Tranblemanntè 12 janvye 2010 nan peyi Ayiti
'The magnitude 7.0 Mw earthquake occurred inland, on 12 January 2010 at 16:53 (UTC-05:00), approximately 25 km (16 mi) WSW from Port-au-Prince at a depth of 13 km (8.1 mi) on blind thrust faults associated with the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault system. There is no evidence of surface rupture and based on seismological, geological and ground deformation data it is thought that the earthquake did not involve significant lateral slip on the main Enriquillo fault. Strong shaking associated with intensity IX on the Modified Mercalli scale (MM) was recorded in Port-au-Prince and its suburbs. It was also felt in several surrounding countries and regions, including Cuba (MM III in Guantánamo), Jamaica (MM II in Kingston), Venezuela (MM II in Caracas), Puerto Rico (MM II–III in San Juan), and the bordering Dominican Republic (MM III in Santo Domingo). According to estimates from the United States Geological Survey, approximately 3.5 million people lived in the area that experienced shaking intensity of MM VII to X, a range that can cause moderate to very heavy damage even to earthquake-resistant structures. Shaking damage was more severe than for other quakes of similar magnitude due to the shallow depth of the quake.'
'The quake occurred in the vicinity of the northern boundary where the Caribbean tectonic plate shifts eastwards by about 20 mm (0.79 in) per year in relation to the North American plate. The strike-slip fault system in the region has two branches in Haiti, the Septentrional-Oriente fault in the north and the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault in the south; both its location and focal mechanism suggested that the January 2010 quake was caused by a rupture of the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault, which had been locked for 250 years, gathering stress. However, a study published in May 2010 suggested that the rupture process may have involved slip on multiple blind thrust faults with only minor, deep, lateral slip along or near the main Enriquillo–Plantain Garden fault zone, suggesting that the event only partially relieved centuries of accumulated left-lateral strain on a small part of the plate-boundary system. The rupture was roughly 65 km (40 mi) long with mean slip of 1.8 metres (5 ft 11 in). Preliminary analysis of the slip distribution found amplitudes of up to about 4 m (13 ft) using ground motion records from all over the world.'
'A 2007 earthquake hazard study by C. DeMets and M. Wiggins-Grandison noted that the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault zone could be at the end of its seismic cycle and concluded that a worst-case forecast would involve a 7.2 Mw earthquake, similar in size to the 1692 Jamaica earthquake. Paul Mann and a group including the 2006 study team presented a hazard assessment of the Enriquillo-Plantain Garden fault system to the 18th Caribbean Geologic Conference in March 2008, noting the large strain; the team recommended "high priority" historical geologic rupture studies, as the fault was fully locked and had recorded few earthquakes in the preceding 40 years. An article published in Haiti's Le Matin newspaper in September 2008 cited comments by geologist Patrick Charles to the effect that there was a high risk of major seismic activity in Port-au-Prince.'
- Wikipedia, written by many hands on to you.
Awakening in the end of the night, where the stars were going out one by one. She was alone, and the bed was called – it was obvious he left in the intervening hours. She was not sure whether she was grateful or grateful – because she was glad to have seen him go. Somehow she knew she was impregnated with his baby, and the thought occurred whether to terminate the pregnancy – whether by medical or religious means. Her stomach roiled at the aborting this precious gift from God, though she would never say who the father was in its presence. That would be a secret known only to mon dieu.
Baby, baby, baby – she had never thought about having a child before, she hoped it had a moon shaped face – because that was something precious and come to the earth from deep in the sky. She did not care who the child was in its conception; almost any father would do. Because he – whoever he was – would be gone as soon as his pleasure was over, but she being the mother would remain. And that suited her fine – just she and the baby. Which is why in her mind she kept whispering for it to be with her. She wanted it, and this after having not wanted it at all.
Coming of a baby would bring bliss to her life, and to her mother's life. Her father had died some years before – and did not care for babies, children, or cats. Though he was Partikular to dogs, but only of a given size – too small and they were like children or cats, too large and there were control issues that he did not want. The exact size, when she thought about it, was a spaniel.
