Arrival

On a C-17 nearing the south eastern coast of the US. After a week and a half of back and forth Dennis Romboy and I are en route to Haiti. There are about 25 troops and some heavy machinery stuffed into the chest of this big grey beast that looked nothing short of angry as we walked onto the tarmac to board. I wondered if the turbines were going to suck me up from the ground. I don't know what to expect there and realize that every time I leave home my eyes, heart and gratuity tend to sensitize. The Cricket left a shiny blue rock that looks like a piece of Chex cereal along with a tiny black and white photo of her in my wallet this morning. It is nice to know that as much pressure as there is to get good photos and do good work; whatever happens between this moment and coming back to home is just garnishment.
A soldier gives me some of his MRE's and we look out a tiny circle window to see several parts of downtown Port-au-Prince burning in the otherwise beautiful and purple dusk. The airport was packed, but still functioning. I wonder what it had looked like days after. Planes and choppers from across the world, soldiers, people, bags, heat and noise blending and separating together in a chaotic orchestra of necessity. We had arrived and now it was our job to disappear. The other members of the press who had traveled were supposed to return to the states within an hour via another Air Force ride, we had worked out a blind eye strategy to stay and provide for ourselves and eventual return.
We spotted a helicopter from some friends across the runway. I didn't know how tricky it would be to get over there as terrifying machinery in the form of C-17's, charter 747's and helicopters seemed to be filling every free space of the warm darkness beyond the floodlights. I asked some gnarly looking civilian guys how I should cross and they said, "Just walk smart and act like you know what you're doing." We found our contacts and I laid out in a field in the middle of the airport, about 100 yards from the flight line and watched my photos lethargically send through a sat phone for two hours. While waiting I laid and watched the stars while listening to the frenzy of the airport. I watched the long grass catch light from approaching aircraft and wondered about all the others sleeping on the ground. Finally got the photos out and then joined a group of about 15 sleeping on the grass next to palettes of beans and rice, their helicopters, only about 30 yards from the flight line. During the night I wondered if helicopters were landing in my brain.