gone. Someone had come to whisk him away, towards that big Brazilian plane and military band, to greet Lula and take off in a helicopter.

By the time I got my camera ready, I was left with this (above). A shot of the president’s back. I kicked myself for having judged the other Americans with their point-and-shoots. Now all I wanted was to steal their photos and insert my face.

It’s a feeling I’ve had many times on this journey. Even with thousands of images and hours of recordings, it won’t be enough. To capture all the joy and hurt, the death and life, the beauty and disaster, the hopelessness and faith of Haiti in 2010. It will never be enough. For all that I missed, good and bad, memory will have to suffice. Farewell, Mr. President.