I arrived in Port-au-Prince as dusk was falling two days after the earthquake hit. People had been warning me that parts of Haiti looked like a war zone, but I found that to be an understatement; Port-au-Prince was far more destroyed than Baghdad or Kabul ever were. Everyone had to improvise. In the hotel compound I stayed in, there was little food and no power. I charged my camera batteries using the cigarette lighter in a rented truck and slept in the vehicle at night. Most Haitians were sleeping outdoors as well. By sunrise, most neighborhoods in Port-au-Prince, such as this one, were bustling with the displaced going about the business of survival.

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