Window transmitted light: she could see the moon – rising up in all of her splendor, and whispering secrets to all who would listen. The secret that she heard from the moon, was that her girlhood had died while she slept. And it was now womanhood that she woke to. Her breath had almost stopped, and she listened for her Mama, but did not hear the whispering rasp. She wondered if she had been killed by Jon le Bon – but decided that was not his style, to murder the mother after having slept with the daughter. But she wondered what it would take to make him murderous. Because in her heart she knew that there was something which would. The thought was dark, and her eyes lit less light in – and the pattern of the stars grew dim. It was somewhat too bad that she did not know the constellations – though once she had a man who taught her. However that was a distant haze, when the time was for marijuana and beer, not wine and cigarettes.
After all there was a difference in the intoxicants that one imbibed. And with youth came different strengths, and the price was also small. But now she had more exquisite tastes, and she would have to wrangle from the doctor a trip to one expensive place or another. He had ways, and he liked to show them off.
Slowly the moon disappeared behind the house across the way, and she knew that in about an hour that the sunlight, glorious sunlight, would begin to creep along the horizon. Then it would be morning in Port-au-Prince – and a new day would begin. For those who actually worked, such as they were, it was a tough day. This was her. Butt of those who did not work it was just another day in January. Though the calendar was meant for more northern climes, and it did not register the same way in Haiti. She knew that she had bought this, at least once a day.
Sliding across the grass paper sheet – mother was Partikular about this, however much it cost – she looked down to the wooden floor – this time it was her father which was Partikular about this – she could just see the knots that wrinkled the surface. But what was actually on her mind was becoming day's events. While in developed countries – so she heard it said – one could do things in an office with a phone, here you had to talk to people face-to-face. Talk to people and assure them that this would not be a pattern – that most supplies would have a cut for “the handling” built-in for interested parties, this time they had to let things pass, and pass without taking anything. This would take several days, with each one being assured. This is where her line of work was most important, because she would be the one who would, essentially, pet the clients. And then in a trick of the eye, a face which she knew and would have to talk to transformed into a knot which resembled, vaguely, the shape of the man's head. Even though she had seen this happen in many circumstances, it still was disconcerting. She realized that dawn was approaching fast – because everything in the room began to feel lighter and brighter. Over reach for the heavens, she thought, and bring luck to us in our cause. It was not really an adventure, because nothing would be out of the ordinary or new. But it was a cause, because certain people would not have cholera inflicted on them. And what is more, they would not even know.
Turning away from the floor she again studied the outside, where there were birds in a chorus beginning to chirp and rumble in their variety. She recognized a pierce from a Partikular species, but she had forgotten which one it was. But this pierce meant something to her, and she identified with it. She identified it because it seemed alone and searching for a partner too much its own. It was a crying, a dedicated warble, for the bird who - she imagined – it was meant for. Because it is piercing stopped, and she hoped that it had found its mate. Hoping that this would be her fate as well.
Bathroom called, and demanded to be answered. Shoes on to feet, and feet on the floor. It was a ritual, from when she was small and her mama gathered her out of bed and wrapped her into her intoxicating night close. Her mother would talk about all of the things that they were going to do – she did not realize that it was the last summer before she went to school. But then sometime later, she realized that her mama did. This too, was a ritual.Easing down on the floor, through the slippers – she crept her way out of her room, and down the hallway. Their was an ornate floral wallpaper, which had been there since before she lived here, and probably before the people who owned this house – at least 40 years. There were chips and runs in it, and it had an old feel to it. No one knew what caused someone to obtain such paper once a long time ago when it was installed.
First she had to check something: though she knew what the logical answer was – the emotional vision of her mama murdered still clung to the visual part of her memory. Being rid of it, meant that she had to go in to mama's bedroom, and peer over mama's form – just to make sure that she was still awake. This only takes a few minutes – and when it was done a distinct sign escaped her lips. It surprised her that such intensity was made for what was obviously a simple check of a trivial thing. She knew that her mother was not murdered, but her mind stuck in the mode of the convinced on some level. She went into the bathroom and showered, which was actually a luxury. This being a country where water was precious, clean water more precious, and hot cleaned water was almost unheard of. Those people did not care about what the water out of a showerhead contained.
