It seems hard to believe, but tomorrow marks two weeks since Haiti’s massive earthquake. Since arriving I’ve been amazed at the resilience and resourcefulness of the people affected by this massive tragedy. When covering a story, I often try to imagine myself in the shoes of others; I think it better helps me tell their story. I am almost certain I would not handle a disaster of this magnitude with such dignity. The tent camps are a prime example.The newly homeless are caring for their “tents” (really just sheets strung up on wooden poles) as meticulously as they would their homes: sweeping out front, stacking washed dishes neatly in the corner, hanging laundry everywhere. Most of the people living there have nowhere to go as many schools are closed and people can’t return to work. Nonetheless, they are dressed impeccably, down to stiffly ironed collars.

I have also been struck by some of the ingenuity I’ve seen. Take a look at this picture:

This man is using his car battery to charge cell phones, dozens at a time. People pay him $3 a charge. He’s making a killing. After all, when you’ve lost everything, your cell phone is your only connection to your former life.

There are signs of society returning to normal. You can see some of them in this piece filed for TheGrio. Children are playing in parks, people are getting their hair cut, vendors have returned to their stalls. Remember those horrifying images of corpses in the streets? Not so anymore. The bodies have been taken away, although sadly we know hundreds are buried below piles of rubble, perhaps never to be recovered.

Naturally, though, this disaster looms large. It will take years before things really return to normal, whatever that means after a crisis like this. Driving down the street we noticed a pile of burning trash. A man pointed and told us that they’d burned bodies there, to get rid of them. I looked closer and sure enough, a skull was in the ash pile. Today I visited a tented children’s hospital at the airfield. One boy was laying on a cot covered in a blanket. An older woman sitting with him—presumably his grandmother—noticed our camera and pulled his blanket back, as if to say “hey journalists, you should see this.” With his cover removed, we saw that the boy’s leg had been amputated. When he saw it he started crying. It’s not that he didn’t know his leg was gone—it wasn’t a cry of realization. It was a cry of desperation. Seeing his leg reminded him that it was gone. And it reminded me that for so many people, there will be no such thing as “normal”, ever again.