*Editors Sylvie Barak and Marc Speir are in Haiti this week, filming a documentary about the rebuilding of the impoverished country’s telecom infrastructure over a year after the quake. Barak and Speir are exploring how mobile helped those in the wake of the disaster and how NGOs and non profits on the ground are continuing to work relentlessly to train, maintain and rebuild. The following thoughts are not necessarily telecom based, but give our readers a glimpse into a day in the life of our reporters*
PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti – I seem to have fallen into the Haitian time warp, where everything seems to have gone by so fast at such a slow pace. Because everything takes time here.
The traffic moves like molasses, and yet if you’re not quick witted on the roads, you run the risk of collision with any number of tap-taps, motorcycles, chickens, goats, pigs or pedestrians.
The meals ordered at restaurants take a couple of hours to arrive, while the heat saps your appetite faster than you can finish half of what you ordered.
Then there are the meetings we set up, many of which went on for hours, but felt like a matter of minutes, because the subject matter was so fascinating.
Calm tinged with chaos, slow set to speed; that’s what Haiti feels like to me.
Thus, day four came and went in true Haitian style; starting with a visit to Haiti’s very first carrier – national firm Haitel.
Haitel, like most everything else in Haiti not being bolstered by international funds at the moment, is a bit of a shambolic mess. From the dilapidated building with its yellow and blue paint peeling off the walls like sunburnt skin, to the cracks climbing their way up the outside like ivy, to the dusty cubicles, tired looking employees and air of desperation about the place.
Half way through our interview with the firm’s chief legal counsel Albert Mecklembourg, the power died, the generator shuddered and quit, and the lights went off plunging the dingy room into darkness. Our interviewee didn’t even bat an eyelid, continuing to talk into the camera as if nothing had happened.
It’s a good analogy for the company in general – a tiny firm with an almost insignificant 3% market share compared to the big boys of the Haitian telecom industry, Irish owned Digicel and American majority-owned Voila. The company is very much running on empty at this point, clinging to its some 130,000 subscribers for dear life on a shoestring budget.
As well as being the only truly Haitian carrier, Haitel is also the only CDMA player on the market, with both Voila and Digicel competing in the GSM space. CDMA is a little more expensive, which doesn’t help Haitel much.
“We were the only network to stay up during the earthquake,” said Mecklembourg, as he sat in the dark, back straight and eyes proud, a mini Haitian flag perched precariously on the side of his desk amidst an overflowing inbox of papers. “It’s because unlike the other two companies, we have a policy of not putting antennas on people’s private houses, ours are freestanding, so we didn’t lose many when the earth shook. The other carriers did, because the houses their antennas were on crumbled,” he said.
That wasn’t Mecklembourg’s only dig at his competition, noting with a tinge of sadness that Haitel had also been the first company to provide Haitians with easy SMS credit charging, a service called “ploupploup.”
“They [Digicel and Voila] copied it from us and made their own,” Mecklembourg said with a sigh.
“What about mobile payments, any plans to implement that?” we asked him. “No, not at the moment.”
“Are you offering any smartphones?”
“No, just feature phones, but our plans are very price competitive, and I’ll tell you what, this will be a real worry for the other carriers,” Mecklembourg said, referring to Haitel’s cheapest 500 HGD ($12.50) per month plan with unlimited free calling inside the network. Later when we mentioned this to Digicel and Voila, they both scoffed, much in the same way that bigger kids laugh at kindergartners trying to form a fist at them in the playground.
“How come you guys don’t have adverts or umbrellas out all over the streets and markets like the other two firms have?” my colleague Marc Speir asked. Indeed, we’ve both been fascinated with the sheer amount of Digicel and Voila branding on everything from walls, to market stalls to t-shirts to trucks. “We just can’t afford it. We’re surviving, not thriving. We have to spend our money on the things we need most,” Mecklembourg said.
Taking us up to the roof of the building, Mecklembourg showed us the employee gym (a few exercise bikes, free weights and a couple of treadmills) as well as the view on the street below, lined with reds and greens of his rivals’ umbrellas. “We want to make it a nice place here for our employees, so we have a gym here.”
“Don’t they get discouraged when they see the street lined with Digicel umbrellas?” Speir asked. Mecklembourg smiled wanly. “They may not be our umbrellas, but every vendor selling next to this building is selling our products, he posited.
