Haitians scramble for food, water and safety as gang violence engulfs the capital

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti — As the sun sets, a burly man bangs into a megaphone as a curious crowd gathers around him. Next to him is a small cardboard box with several bills worth 10 Haitian gourdes about 7 US cents.

Everyone gives what they have! the man shouts as he grabs the arms and hands of people entering a neighborhood in the capital Port-au-Prince that has been targeted by violent gangs.

The community recently voted to buy a metal barricade and install it themselves in an effort to protect residents from the unrelenting violence that killed or injured more than 2,500 people in Haiti from January to March.

Every day I wake up and find a dead body, said Noune-Carme Manoune, an immigration officer.

Life in Port-au-Prince has become a game of survival, pushing Haitians to new frontiers as they struggle to stay safe and alive while gangs overrun the police and the government remains largely absent. Some are putting up metal barricades. Others press hard on the gas while driving near gang-controlled areas. The few who can afford it stockpile water, food, money and medicine, supplies of which have dwindled since the main international airport closed in early March. The country's largest seaport is largely paralyzed by looting gangs.

People living in the capital are locked in, they have nowhere to go, Philippe Branchat, head of the International Organization for Migration in Haiti, said in a recent statement. The capital is surrounded by armed groups and danger. It is a walled city.

Phones frequently ring with alerts reporting gunshots, kidnappings and fatal shootings, and some supermarkets have so many armed guards that they resemble small police stations.

Gang attacks used to happen only in certain areas, but now they can happen anywhere, anytime. Staying home doesn't guarantee safety: A man playing with his daughter at home was shot in the back by a stray bullet. Others have been killed.

Schools and gas stations are closed, with fuel on the black market selling for $9 a gallon, roughly three times the official price. Banks have barred customers from withdrawing more than $100 a day, and checks that once took three days to clear now take a month or more. Police officers have to wait weeks to get paid.

Everyone is under stress, said Isidore Gdon, a 38-year-old musician. After being released from prison, people don't trust anyone. The state has no control.

Gangs that control about 80% of Port-au-Prince launched coordinated attacks on February 29, targeting critical state infrastructure. They set fire to police stations, shelled the airport and stormed Haiti's two largest prisons, freeing more than 4,000 prisoners.

At the time, Prime Minister Ariel Henry was visiting Kenya to push for the deployment of a UN-backed police force. Henry remains locked out of Haiti, and a transitional presidential council tasked with choosing the country's next prime minister and cabinet could be sworn in as early as this week. Henry has vowed to step down once a new leader is in place.

Few believe this will end the crisis. It's not just gangs that unleash violence; Haitians have embraced a vigilante movement known as bwa kale, which has killed several hundred suspected gang members or their associates.

There are some communities I can't go to because everyone is afraid of everyone, Gdon said. You can be innocent and end up dead.

More than 95,000 people have fled Port-au-Prince in just one month as gangs raid communities, burning homes and killing people in territories controlled by their rivals.

Those fleeing by bus to the southern and northern regions of Haiti risk being gang-raped or killed as they pass through gang-controlled areas where gunmen have opened fire.

Violence in the capital has left an estimated 160,000 people homeless, according to the IOM.

This is hell, said Nelson Langlois, a producer and cameraman.

Langlois, his wife and three children spent two nights lying on the roof of their house while the gangs raided the neighborhood.

Every now and then, we looked to see when we could get away, he recalls.

Forced to separate due to lack of shelter, Langlois is living in a Vodou temple and his wife and children are elsewhere in Port-au-Prince.

Like most people in the city, Langlois usually stays indoors. The days of pick-up football games on dusty roads and nights drinking Prestige beer in bars with hip-hop, reggae or African music are long gone.

It's an open-air prison, Langlois said.

The violence has also forced businesses, government agencies and schools to close, leaving many Haitians unemployed.

Manoune, the government's immigration officer, said she has been making money selling treated water since she is out of work because deportations have stalled.

Meanwhile, Gdon said he no longer plays drums for a living, noting that bars and other venues are closed. He sells small bags of water on the street and has become a handyman, installing ventilators and fixing equipment.

Even students are joining the workforce as the crisis deepens poverty across Haiti.

Sully, a 10th grader whose school closed almost two months ago, stood on a street corner in the community of Ption-Ville selling gasoline he buys on the black market.

You have to be careful, said Sully, who asked that his last name be withheld for security. During the morning it is safer.

He sells about five liters a week, generating roughly $40 for his family, but he can't afford to join his classmates who are learning remotely.

The online class is for people luckier than me, who have more money, Sully said.

The European Union announced last week the launch of a humanitarian airlift from the Central American country of Panama to Haiti. Five flights have landed in the northern city of Cap-Hatien, home of Haiti's only functioning airport, bringing 62 tons of medicine, water, emergency shelter equipment and other essential supplies.

But there is no guarantee that critical items will reach those who need them most. Many Haitians remain trapped in their homes, unable to shop or forage amid the bullets.

Aid groups say about 2 million Haitians are on the brink of starvation, more than 600,000 of them children.

However, people are finding ways to survive.

Back in the neighborhood where residents are installing a metal barricade, sparks fly as one man cuts metal while others shovel and mix cement. They are progressing well and hopefully the project will be completed soon.

Others remain skeptical, citing reports of gangs jumping on loaders and other heavy equipment to knock down police stations and, more recently, metal barricades.