Emile Francis is a Creole speaking Haitian who lives in the Cité Soleil slum of Port-au-Prince, perhaps the least pleasant place in all of Haiti. His third child recently died of typhoid fever and malnutrition, and his ailing wife sells bits of sugarcane in the district's pestilent alleyways to help the family eke out a living. Francis moves through their dilapidated world of foul odors, flimsy shanties, and suspended lives with a nervous, birdlike energy and erupts angrily at any provocation.
"This death-in-life can't go on," he raged on one recent occasion, thrashing his arms wildly and sobbing loudly in a futile display of resentment and despair. "This filthy, open-sewer existence cannot be allowed to continue!"
Around him, haggard dogs whimpered and barked, naked children turned to stare, and a leathery old woman peered upward from a pile of charcoal she had spread on the ground to sell for a few gourdes.
It was just another day in Cité Soleil.
"Sometimes the brightest stars give off the most horrifying noises,” an astronomer friend used to say, and in a way Haiti is like that. The Caribbean's oldest republic, it is also a major center for creative art in the region, with intricate and beautiful paintings for sale in almost every quarter. But disease, unemployment, political violence, staggering poverty, and a burgeoning population problem continue to stalk this densely packed land, where most do not survive beyond the age of 53. Since Haiti's problems usually spill outward to affect the United States, many - even some among the despairing, dying residents of Haiti's most notorious slum - say that the Bush administration should look more closely for ways to support and foster positive change there.
Unlike Mr. Francis, other disenfranchised Haitians in the Cité Soleil slum are less explosive - less visibly resentful toward the shattered world that they share. As the sun beats down, they retreat to their makeshift hits to speak quietly of their hopes and everyday problems.
"I hope the new government will make things better so that I can some day have a chance to get a job,” said Phillipe Leveille, an unemployed driver. As he spoke, a sickly cough interrupted the flow of his words, and he extended a grime-encrusted hand in a gesture of friendship. "Some times there is no food for two days,” he said. "Democracy is good, but God is our best hope, so I pray he will save me.”
These days, a democratic Haiti is very much on the minds of many - one that will systematically reverse the pattern of failed chances and missed opportunities that the country has experienced since the ouster of Jean-Claude Duvalier in 1986. Those involved in grass-roots efforts to create political change say that the departure of Haiti's latest military strongman, Prosper Avril, in March, has made progress on the political front possible and has set the stage for other gains. The change, they say, must happen now. "A few years ago, democracy made only a small blaze and then it went out,” said one activist from the town of Gonaives, 90 miles north of Port-au-Prince. "Now, we have given it a chance to burn brightly.”
Others in Haiti remain dubious. On the one
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