Back inside, Speir walked the corridors gathering some b-roll. “I’ll take you to see our executive suites,” said Mecklembourg proudly. The executive floor, on the third story, was certainly nicer than those below, but still couldn’t seem to shake that tired, 1970s feel. It reminded me of buildings I’d served in during my military service, where no matter how often the corridors were swept and the windows cleaned, a smell of mustiness and an air of desolation clung to every old fashioned nook and cranny. The air-conditioners were on full blast, but still the damp heat hung heavily, refusing to be dissipated.
Mecklembourg showed us the conference room. “This is a very nice room, we even have very big comfortable leather chairs to sit in for our meetings,” he said, laying his hand on the well worn back of one of them. “We had to make this room nice, because we have executive meetings in here every day, well, almost every day, Tuesday through Friday, sometimes for several hours,” he explained. “We don’t meet on Monday. Monday is never a good day, not in Haiti or the rest of the world,” he added.
“This is Frankie, the owner’s son,” Mecklembourg declared leading us into a spacious but cluttered office next to the conference room.
Frankie, with his round face and wide smile was quite a contrast to the shabby surroundings, his flashy shirt and American accent in stark contrast to his dejected surroundings. “Frankie studied in New York City and now he’s back to work in his father’s business,” said Mecklembourg as we shook Frankie’s hand. He couldn’t have been more than 30 years old.
“Do you like it back here? Bit different from New York City,” I asked him as he beamed at us, moving clutter and basketball trophies around his desk.
“Yeah, it’s very different!” he nodded, emphatically adding “but it’s all good, you know? All good.”
Would you like to meet Mr. Martelly? Asked Mecklembourg, catching both Speir and I by surprise. “Michel Martelly? Presidential candidate? He’s here??”
“Oh, no, not Michele, his nephew, he’s also one of our executives, let me introduce you.”
Martelly’s nephew bore a striking similarity, even down to the trademark grin. His American accented English was also perfect. “How’s your uncle feeling about the results due out this week?” we asked him. “He’s feeling great, you know, it’s clear he’s the winner, the people have all voted for him,” grinned Martelly junior. “Now we just have to hope the government doesn’t try to stop the people’s choice, or there will be trouble,” he added, his face darkening.
We left the building via the mildewy stairwell and after filming the shop downstairs, and confusing the sales assistants by interviewing a bemused looking customer, we set off for lunch.
Speir decided he had a penchant for goat that day, so our driver Nixon found us a spot, at yet another hotel. In true Caribbean style, lunch was a slow affair. Luckily, our next appointment, with the International Red Cross wasn’t until 2 p.m.
The IRC has a huge setup next to Port-Au-Prince’s airport, complete with barbed wire perimeter, big white iron gates and a heavy security contingent at the door. We were made to get out of the car and produce identification before being ushered inside. “Your driver can wait here,” an armed guard told us, pointing us towards the tents in the distance where we were to meet our contact.
Row upon row of shiny, brand new SUVs emblazoned with the Red Cross’ red and white insignia sparkled under the sun. “Think they have enough cars?” I muttered, trying to calculate how much aid money had been spent providing IRC staff with a comfy, air-conditioned ride.
The camp looked almost exactly like a military base; dusty, full of jeeps, tents, field offices made out of pre-fab, health and safety posters neatly attached to the otherwise bare, concrete walls.
“Wash your hands frequently with soap to prevent germs,” said one glossy poster, coloured diagrams underneath to show how it’s done.
“Protect yourself from Cholera” said another with more glossy pictures underneath.
“Kickboxing class schedule,” read a third. Because just because you’re in Haiti, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep fit, apparently.
Haitian workmen were everywhere, laying cement, plastering walls, digging holes. Another armed security guard showed us into an office where I stood looking at a “Haiti incident map” perforated with different coloured pins. White for carjackings, red for murders/killings, yellow for kidnappings, green for demonstrations and blue for incidences where weapons had been used.
“Welcome to Haiti, it’s not a happy place – at all,” said an IRC guy behind us in a Cardiff accent.
“Och, don’t mind him, he’s just grumpy, and going home soon,” said Sharon, the Glaswegian IRC media relations officer, entering the room with a big smile and leading us away from the map.
“Come to my office,” she said, ushering us into a standing crate she shared with two others. “It’s pretty hot in here,” said Speir, mopping sweat from his brow. “Ah, yeah, it is, but we have the fan at least,” said Sharon before adding, “but I suppose we should switch that off before you start filming, it’s a wee bit loud.”
“I suppose,” said Speir, reluctantly.
“Can ye believe this was going to be a Hilton Hotel?” asked Sharon as we squeezed in behind her desk. “Not really…” I said, looking around at the makeshift surroundings. “Where do you sleep?”
“In a tent round the back over there,” she said waving her hand absent mindedly towards what looked like a sanitation block. “How long have you been here?”