Returning to her room, she got out a business dress – which was green, a dark green that she favored – and tried on many of the accouterments until she was thoroughly presentable. A men would not understand the enormous detail that she went through – but almost any woman would. Thus it took 30 minutes to get this ensemble perfect.
Worth every minute of it – because she felt clean. But if you think about it very carefully, she rose with makeup still on her face – because cold cream was not in their budget – then she showered to get it and a denuded state – only to put on makeup which put a sheen on her face. And so the cycle was repeated again – soot to clean to soot. A never ending process, which she would demand until the day she died. There was something that commanded her to do this, even down to her genes. A lot typed version of evolution which she could have thought of if her mind really thought the way that a nurse could actually think.But of course her mind never troubled her learning - if she could help it.
There were also many things she did not do: such as pack a lunch. For every bit that she did not do, money would supply much of the answers if it came down to that. Of course most people on the island would not have money, that was the division between the poor and what should be called something different then the middle class – because of course most people were not in the middle class. It was a pyramid that was distorted, back to the 1600s, when people who had money were actually quite a few, and lived in a few cities which one could pick out. This was the way it was in Paris then, and in Haiti, now.
Marching through the day, such questions were herded to the back of her head; the main question now was who was going to drive her to the various locations that she needed to visit, and the people that she needed to talk to. Of course it could not be the same driver; 1st of all because he was too leery. This was a problem when she had to talk to men who had to be reminded that nothing was to be taken from a certain set of deliveries. This was because they would find ways of cashiering the driver; it was a male thing.
Perfect person came into her head: for one he was old, not too old mind to put old enough to put virility out of the picture. He was also somewhat round, though not quite fat. He had a slight stoop, and was certainly less than average. He talked about things he heard on his radio, which received far more stations then most people listen to. He could hear Ayisyen radio from a number of cities well outside of Haiti, where the diaspora had carried people to other shores. Of course many of these were unlicensed – that is to say pirated – but who in Haiti was concerned about that? His amiable tone of voice meant that he was unthreatening, and one would guess unhinged because he jumped from topic to topic. Belle c'est belle. She remembered hearing the female announcer a long time ago, and for a while that was one of her objectives, to be like Mimose. However Poppa put an end to that.
Moving to streets over, to her place where taxis congregated in the weekdays, she knocked on the car door. It was old, American, and large. Or large enough that it took up a great deal of space as it moved through the roadway. You knew it was old because it had a light turquoise finish with chrome where chrome should be, and not where it was not. There was pride in the car, and clearly the man who owned it was also the man who drove it. She did not know how fast it went, but she could guess that “not very” was close to the mark. It took two wraps before he looked up – he had his head in the glove kompartment, stripping wires.
The voice was mellow and slightly soft: “Hello my little thin girl. How are you doing? This is more than Sifre. You never say hello for the sake of it.”
“That hurts, I can occasionally say hello.” There were wisps of fake tears in her eyes, not for the truth of it; but that she allowed the truth of it to get out. From now on she would have to say things just to have the sound echo out of her lips.
Gradually, they fell into konversation, rather meaningless one, at least to her – she had not asked the key question as to whether he would drive her to various places. But she knew that was on the tip of her tongue, and he realized it. He occasionally looked down, back to stripping the wire. It was that that point that he was waiting for her to ask, because the answer was “yes” - or rather “ yes but” because he had something he wanted in return. And she knew it was not sex, so whatever it was could be arranged.
“So it does not seem like you have much to do, and you are not going to drive over to the collection of taxis.”
“This be true.” - in his unvarnished way of talking. He was de bas étage – as the French said it. The rural class held land – or fell into ruin, as he had done.
“Then could you drive me to various appointments that I have? Of course I would pay you – and more than some people would.”
“I know what you will pay me, you are always fair in that way. But I want something else rather than money.” “Yes, but” was obvious to all. At least there was no mistaking it.
“What is it?” Internally, her teeth ground at the unornamented way of talking, but that is the way that he talked and their was nothing she could do about it.
“Well, there is this gas station owner, and he made a bet with me.” The undulate syllables tripped early on his tongue, because it was obvious he won the bet.
“Say no more, I do not really want to know what you that on. I just want to know what do you want from me?” Cutting him off before he told her the details of the bet.
