Haitians pack embassies in Port-au-Prince in hope of a visa (Feature)

By Andrea Sosa Cabrios Jan 28, 2010, 18:20 GMT

Port-au-Prince - Despite baking heat, hundreds of Haitians queue up every day before embassies and consulates in Port-au-Prince, in the hope of getting a visa that will allow them to leave behind their ruined country.

But only very few have a real chance of getting out of Haiti, an extremely poor nation devastated on January 12 by the quake whose death toll has already reached 170,000.

People stand in line for hours, holding children by the hand and carrying documents, confident that their particular quake tragedy will move diplomatic officials. They often have nothing to back up a visa request beyond their wish for a better life.

There are many such stories, but they are basically one and the same: those standing in line have relatives abroad that they would like to join, they lost their home in the quake, they have children who are nationals of another country, they lack opportunities within Haiti, they lost their job, the university they used to attend collapsed.

Canadian and French diplomatic missions are among the favourites, due to the language factor. In Haiti, many people speak French as well as Creole. There are also long queues at the US Embassy, and at the Embassy of the Dominican Republic, which shares with Haiti the Caribbean island of Hispaniola.

US soldiers guard their country's embassy, near Port-au-Prince airport. People sit in the sun, without water, shade or even a hat for protection, eager to tell their story to anyone willing to listen.

'I have no home to live in, I need my family. I don't know if I can go, but I want to go. I'm here to look for the chance to go to the United States,' says Reginald Doblass.

Doblass, who is waiting in line with his sister, has relatives in Boston.

Rose Marcelin Pierre, 28, comes up with two children, aged 8 and 9. All are impecably dressed, with clean clothes and well-combed hair, even though they are living in a camp since the quake destroyed their home. Rose's husband lives in Orlando and has legal residence in the United States. Now, she wants to join him.

'They said no, they told me to go back home. They are only dealing with US citizens,' she says sadly.

Anothen broken dream. Another fate decided.

Aline Ramo and her son, Dan, who is 11 months old, are lucky. They were summoned to sort out the paperwork to get the boy a passport. She has a visa, and Dan's father is a US citizen. They are hoping to go to Connecticut.

Similar scenes take place in the Canadian Embassy. Andrelie Benjamin wants to move in with her uncle, who is a Haitian-Canadian.

'I lost my house. We have nothing, only what I'm wearing,' she says.

But Canadian officials already turned her down.

'Only Canadians can go in. I want to get out of Haiti, my whole family is abroad. If they cannot do anything for me, at least for my mother, who is 70 years old,' Benjamin says.

Andrelie leaves her phone number, she insists, even if the person she is talking to says they cannot help.

'You never know, maybe. I'll also give you my brother's number,' she says.

Junior Francois is 25 and depressed. He used to study law and was planning to graduate in July from the State University in Port-au-Prince, but the building collapsed.

Now he has no lessons or job, beyond some occasional work as a Creole translator for the many foreigners that have arrived in Port- au-Prince since the quake.

Wherever he goes, he takes his documents, and the photos of a trip he made to the Dominican Republic as a representative of his school, just to show that he has travelled. He shows a Dominican visa that is stuck onto his passport.

Francois dreams of getting to see Paris, but so far he has only gotten to the Swiss Embassy. And it was to no avail.

'For four years I left home at 6 in the morning and I returned at 8 in the evening,' he says. 'I spent all my savings in books. Now I have nothing. What am I going to do? My life has been destroyed.'