“Since June, so almost 10 months now,” she said adding “it’s great fun!”
“That’s a long time to be living in a tent,”
“Yeah, it is a bit, but they’re really nice tents, and we get lots of time off, so I’ve just come back from a week in Barbados with some girlfriends from home,” she continued.
With the fan switched off, the little cube felt hotter than hell. Speir’s forehead was beaded with sweat, as he rubbed the salty drops from streaming into his eyes as he worked the camera.
“I better make this quick before we all melt,” joked Sharon, jovially, setting up her laptop.
We were there to see the IRC’s early warning SMS system, something the organization had pioneered in Haiti since the earthquake, with the help of operator Voila.
Using the system, the Red Cross is able to send things like hurricane or flooding warnings to almost any part of the country, able to zone in on certain “at risk” communities by pinpointing the cell tower in their area. Currently, this only works on Voila’s network, so only those with a Voila SIM receive the messages.
“It’s been a great success,” said Sharon, showing us a video clip of radio stations promoting the service and Haitians receiving the text messages.
The IRC has also been using the service to send out questions and public health and safety announcements, especially about the cholera. “We tell people what they can do to avoid it, what symptoms to look for,” she explained, noting that the 140 character limit forced the staff to be succinct.
“Since over 50% of Haitians are illiterate, it’s good that we keep the messages short, and in Creole,” she added.
Volia is letting the IRC send the messages out for free, but Haitians answering questions by text message or sending queries for more information are charged a minimal rate. “Sometimes we offer people credits if they’re going to answer a mini survey by text for us,” said Sharon, “just to make it worth their while and not leave them out of pocket, you know.”
Voila has also set up a hotline for people to call where they can be connected to an IRC official to answer their questions and give health and safety advice. “It’s somewhere people can turn to for information, so they can get clear answers,” she explained.
How many text messages have been sent to date? We asked. “Oh, I can’t tell you exactly, but thousands and thousands. We haven’t had any complaints about it though, so it seems people are finding it helpful.”
She showed us how to send an early warning message. The interface was incredibly simple. You simply select an area on the map and choose your radius. The towers within the chosen radius show up on the map, you select them and compose your message, click send and it’s done.
“It’s really very quick and effective,” Sharon noted proudly.
As luck would have it, our next stop for the day was at Voila’s offices in PetionVille, where we were lucky enough to have secured a meeting with the firm’s CEO, Robin Padberg.
“Where are you from, Robin?” I asked, shaking his hand. “Haiti” he replied. “Oh,” I said, not knowing whether it would be rude to add “but you’re white … ?”
Padberg must have caught my look of confusion, because he went on to explain that his parents were Dutch, but had been living in Haiti since he was six. Aside from his university studies, Padberg has stayed in the country and, to him and his family, it’s very much home.
“My mother owns a restaurant down the street,” he gestured.
We recounted our morning’s meetings at both Haitel and the IRC, and explained why we were in Haiti. Padberg listened patiently, nodding, before starting on his on-camera overview.
“Voila is a Haitian company,” he told us, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Speir and myself. “Well, yes, it is owned by the American firm, Trilogy Partners, but when they set up Voila here in Haiti, they made every effort to keep it as a separate, Haitian entity,” he explained.
Because Voila is a private firm, Padberg wouldn’t go into too many of the financial details, but it became clear that although the earthquake had been a blow, Voila, unlike Haitel, was not lacking in funds.
The day of the earthquake itself, Padberg had been speaking at a conference in Florida. He told us he had ignored the first two phone calls he received during his talk, but when a third call had arrived in quick succession from his chief of security, he had excused himself to answer it.
“The first thing I did was to check my family was ok. I called my wife, my parents,” he told us, noting that it had been so hard to understand the meaning of it all without seeing the effects. “There weren’t even pictures coming out of there for the first few hours, just the news reports, so I could have no idea of the scale.”
Despite the lack of information, Padberg was desperate to get home as soon as he could. “We chartered a flight, we organized it as quickly as we could,” he said, noting that because communications were down, being able to correspond with the tower at Port-Au-Prince airport had been tricky and dangerous. “We were the first plane to land in Port-Au-Prince,” he told us, explaining the sheer disarray, and how they had to explain themselves to the ground staff, who had not known the plane was about to land.
It was only upon arriving back in his country that Padberg says he understood the sheer extent of the tragedy. While the firm’s main building had remained standing, the network went down due to damage to the fuel source used to power the main tower. Worse, of course, was the human loss, with Voila losing six full time contract staff under the rubble.