“After I fill up my voiture, I need to have someone call back to a friend of mine saying that I have petrol. And I do not have a phone.” A bit sheepish about this.
“Sure, I can do that for you.” she also imagined that having a friend would be beneficial to the man paying off the bet.
“Thank you I knew it would be the trouble for you.”
“What are friends for?”
“There is one last detail.”Slipped that in, quietly. Here was the real problem, which meant that it was not her phone – it was that her phone would not be traced by any of his friends to him.
“It is part way up the mountains, and out of Port-au-Prince. He owns other things in the town, but the gas comes in from the other part of the island.” Probably illegally to.
“That will be the last thing, is it not?”
“Yes, my friend, yes.” In Ayisyen kreyol, the “yes” was a great deal like the Parisian French. It had the sound of a guttural kind of “W” - and he played that up. The car door opened up, with an acrid scent that could only come from cigarettes, she recognized them of course – they were the scent of the mascot of French cigarettes. So off they went to make her appointments. It would take almost the entire day, but labor – even labor with a car – was cheap. Even if one had to live with the constant odor, even if he did not use them while she was in the car.
Cholera, however, was the important thing her mind – the passion killer born in the East lands of India – it had spread all over the world when the European nations had discovered colonization, realization, and the trade which came from them. The 1st comes from the British East India Company – sending workers in 2 the remote Ganges River, to take a forest and clear it for the production of that valuable commodity – rice. Rice of the type which is long grained, as the way it was done in India. Amidst the many rivers which created kilometers of deltas, 1 part was just beyond the Delta. It ran for miles, where the rivers came in and the sea came up – resulting in a mire of neither land nor sea. Instead it wobbled between both of these states – leading to land floating across water.
In this concoction a bacteria form its own lifespan – because in the brackish in between fresh and salt water weighted a special disease, which infected people who drank the water. Once having drunk the water, their intestines would be seized by a toxin so vicious that the body will do anything to get rid of it. It congeals in the intestine, and the fight causes the blood to turn black in the capillaries. Gradually the person wastes away – and that meant that the politicians needed to step in to create an entire infrastructure based on having clean water. In the 19th century, “ closing the taps” meant that a locus of cholera had been traced back to a water station – and the only way to get rid of it was to close the water station. It was the only way, or the dead would pile up until it was.
In the developed world, it is controlled – even the with of cholera will spark the echelons of waste to begin closing down its source. But in lands such as Haiti, not enough communication occurs until the blight is firmly rooted – and no one knows which water station is responsible, because it has spread to many others. What he is more deadly, is that the organizations and people who are supposed to be alert, often are the ones who spread the problem. Instead of watching, the hide signs of cholera. So the bacterial killer becomes a human killer. A human killer in disguise.
Cholera cots, a bed with a whole in the middle for catching diarrhea, and a tin for throwing up vomit – are really the signs that the entire world would rather not talk about the nature of cholera, about how it kills 1st the infants and survivors, before turning its gaze to more healthy stock. Within each caller cholera cot there is a fresh example of the ashen wastrel, to be replaced by another after some time. It is not that there is not really, if one can get fluids and electrolytes in time – the patient will survive. The problem is that they would rather go to a church, or to voodoo – where they will hear everything but the truth. They will hear their that they should pray or sacrifice a chicken – in place there soul in the hands of God. Because God will protect one were as a cholera center drives people away until the last possible moment. Water, water, everywhere, and ever mouthful hides a secret. She realized she had drunk some water at the voodoo ritual – perhaps she was a carrier.
Then it is too late. And when can see the results from the white faces of those who are gripped in a spasm that drains out the organs and tissues from both ends - because cholera lives in the native bacteria, and thrives in sewage water. This sewage water is that drunk, until it reaches the point where even a small amount will infect. This is the moment of fecal-oral spread. It has happened here in Haiti - this is what she was fighting against: a living dead populating the ghettos. And remember, all of Haiti is a ghetto for the entire New World – a public squalor. El amore en los tiempos del cólera – w willhere people scatter an outbreak – only to infect more places with more death. Till at last, the bodies cannot be disguised from their whiteness. This is one reason why white is the color of death in such lands.