By Mildrede Beliard

January 12, 2010 starts out like any other day at the beginning of the year: streets are full of children on their way to school, people going to work, street vendors, cars that fight over each inch of the road. We cross each other without seeing one another: too busy, too distracted.

The workday continues normally. We have had meetings all day to prepare our participation in the carnival which starts in two weeks. We eat, we laugh, we tease each other, carefree, easy, with no other concern than choosing the right outfit for the next day to impress our colleagues.

A few seconds make everything fall apart.

Each person will describe those seconds of horror differently but we all share this feeling of how the earth opened up beneath our feet. First, there was this noise. A cry of the earth as if it was howling and creaking from a pressure too strong. Then, nothing. Complete silence. And finally, like one single voice, the screams of horror, panic, disbelief, the suffering of a whole nation.

A cry that swells until it becomes unbearable as we see the horror and devastation. We cannot even see one meter ahead of us. A cloud of dust covers the city pitifully, as if it was giving us time to prepare ourselves for the unbelievable.

A girl, her arm shredded, blood spilled over her face, calls out for her mother before she collapses. A woman's body, her head exploded under a concrete block, frozen in a last reflex to escape death. Blood everywhere, torn bodies. We cross each other on the street, but this time, we recognize each other. Under the dust that covers us, we're all the same, brothers and sisters.

On 12 January 2010, Haitians found each other. United in horror, but also in survival. Like any creature who feels threatened, we embraced each other. No more social classes. Only men and women trying to console each other, drawing strength from comforting the person sitting in front of the rubble desperately waiting for a sign of life from a loved one who did not make it out.

A nation that desperately waits for a gesture, a sign, anything that would wake us up from this nightmare. A miracle perhaps? When you’re praying with all your strength and you firmly believe, your prayers will be heard. From all over the world came gestures of solidarity, from countries we didn’t even know existed. And even better than a miracle: helping hands, words of comfort and something to hold on to while we try to get back on our feet.

While some people would give anything to leave the country, others arrive to tell the rest of the world how much help is needed. People who have little, almost nothing, want to share. Every Haitian abroad looks for friends, relatives they lost sight of decades ago. Every Haitian in the country shares what little they have or don’t have with the other people who have only their lives left.

Rescuers from around the world put their lives at risk to continue the work begun by the Haitian people with only their arms as tools. We saw people who had lost everything report for duty and inquire about how to assist their brothers and sisters.

We have seen CARE’s staff going back home exhausted after a day of distribution, making their beds on the floor and waking up before sunrise the next morning. A way to give meaning to their lives, a way of showing their gratitude for having escaped death, a way of saying thank you to all those who, without even knowing us, have reached out. We have seen doctors walking through the streets from neighborhood to neighborhood, a megaphone in hand, offering free care to the wounded.

On January 12, 2010, Haiti has experienced the horror. But we also saw love, solidarity, compassion.

A year later, much remains to be done. Many streets are still littered with debris; houses partially destroyed continue to be a danger to those passing by. The spontaneous camps are now villages and every family seeks to build a more permanent shelter, a more solid structure to withstand the rains and winds.

A year later, thanks to the generosity of many people, mothers who gave birth in makeshift hospitals can put a roof over the heads of their children. However, children were forced to leave school and have no way to return: the costs are too high and their parents lost everything.

Reconstruction is slow and painful. In addition to physical space, we must also rebuild this nation. Teach a population that has lived of donations for the last months to regain their autonomy. Teach people who have seen their world crumbling down within a few seconds to believe in the future again.

And reconstruction is hampered by the odds against our nation. Cyclones, floods and now a cholera epidemic. There is so much to do that progress appears minimal. You offer cash for work to build a road to facilitate access to a remote area. With the money, the recipient can start a small business. He can feed his family but he will continue to live in a tent or a makeshift shelter because he cannot afford to rebuild his house or rent another one.

There is always more to do. Not only building a shelter but also latrines in the neighborhood which never even had such a facility before. Providing potable water. Ensuring that there is a medical clinic, a school where parents can send their children without ruining themselves paying for it.

There is so much more to reconstruction of Haiti than simply rebuilding destroyed houses! It is a long term commitment, an involvement of all sectors and actors – above all the population, which needs to be empowered to become more than just beneficiaries.

Deep wounds heal with difficulty but, despite crises and bad luck, we have faith in the future. We know that today will never be worse than yesterday because we are not alone.

Mildrède Béliard, 33, is CARE Haiti’s Communications Officer