“Yes, I’ll go to Haiti.”
My mind was gone. I definitely couldn’t focus but I had to. The Domincan Republic was my first stop.
The Jet Blue flight from JFK to Santa Domingo was quiet. Of course everyone on board the plane was tired, but folks weren’t sleeping — they were watching and listening.
MSNBC and CNN’s coverage from Port au Prince, Haiti, had everyone glued to the screens in front of their seats. Journalists from the Haitian Times and producers and security from NBC News sat towards the back of the plane near my seat.
There was so much to talk about, but it’s hard to put anything into words with images of discarded bodies and crying families on continuous loop.
And then I remembered my conversations with people from earlier that morning in New York. When someone tells you they have no idea how their grandmother is doing or they can’t get a hold of their cousins or they don’t know if their home is still standing, it stays with you.
I knew reality was almost here.
Santa Domingo was just as quiet when we arrived. Sure, it was 2 am, but it seemed as if everyone knew uncertain and chaotic times lay ahead.
Caravanning to another airport the following morning was tricky. So many people are trying to get to Haiti — military, humanitarian, media — the list goes on and on.
Delays are the norm. Planes carrying food and supplies, relief workers are obviously taking priority over us journalists.
So for now, I’ll wait, even though Haitian people’s stories cannot.