Haiti's Village of God 'Trying to Celebrate' Christmas

In a hidden alleyway, a half-dozen children gather around. They live in Village de Dieu, a small slum, which is not, in any way, godly. It is surrounded on all sides by canals of garbage. It is cholera-stricken. It is sunny and busy and broken in the ordinary ways.

At the entrance to the neighborhood is a once cheerful metal welcome sign, now rusted. Around the corner, a pack of kids looks at me very seriously. I didn't intend to give a quiz, but after each question, they confer quietly, like a committee.

What color does Santa wear?

"Red and black," offers Daniel, age 10.

"Red and white!" says Augustema, 8. She shushes Daniel.

Where does Santa live? They're not sure. What does he do? Silence. Is he old or young?

"Old!" says Augustema, smartly, looking to her friends. She's winning.

And so, what is Christmas? Here, they shuffle their feet and look sideways at each other. That's a tough one.

In Haiti this year, Christmas is more than just a holiday. It is also a memorial. The earthquake struck on Jan. 12 and Christmas is the last memory many have of their friends and family. It marks the beginning of two very difficult weeks. Politics has also unsettled people.

On Monday, Haiti's electoral council decided not to announce the final tabulation of the presidential election. International observers intervened at the last minute, urging a fair, supervised recount. For everyone, the way forward is unclear. No one knows who will be president, or when. No one knows if riots will resume.

But by Jan. 12, there will be media attention again. There will be congratulations and reprimands. There will be recounts and recalls and reconstruction news. Today, there is remembrance.

Carl, age 8, lives in the Village of God with his mom, Juentena, and seven other family members.

"On Christmas," says Carl, "We go to church. We pray. There's a party."

Their house has been marked with red spray paint, which means an engineering team determined that January's earthquake made it unsafe to live in. But without the money to repair their house, it's not exactly clear what good that does them.

His grandmother sighs. To her, the red sign means that they might die any minute, and when they do, it will be their own fault, for not moving into the camps. She couldn't do it, she says. They sleep in tents on the roof, most of the time, but don't have the money to start over.

Carl's neighbor, Florencia, is 12 years old. She knows more about Christmas than he does. It's about family, she says.

"Last year was better. My mom was with me. And now she's not."

Florencia's mom died in the earthquake. On Christmas, she remembers, "She was wearing jeans and a blue t-shirt. I haven't forgotten anything about her. She's still in my mind."

She is almost crying, but not quite. Almost angry, but motionless. Everywhere here is grief like hers, even as the city tries to celebrate. People in Haiti know -- like few others ever will -- how lucky they are. Things have been hard for a long, long time.

But there is no room for nostalgia in the way I know it. No room for self-pity.

In this neighborhood, old women snap peas, orange peels hang from rafters, the worn paint of broken houses is pink and blue. Women visit the market for oil, spices, butter. Elmireet, 55, lost her cousin in the earthquake. She was pregnant. It will be different to celebrate without her this year.

At a barbershop, men shape up for their wives. They're talking politics, but with the holiday, the wind has gone out of it. Patrik wants the foreigners to take over. Wesly wants Michel Martelly. Joel, the barber, stays neutral.

One young man in Village de Dieu, says he went out with the rioters two weeks ago.

"I didn't carry a weapon, just a branch of a tree in my hand. When I heard shooting, I just moved aside," he said.

He supports Michel Martelly, too. The presidential candidate who received third place. But he doesn't dare guess what the future holds. It could be more protests.

"It's like Brazil versus Argentina. It's like, when a player scores a goal and everybody stands up at the same time. That's what we're going to do."

Michel Ernst, 28, says he wants only one thing for Christmas, "Please, please, tell the world something new about Haiti. We've suffered, it's true. But you can see it everywhere in the city today -- people trying. Good people. Trying to celebrate."

Still, everyone agrees, last Christmas was better.