As we drove from the airport through the rubble-strewn city, I felt lost on the streets I knew well.
In my haste to leave for Haiti, I’d forgotten a few things, including a sleeping bag and flashlight. Big mistake. We were going to be sleeping on the tarmac and I could already see it was going to be a long, loud, night.
I quickly ran into journalists I knew and we commandeered a few cars. I sent one person to find out where my former husband, Jean Raymond, was, and in another I went with the ABC crew to see what was happening on the streets.
It was familiar: the empty, dark streets late at night. How many times over the past 20 years had I traveled through there? But now, because of the debris, the collapse of so many buildings, I didn’t know where I was.
At the major intersection of Delmas and Grand Rue, I couldn’t tell which street was which. I was totally turned around by the time we got to the first rescue site, where people were trying to free a young woman who had, the day before, been working at her desk at Citibank when the three-story building collapsed.