The calmest spot in the whole hospital was a small courtyard in the middle, where patients relaxed on benches under a wooden pagoda. Close by, a fun and colorful obstacle course assisted patients in recovering their mobility after surgery and other intensive procedures.
It was here that we encountered four-year-old Alexandro and his mother, Youseline Philisma.
When Alexandro was just a month old, an armed group set fire to the displaced persons camp they called home. He was rescued from the flames, alive but with serious burns.
Since that day, Youseline has brought him to Tabarre’s burn unit — the only one remaining in the country.
“When I come to the hospital, it feels like a different world. Everyone understands my child. We receive so much love from people here,” she shared with us.
For the remainder of his life, Alexandro will require attention from the burn unit, with Surgeon Donald Jacques Severe being one of his caregivers.
Severe has the opportunity to leave the country. His wife and children moved to the United States four years ago after their home was overtaken by armed fighters. He even has a visa for Canada, yet he hasn’t left yet.
His surgical colleague, Xavier Kernizan, attempted to convey the sense of responsibility they both feel.
“We realize that if we don’t stay, someone will suffer,” Kernizan explained.
“Personally, we are on the edge of burnout. At times, we feel close to depression. However, there’s also the rewarding feeling of having enhanced someone’s daily life, of instilling a bit of hope during their darkest times.”
But if the security conditions keep worsening, it’s uncertain whether Tabarre Hospital can endure.
On April 11, my documentary team and I finally left the hospital grounds for the first time in a week. We were going to Petion-Ville, one of the few areas in Port-au-Prince still controlled by the government.
There, we crossed a soccer field near the Karibe Hotel, where a helicopter from the World Food Programme was set to take off. It’s currently the only exit from the capital.
We got into the helicopter, its rotors began spinning, and the Haitian capital shrank below us as we ascended above the chaos. I remember feeling a sense of relief.
The hospital staff remained behind. They have no plans to leave.
