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Port-au-Prince. The adolescent is awaiting a sign from his inert leg. His eyes are staring at the emptiness of the room, desperately looking for the indication of an improbable visit. Sonson Castin is 16 years old. He has scars all over his body, indelible traces of the urban guerilla tearing apart his country, Haiti. The story he is telling that morning, is a story of a long and painful fall that ended up in a wheelchair of the rehabilitation Center of Doctors without Borders in Port-au Prince. Port-au-Prince. There are long, hard looks. Looks strengthened by the heavy silver medallions, dark sunglasses, well-ironed shirts and tattoos of gang members. These looks rule over Bel Air, a slum in the heart of Port-au-Prince, the Haitian capital. There are glances from behind half-opened doors or windows. These glances always sink to floor, when they meet the hard looks. That is the untold rule in the stronghold of Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the ousted president. Aristide, a former priest, had started his political career preaching in the churches of Bel Air. The slum is still controlled by the chimères, the gangs closed to him. |
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