AFTER a sleepless night in Santa Domingo I awoke and met my new friends from Food for Hunger for breakfast. I’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get us on a World Vision flight into Haiti, and they’d tried, equally unsuccessfully, to get us onto a UN flight. Their local man on the ground, Jose, advised us that the best route was via bus. He dropped us at the bus station and we queued for around two hours for tickets. We departed at 11:30am local time for an eight hour journey to Port-au-Prince, the largest city devastated in the Haiti earthquake. We made it to the border at Jumani in good time, on a bus full of returning Haitians, media and a large group of Americans who’d flown out to try and do some good. At the border we were held for over an hour as they very slowly processed the stream of vehicles heading into Haiti. Once we were in, the roads changed dramatically, we twisted and turned through the coastal roads and up into the mountains on unpaved roads, crawling along at a snail’s pace. The people in these outer areas were going about their regular business – watering cattle, collecting crops etc but as we drew closer to the capitol city we started to spot buildings that had ‘pancaked’ or collapsed during the earthquake. More and more tent settlements sprung up along the route until we arrived in the city in darkness and could still make out people searching through the rubble of collapsed buildings, desperately searching for survivors two weeks after the tragedy. I’d arrived in Port-au-Prince.