When I spoke with my sister on the phone shortly after the quake, she told me that their supermarket had collapsed. Thankfully, none of her friends were killed or had their houses collapse, but she said she was saddened because several of the people she used to see on a daily basis who worked at the market were killed. Many were decapitated, which is stigmatized in Haitian culture.
When I visited in June, I went there with my family several times. I remember it like this:
We drove by there today and this is what remains in its place:
That’s the back view of it, as the parking lot in front is completely inaccessable.
Today while we were waiting in the car for my dad to return from running an errand, my sister told me that after the quake, her boyfriend pulled nine people out of the rubble there, saving their lives. She said that in the chaos of the quake, several people attempted to go in there to steal groceries and things, blowing past people who were stuck, crushed, dying and in need of help. Many of them died in the process of looting, as the market collapsed further.
Yesterday afternoon after lunch, I spoke with my step mother about the market’s collapse. She told me she wants to cry every time she shops at another market. The simple frustration of not being able to find something triggers the realization of the loss.