Despite the shock and loss, however, Padberg said his employees had come back to the office in droves to help get the network back up and functioning properly. “That was true bravery,” he told us adding “most of them had lost people that day, family, friends, their homes. But yet they still came to work and gave everything they had to make sure the network could cope, because communication was so important in those early days.”
From talk of the earthquake, we moved on to talk of rebuilding, and mentioned the statement by John Stanton – chairman of Trinity Partners’ board – about Haiti having the potential opportunity to become the world’s first copper-free nation. Padberg nodded his agreement. “It’s an opportunity for Haiti to blaze a path,” he told us.
We shifted the topic to the impending elections, putting it to Padberg that his firm had been known to associate particularly closely with Michele Martelly’s camp.
“Voila supported all of the leading candidates in the first round and supported both Manigat and Martelly equally in the second round by leading the private sector initiative to fund poll watchers,” Padberg maintained.
“We also agreed to assist the CEP by providing call center and text messaging support for voters who wanted to find out their polling stations and to encourage voter participation.”
The CEO did admit, however, that Martelly had been a Voila spokesperson before he ran for office, but said the firm had agreed to terminate the endorsement contract at the beginning of the campaign, “just as we did with Wyclef, to avoid conflict of interest.”
“Also, it’s funny that Voila is being accused of bias, because Digicel was all over Martelly’s campaign,” he added.
We asked Padberg if he felt, then, that the phone companies were impartial enough to consider mobile voting an option in the future. He professed himself very interested in the idea.
“I believe that the potential use of mobile phones in the electoral process is a very real prospect,” he said, noting that the current limitations were categorically not mobile operator impartiality, but voter identification and registration.
“The mobile network would likely only be the connectivity layer to an electoral platform that would have to reside at the electoral council,” he explained, adding that he believed there could be a solution but that we’d have to wait and see.
We also challenged Voila on its claim that it had not allowed its network to be used for the broadcast of political messages or campaigning.
“No robocalls and/or political messages were made/sent by Voila. Whereas Voila subscribers may have received them, the calls/messages originated from another network,” he said, claiming that this was easily verifiable by the caller ID.
Next, we spoke to Jean Phillippe Brun, mobile money director at Voila, and the bright young spark in charge of Voila’s innovative efforts in the field.
We knew from conversations with several NGOs that Voila was already conducting payroll pilots with humanitarian organizations like World Vision and Mercy Corps, as well as enabling its customers to make micro transfers between mobile phones by SMS.
Brun demonstrated the process by sending his boss 15 HGDs in credit. “I want it back, ok?” Brun joked with Padberg. “Hmmm, only if I can remember my pin number so I can send it to you,” replied Padberg.
Inevitably when the talk in Haiti turns to money, we touched on the subject of international aid, and Haiti’s sad but growing dependency on it. “It’s a mentality issue that has to be solved,” said Padberg giving us a stark but telling example.
“This is the only country where people ask for American rice. American rice! Usually when people go into a restaurant anywhere else in the world, they ask for Basmati rice, Jasmine rice, brown rice … in Haiti, people only ask for American rice, and we have our own rice here, which is excellent, but there’s no demand for it.”
It’s true. The bags of “American aid rice” litter the garbage dumps and streets of Port-Au-Prince. The American flag clearly emblazoned on the massive sacks, dumped on Haiti under the guise of international aid, but doing more harm than good to the local farmers. America doesn’t even grow rice. Haiti does. It’s a pretty disgusting thought when you think it through.
It’s almost no wonder then that Haitians feel so entitled. So bitter towards a government it clearly sees as trying to cripple it even further and keep it in a state of abject poverty and dependency.
“Give me money!” shouted one man, as we left the Voila offices.
“Why?” I asked him.
“Because you’re American! You have money, we don’t. You have to help us, it’s your obligation!” he spat back.
“It’s no one’s obligation but your own country’s,” I replied, feeling cruel, angry and sorry all at once.
Sitting in the car I mulled it over, sharing my thoughts with Nixon, who listened quietly.
“You cannot blame these people,” he told me as we pulled away. “They see you with your expensive camera equipment, they see the Red Cross driving in its nice new cars, the aid workers eating in fancy places, going to parties, spending the money your countries pledged to us … to help us. They are still living in tents more than one year later, so where is all this money going?”
Nixon has a very good point. Where is this money going? And why is it taking so long to filter through to those who need it most? Why is the developed world dumping bad quality rice on the Haitian market and crippling the country’s own farmers? Why does the Red Cross need that many expensive new vehicles? No wonder Haitians are angry, and no wonder they think we owe them.
