Hopelessness. I wonder if we, as Americans, truly understand what hopelessness is.
We live in the richest country in the world. It certainly has its problems, but, if you are willing to endure the struggle, there's help for you and probably a decent future.
Can we say the same for the people of /*Haiti*/?
I write this as I'm flying back to a country I saw devastated beyond description in January. I worry about what I'll find today.
The last time: bodies on the streets, the stench of death, collapsed buildings, complete despair.
Survivors were dealing with the loss of loved ones and simultaneously trying to figure out how to get water, food and shelter. Something I hear has not changed.
I remember visiting a funeral home thinking it might be the one place doing business in that sorrowful time. Shockingly, the owner didn't have a single customer. "No one can afford to bury their dead," he said.
Fast forward almost six months to an impoverished nation with a million refugees sleeping under tents or less. With hurricane season upon us, a disaster even larger than the earthquake is looming.
Is it hopeless? Of course not. But it 's awfully close.
Monday, July 12, at 5: Six months after the earthquake, David Ono is back in Haiti. As the sun sets on a small coastal village, we get a firsthand look at the unthinkable decisions parents are making to keep their children alive.
Monday, July 12, at 11: David Ono takes you to the streets of Port au Prince, where thousands are still living in rubble. From inside one of Haiti's tent cities, we learn what's gone very wrong in the last six months and what locals believe is happening to the money Americans are sending.
